Normal and italics is John. Bold is Sherlock. Enjoy! Please read and review!
I'm not gay. Despite what the whole world seems to think, I'm not. But I never claimed to be 100% straight. There's this one man - the only man who ever mattered to me. He's my best friend and my flatmate and god help me but I love him. I love his body, his eyes, his cheekbones. I love his sexy voice and his smile. I love his brilliant mind. He is one of a kind. He is Sherlock Holmes.
I wake up one morning to find Sherlock in my bed, staring at me, his face - his lips - inches from mine. I move back in surprise, and he raises an eyebrow expectantly.
"What are you doing?!" I splutter
"Hmmm..." he replies, "interesting..." Then he springs off the bed and dashes into the front room. I follow him sleepily.
"What we're you doing in my bed?" I ask.
"Experiment. I needed you to be surprised."
He closes his eyes and enters his mind palace. I roll my own eyes and stumble into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
As I sat on the sofa, pretending to be in my mind palace, I hear John shuffle into the kitchen and then the quiet whistle of the kettle. I open my eyes and turn to look out of the window. As I had expected, John's heartrate had been elevated by my presence in his bed - though at this stage in the experiment it is impossible to tell if this is due to me personally or just from shock. I therefore decide to initiate stage two immediately.
Rising up from the sofa, I make my way through to where John is pouring his tea. Once he has put down everything containing boiling water, I lean past him to pick up a mug from the counter, purposely brushing my hand against his as I do so. I hear his breath catch in his throat.
"Sorry!" I say cheerfully before walking away with my mug. I turn to look at John who has half turned.
"Did you...did you do that on purpose...?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. I can see his pupils have dilated, just a little.
"Do what on purpose?" I feign confusion, then walk into my room with the mug and close the door.
I let out a shaky breath as I hear the door to Sherlock's room click quietly shut. I know that hadn't been an accident - he'd practically held my hand for gods sake! - but I didn't know why. Probably just another experiment but the look on his face...
If I didn't know better I'd say he had a crush on me.
But this is the illustrious Sherlock Holmes! Married to his work, and all that jazz. The very man who believed that sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side!
No way is it true. But I wish it was.
No doubt about it - John was 'excited' by my presence. So my hypothesis is correct.
But I hadn't anticipated this. As I stand in front of the mirror in my room I see my own pupils dilated, and when I take my pulse I find it to be elevated.
My mind deduces the only logical conclusion within seconds. I am in love with John Watson.
Every sociopathic cell in my body rejects this conclusion, but with each passing moment I am more certain it is true.
I storm out of my room to where John sits by his laptop at the kitchen table.
"Stand up," I command.
"Why?" he retorts.
"I need your help, with an experiment."
He sighs, but stands. "What do you need me to do?"
"Close your eyes." I order.
As I close my eyes I wonder where this is going. Then I feel Sherlock's hand slip into mine. My eyes involuntarily flicker open, but he covers them with his hand.
"Close them, John." I nod.
I feel him caress my cheek softly, and I find myself leaning in to his touch. My free hand moves forward, stroking up his arm until, it reaches his shoulder, his neck, his hair. I know I'm not in control, I know I shouldn't be doing this, but I don't care. I've waited so long for this that a pure carnal desire has reared its head in my mind and all I can think of is how I need his lips on mine. My body is tingling all over as I imagine what must, surely, be coming next.
"Open your eyes, John," he whispers in my ear, and I do so. Only to find his eyes right in front of mine - deep and beautiful, pupils black with desire. He bends ever so slightly, so our lips almost touch, and the tension is almost killing me. Can't he see how much I want this, how much I need this?
Then he pulls away and walks to the front room.
"Well?" I demand, following him, "what could you possibly have learned from that?"
"That you, John Watson, are in love with me." He turns to look at me and I freeze, his gaze pinning me helplessly in place. He takes a hesitant step forward, then another, until he is mere centimetres from me. I swallow and nervously lick my bottom lip. I can feel my heart racing in my chest. His hand slips behind my neck and pulls me close to him, his lips barely brushing against mine.
"We can't go back from this, John," he whispers hoarsely. I almost groan as I feel his lips move.
"I won't want to," I murmur, and he pulls back a little and smiles shyly.
Then he closes the gap between us and I forget about everything else for a beautifully long time.