John let his phone stay on the floor, and tilted his head towards the door. "Come in?" he called, more of a question. He was lying on the ground, the wooden floors cooling his cheek. He'd be in his bed, but honestly the sheets would make him sweat more than he'd like.

Sherlock opens the door; he looks around briefly before noticing John lying on the floor. He crouches next to him and then sits on the floor, lifting John's head to his chest and putting his arms around John's shoulders.

"No," he said as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, "you don't get potatoes, those aren't special enough for Sherlock hugs. I'm not prepared." He closed his eyes anyway, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock buries his nose in John's hair and smiles. "You caught me, John Watson. I care about you."

"Good, because I was starting to give up," he said with resign. He was too exhausted to play the whole 'wow I really have no idea what to say I guess we should dance around the topic for a few days before manning up' game. Instead, he just hugged Sherlock a bit tighter, a grin on his lips.

Sherlock lifted his head from John's, still smiling, although smiling wider from John's tightened embrace. "Give up on what?"

"Give up on waiting," he said, furrowing his brow and opening his eyes to stare at the floor.

Sherlock's expression drops to one of concern. He places his right hand gently under John's chin to raise his head so their eyes meet. "Waiting for what? You need to stop being so cryptic. I'm a genius consulting detective, John, but I can't figure you out if you don't let me."

John sighed. "I'm hardly being cryptic. You don't date," he stated. "I was waiting for that to.. well." He shrugged. "Call me a hopeless sap, but I don't really care to be honest." John winced. Maybe he could blame the fever later if this sounded too wacky.

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion. "You're not making a lot of sense. Be honest with me, John. No matter what."

He stared at Sherlock, his eyes searching his face. Twisting his mouth into a half-grimace, half-what-the-hell-can-I-lose, he pulled his head out of Sherlock's hand to nuzzle his nose into his neck. "I care about you more than I should, Sherlock."

Sherlock attempted to hide his knowing grin as he placed a hand on John's head. "Who is to say how much you should care for someone?"

"To the point where it makes you physically sick to imagine them involving themselves with somebody else," he said bitterly. "That's a tad too much, wouldn't you say. Then again, I dunno. I'm not the genius here." He sighed. "I'm just John."

Sherlock smiles as he looks down at the man nuzzled into his skin. "But I'm fond of Just John. You could say I care about Just John more than I should." Sherlock could feel his own heartrate increase at this confession.

"Mmm, no," he said, curling his legs in, "not too much. I'll take it." He felt the corners of his mouth lift up into a lazy smile. He could hear Sherlock's heart beating through his shirt; it was nice.

Sherlock ran his hand absent-mindedly through John's hair. "So is that why you were ill then? Just now?"

John nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty pathetic." He eyed the trash can that was sitting where John had previously been flopped, scrunching his nose.

"I don't think you're pathetic. But why were you imagining me being involved with someone else? And who was the someone else?"

"Actually." John sighed. "It was more like remembering... Three years without you left me in the state that a few weeks without Irene left you in." He closed his eyes. "I just figured, y'know." He opened his eyes, but looked down at his knee. "Most of it was because of how upset you got in the first place, and that I couldn't help, but there was something else there. The fact that it was her, it had to be /her/." He tried to stop his lip from curling, but.

"I'm sorry, John. If I had known how you felt before... I... I cared for her, yes. The first woman I've ever cared for, but it was fleeting. It was nothing compared to the way I feel for you." Sherlock brushes his thumb across John's cheekbone.

He raised his eyes, looking up, though he couldn't see much more than Sherlock's shoulder. That was okay, though. "Sherlock, the worst part of it was because I hated myself for being jealous of her. Because she deserves you, she really does, don't get me wrong. I wanted you to be happy, but there's a really mean part of me that decides to be extra mean when I think about it. That's the worst part, I'm so /mean/, Sherlock. It's not okay."

