Sherlock sat in his armchair stunned, and quiet confused. The voice of this John Watson still fresh in his mind, and his appearance made Sherlock's heart thump loudly. Sherlock hated it.

He didn't know who this person was, or how he could hear and see what the other person was seeing, but he didn't care. He wanted John Watson out of his head. All he did was make him look like a fool, and give Sherlock a migraine.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there lost in his thoughts, because apparently John had found his way back into Sherlock's mind. Apparently John had gotten the whole getting into Sherlock's head, and yet Sherlock didn't know how he did it.

"Hello? Sherlock?" He heard. Sherlock could only describe the connection as a fuzzy feeling in the back of his head, making him feel like someone was in his space. His vision began to blur, a different scenery overlapping his sight.

There was Sherlock's living room one minute, and the next it was as though he were in a small room, laying on a bed. It was dark, lamplight streaming in from the streets.

"Hello John," he simply replied dryly as he tried to concentrate on one of the scenery's.

"Catch you at a bad time?" John asked, his voice was like soft, and he was breathing kind of hard.

"No." Sherlock replied vaguely. He heard John clear his throat, and inhaled sharply. The smell of flowers and sweat filling his senses, making him hold his breath.

"What is that smell?" Sherlock asked, his nose scrunched up at the smell.

"What do you mean?" John questioned, he was beginning to whisper. Sherlock saw John bring his arm up to his nose, smelling the skin beneath it. He also saw John get up, eyes on the floor so he wouldn't trip as he walked out of what was the bedroom. The walls were bare, just egg shelled colored. John flopped onto a stiff couch, the only furniture in the living room.

"You smell like flowers and sweat..." The smell filled Sherlock's nose again, the flower smell not so strong this time. "You engaged in sexual activities didn't you?" He asked, voice low.

"Oh...Yes. I did...Sorry if I smell bad." John apologized, making Sherlock clear his throat this time.

"No..No, its quite alright." He said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Do you feel uncomfortable?" John asked, and Sherlock looked down at his lap. He was in his nightgown, gray shirt, and sweats.

"Sex does not alarm me." He answered. Granted he was a virgin, but some cases called for him to use his sex appeal, which always worked. Sherlock knew he was attractive, and he knew that he could use his looks to get what he wants, which was always information.

"Thinking back to all the times I have had...an "episode"...I have never seen a female with you. Nor a male. Then again I always thought whatever this is, was a dream...And now that I know its not," John stopped, because he didn't know how he felt. Hell, he didn't even know Sherlock that well. "Anyways," John whispered," I'll leave you be...I have to be at work early in the morning."

Sherlock felt the fuzziness in the back of his head begin to fade away, and though he should be glad, he didn't know how to feel besides loneliness.

"Wait!" He finally said, before John's presence had left him. "Would you like to talk again tomorrow?" He asked, giving himself a weird look. Sherlock Holmes never asked to speak to people more than once, especially if it was a person who held no valuable knowledge. Yet, John Watson could come into his head at any time, and make him see things that would drive him crazy. John Watson could make his senses go haywire, and made his experiments more interesting.

"Why yes, I would enjoy continuing our conversation tomorrow." John's voice was slow as though he were trying not to fall asleep, making Sherlock curse himself for thinking it was cute.

Sherlock cleared his throat again, " Right. Well then goodnight...John." He said awkwardly, not knowing if that was a good way to end the conversation.

"Goodnight Sherlock." John replied. And the fuzzy feeling faded away, leaving Sherlock alone in his livingroom. How they could just do that had Sherlock stumped, and it made his blood boil.

OoooooooO

They spoke again the next day while John was on his break, and this time they asked many questions. Sherlock was determined to get as much information from the man as he could, his experiment needed the information. He had nothing better to do anyways, his latest experiment was in the oven. Sherlock spoke of his detective work, and John spoke of being a doctor in the army. They both learned that they were residing in London, and not far from each other also.

Sherlock was sprawled out on his couch, staring at the ceiling above him. John chuckled, commenting on how Sherlock should give him a tour of his home, to which Sherlock ignored.

"Do you like the cold," Sherlock asked, quite suddenly. Making John stop eating his sandwich, his body shivering at the thought of snow.

