Delete

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in a very long time, so please be kind.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters (and whatever else I'm supposed to put in a disclaimer).

I didn't really know I loved you till you almost got eaten by those wild beasts today. Needless to say, we are never, ever going to the zoo again. Not in December, not in April, not in June. Never. The zoo is a horrible death trap. And it didn't help that you convinced that idiot of a zookeeper to let you into the cage to get a statement from the lions for your 'case'. I will most definitely be writing a strongly worded email to that man's supervisor. But I've gotten sidetracked. I love you – that's where I was going with that. I realized it as I stood there watching you run around the enclosure like a madman. I realized it as I slammed my fists against the glass to distract the felines from your bright red scarf trailing behind you. I realized it as you were guided out of the savannah-themed prison, shaking with terror and adrenalin. I love you, and I could kill you for being such an idiot.

Never again will I complain about your strange habits: the skull, the body parts in the freezer, the long hours of complete silence punctuated by loud swearing or random bits of song coming from your violin. I won't even get on to you about the smoking or occasional drug use. In fact, I might even join in if it means I get to spend more time with you. Just don't get yourself almost killed again. I'm not completely sure what I would do without you, but it wouldn't be pretty.

So here I am, giving you my heart, hoping you love me back. Please don't laugh (though I do love it when you laugh) or be awkward about this. Just tell me you love me, too.

All my love and then some,

John

John stared at the email on the screen. There. He had spilled his guts in what he hoped was a very romantic way to the man he had been working with for the last few years. Never in his life had he felt so brave and spontaneous. Too bad he was going to delete it before he could work up an ounce of real courage and send it to Sherlock. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, as he fantasized about a world in which he wasn't afraid of rejection and hurt. A world where he boldly clicked 'send' on all his emails and never looked back. Sherlock would come into the room with teary eyes and pull John to him in a tight embrace. He would whisper sweet nothings in his ear and tell him how happy he was when he read the email. How happy he was to love John and be loved back.

Brown eyes snapped open as the daydream shattered, only to be replaced by glaring reality. 'Stupid, stupid son-of-a-bitch. Wake up before you actually do something stupid.' John angrily grabbed the mouse and moved it around the screen vigorously (just to show it who's boss), then clicked. DELETE. Well, shit…

"John, we have a problem." Sherlock's voice came floating from the doorway, dangerously low. He was staring down at his phone in shock, scrolling up and then down and then up again.

John's eyes flicked between the other man and his computer screen, which held the evidence of his hand's rebellion against him. 'Message sent' shone back at him, and he swallowed and looked away for good. "What seems to be the problem,… friend?" Yes, that sounded sufficiently not romantic. This was not the reaction his dream-Sherlock had given him, but how could he be surprised?

"This is not good at all. This is horrible. What the hell were you thinking?!" Suddenly, the man in the doorway was yelling. "Of all the irresponsible, idiotic things you could do, you chose this?" He was advancing on John, and his eyes were lit with an anger that, frankly, scared the older man.

'Play it off. Pretend it's no big deal – just a joke.' John stood up (after surreptitiously turning off his monitor). "Come on, f-friend, what's all the fuss about. I thought it was funn-"

"I have told you time and time again to change your passwords on a bi-weekly basis! Security is imperative in this business. And now you've gone and gotten your email hacked! Who knows what information that bastard could have by now. Look at this ridiculous message he sent." The phone was thrust into John's hands, and pretending to read the message for the first time gave him the opportunity to collect his thoughts. Sherlock didn't hate him. He wasn't disgusted by John's feelings, just his lack of security precautions! Quickly changing his relieved sigh into a gasp of horror, the doctor lifted his eyes to Sherlock's with what he hoped was an extremely scandalized look.

"Who would write this? Just the idea that I would feel… about you… Ha! It is ridiculous." Sherlock's eye twitched for some reason, but the rest of his face remained as indignant as before. Grabbing the phone, he stalked toward the door, yelling "Fix it!" before disappearing into the hallway and presumably his room.

John sat down heavily and leaned back, closing his eyes. He had a lot of work to do – belatedly staging and fixing a hacking problem was a tough job, but it was better than the alternative. Slipping back into dream mode, John relaxed into Sherlock's warm, strong embrace. Someday. Someday he would be brave enough.