"I think I love you."
Fact: n. Thing that is true.
The first of April, 7:08 pm. 221b Baker Street, London.
John looked up from his laptop and stopped typing. His eyebrows furrowed.
"What's that?" He asked, stretching his neck out a bit (as if that would help him hear any better).
"I am sure that at your age your hearing skills are adequate. You heard me."
Sherlock looked at his phone as his bare foot met the carpet with a soft plush. Truthfully, it made no noise at all. But the awkward silence in the room could make any noise audible- a pin dropping, one paper rustling, a doorknob turning. And then there was the fact that you must get used to even the quietest sounds in 221b in order not to be surprised when Sherlock entered the room. Or any room, for that matter.
John raised his finger from the keys of his laptop in order to say something but froze for a minute. He cocked his head and shook it, changing his mind. Back to typing.
Sherlock's slender body effortlessly (and silently) glided over to the table in front of him, the crew neck of his t-shirt hanging to the side under his dressing gown He leaned over, slightly. "Well?"
John looked up at him, face of stone. "Quit playing around, Sherlock."
Sherlock snapped his neck back, looking offended. "You think I'm joking? I am stating a fact."
John rolled his eyes and looked back at the screen. "Come on. You know I'm not…" he started typing again.
Sherlock glared at him. "What?"
John stopped typing again and looked up at his face. His cheeks felt hot and he let some air out between his teeth. "You know…I'm not gay."
Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he turned from the table, swinging the dressing gown with him. John glared.
"And neither are you. What's all this about then? Some new social experiment? I don't know if I can take any more of them." He watched the taller man continue into the kitchen.
Sherlock took the mug of tea John left for him and took the bag out. It had become a routine for them- John just always made it. Sherlock always took. He sipped it and walked back, past John and his laptop.
John sighed. "Seriously, Sherlock."
Sherlock turned around to face him, his expression inscrutable. "I am serious. And sexuality has nothing to do with it."
"Of course it does! You're…asexual, or whatever. 'Married to your work'?"
"No, it does not. And I never used the term 'asexual'. And it was...there was a distinct difference then. I share an affection for you that I don't have for anyone else, save for the obligatory care for dear Mycroft and Mother."
John laughed, less nervous. "Oh. I understand. Well I, err, care for you too, then." He looked back at the screen, cheeks burning again. It was unlike Sherlock to share feelings. He must have had a long night.
Sherlock kept standing, looking at him.
John looked up, this time shutting the laptop. Obviously, no work was going to get done. "What is it?"
Sherlock's head tilted to the side. "I don't think you understand what I said. That's not what I meant." He took another sip of the tea.
John looked confused. "Sherlock, what in the bloody- What are you even talking about? Are you feeling alright?"
Sherlock studied him for a minute, eyes darting back and forth from two unknown places on John's faces. He said nothing and turned on his heels towards his bedroom. The door latched particularly loudly. John rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and opened the laptop with another.
Sherlock didn't leave his room all day, save for once to use the bathroom and get some more tea. When John asked if he was going to eat anything, Sherlock didn't respond.