"Not really, bad childhood experience with it.." He answered, mouth somewhat full with ham and cheese.

"Bad sledding accident huh?" Sherlock said, making the other nearly choke on his food.

"How did you-? No wait, dumb question. Yes," he continued," I had a bad sledding accident...Got 12 stitches on my head, and never wanted to go sledding again."

Sherlock sighed," I remember that the most because it was the first time that I saw something like that…" He closed his eyes momentarily, bringing his hands together under his chin as though he were praying.

"Sherlock, can I see you?" John asked, " I mean...You've seen me, I mean you've seen my face. I have no idea what you look like though, so can I? Can I see you now?" Sherlock didn't have any problem with showing John what he looked like, yet for some odd reason he felt self conscious about it. He worried that John would think he was too pale, too tall, too intimidating. Hell, just too much.

"Sherlock?" John repeated after a few passing moments of silence.

"Right." He muttered to himself, pulling himself up from his laying position. He made walked to the bathroom that was down the hall, stopping in front of the shut door. "Do I have to?" He asked, making John chuckle.

"No, but just to make sure you're not some wart covered weirdo, I would like you to." He teased, making Sherlock crack a smile.

"Let's just hope you won't think I look like one. People seem to be intimidated by my looks..." And with that Sherlock reached for the doorknob, pushing the door open and flicking the light on. He walked toward the mirror above the sink, and slowly settled his eyes on his face in the reflection.

His hair was a mess of dark curls atop his head, his ocean blue eyes standing out against his pale skin. His prominent cheekbones were his most attractive feature, along with his strong chin.

"Wow." John finally said, making Sherlock knit his eyebrows together in confusion.

"What?" He asked. John by now was no longer eating, and was staring in awe at the man in his sight.

"You...You are beautiful." John said without thinking, catching Sherlock by surprise.

"Beautiful?" Sherlock asked, his cheeks flushing a bit. He has never been called beautiful before, and he was sure men weren't suppose to be called that.

John couldn't believe he just called another man beautiful. And he sat there internally cursing himself for saying that out loud.

"Weird to say to a man right?" John felt his ears burn with embarrassment," but its true. You are very attractive." John admitted.

"Oh. Well." Sherlock cleared his throat. "Thank you, for the compliment." Sherlock glanced away from his reflection, and down to his sink. He saw a needle laying there near the soap bar, and reached to put it away.

He heard John gasp, stopping his movement automatically. Sherlock didn't care if John saw the needle, he could lie saying it was for an experiment, or come clean and say he was a drug addict. It didn't really matter to him, since it was his own business.

"Sherlock, why do you have a needle?" John asked, but Sherlock knew he already knew the answer.

"John, I know you already know why." He answered back simply.

"But I want to hear you say it." John pushed. Sherlock could hear John's voice begin to be a bit tense. "I'm a doctor Sherlock, and I know a dirty needle when I see one..."

"What I do with my body is none of your business, if you were in my place, you would do drugs too for some peace and quiet." John lost his appetite, his sandwich just sitting in front of him, half eaten.

"That is true. But the last time I saw a needle was when I was in Afghanistan. And it's how I was shot." John was speaking through clenched teeth. Sherlock's blood ran cold, and his eyes were big.

"John. You did drugs while serving?" Sherlock sounded shocked, and John scoffed.

"No you twit. For an apparent genius you are very dumb sometimes." John joked, though it sounded forced," It seems while you were getting high, I was getting shot at. Resulting in me being affected, and me actually getting shot."

"John...I...I am sorry..." Sherlock stammered, and John knew then he couldn't get over something from so long ago.

"Its okay...it's just now you know your habit affects me too. Except I can pass a piss test, and you wouldn't." John joked, trying to ease the tension he caused. Yet he could sense that he dropped a bomb onto Sherlock, as though he were blaming him. But John didn't, he didn't blame Sherlock.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair, John feeling the softness of the curls, shivering slightly at the touch. They were like one, being able to feel, smell, hear, and see what the other does. And sometimes it was a burden.

