This isn't really a song fic. I've never written one of those before. It's just based on this one little part of The Only Exception by Paramore (I've never actually heard the original, but the Glee cover version is one of my favourite songs ever). Whenever I listen to this song I just think about all my many OTPs, but when it gets to the line I've written at the start of the fic all I think about is Johnlock. So yeah, fanfiction had to be written.

I didn't want this to be smutty either, since all the Johnlock fics I've ever written have been smutty and I wanted some variety. You know, for those of you who enjoy a bit of shameless fluff.

Anyway, reviews would be lovely.

And I do not own Sherlock Holmes or John Watson or this song.

The Only Exception

Up until now I'd have sworn to myself
That I'm content with loneliness
Because none of it was ever worth the risk
You are the only exception

After what had happened with Irene Adler – the Woman – Sherlock Holmes was even surer in his conviction that love was nothing more than a dangerous disadvantage, that being led by one's heart instead of one's head was something only the very foolish did. It was one of the top five motivations for murder, after all. Attraction, desire, intimacy, sentiment – Sherlock knew that such feelings were for other people, nothing that someone as brilliant as him should ever have to deal with. And in thirty-odd years his body had yet to betray him. He had never felt anything even close to love for anybody. Well, almost anybody.

John Watson was the exception. John had reconnected Sherlock to the heart he had been ignoring for so long. Caring about John didn't feel quite as pointless and unnecessary as caring about other people did. Perhaps it was because the caring felt so very mutual. John didn't just put up with Sherlock like most people did; he genuinely cared. It was in all those small gestures, the little things like the morning cups of tea, John nagging him to eat more, and taking that deep 'patience of a saint' breath whenever Sherlock was acting particularly childish.

Sherlock had grown accustomed to John always being there for him. John got annoyed whenever Sherlock failed to noticed that he'd gone out and continued the conversation without him, but Sherlock didn't mean it to be offensive. He had just become so used to John's comforting presence around the flat that Sherlock could feel him there, right beside him, even when the doctor was on the other side of London.

John was the best friend that Sherlock had for so long insisted that he didn't need. But he did need John. And it wasn't just the little domestic things at home, but the big things, the frightening things. Sherlock found himself worrying about John. John was always so quick to protect the consulting detective, ever since that first case together when he'd saved Sherlock from the murderous cabbie. Ever since then Sherlock thought of John as safe and dependable and brave, and he always felt a sharp stab of panic and dread whenever it seemed as if John was in immediate danger during a case – a sharp stab that he tried his very best not let show on his face. And always the same thought would rush through his head – no, not John. What would I do without him?

Without him... Sherlock didn't want to think about it. There was no chance that he would ever make another friend like John. Yes, they bickered almost constantly and yes, John found him insufferable most of the time. But Sherlock needed him, more than he could even admit to himself. He had no time for caring, but John was the exception. The only exception.

Things were becoming different though, for Sherlock at least. It was like John had opened the detective's feelings floodgate, and emotions Sherlock hated to admit he was even capable of experiencing were suddenly reaching the surface. Mainly jealousy. One down from love on the top five motivations for murder.

Sherlock thought John was far too popular and likable for his own good. Women were always smiling at him and John, as wholesome and harmless as he appeared, was a shameless flirt. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure why it bothered him so much – actually no, he knew exactly why it bothered him. He just didn't want to say it, not even in his head. As good an actor as he was, Sherlock could never quite hide his distaste for John's girlfriends. They were always so dull and ordinary and completely unremarkable. What do you see in them, John? They're not exceptional or intelligent. They're not me.

Sherlock had taken to just deducing the wretched women out of the flat, casually pointing out that this one was still married and that one's nose wasn't real until they left in a huff.

"Why do you always have to do that?" John asked after yet another one of his dates had stormed out of 221B.

"Do what?" Sherlock said vaguely, not even looking up from his microscope. He was feeling particularly pleased with himself. He'd gotten rid of this woman in record time.

"Y'know," said John, throwing himself grumpily on his armchair. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you didn't want me to go out with anyone. I mean, every time – every bloody time. I find a nice woman, go on a few dates with her, and then the moment I make the mistake of bringing her back here you scare her away. I'd say you were doing it on purpose, but then you're like that with pretty much everybody."

Sherlock stayed silent, keeping his eyes on his experiment. As much as he saw no problem with casually getting rid of John's girlfriends, actually explaining his true motivations was an entirely different matter. It was easier to just let John assume than to tell him. John certainly didn't appreciate having his girlfriends constantly dump him because of his flatmate, but he never stayed angry for too long. And, until John found a dull new girlfriend, Sherlock had him all to himself.

