John Watson was forcing his legs to carry him up the stairs to his and Sherlock's flat in 221 B Baker street. There seemed to be more steps than usual... Of course, this wasn't true. But his legs ached in protest with every lift.

He finally reached the top, and almost fell through the front door. Sherlock was at the desk, his fingertips meeting before his lips, the picture of speculation. John studied him for a moment. Living with Sherlock, he had begun to notice small things, and he observed that Sherlock had responded to John's entrance, if only minutely. His spine had straightened out slightly, his eyes widened a bit. His feet beneath the chair had slid back just a quarter of a centimeter. However, when no conversation ensued, John made his way to his bedroom.

Once inside, he wearily stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the bed. He then eased himself onto the edge of it, grunting as he did so, not because he was old, which he really wasn't, but because he had such a horrid headache. He rubbed his eyes and then took his shoes and socks off. It had been a long day.

John took a nap, which he intended to be short, but ended up consuming 4 hours of daylight, and into the night. When he awoke, however, he felt much better. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A yawn overtook him and he was mid-stretch when a gunshot rang through the flat. He flinched, but soon realized that Sherlock was merely passing the time. He rolled his eyes and went to his door. He opened it only enough to lean his head out.

"Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson will have your head if you keep that up."

Sherlock lifted his head above the back of the couch where he lay.

"John!" He sat up and faced the abused wall. "John, I'm frustrated. I hate being frustrated. Especially when it's I who cause it." John squeezed his eyes shut, reminding himself that he'd probably regret it if he took the bait, but he never truly could resist that beautiful man...

His eyes shot open. He was honestly terrified of these thoughts he had been having lately. He wasn't one to ignore a problem, soldier that he was, but he could see no way to fix the problem but to ignore them. He would not see the clear blue of Sherlock's eyes, nor the gorgeous curl of his deep brown hair, would not acknowledge the shiver that ran down his spine every time that man's deep, sultry voice spoke his name... Whenever these observations came to mind unbidden, he would force an image of Sarah in front of his eyes and take a deep breath.

It sometimes worked.

John sighed in defeat and opened the door to allow him to go to Sherlock.

"One might believe that being enlightened is worth not being able to understand things normal people would consider simple, but it frustrates me to no end!"

John sat beside Sherlock on the couch, wearing only jeans and a white v-neck. Sherlock was still in the deep purple, silk dress shirt and black dress pants he had put on that morning.

"So, being a sociopath isn't all it's cracked up to be?" Sherlock looked at John, his jaw set in a stern manner.

"Most of the time, it is. People's minds are just so... Slowed down by all this unnecessary information about... Reactions and consideration for others' emotions... Love..." Sherlock looked down at the gun in his hand. It suddenly fell lax, the gun landing hard on the carpet. He studied his hand as it flexed and clenched. He isolated every finger one by one as he spoke.

"Plato once wrote about such people as I..." He lifted his gaze from his hand to John's curious expression. "John, have you ever read the Allegory of the Cave?"

John narrowed his eyes and shook his head, his brow furrowed.

"It speaks of all humanity being in a cave, sight weakened by the darkness they are born into. However, a few break away, walk into the sun. At first, they are blinded, and it's painful beyond belief. Eventually, though, their eyes adjust, and they see things as they truly are. They are the Enlightened."

Sherlock paused to make sure John was keeping up. Then, he continued.

"As Plato writes, it is their job to go back into the cave and teach the others to see. However, being blind to the dark, the rest believe Enlightenment is a terrible thing that makes you unable to grasp simple concepts, unable to see things clearly in the darkness of the cave. They resist.

"Plato also writes of what happens if an Enlightened individual lets himself drift too high into the clouds, becoming disconnected from humanity. So enlightened can one become, that he cannot see things the way others can. He is ostracized, called a 'freak'..."

Sherlock dropped his eyes to his hands, unable to meet John's gaze any longer. John understood.