"John." Sherlock began, "would you like to meet each other? I would like to apologize to you face to face.." His voice was above a whisper, and yet in John's head he could hear it as loud as though he were speaking clearly.

"That would be nice, we could have tea."

OoooooooO

Sherlock waited impatiently for John to show up at their meeting spot. They had a greed to meet up at a restaurant called Angelo's, which wasn't far from where John was working. While Sherlock sat there looking out of the window every now and then, he couldn't help but feel as though John weren't going to show up. He was reaching for his coat behind his chair, when he saw a small figure come into the restaurant, limping and holding onto a cane.

Sherlock stared at John's cane for a bit too long, his thoughts all blaming him for causing this mans pain.

"Sherlock, I told you. It wasn't your fault. You didn't know that it would affect me." John had repeated more than once whenever he noticed Sherlock's eyes on his cane or his left hand.

"It might as well have been." Sherlock spat back, his blue eyes full of annoyance. It only made John chuckle, and smile widely at the man across from him. Sherlock knew he didn't deserve this man's smiles, and or his laughter.

As they talked more, John learned that Sherlock saw John trying to save lives, and saw people die in front of him from being shot, blown up, and even stabbed. John felt what Sherlock felt when he was sent away to a mental hospital.

"It was like I was underwater…My mind fuzzy, and not all there." John described, taking a sip of water from his glass.

"Must have been all the drugs I was taking...And let me tell you, there were a lot." Sherlock added, his eyes looking at John's lips as they touched the glass.

Sherlock was categorizing everything John was doing. The way he smelled, the way he licked his lips every now and then, just everything John did, Sherlock captured it all.

OooooooooO

John never knew when he fell in love with Sherlock, but he did. Maybe it was after helping kill a serial murderer, or after he moved into the same flat with the other male, but John Watson fell in love. And, Sherlock found out not too long after. After all, they basically shared their emotions with each other, so who wouldn't notice John's heart thumping loudly in his ears whenever Sherlock was near him.

But, who would have thought serving someone tea would give away your feelings for another person, but then again it was Sherlock Holmes they were talking about. Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"When did you fall in love with me?" He asked as John set his tea in front of him, shock plastered onto his face. Sherlock held his violin against his chest, playing the instrument with his fingers.

"What?" John asked, dumbly.

"I asked you 'when did you fall in love with me?'" Sherlock repeated himself, pulling a few chords that made a 'thwing' sound. John opened his mouth as to say 'but I don't',but he knew Sherlock could tell he would be lying, so he closed it.

"I don't really know when it happened," John admitted,"I just did." He sat across from Sherlock in his armchair, bringing his cup up to his lips taking a sip of tea.

"Hm." Sherlock grunted. "Finally acknowledging your feelings for me, took you long enough." Sherlock mumbled. And John nearly spat out his tea.

OooooooooO

Sherlock kissed John.

After a stressful case of chasing a serial rapist, they finally cornered him in a bar. Which then led John to tackle him to the floor, while Sherlock called Lestrade. After everything was over with, John was about to praise Sherlock for how amazing he was realizing who the rapist was just but the turn ups on his jeans. They were leaning against a police car as Lestrade made them wait for questioning, John turning to Sherlock.

Instead of words coming out John's mouth, it were more like a muffled grunt as Sherlock bent over to plant his lips onto John's, tongue darting straight into the other's mouth. It wasn't a short kiss either, it was long, slow and very wet. It made John's knees go weak and his heart feel like it was going to explode. He clung to Sherlock's arms for support, and Sherlock wedged a knee between John's legs, supporting him against the car. Sherlock explored John's mouth with his tongue, holding John's head with his hands as their muscles danced together.

John felt so much pleasure, as though it doubled because he was connected with Sherlock. He felt Sherlock growl against his lips, as though he wanted to rip off his clothes and molest him right then and there. John snapped his eyes open, and weakly pushed at Sherlock's chest, trying to push him off.

"You guys should get a room." Lestrade said from behind Sherlock, making the taller man slowly pry himself off of John. Both of them were breathing hard, eyes full pupil, lips swollen red, cheeks flushed, and pants a bit too tight for the both of them.

"Honestly," John said, staring at Sherlock," Yes, we do."