Sherlock sat on the couch, contemplating a variety of things. He we poised in a thoughtful position, with his legs crossed underneath him and his hands folded in his lap. His gaze was fixated upon the floor, but he wasn't really aware of it. It was a bit chilly in the apartment, due to the fact that Christmastime was almost upon him and his flatmate, John. At least, that's all Sherlock knew that John thought of him as. Sherlock knew that he had been attracted to John for some time now, but there was nothing he could do about that. Hell, he was reminded almost every single day by John's incessant flirting with other women.
No, he needed a distraction. Sherlock lifted himself from the couch and went over to the window to look down onto the dreary English street. There was a blanket of snow covering the sidewalks and alleyways and a sheet of ice on the roads. Winter was indeed a beautiful and frustrating thing. He placed his long and delicate forefinger on his chin, contemplating how his life would be like the changing of fall into winter, becoming bleaker with every moment.
Sherlock watched a taxi pull up next to the sidewalk and park. His cool eyes saw the door nearest the building open and a man step out of the vehicle. This was, of course, one Mr. John Watson. Who else would it be? No one ever came around the apartment anymore, except investigators and Jehovah's Witnesses. Of course, Sherlock was ecstatic that John was back.
But oh, no, he couldn't express it.
What would John think of him if he did?
Sherlock heard footsteps in the hallway and calmed his nerves. There was no reason to be excited over something as trivial as a person arriving at a location. Of course, he couldn't help feeling the adrenaline kick in when John called from the kitchen.
"Sherlock? Are you there?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, John, I'm here," Sherlock replied, not moving from his spot at the window. Sherlock heard footsteps approach behind him, but didn't dare to turn around. He heard them pause for a moment in what seemed to be the spot right behind him and then continue over to the couch, to sit down, presumably, and to blog about today.
After a moment of silence, Sherlock turned around to face John. He could only see the back of his head, but God, even his hair looked perfect. He wasn't sure that he was making the right decision, but Sherlock walked over and sat down next to John Watson and turned to observe him.
John was concentrated on his laptop screen, as per usual. Sherlock was only allowed to glimpse upon the profile of him, but it was a wonderful one indeed. He was typing very intently, extremely concentrated on writing down all of his thoughts before they left him for good. Sherlock noticed that there was a bowl of strawberries on the coffee table, for John to munch on while he was typing. There was also a pile of napkins next to it. Since it was almost Christmas, there was also a mug of hot chocolate.
"Fascinating…" Sherlock mumbled as he watch John type.
"What is it, Sherlock?" John asked.
"It amazes me how you can focus so intently on one thing. How exactly do you do it?"
John laughed a breathy laugh.
"Well, not all of us have minds like yours, Sherlock. Some of us only have one thing we're really good at…" John seemed to deflate a little bit after that, but he puffed himself up immediately. "Mine just happens to be internet blogging."
"Interesting…" Sherlock trailed off. He looked into the fire that was blazing in the fireplace and thought about this concept. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and noticed that John had picked up a strawberry to munch on. He had always seemed to enjoy those strawberries.
John put the green leafy top onto a stray napkin and continued to type. He then paused for a moment and ran a hand through his hair. Sherlock was stunned at how many emotions could overtake him at one time. He watched the muscles in John's arm move and the way his hair ruffled backwards and listened to the little sigh he let out. Sherlock felt the slightest bit of color rise to his cheeks when he saw John glance at him before going back to his laptop. Little did he know, John was doing all of this on purpose. He wanted Sherlock to be overtaken by him. John wanted Sherlock to feel these emotions. For the fact was, John was as obsessed with Sherlock as Sherlock was with him. But oh no, John couldn't just tell Sherlock. That would ruin the story.
Thus, the two of them sat, entangled in their own emotions. John tried to break the tension again by eating another strawberry. Unfortunately (but not really), John missed his mouth, causing the strawberry to half-burst on his lip.
"Gah…" John scoffed. "Sherlock, could you hand me a napkin?"
"Sure," Sherlock said as he picked one up. He leaned over to John and carefully wiped away the strawberry juice on his lip. John stiffened to the closeness of Sherlock, due to the fact that he had no idea what he was supposed to do now or how he was supposed to react. Sherlock focused intensely on John's lip, hoping that his now raging hormones would keep calm for one damn minute so he could do this.
"Sherlock…" John whispered. Sherlock looked up.
What he had the advantage of looking into were John's abyss-like eyes, giving Sherlock an all-too-open access point into his thoughts, his mind, his soul. God, sometimes he could read him like an open book. Of course, Sherlock's mind was overtaken at the moment.
The only thing that could do this to him was John.
Not even drugs could do this to him.
It was all natural.
And it was all John.
There was no way he couldn't have him.
Sherlock then did the only logical thing he could think of: he kissed John. He dropped the napkin and wrapped his hand around the back of John's head and kissed him. John responded with as much vigor as he could muster, but no amount of physical response could truly express how long he had been infatuated with Sherlock.
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and attempted to pull him in closer than he already was. They stayed like that, intertwined for the next minute or so, finally expressing all of their pent-up feelings for one another.
Finally, Sherlock pulled back, feeling content with what he had done. He rested his forehead on John's and shut his eyes, reveling in the perfect moment.
"Sherlock?" John whispered to him.
"Yes?" Sherlock replied.
"Merry Christmas," John said with a smile. Sherlock pecked him on the lips once more.
"Merry Christmas, my love."