"John. She's in a relationship. With a woman. And what I felt for her is no longer. You want me to be happy. I didn't think proper happiness was possible for someone like me, but you showed me different. You are a light in my life, John. You make me happy." Sherlock, gathering all the courage he can for such a seemingly small action, plants a feather-light kiss on John's forehead.

John's shoulders hiked up to his ears, and he felt his face heat up. It would've been noticeable if not for the fever he was burning off, regardless. He moved one of his hands from where it rested on Sherlock's back, to rest on his chest by John's face. It was mostly to hide the small smile he'd acquired, for reasons he didn't even know. "Sherlock, I don't know if you quite understand what that meant to me, just now, the thing you did." His stomach felt all jumpy, but in a good way.

Sherlock smiled in the way that only he can smile when he gets an idea. "I might. But I might understand one thing better..." He tries to shift John so that their faces are level. Their eyes lock in a gaze, just before Sherlock closes his and leans forward, brushing John's lips with his own in a sweet, chaste kiss.

John stared at Sherlock's eyes, and almost leaned in to fill the gap between them, but the second their lips touched he became aware of the taste in his mouth, and he pulled away, now sitting up, and covered his mouth with his wrist. He hoped he wasn't blushing as violently as it felt. "Sherlock, I just violently threw up, you /really really do not/ want to kiss me," he apologized, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Nonsense," Sherlock whispered. He pulled John closer to him. "I /really really DO/ want to kiss you, and I have wanted to for a long time."

"But my mouth tastes gross and if our first kiss tastes like this I'll /die/," he dramatized from behind his wrist, smiling widely as he folded in closer to Sherlock.

"Don't die. I'm not sure I could handle that," Sherlock grinned. "If it makes you feel better..." He pulls a peppermint from his pocket.

"Do you carry these things with you everywhere?" he said, tilting his head before plucking it out of Sherlock's hand.

"I'm always prepared. For anything." His grin widens.

He popped the mint into his mouth, raising an eyebrow. "That so?"

"Isn't it?"

"Hmm..." He moved closer, settling himself on Sherlock's leg. Reaching up, John trailed a finger down Sherlock's nose, really just buying time for his mint to melt in his mouth. "Anything?"

Sherlock felt a tingle run down his spine as if that's where John's fingertip had just traced, and his heart skipped a beat. Why did this man have such an effect on him?
"I should say so. Have you ever known me to be caught off-guard or to be unprepared?"

John chuckled, moving his hand to Sherlock's chin, running it along his jawline. "No, I wouldn't say so." He was, at this point, trying to take in as much of Sherlock as he could, his face, the way his skin felt, his eyes... He snaked his hand down to Sherlock's collar bone, and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, finally able to pull away from his gaze. "Sherlocks don't need preparation, though. You could be bluffing; you're really good at adjusting."

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat at John's touch. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to calm himself. His breathing became shallow as he felt his heart rate climb to a steady race. This was the most intimate he and John had ever been. "Maybe I am bluffing. I wasn't prepared the day I met you. You enthralled me," Sherlock reflected, taking John's hand in his, running a thumb across John's knuckles, softly. "You still do. You blow me away, John." Sherlock grazed John's knuckles with his lips in a swift, but heartfelt kiss.

"You absolutely amazed me," John said, smiling and rubbing his cheek fondly against Sherlock's shoulder. He felt rather like a cat, and if he had the ability to, he would purr. He pulled his hand out of Sherlock's just long enough to twist it around and twine their fingers together. The last time they'd held hands wasn't exactly on romantic terms, but.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile, gazing for a brief moment at their entwined hands, and admiring the way their fingers fit so perfectly together, much like a puzzle. He looked at John, "Is that so? Amazed you, did I? I wonder if I still can." Sherlock lifted John's head, once again, by the chin so that their faces were level. He stared longingly into John's eyes, trying to keep himself from getting lost in them. He leaned forward until there was less than an inch of space between their lips. His breathing shallow, his eyes almost closed, his whisper was barely audible: "Please?"