"Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you not to leave body parts in the fridge?" John shouted, stomping into the living room of their shared flat.
Sherlock was lying on the couch, and didn't look up as John entered the room. His brows were furrowed and his lips pursed; he was deep in thought.
"Sherlock." No response.
"Sherlock!" Still nothing.
"SHERLOCK!"
Sherlock started, finally looking over at John.
"Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking?"
John sighed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. "Yeah, actually, I was, thanks so much for listening." John smirked tightly.
"John, can I borrow your phone?" Sherlock held out a hand.
"My phone-? No, Sherlock, can you please quit leaving random body parts in the fridge? It's a bit of and appetite ruiner to be looking for something to eat, and open the fridge and see, oh, I don't know, a leg just sitting right there on the shelf."
Sherlock groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. "It's an experiment, John!"
"Yeah, well, could you keep your 'experiments' away from my lunch?"
Sherlock sat up suddenly. "Lunch…lunch…"
"Sherlock?" John questioned.
Sherlock shot up from the couch suddenly, and started pacing. "Lunch! Of course, god, how was I so stupid! Of course!"
"Pardon me for not understanding, but what the hell are you going on about?"
Sherlock launched into one of his fast-paced, mind-boggling explanations of how he had solved the case they were working on, pacing all the while.
When he was finished, John just stared in amazement.
"Amazing," he managed to stutter out.
Sherlock stopped pacing and stared at John. "Are you going to say that every time I solve a case?"
John's face went a deep red as he blushed at Sherlock's words.
"Well, I- I mean, it's usually always amazing, when you- when you solve a case, so-"
Sherlock interrupted. "Are you blushing, John?"
"I- no! Of course not, why would I be blushing?" But he promptly turned around and headed back into the kitchen.
He could hear Sherlock following behind him, and quickly opened the fridge, pretending to busy himself looking for something, very pointedly ignoring the leg sitting on the shelf.
"John?" Sherlock said behind him, causing John to flinch a little at his closeness.
"Hm?" John said noncommittally, not taking his eyes off of the inside of the fridge.
"Why were you blushing?"
"I wasn't!"
"Your face turned red, which clearly indicates a rush of blood to your face due to some unknown emotion, usually embarrassment, which is commonly known as blushing."
John closed the fridge and sighed, closing his eyes and not turning around.
Normally that kind of thing, that 'insufferable-know-it-all' thing that Sherlock often did, pissed people off, but for John, it never did. In fact, it did the complete opposite. John found it almost… endearing. It was one of the many qualities about Sherlock that John- not loved. Never loved. Just… liked. A little.
"John? Are you alright?"
Was Sherlock… caring?
John turned around with wide eyes.
"What?" Sherlock said indignantly. "What did I do?"
John shook his head. "Nothing, nothing. I- I've got to go."
"Go, where are you going?" Sherlock followed as John grabbed his jacket and headed down the stairs.
John stopped at the front door. "Just. Out. Don't wait up."
As John stepped out into the bitterly cold London air, his mind raced.
Why had he blushed? He wasn't even sure himself why he had. Certainly, the way Sherlock solved cases was extraordinary, anyone would think so. So it was hardly a reason to blush.
So why had John blushed? And why was he avoiding Sherlock now?
As John walked, he found himself at the restaurant he and Sherlock had gone to on the night the 'Pink Lady' had been found dead.
"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." Sherlock scanned the street outside.
"Alright. Do you have a… boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way-"
"I know it's fine." Sherlock interrupted John hastily.
There was a silence as they studied each other. John smiled.
"So you've got a boyfriend then."
"No." Sherlock deadpanned quickly.
"Right. Ok." John said with nervous laughter. "You're unattached, like me. Fine." John cleared his throat, and Sherlock slowly looked away, turning his attention back to the street outside the window.
There was an even longer silence, until Sherlock, realizing something, broke it.
"John, erm, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and while I'm flattered-"
"No! No, I'm not-"John said over Sherlock, shaking his head profusely.
"-by your interest, I'm really not looking for anything-" Sherlock continued.
"-I'm not asking, no. I'm just saying… it's all fine." John interrupted again.
Sherlock studied John for a second or two. "Good. Thank you."
But despite his assurances, John couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at Sherlock's words. Sherlock was unobtainable. Not that John wanted to obtain Sherlock. Not at all.
John sat down, in the same booth he had sat in on that night, accepting the menu from the waiter, and scanned it in silence, mind churning.
Outside, the sky grew dark, and John was lost in thought.
He ate his dinner slowly, still trying to understand why exactly he had blushed, and why he had been disappointed to learn that Sherlock was unobtainable.
Things slowly started coming together and making sense, but John wasn't entirely sure he liked where it was going. But it wasn't as though John could help the way he felt, right? Anyone else would have fallen for Sherlock just as easily.
"Is this seat taken?" said a deep, sensual voice in front of John.
John looked up and saw Sherlock standing in front of him.
John couldn't help the way his heart rate doubled, or the way his pupils dilated, or the way his breath came in quick spurts. That was just the affect Sherlock had on him.
He quickly regained composure- or at least a semblance of it. "No, you're fine, sit down." John gestured toward the seat Sherlock had once previously occupied.
Sherlock sat down in silence, taking the menu and studying it.
John, however, was studying Sherlock. The way the streetlamp outside caused his long eyelashes to cast a feathery shadow across his high cheekbones, the way those eyelashes brushed lightly across his cheeks as he blinked. The way his pitch black hair was in curly disarray, the way it turned up at the ends, and rested lightly on his forehead. The way his clear blue eyes flitted across the words on the menu.
John quickly looked away as Sherlock looked up. "What did you get to eat, John?"
"Oh, just plain old fish and chips, nothing fancy."
Sherlock nodded, glancing away from John. "I'll get that too, then," he said, flagging down the waiter.
They ate in silence, both of them sneaking furtive glances when they thought the other wasn't looking.
Finally, John had had enough. "Sherlock, can we… talk?"
"Well, that all depends on what we're going to be discussing…" Sherlock trailed off at the death glare from John, then said, "Certainly. Continue."
John took a deep breath before he began. "Well, it's- it's sort of about earlier, but also, it isn't at the same time, and well, I. I just. I'm not entirely sure how to say this but… Sherlock, I- I like you." John finally managed to force the words off of his tongue.
Sherlock looked confused, however. "I'm not quite sure I understand, John."
"God, for a genius, you can be so thick sometimes, Sherlock."
And with that, John did something he never thought he'd ever, in a million years, have the guts to do.
He leaned forward across the table, looked Sherlock right in the eyes, leaned forward, and quickly pressed his lips to Sherlock's. He pulled away and watched as Sherlock's eyes widened, and he brought a hand to his lips.
"John, did you just-"
"Yep."
"And did we just-"
"Mhm."
"And are we-?"
"If you want."
John grinned at Sherlock, and Sherlock beamed back. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then, his mobile went off- a text message.
Sherlock pulled his phone out of his jacket, and opened it to read the message. He stood up, grinning.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
Sherlock put the phone back in his pocket. "Murder. No suspects, no witnesses, no trace of the killer, just a dingle handkerchief on the victim's chest." He held out a hand to John. "We've got a case. Care to join me, John?"
John grinned and took Sherlock's hand, allowing Sherlock to pull him to his feet. "I'd love to, Sherlock."