John was entirely unprepared for the awakening he received on that particular Sunday. This was not, in fact, courtesy of a certain high-functioning sociopath-this time- but rather the result of the intense light and the pounding headache that was a bit like being trapped in an elevator with a fully amplified heavy metal band.

After about five minutes of lying there hoping he was still dreaming, he actually managed to open his eyes for more than a millisecond. Wincing, he sat up, thinking bloody hell, how drunk did I GET last night? He thought back.

Darkened pub,music blasting from somewhere, trying to hit it off with some lovely young lady-Emma? Julia? Well, anyway she was lovely- A dark form appears behind her, says something slightly ruder than his usual less than charming remarks, and has her scampering for cover in moments. he turns to John, his beaming smile crumbling around the edges just barely perceptibly to John's well-trained eye. "Well John," Sherlock-for indeed it was he-interrupted this train of thought. "If you are quite finished reaffirming your masculinity-" " SHERlock!" "Then we can return to the flat."

"Fine, since you've successfully scared off anyone even remotely interesting"

"Oh, please, everyone there was boring. Saturday night, two weeks from Valentine's, everyone's hopeless, desperate and utterly ridiculous."

"She was NICE."

"Boring."

John thought for a moment. Her red hair had been nice...or was it brown? Oh, the hell with it.

"Yeah. Probably"

Sherlock steered John out of the pub and to the corner, where they hailed a cab and rode home in companionable silence.

As they headed up the stairs to 221B, John added, "But just once, Sherlock, I'd like to decide that for myself."

"Well then avoid doing so in my presence. There are a myriad of chemical experiments both far more relevant and far more likely to bring results then than the microscopic titch of chemistry there really WASNT between you and ms. Lennerts."

"LAWRENCE."

"And anyway, she was only talking to you to make her best friend jealous."

"How can you possibly...never mind. Don't tell me. You're Sherlock-bloody-Holmes. The better question here is WHY do you even care? I was just talking to her for a minute. Its not as though I was trying to seduce her or something."

"Oh please, you're a man, you're always trying to "seduce her or something" as you so eloquently put it."

"Says the one whose only sex life is the one my more..imaginative...blog fans write for you!"

"Oh, says the one who forgets his girlfriend's NAME!"

This was so very mature of them. John just couldn't resist now "Says the one who TOOK Irene Adler's PULSE instead of kissing her!"

"Oh, says the one who insists that he is straight even after three years of being in love with me."

All the breath leaves John in one great whoosh. "...What." John's face is so pale, the moon would be envious.

Sherlock has turned an unhealthy blotchy red. "I didn't mean to say that."

"But you said it. Why?"

"Because its true, obviously. I don't understand feelings, but love is pure chemicals and I am a genius. I mean, honestly, everyone takes one look at us and assumes we are romantically involved, beginning the DAY WE MET, they must have some basis for the belief. So I investigated. Your heart rate increases in my presence, as does your body temperature. You are constantly denying that we are a couple, to the point where it is unnecessary, and you have been unable to keep a girlfriend for more than a month for years."

"Sherlock. NO. You can't just do this to people. To ME. We are friends, and there are always, always boundaries about what you can and can't deduce, and you have just crossed every one of them. All right? Now, maybe you're a a tiny, tiny bit right, but even if you were it doesn't matter because you'll never feel the same, and there's absolutely no-"

John was silenced by a hand on his collar and a pair of lips pressed against his own.