There was something in John's eyes, something Sherlock could not place in the context of John's face. An expression he had never seen before. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone again and the next thing Sherlock knew there was only fury in his friend's face and a fist hurtling towards his.
This was nothing like the punch outside of Irene Adler's. Even though John had been annoyed at him, he had been gentle. He had never known John to actually want to hurt him but this, this was different.
Sherlock fell hard onto his backside and looked up into the still furious eyes of his shorter friend. John had yet to say a word but Sherlock could tell by the way he was trying to control his ragged breathing, that he was about to.
John roughly grabbed his collar and reared back his fist again. As he bashed his fist again into the detective's face he shouted the words "YOU MADE ME WATCH!" Sherlock hung like a ragdoll from Johns left hand both of them breathing raggedly now. With his head down and his shoulders slumping now John whispered, "You sick bastard…you made me watch…I watched you die…" He let go and began to walk away. He turned back once, obviously about to say something but instead he just turned and walked away.
Sherlock could only sit there. He had not been able to say a word. There had been few instances in his lifetime where this had been true. He could not understand. There had been countless instances where he had annoyed the piss out of John, put him in danger, ruined his relations with women, but John had always forgiven him. He knew from watching him, that John had been broken up over his death, but he expected him to be happy, elated that he had come back. He had even been most excited to see John again. With all his deducing power he could not understand why John was so upset. He touched his face where he could feel bruises quickly forming, and slowly walked to Baker Street. He hoped John would be there. He would need his help solving this puzzle.
John had been hitting the pavement for hours when he finally returned home to Baker Street. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he did not notice the lights coming from his flat, or the violin music playing a sad tune as he trudged up the stairs. These past months he had imagined these things and all of Sherlock's little annoying habits; heads in the fridge, eyeballs in the microwave, any sign that meant that he wasn't dead. That he had faked it. And here he was, his best friend and arisen from the dead. He had played the worst prank imaginable on him and of course he hadn't understood what that meant. Sherlock could never have known that he had broken his heart. The heart was the only part of the human body that Sherlock could not understand. He walked through the door, still not noticing his surroundings. He sunk onto the couch with his head in his hands.
Sherlock did not turn to speak, but he set down the violin where it had been sitting like a shrine on the table. "You had to watch John…so that you believed."
John didn't look up from his hands. "You are a sick bastard. You needed be to believe it so when you came back you could tell me the trick. Clever Sherlock Holmes, a mile ahead of all the rest, 2 miles ahead of poor John Watson. You needed me to watch to make the trick that much better."
"No. It wasn't like that." He turned now but John wouldn't look up. "I needed you to believe so that you and everyone else I care about was safe. Moriarty would have killed everyone John and you were the only one that could convince everyone that I had really died but only if you believed it."
"I know, but…"
"But what?"
John was standing now and he moved toward the detective slowly, "How could you have done that to me! With all your powers of deduction how could you not see that what you did would hurt me the most?"
Before Sherlock could reply, John had grabbed both sides of his collar and was pulling Sherlock's lips down onto his own. Without thinking Sherlock dropped to his knees so that John was standing over him, lips still locked on to his. The pressure should have been painful on his bruised face but Sherlock didn't notice. His mind was blank the way only John could make it. All he could feel was the warmth of this man's lips and the only thought in his head, John.
He had lost all track of time when john finally pulled back, breathing heavily. It must have been a long time.
"I'm sorry if that hurt." John said gingerly touching the side of Sherlock's bruised face.
Sherlock knew he wasn't referring to earlier. "You beat the piss out of me this morning and you apologize for kissing me too hard?"
"You deserved that." John whispered, cracking into a smile. "I am sorry for that too though. But I shouldn't have kissed you I just…I promised myself, actually, I made a deal with God that if you came back to me I'd tell you what I had been putting off, waiting for a good time or a sign that you would reciprocate."
"Oh yeah? And what is that?"
John rolled his eyes. "Idiot"
Sherlock was still on his knees looking up into the shorter man's face. "It seems to me John, that the deal you made, was that you had to tell me."