It was mainly why Sherlock never corrected people when they mistook him and John for a couple. John would immediately insist that they were just friends, colleagues, flatmates, or anything but romantically involved. But Sherlock never said anything. At first it was because he didn't really care, but soon he just found it rather pleasant. Somewhere in the furthest corners of his mind palace, in a little room marked 'Feelings', he hoped that one day someone would refer to he and John as a couple and John wouldn't correct them, because it would be entirely accurate. Sherlock had never been and had never wanted to be romantically involved with anyone, although he'd had a surprising amount of people fall for him over the years, but John was the exception. The only exception.

But it was getting frustrating. Sherlock had always been happy alone. In his line of work he had seen relationships turn sour in the extreme – all the things some people did for love, jealousy, longing and heartache – and he was above all that. He was married to the work. Okay, so it was nice having a best friend, someone to rely on and occasionally have a laugh with. But love... no, Sherlock had no time for that. He kept telling himself over and over again – you don't need this. You don't need John in that way. You don't need all that intimacy nonsense. He just wished that his body would listen to that voice of reason in his head.

Sherlock found himself looking at John in an entirely different way. He'd started noticing things that were ultimately pointless in a deductive capacity, like the exact shade of blue his eyes were, the broadness of his shoulders, and the size of his hands. During uneventful evenings, where John was slowly typing away at his laptop and Sherlock was hunched over an experiment, Sherlock would look over at his flatmate and fight the sudden urge to go over and just... hold him. It was an urge that Sherlock had never felt before, that inexplicable need for closeness, to feel John's warmth, feel the doctor's pulse against his skin, maybe even feel John's lips against his own...

But Sherlock would push those feelings down, distract himself with work and experiments and cases. It was frustrating as hell, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to succumb to such a dismally human need. And he wasn't going to ruin his friendship with John. If he was being honest with himself, that was what he was really afraid of. What if he confessed all of this to John and was the feelings weren't mutual? It would make things awkward. Normally Sherlock had no concept of what made a situation awkward and he didn't care either way. But it was different with John. He didn't want anything to jeopardise what they had.

But still, that didn't stop his subconscious mind from torturing him constantly with images that could never happen. They were the simplest of things, but they still hurt. A tight embrace, a tender kiss, waking up in bed with John by his side – why is this suddenly all I want in the world? I was supposed to be above all this... what has John done to me? How has he made me so human without even trying?

Eventually – inevitably – the worst case scenario finally happened. John began to notice the slight change in Sherlock's behaviour. Sherlock was sure he had hidden his wretched feelings well, but there was a reason why he had grown so fond of John's company in the first placeand it was because, no matter what he said out loud, he knew that John wasn't an idiot. Nowhere near his own exceptional level of intelligence perhaps, but certainly not stupid.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

They were in between cases, and Sherlock was sprawled on the sofa in his pyjamas and second best dressing gown, reading a chemistry textbook in the hope that some cold, hard scientific facts might push out the unwanted thoughts about how handsome John looked in the shirt he was wearing today.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock replied, possibly a little bit too quickly to be convincing.

He kept his eyes firmly on the paragraph about soluble metals that he'd been failing to read for the past twenty minutes, as John sat himself down on his armchair.

"You've been acting a bit strange lately," said John. "Well, stranger than normal."

"Hmm," Sherlock tried to sound engrossed in his textbook. "How so?"

John sighed, like he wasn't sure where to begin. "When I brought that girl, Angela, over and you deduced her out of the flat as usual you seemed so pleased with yourself."

"Don't I always?"

"Well, yeah. But when I first introduced her, you gave her this look, like you wished nothing short of death upon her. And then, after you'd made her cry and rush out of the flat, you looked over the moon. It was harsh even by your standards."

Sherlock didn't say anything, but it felt as if his stomach was tying itself in knots.

"It's not just that though," John continued. "I've noticed the way you look at me sometimes. I mean, I'm used to that way you look at me when you're deducing me for some reason, and the way you look at me when you're lost in thought and I just happen to be in your eye line. But this is different. This is like... like you're gazing at me or something."

Sherlock hid his face with his textbook and stayed silent. Oh God, oh God, oh God...

"Sherlock," John said carefully. "Are you... I mean, do you... do you fancy me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Sherlock said immediately, trying to scoff as if it was the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

"Then why are you blushing right now?"

Sherlock mentally kicked himself. He had hoped that John wouldn't notice the sudden flush in his cheeks.

"Can we please change the subject?" he said defensively. "This absurd topic is becoming tedious."

