Sherlock toyed with the trigger of his pistol, occasionally looking down to see John's face as he lay on the couch where Sherlock had set him after he had fallen. He played with the idea of lying beside John and seeing pleased then horrified look on John's face when he woke up.
"I have to take it slow," Sherlock thought to himself. Still, staring at John's peaceful face, it was hard to contain himself. When John had first come to live with him, Sherlock had been unsure of whether he could hold himself back. After a while, he had learned to conceal his feelings, thought they were raw and primal. He gulped, trying to stop the blush that was creeping up his neck, but it was hard. Soon his ears were so bright red, they looked like a clown's lipstick. Just then, John groaned in his sleep, causing Sherlock to shriek like a little girl and jump up from the couch. He quickly recovered and blushed even harder. This HAD to stop. Sherlock thought to himself. He breathed in once and exhaled, then quickly went into the bedroom to tidy up.
John woke with a groan. His head hurt and he was grumpy. He opened his eyes to see his small, fuzzy doppelganger sitting on his chest, staring at him with amber intensity that only a cat's eyes could hold. Just then, Sherlock popped his head into the room.
"Oh, there you are little Johnny!" Sherlock exclaimed as he strode across the room, grabbing the cat with one confident hand. Something about the way Sherlock said his name made John's heart beat faster.
Wait. What?