A/N: I wrote this one for a fanfiction contest a while ago, but that contest is over now, so I figured I'd post it for the enjoyment of all of my fellow Johnlock shippers. I hope you like it! Please review!

Ice Cream Confessions

John sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands with a groan of frustration. Were the sitting room at 221b Baker Street not so unusually quiet and empty, he wouldn't believe what had just happened. He and Sherlock had had a row, ending with the latter storming out, headed for God knows where. He'd only snapped that he was going out and not to wait up, but John had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

They had fought before, but this seemed different. They'd been arguing over Sherlock's drug stash, and John was afraid he might have pushed too hard when he'd delivered an ultimatum: toss the drugs or find a new flatmate. He hadn't actually planned on leaving. He'd only hoped to goad Sherlock into finally quitting completely; however, the detective had become infuriated. He'd rushed out without giving John a chance to explain or apologise. His parting words had been so vague that John wasn't even sure if he was planning on returning to Baker Street…

John sighed and reached for his mobile. He typed an apology and sent it, hoping the other man would at least read it. Twenty minutes and four more messages later, though, he gave up. Either Sherlock had turned his mobile off (unlikely) or he was ignoring John (probably). With his heart in his throat, John sent one last message:

"Okay, Sherlock. I get it. I'm sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. It's not always easy, trying to balance what you want from me with what you need from me. I guess I've really screwed it up this time. You don't have to say anything. I'll leave you in peace. I've got the hint, and I'll not be here when you get back. JW"

He hit the "send" button and looked at his phone for a moment, half-hoping for a reply and knowing he wouldn't get one. Then he grabbed a bag and began to pack. He'd have to hurry if he wanted to be gone by the time Sherlock returned, and he wasn't sure he could make himself leave if the detective got back first.

John grabbed his bags and reached for the door handle, but before he could open it, the door swung open to reveal Sherlock, who had just come home. John tried to push past him muttering. "Sorry, I'll be out of your hair in a moment." He didn't even make it through the door before Sherlock grabbed his arm and stopped him. The doctor looked up and saw shock in his flatmate's eyes. "Ah. Didn't get my text, then?"

"Didn't read them," Sherlock replied, distractedly scanning the flat. "You've taken all of your things."

"Well, yeah. That's sort of what moving out entails," John retorted. He very nearly missed the look of shock and hurt that flitted across his flatmate's face before he carefully schooled his features.

"I see. Well, I assume you'll be wanting to leave as soon as possible, then, so I—"

"Of course I don't want to leave, you dolt!" John cut in. "I thought you wanted me gone after that spectacular row we just had. I've never seen you so furious, especially not with me."

Sherlock's elegant face scrunched up in confusion. "John, I never said I wanted you to leave."

"You might as well have! You ignored every bloody apology I sent you!" Sherlock's eyes widened and he pulled out his phone, quickly scrolling through John's messages.

"You apologised? But I thought…I thought you were angry with me. Isn't that why you were leaving?"

"Of course not, Sherlock. I never wanted to leave." John paused, ready to explain himself, but he was interrupted.

"Then don't go." Sherlock spoke quickly, his words nearly tumbling over each other in his haste to get them out. "I choose you, John. You said I had to choose, the drugs or you. I choose you."

John looked up at him, assessing his sincerity. "D'you really mean that? You'll give up the drugs?" He tried not to look quite as happy as he felt, but it didn't work very well."

Sherlock nodded briskly. "I said I would, didn't I? Don't make a fuss, John." With that, he stalked into the sitting room and flopped down on the couch, eyeing John as if making sure he didn't try to leave again.

John smiled faintly and dropped his bags next to the couch, perching on the arm near Sherlock's head. "Budge up," he said mildly, surprised when Sherlock actually obeyed. He slid down into the vacated space and leaned his head against the back of the couch. "I'm glad you came home."

Sherlock hummed in agreement. "I would've been rather vexed if I'd come home to find you'd left. Where on Earth am I going to find another flatmate who'll put up with me?"

John's lips quirked up into a smile, but he sobered quickly. "I really would have understood if you had wanted me to leave."

Sherlock twisted around to look John in the eye. "Never," he said, his face deadly serious. "I've become far too accustomed to your presence for you to leave now."

"Well, good, then." John said, "because I've sort of gotten used to you, too."

The two men sat in comfortable silence for a while, each simply enjoying the other's company. Finally John spoke up. "Sherlock, I'm assuming you've not eaten."

Sherlock shifted guiltily. "You would be correct. I am going to assume that you now intend to force me to consume something relatively healthy."

"Oh, God, no." John grinned at the confusion on Sherlock's face. "I was about to suggest that we both eat ice cream and forget that healthy food exists for a night."

