"Oh my, here we go again… Ok, John. Don't look. Just walk to the kitchen and get that hot chocolate. I said don't look…don't… You're looking! Oh god, that's just unfair!"
John Watson found himself in a desperate situation. He had been lusting after his flat-mate for about five months now; almost as long as he had known the man. There was something so charismatic and unique about Sherlock Holmes, that had immediately drawn Johns attention. And after living and solving crimes with this brilliant man, John was soon forced to admit himself, that he was actually falling in love with him. It wasn't such a shock really; he had always had "a thing" for strong-minded and brave individuals (be it men or women). Still, he hoped that he didn't, because the relationships with these kinds of people always seemed to end up in tears.
He had tried to break his pattern by taking Sarah out, had tried to convince himself that he was perfectly happy with a "normal" person. But after a while he had noticed that Sarah was just a little too "normal" or even "boring" for him. He felt terrible for thinking like this, but in the end he had to be honest with himself and leave Sarah. She had not taken it well, and after two hellish weeks at work, John had to quit his job. He just couldn't take the evil looks from his co-workers and the nurses, who all were (more or less) on her side, not his. One Tuesday, an old lady had called him "an ungrateful, sexist idiot" and insisted another doctor. That had been the last straw for John, who had immediately marched to the office and told his boss that he wanted to quit. No one seemed sorry about that, and so he left, feeling even more worthless than before.
And now, some weeks later, he was still unemployed und quite depressed too. He just didn't feel like searching for a new job yet, and also he doubted he could get one anyway. (How could he possibly go into an interview to tell why he was better than all the other applicants, when he didn't even believe it himself?) So, for now, he was staying home. He still had some savings in his bank-account, and also he had a little money-aid every month for his leg. (Which was humiliating, and he never talked about it, but at least it was useful in his current situation.)
It was a very early morning, 4.37 am. according to his alarm clock, and John had woken up after yet another nightmare. He couldn't fall asleep anymore and after tossing and turning in his bed, he finally decided to go downstairs and have a cup of hot chocolate before trying again. He walked down the stairs. It was very quiet. "Sherlock must have finally fallen asleep" he thought, making his way towards the kitchen door. He tried to open it, but it didn't open, something was blocking the door from the inside. "Oh great!" he thought, "Now I have to go through the living-room!" He walked to the living-room door as silently as he could. The last thing he wanted was Sherlock to wake up and start with his bloody violin. He stopped at the door and looked around the messy room. It looked chaotic in the dim light of a bedside lamp that Sherlock had forgotten to shut off. "I am not going to clean this up, that's for sure." John thought and turned towards the sofa, thinking to shut off the bedside lamp. That's when he noticed Sherlock. And that's when all his rational thinking flew out of the window.
Sherlock was lying on the sofa, on his back, with no shirt on. His right hand hang lay on his stomach, while the left one hang limb over the edge of the sofa, the fingers still holding loosely on some paperwork. (Apparently, Sherlock had once again fallen asleep in the middle of his work.) His long legs were bent at the knees and propped up against the other end of the sofa, giving John a quite good view of the curve of the young detectives ass…
"Oh my, here we go again… Ok, John. Don't look. Just walk to the kitchen and get that hot chocolate. I said don't look…don't… You're looking! Oh Christ, that's just unfair!" Sherlock grunted something with a low voice and shifted in his sleep, arching his back slightly and offering John a glimpse of the tight muscles under the skin of his flat stomach. John swallowed, trying to convince himself that going to the kitchen was more important than staying here and drooling over his gorgeous flat-mate. His mind was screaming at him to leave the room, but John was fixated by the way Sherlocks chest rose and fell when he breathed, and he just couldn't stop admiring the young detectives skin: It was so perfect and looked soft as silk…
Suddenly, a phone in the floor started ringing. John jumped at least two meters in the air and rushed to the dark stairway as fast and as silently as he could. He started creeping up the stairs, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't hear him. He heard the detective cursing under his breath and answering the phone with a very angry "What?". John reached his room and lay down on his bed, listening to the voice of his flat-mate and trying to ignore the painful arousal his friend had just moments ago unknowingly given to him. "No." He heard Sherlocks voice from downstairs "I am not Mr. Donovan Blatched. No I haven't ordered 200 red roses." There was a slight pause in the conversation, then: "Miss! I hate to interrupt you, but you have an entirely wrong continent! That's right, my name is Holmes, not Blatched, and I live in UK, not US. Now if you excuse me, I'd like to ask you to FUCK OFF and let me sleep!" There was a loud crash, as the phone was apparently thrown at the wall and then silent curses as Sherlock made his way to his bedroom. After a moment, the violin started downstairs, but for the first time, John didn't mind. At least Sherlock couldn't now hear what John was doing upstairs…
A/N: My very first Sherlock-fic. Please comment! ^_^