"Sherlock..." John made a move to touch Sherlock somehow, lay a hand on him, but... What would he do? Hold his hand? Put a hand on his knee? Too forward, too forward...

And so his hand hovered awkwardly in the air. He eventually let it drop.

"I wish I understood, John. Truly, I do. I want to know that the Earth revolves around the sun, things like that..."

When Sherlock lifted his eyes to John's again, there were tears brimming in them, and a terror shimmering behind them.

"I want to understand love, John." John opened his mouth to say something, but no words formed. He snapped his jaw shut.

Sherlock stood suddenly, his tense form emanating frustration.

"But I just don't!" Sherlock faced away from John for a time while John grasped for the right words to say. So much irony...

"I understand that it would be against many many social expectations and personal boundaries, but..." He turned to face John. "I want to perform an experiment."

John's mouth, which was still open from trying to make words come out, snapped shut once again.

"I understand why you would react that way, and I can guess how you'll react to the actual explanation of the experiment, but I must ask." Sherlock sat next to John once more. "I can't stand being so alone..." He whispered, then leaned forward, his face in his hands. He stayed like that for a moment, John still completely at a loss for words.

Sherlock sighed and lifted his eyes to John's once more.

"John, I wish you would say something! I can't guess what you're thinking, and I really really want to know. Please say something!"

John swallowed.

"What... What's your experiment?"

A light flared to life behind Sherlock's eyes. He turned his body to face John, one leg crossed before him on the couch.

"I want to experiment with human response to stimuli. I have absolutely no idea how you feel about me, and it's another thing that constantly bothers me, to not be able to deduce something."

"I... What kind of... Stimuli...?" John really was more willing than he would admit to do anything Sherlock asked, or even sort of hinted at, and it was a terrifying feeling for him. He wasn't used to this vulnerability.

"Obviously, stimuli that would evoke an emotional response. And any other kinds of responses..." Sherlock's eyes raced with burning curiosity and anticipation.

John's were full of terror.

Emotional response to stimuli... Other kinds of responses? Oh, God...

And yet, John heard his reply before his mind could catch up.

"Yes."

Sherlock smiled with the excitement of a child in a candy store, but still that underlying fear...

"Alright. Thank you."

John cleared his throat nervously and mirrored Sherlock's position to face him. He might as well play along as best he could.

"You'll have to promise to only give me honest responses, yes?"

No.

"Yes."

There was a pause. John could see in Sherlock's eyes that he was thinking of what to do first...

"John, I love you."

John thought he felt his stomach fall into the couch. His lips and teeth parted slightly in surprise, and a faint flush colored his cheeks.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, it was hardly perceptible, but John was truly looking at Sherlock, so it did not go unnoticed by him. He watched Sherlock's eyes note all the changes in his face and body posture, and self-consciously closed his mouth. It was becoming something of a habit with him, snapping his mouth shut...

Sherlock cleared his throat, preparing for the next stimuli...

"John, I love you."

He said it so earnestly, with a sort of huskiness to his deep voice. John, staying true to his word to respond honestly, pulled his lower lip between his teeth just a bit. He knew Sherlock wouldn't miss it.

"How are you feeling?"

Just an experiment, just an experiment, answer honestly.

"A little light-headed."

"Interesting."

"And..." Don't say it, oh God, don't say it. "My mouth is dry."

Sherlock's head twisted to the side a little, confusion furrowing his brow.

"Hmm."

John felt himself flush deeper under Sherlock's scrutiny.

Sherlock carefully lifted a hand to John's face. He watched it as it neared him. When he could no longer follow it with his eyes, he looked back at Sherlock, who was studying him intently. His fingertips met with John's warm cheek. Once, twice, then finally cradling his jaw.

John found himself lost in Sherlock's eyes, and couldn't truly find it in himself to be appalled. His hand was so warm...

Experiment, experiment...