John's silence only made Sherlock panic more. This was it, he thought. John – kind, caring, annoyingly heterosexual John – was going to let him down gently, and then their friendship will be tarnished by the awkwardness of Sherlock's stupid feelings, and then John will eventually have enough and move out, and Sherlock would be all alone again, and oh God.

"It's okay if you do. Fancy me, I mean."

Sherlock brought his textbook down on his chest, finally looking at John. "Excuse me?"

"I don't mind," he said with a little shrug. "I mean, if you actually fancy me. It's... fine. It's all fine."

John appeared to be blushing too, and he was staring quite determinedly at his hands. He was clearly uncomfortable, but not for the reasons that Sherlock had assumed he would be. Sherlock wished he had a better understanding of this sort of thing. Yes, he knew the science of attraction, the basic biology, but this was different and somehow more complicated.

It's all fine... John had said that when they'd first met and he was asking about girlfriends and boyfriends. Sherlock has assumed John was attempting to flirt with him but John insisted he wasn't... maybe that wasn't so true. Maybe Sherlock had been right the first time.

"So what if I did?" Sherlock suddenly asked. "Hypothetically speaking, if I did fancy you what would your reaction be?"

John's eyebrows furrowed. "Didn't I just say...?"

"No, but I mean how would you react exactly? What would change between us? Would it jeopardise our friendship?"

John took a moment to thinking about it, before he carefully said "It wouldn't jeopardise our friendship. Nothing would change if you didn't want it to. And I'd... I'd be flattered."

"Flattered?" Sherlock said slowly, giving John his full attention.

"Yeah. I mean, I'd be surprised, it's you after all."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock didn't intend to sound quite so offended.

"I just mean that it would be weird coming from you," said John. "Not in a bad way or anything, just... I wouldn't have thought you would feel that way about anyone, let alone me. Not your area and all that."

"But what if you were the exception?" Sherlock said before the rational part of his mind could stop him. He immediately wished he could take his words back.

John was silent for far too long and Sherlock couldn't bring himself to look, so afraid of what he might see on John face. He couldn't believe he was actually afraid.

"Oh my God," John finally whispered. "You do, don't you? You actually fancy me..."

"I never said that," Sherlock said quickly, hiding behind his textbook again.

"I'm the exception," John said with a slight chuckle.

"I was being hypothetical."

"No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was."

"Sherlock."

"Drop it, John."

"You don't just fancy me, do you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, and I also no longer care."

"Sherlock..."

"Why are we still having this ridiculous conversation?"

"...I love you too."

The chemistry textbook fell on the floor with a thud as Sherlock sat up with a start. "I'm sorry, what?"

John smiled as he stood up. "You heard me. Want some tea?"

He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on without another word, as Sherlock tried to process what on earth has just happened. John had just said he... no, he couldn't have. But Sherlock had heard correctly – he always heard correctly. But then that meant that John really did... wow. Sherlock stood up and made his way slowly to the kitchen, standing just behind John as he busied himself with mugs and teabags.

"I never said that I... I..." I love you, Sherlock continued in his head. For some reason he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.

"You didn't have to," John said without turning around. "I'm better at feelings than you are, remember?"

"But I thought you were... exclusively heterosexual?"

John shrugged with one shoulder, his good shoulder. Sherlock could tell from his voice that he was smiling.

"I guess you're the exception."

Sherlock could feel his heartbeat increasing and an unfamiliar swooping sensation in his stomach – butterflies, that's what people call that. He felt that strange urge to touch John again, but this time he didn't hold back. He moved closer and tentatively placed his hands on John's waist, pressing his body against John's back. Their height difference meant that John's hair was against Sherlock's nose, smelling like shampoo and the antiseptic scent of the surgery and something that was just John. Sherlock felt John sigh and lean into him, warm and comfortable and right.

John slowly turned in Sherlock's arms, his blue eyes bright as his hands rested against Sherlock's chest. There was a second where they just looked at each other before they closed the gap between them with a kiss. It wasn't Sherlock's first kiss – he'd experimented a few times purely to see what the fuss was about – but this was like nothing he had every felt before. Having John's lips against his own was even more exhilarating than he had ever imagined. He wanted to catalogue it all, remember every millisecond, create a whole new room in his mind palace just for this so he would never forget exactly what it felt like kissing John for the first time.

There would be more kisses though, lots more, so many that after two hundred and ninety-six Sherlock stopped counting. Attraction, desire, intimacy, sentiment, love – Sherlock had been sure that such feelings were for other people, for those who were nowhere near as exceptional as him, for the very foolish that let their hearts lead them instead of their heads.

But John Watson was the exception.

The only exception.

Hope you enjoyed, Humble Readers.

xxx