"So I have to watch you die and on top of that, you are making me spell out that I love you? You are a cruel man Sherlock Holmes." John smiled.
"Not spell it," Sherlock retorted cheekily.
"No Sherlock, not that face. You are not allowed to make that face." John's face was turning red as Sherlock continued staring into his eyes with that playful smirk on his face. Sherlock was noticing that the mans body was between his legs the way he was kneeling and when he brought his gaze back to John's he could tell that the man was also thinking about their close proximity.
"So?" John said.
"So what?"
"You don't have anything to say that you are just going to let that hang in the air and—"
"Oh yes. Of course completely slipped my mind." Sherlock pantomimed a face palm as he said the words, cutting John off and pulling him down so that he could kiss the very surprised man. This time it was Sherlock's hands bunched up in the other mans collar. And his lips pressing down on John's.
After the initial shock John closed his eyes and relaxed into the kiss, letting Sherlock take full control this time. His mind was spinning. He had been waiting so long for this, and then he thought he would never get the chance, and then this morning he thought he would never be able to look at the beautiful detectives face again after what he had done. Now there were these warm lips on his. Lips he couldn't help but watch when they uttered the most brilliant things he had ever heard, or when they curled up on one side in a lop-sided smirk. The way they grew tight when he laughed, like when he had shown up in a sheet to Buckingham palace, and when Mycroft had pulled off the sheet—oh—.
John pushed back, breaking the connection between them. He was panting now, his face entirely red. Sherlock scanned his face reading all of the little clues. John avoided meeting his eyes. Everything about his posture showed he was feeling guilty about something. He was trying hard not to but his eyes would dart from the floor to Sherlock's body, to the floor again.
"Buckingham Palace" Sherlock whispered and, if possible, John turned a darker shade of red. "Well isn't that fun."
John tried to avoid the knowing look Sherlock was directing at him. He tried to change the subject by asking what he had been thinking about since Sherlock had accepted and even seemed to enjoy that first kiss. "Did you know all this time then?"
Sherlock thought about it for a minute. If John had taught him anything in their short time together it was that he should think before he speaks. "I had my suspicions about you early on but I thought I might have been wrong since you seemed so against it. I probably should have taken you being so adamant about preferring women as a clue. You were so vocal about not being gay."
"Well up until recently I wasn't." John trailed off and Sherlock traced Johns gaze down his own body again. Before John quickly met his eyes as if he had silently been ordered 'eyes front soldier!'
"And about myself," Sherlock continued, noticing the glint in John's eye, "This is an area I'm not very good in. I can understand the science of attraction but I have never been victim to it. I usually find it tedious." He watched John's face drop. The poor man looked as if he had been slapped in the face. "It wasn't until Moriarty said he would kill everyone I cared about that I realized it. All I could think of was you John. You were the only thing in my head, on my lips. And then I saw you at my grave. I saw the way you mourned, the way you hurt, and it made me feel like there was nothing in me anymore. I guess that is how people feel when they are 'heartbroken'."
"Sherlock do you—?"
"I'm not sure I understand 'love' entirely. I have never been one to have a lot of fuzzy feelings for other people, but I do know I care about you deeply and if I love the people who I am close with, Mrs. Hudson, my brother, Molly, Lestrade then I love you more than all the others." Sherlock had barely finished speaking when John through his arms around his neck with all the force of his body weight sending them both crashing to the ground. Both men laughed, their arms and legs were all tangled together, lying there on the floor.
After a few moments of comfortable silence Sherlock asked, "Don't you want to know how I did?"
"Don't," John replied his whole body tensing.
"But aren't you curious?" Sherlock asked incredulously.
"No. You broke my heart when you did it. It doesn't matter how you did it. Prove you love me by not telling me. Prove you didn't make me watch you just to improve the trick."
Sherlock was satisfied with this explanation, he kissed John briefly on the lips and murmured, "Then you shall never know, if that is what you want."
John relaxed again, putting his had back in the crook of the detective's neck. "Sherlock."
"Hmm?"
"Than you for coming back."
"Anytime John. For you, anytime…"