Sherlock gives John the special look he seems to save just for him, the look that involves arching one eyebrow and seems to say 'I think you've gone absolutely bonkers, but I'm going to humor you for a bit. Do go on, John.'

"Oh, come on, Sherlock. It'll be fun. There's a great ice cream place nearby. You'll love it. Unless you don't like ice cream. We could get something else."

"I do not dislike ice cream. I'm just wondering at your sudden departure from the norm. Usually you insist on eating things that actually have some nutritional value."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I like to be different. Let's go!" With some effort he pulled Sherlock off the couch and got him to put his coat on and leave the house. John's favorite ice cream shop, as promised, was close. On the way there, Sherlock seemed very pensive, and John didn't want to disturb him, so they remained fairly silent. Once they had placed their orders, though, he decided that his curiosity outweighed his restraint.

"What are you thinking about? It seems to require such intense concentration. I'm curious. Did you get another case?"

Sherlock tilted his head. "Of a sort. Nothing you would be interested in, though."

John was just about to protest when he saw something that made his blood run cold. "Oh, God. Sherlock, we've got to leave."

"What? John, what's wrong?"

"It's HER. I was out getting the shopping, and there was this…girl, this…demon in disguise! She followed me round the store, then I was in line to check out, and she grabbed my bum! Just reached out and groped me! In Tesco's! That's her, there. I think she's stalking me. Apparently she's read my blog several times over, and she checks it religiously for updates. She's even left me a bunch of comments and I just can't get rid of her! Sherlock, I can't let her see me!"

Sherlock craned his neck to see the girl of whom John was so afraid. From just a glance, he could see how she might be dangerous. She was clearly obsessive, and if she had fixated on John, it could be a problem. Just then, the girl looked over and saw the two of them sitting there. Her eyes lit up when she spotted John and she started toward them. Without a second thought, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and the two of them took off running.

They only stopped when they could run no further. The maze of back streets and alleyways that Sherlock had led them through ensured that John's stalker would not be able to follow them, or so they hoped.

John bent over and put his hands on his knees. "Whew. That was terrifying. I'll never be able to eat there again." He grimaced. "Thanks, though. I'm not sure I could've lost her without losing myself. I've no idea where we are."

In answer, Sherlock simply pointed up to a nearby window. "Your room," he told John, grinning.

John had to laugh. "Clever."

"Why, yes, I rather thought so."

As his breathing slowly returned to normal, John watched Sherlock. The other man looked quite pleased with himself, but there was something else…something in his eyes…and suddenly John knew what it was. It was barely there, just a hint, but it was still recognizable. He was sad. It was probably left over from their fight earlier, and John knew that it would ease with time…but he didn't want it to take time. He wanted to fix this now, dammit!

"Sherlock…look, I know you don't much go in for the whole 'physical contact' thing, but I think you need this as much as I do." He only hesitated for a second more before he threw his arms around Sherlock and hugged him tightly.

Sherlock stood rigid and stiff for a few moments, and then he hesitantly wrapped one arm around John, allowing the other hand to creep up and rest on John's neck, gently playing with the fine hairs at the base of his skull.

The embrace lasted for a few minutes, and then John began to pull away. "We really ought to get back. I think—" Whatever John had been about to say was muffled by Sherlock's lips on his own and, startled, he pulled back. "Huh?" That was the extent of his vocabulary at the moment.

Sherlock noticed his reaction, and they were close enough that John could SEE the wall slam down behind the detective's eyes. "I am sorry. It was…it was an experiment. It doesn't mean—"

"Oh, shut up, you madman," John muttered before he pulled Sherlock's head down so their lips could meet again. Sherlock took a moment to respond, caught unaware by John's sudden assault on his mouth, but when he did, it was with enthusiasm. His hands drifted lower, resting on John's hips, pulling him closer and holding him tightly. John flicked his tongue across Sherlock's lips, and they parted willingly. John took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Sherlock's mouth and explore. "Mmm. You taste better than I imagined," he muttered without breaking the kiss.

Sherlock pulled back a bit to smirk at him. "You realize that implies that you've imagined kissing me?"

"More times than you know," John confessed, blushing a bit. "Thought I was going mad at first, kept telling myself I wasn't gay, it was a fluke, something like that. Then…"

"Then what?"

"I decided it didn't matter, really. I didn't think you felt the same, so it didn't make a difference. Course, you've just proved me spectacularly wrong again. Somehow, I don't think I mind."

Sherlock smiled again, this time a soft smile that John had never seen before. "Idiot," he said fondly. "You got to me in a way no one else has, right from the day we met. You're a puzzle I fear I'll never finish solving, nor do I want to."

"Oh, Sherlock..." John simply laced his fingers through Sherlock's and tugged him toward Baker Street. Together, the two men slowly walked home, stopping every so often for another quick kiss, neither quite willing to believe his good fortune just yet.