This is a tiny experiment of mine, because I got bored and read some Johnlock. When I had finished with the brainbleach I decided to experiment some for myself. (I didn't need the brainbleach because of the pairing, because I can really see where that comes from, though I am not really a shipper, and I honestly wouldn't judge anyway, but some interpretations were truly the proof that the back-button is really your friend - if you can just hit it fast enough...)
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Enjoy!
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It was really in the little things, the proof. John watched Sherlock pace about, from where he was sat in his armchair with a book, and couldn't hold back a fond smile. They had become a couple shortly after Sherlock had returned from the fall - so soon in fact that his bruises from the punch John had given him after reappearing at Baker Street as if he had never been gone hadn't entirely faded.
Things were back to the same and yet better than ever. And John kept noticing all the - glorious - little details that truly showed how much Sherlock loved him, like he had adored the other man for ages.
Sherlock hadn't called him an idiot since the night he got back. He said please and thank you. Sparingly, granted, but at the very least he had learnt the words. He apologised if he hurt him. He dressed in the shirts John preferred almost exclusively. He had even apologised to Lestrade for being unusually obnoxious and rude at John's insistence. And he could spend hours absentmindedly rubbing John's back.
John had moved into Sherlock's bedroom when he had "died", crying into his sheets until they no longer smelled a bit like him, and they shared it now, having instead set up the spare bedroom as a mini laboratory, so that John got to keep his kitchen in the more normal setting he had used it for the past few years.
John moved to the couch after Sherlock had flipped onto it, and immediately found himself cuddled up in six foot of consulting detective as he read. He sighed in pleasure at the slowly stroking hand up and down his back, but he knew better, these days, than reciprocating. He had found, during the first few weeks of their relationship, that Sherlock did not enjoy touch. It worried him, in fact it worried him a lot, but what could he do about it?
Sherlock didn't generally enjoy being touched in any form, he knew that. Most people he preferred watching from a fair space, though he tolerated Lestrade and Molly to touch his shoulder or arm, and to John's knowledge never had minded Mrs Hudson's mothering or hugs in the least. He had never objected to the occasional, casual touch from John before either, didn't now, in fact, and he seemed to enjoy kissing, was certainly seeming to relish doing the touching, but anything beyond the casual or simply fond, was distinctly off limits when John did it. Even just a stroking motion across his back would get the genius to tense up and - which was frankly alarming - politely extract himself.
John was alarmed, and the genius must have noticed, but what could he do? Sherlock wouldn't discuss it, and John was afraid to force the issue. He didn't want to spoil all the lovely things he had, so he suffered in silence, grasping his book hard to fight the temptation. He was in heaven, but it was hell.
