A/N: I was writing an essay on the Black Death (of all things), and for some reason, this came into my head, and I thought it would make a really good fic. I figured by now it would be clichéd, but when I searched, I couldn't find a SINGLE ONE within this fandom. How is there not a single fic on it, let alone clichéd by now?

Also, by this point, Khashana has written a sort-of-continuation on this story called The Normal Way. It's awesome and you all have to read it when you're finished reading this.

Well, here you have it. Cheesy and awful, but here it is.

"John?" Sherlock asks one day, after sitting quietly in his chair all day.

"Yeah, Sherlock?" John says, looking up from the Telly, showing some detective show that, by some odd phenomenon, Sherlock had not interrupted to correct.

"How does one define love, John?"

Taken aback by Sherlock's out-of-the-blue and odd (for Sherlock, at least) question, John stops to think.

"Well," he starts, "I suppose. . . . I. . . . I'm not quite sure."

He grabs his laptop from the table beside him, and opens it. He searches through his tabs, and when he doesn't find one containing a Google search, he opens a new one. 'Define Love' he types.

The responses that come up are many, but most are the same. The one straight from Google says, 'Noun: An intense feeling of affection. "The love they felt for their country."' 'Verb: A deep romantic or sexual attraction to (someone): "Do you love me?"' The results from the other websites are similar, if not exactly the same.

Some words appear to be a constant theme.

Affection.

Attraction.

Passion.

Tender.

Love.

Love.

Love.

"John?" Sherlock asks, and John snaps his head up in response.

He doesn't quite know what to say anymore. He had nearly forgotten he was trying to answer Sherlock's question. He had certainly forgotten completely about the telly.

"I- it says h- here," he starts, and he's stuttering and nervous suddenly, and he doesn't know why. He coughs, and tries starting again. "It says here love means affection. It says it means attraction, it's passionate, and it's tender, and it says that's what love is."

"What do you think love is, John?" Sherlock asks, not quite satisfied with the answer he received. "How do you define love?"

Again, John doesn't know how to respond. He had never really been in love before. There had been people in his life he had loved before, as there would be with any normal, mundane person like John thought of himself, but he had never been in love.

He thinks about it for a moment before he responds.

"I suppose love is . . . ," he starts, and he looks up and to the side slightly, staring off into space, "love is when there's someone in your life . . . and they're . . . they're special, and different. Love is when you're near someone, and you get butterflies in your stomach, and you're not sure why. Love is when all you want is to spend time with a person, no matter what you're doing. It's when someone is your whole life, and you don't care, and you like it."

John stops, and he thinks. After a while, he realises that he's still talking, but he doesn't know what he's saying. All he can think of is what love means to him.

And suddenly he's there, inside is head. He's all John can think about. John is explaining more and more what he thinks love is, and every time he says something, he thinks of something he did with Sherlock where he felt exactly that way, and Sherlock is consuming his thoughts and his entire head.

Sherlock is sitting, silently absorbing every last bit of information John is feeding him. Love is a new concept to him. Of course he has Mycroft and he has is mother and father, but Mycroft is, well, Mycroft, and they never got along, and he wasn't sure if they loved each other, even if they were siblings. And his mother and father never really cared about him. They worried about him, of course, but it was more that it was their responsibility to take care of him, and it was more of a burden than anything else.

But as the two sit there, they just think. John eventually goes quiet, but he's still thinking faster than he's used to, but he figures it's probably ten times slower than Sherlock usually thinks in that brilliant mind of his. He's thinking about love, and how he sees it, and he's thinking about Sherlock.

And that's when Doctor John Watson realises he's in love with Sherlock Holmes.

But it's all fine, because at that same exact moment in time is when Sherlock Holmes realises that those things he's been feeling, those strange, unfamiliar, delightful and yet frightening feelings he's been experiencing lately is love. Love for John Watson.

And suddenly, at the same time, they look up, and they catch each others' eyes, just for a moment, and something passes between them, and they both know. They know how they feel, and they know how the other feels.

And it's a bit very good.

A/N: Don't forget to review. I'll love you forever. You'll be my new best friend. And don't forget to go read Khashana's The Normal Way now, because I command you all to. Yes? Okay? Good. Glad we could come to that understanding! :D XD Love you all~!

Keep Writing. XD