Just then, Sherlock's hand started traveling down. The long, slender fingers trailed down John's neck, collarbone, to his mid-chest. It stopped there, and he pressed his palm against where John's heart was, behind his molded bicep. Being a soldier had given him a rewarding figure.

Experiment...

"John, your heart is beating much too fast." Sherlock pulled his hand away, looking with concern at John's face. "Perhaps we should continue this later..."

"No, I'm fine. Really."

Shit. He had answered too quickly. Sherlock had noticed. How could he not? He notices everything...

Sherlock looked at John reproachfully, but seemed to believe him.

"If you say so. Stand please."

Sherlock stood, and John followed.

Oh... Much too close...

Sherlock bent and picked up a necktie from the coffee table and handed it to John.

"John, I need you to blindfold yourself."

"Pardon?"

"Blindfold. Tie this around your eyes."

John's brow furrowed uncertainly, but he took the tie and complied.

"Okay, now what?"

"Now we resume with the stimuli."

"Right... Stimuli... I feel like a bloody fool."

A low laugh rumbled in Sherlock's throat, causing John's to tighten.

It was very disarming, not being able to see what Sherlock was doing, and John didn't like it. However, he had agreed to this. No turning back now.

The next thing he sensed was Sherlock stepping into his personal space. He leaned back instinctively, but Sherlock grabbed his upper arms, keeping him in place. John was suddenly super sensitive to everything.

He felt Sherlock put his face next to John's, and his heart stuttered in his chest. He felt Sherlock breathe in John's ear, and John's knees gave a little. A small sigh escaped his lips, unbidden.

"John..." Sherlock whispered in his ear. He didn't say anything. "I truly don't know where to go from here. I've never done anything like this." He leaned away and removed the blindfold from John.

The frustration was back in Sherlock's eyes, but John only glimpsed it briefly because now he was tying the necktie over his eyes...

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"I need you to do what a normal person would do, John. Since I am obviously not competent enough..." Sherlock was almost growling with frustration.

John didn't know what to do. Okay, well, that's a lie... He knew what he wanted to do, but, to do it?

"John! Please, I'm not getting any wiser in the ways of the common man."

"Sherlock, relax. You're too tense. You need to calm your mind enough to heighten your senses." Sherlock took a deep breath and complied.

"Okay."

John swallowed. What was he doing?

"Can you feel this?" John put a hand a centimeter away from the detective's face. A pause.

"Yes."

John was trembling.

"And this...?"

He leaned in and breathed in Sherlock's ear, just as he had done to him.

"Yes." Sherlock was simply answering questions, like a scientist, but there was a rawness to his voice that hadn't been there before.

It was that vulnerability that stilled John's trembling. He suddenly knew exactly what to do.

He pulled back and put his face as close to the detective's as he dared.

"And this...?" He whispered.

Sherlock's suddenly flushed lips parted slightly, and before John could talk himself out of it, he closed the gap.

AN: Sooo some of you may have noticed that I uploaded another story previously with the same title, and some of you seemed to like it. Once I got to school, my girlfriend told me she had read it, and commented that it had an uncharacteristic amount of grammatical errors, which I found extremely odd and, well... Uncharacteristic. I tried to brush it off, since I did write it from 5 pm to 1 am, but could not get it off my mind. And so, as soon as I got home (just a few minutes ago) I decided to read over my work to correct it.

I swear I almost shat my pants. I had accidentally uploaded an entire fanfiction I had literally copied and pasted onto my computer so I could take it with me and still be able to read it without wifi. Genius that I am, I had titled the two documents the exact same name. Letter for letter.

Who does that!

And so, dear reader, I am apologize most sincerely, and to the exceptional author who wrote the story I previously published under my netname, I am eternally embarrassed and sorry to no end! If you, reader, wish to find this author's story, simply go here: .net/s/7327362/1/Talking_to_myself. I highly recommend it! And send your Favorites over their way, not mine.

Hoping you like my actual story. (*Facepalm*)