John arrived back at 221B Baker St later that afternoon, shopping bags in hand. Sherlock was lounging on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"Hello," said John awkwardly, standing in the doorway with the shopping bags digging into his fingers.
"Hello," Sherlock replied, typically without a trace of awkwardness.
"I, um... I thought I'd make us dinner tonight. You know, a proper dinner. Are there any body parts in the kitchen I need to know about?"
Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Do you need the microwave?"
"...no."
"Then you'll be fine."
John sighed and turned toward the kitchen.
"So, did you do anything interesting today? Other than stare at the ceiling?" he asked, as he put away the shopping.
"Mm. I solved a case."
John glanced at his watch. "Can't have been a very hard one."
"No. Lestrade sent me a text. It was obvious. You went to see Harry."
"I'm not even going to ask how you figured that out."
"Did she give you some friendly advice about your newly discovered sexuality?"
John rolled his eyes and ignored Sherlock.
"Actually that must be quite statistically uncommon..."
"What must be?" John asked, only half paying attention.
"Two siblings, both attracted to people of the same sex. Wouldn't be very helpful for continuing the human race if it happened too often. Although I suppose, unlike Harry, you would still be happy to... reproduce."
John was staring at Sherlock, who had now opened his laptop and was presumably looking for statistics on homosexuality in siblings.
"You really know how to flatter a man, Sherlock."
"Hmm?"
"Nothing."
x
xxx
x
John had attempted to clear the table as much as he could, but eventually just ended up pushing some of the clutter to one side. He placed a plate at one end of the table for himself and one at the other end for Sherlock.
In a brief moment of insanity he considered lighting a candle for the middle of the table, then shook his head.
"Sherlock. Dinner's ready."
The consulting detective turned from the window where he'd been staring out over Baker Street. He'd finally gotten changed from the pyjamas he'd been in all day, and John found himself slightly distracted by how good that dark purple shirt looked, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
It was still weird to let himself consciously think things like that. And those jeans. When did Sherlock where jeans? They looked expensive. And they made Sherlock's long legs looks even more amazing. John wanted to tear them off him.
Dammit.
Sherlock was looking at him like he could read every thought that had just crossed his mind. Bastard.
Clearing his throat, John sat down at the table. Sherlock joined him a moment later.
"Well, uh... tuck in."
Sherlock smirked. "We've eaten dinner together dozens of times, John. No need to get so awkward about it."
"I'm- I'm not, I'm just... distracted, that's all."
"Really? What could possibly be distracting you?"
"I think, as the world's only consulting detective, you should be capable of figuring that one out."
"Well, I would hazard a guess – this pasta is delicious, by the way – that you're not entirely accustomed to the idea of sexual intercourse with your male flatmate. Close enough?"
"Yeah. Yeah... close enough."
"But you desperately want it."
"Can we just eat dinner first, Sherlock, please?"
With a small smile, Sherlock continued eating.
"So," he said, a few minutes later. "How's Harry?"
"She's... fine."
"I'll have to meet her someday."
"Hmm. Someday."
A few more moments of strained silence.
"What was the case?" John asked.
"What?"
"The case Lestrade asked you about."
"Oh. Yes. Dull. I think even he knew that and wanted to get it out of the way."
"Ok Sherlock I have to ask you something," John suddenly said, very quickly.
"I suspect it's not about the case."
"No, it's about... you. And the fact that you're... I need to know what..." he sighed. "I've never seen you interested in anyone. You were completely oblivious to Molly. And when we met you said girlfriends weren't your area and you were married to your work. At first I thought you were gay, but then I just sort of assumed you were... I dunno, asexual or something. And this morning you were surprised to find you'd had sex, like it never happens."
"It doesn't."
"So... what's this then?"
Sherlock sighed. "I'm not asexual, John. And last night wasn't my first time. But it doesn't happen often. I was never quite as preoccupied by it as other teenage boys. Then at university I tried it out a few times-"
"With men or women?"
"Both. I don't see why there should be a restriction. Anyway, I tried it a few times and yes, it was enjoyable. But it clouded my judgement. Distracted me. I've got an addictive personality, John. I knew it could get out of hand if I let it. So I stopped."
John stared at him. "You just... stopped? So you haven't had sex in, what, fifteen years?"
"There has been the occasionally... slip-up."
"Anyone I know?"
Sherlock smirked. "Ever wondered why Sally Donovan hates me so much?"
"Oh. Oh, I suppose that makes sense."
"Generally, though, no. I don't have sex. And usually I don't even think about it. But you, John..."
Despite himself, John grinned.
"Been thinking about it, have you?"
"Occasionally," Sherlock replied, with what John suspected was a rather forced casualness.
"Since when?"
"Since I realised it was you who shot the cabbie."
"Wait, you've wanted to have sex with me since the day after we met? Jesus, Sherlock, most people would have done something about it before now."
"I ignored it, it wasn't difficult."
"Oh, thanks."
Sherlock chuckled. "If either of us should be insulted it's me. You didn't even realise you were attracted to me until you were extremely intoxicated."
"Actually, that's not completely true."
"Oh?"
"I never told you why I stopped seeing Sarah. I didn't even realise I'd done it at the time..."
"Done what?"
"When we eventually... you know... well apparently I said a name that wasn't Sarah exactly."
Sherlock let out a proper laugh at that.
"Oh, John," he sighed, grinning.
"Shut up."
Sherlock smiled happily to himself as he finished the last few mouthfuls of his dinner. When he looked up, John had already finished his and was watching him over the table.
"Something the matter, John?"
"You know what you said this morning?"
"Yes."
"About making me scream."
"Yes."
"Any time soon would be good."
"I thought you'd never ask."