John swallowed, the mint in his mouth feeling heavy and bigger than it really was. He was really just thankful he didn't choke on it. He stared back at Sherlock, feeling like a small animal caught in a starved hound's gaze. Tiny and helpless. But he wasn't afraid; because the animal was Sherlock Holmes, and there was something about this particular vulnerability that made him feel safer than it should. "You don't need to wonder if you amaze me, Sherlock," he whispered back, "You do it all the time." He leaned in a fraction of a millimeter, his own nerves holding him back. "You are right now."

That was it. John's words were enough to break Sherlock's reins. His breath caught in his throat and he moved quickly, closing the distance between them at last. Their lips met in a fury of love, passion, and long-unused emotions. Sherlock felt as though his every nerve were on fire. He had never felt anything so exciting. It was a rush, and he felt completely alive. For once, his mind had only one thing on it: his undeniable love for John.

John's shoulders bowed forward; he was already emotionally compromised as it was. His arms found their way around Sherlock's neck, and he leaned into the kiss, deeply disregarding any personal boundary he may have set. 'No slipping!' Gone. 'You can't let yourself get too involved, don't get more attached than you already are or you'll hurt, John!' As if it never existed. 'Don't get worked up when he looks at you.' 'Try not to mumble his name when you've got him on the brain.' 'Don't passionately throw yourself into a kiss with him on his lap while he's sitting on your bedroom floor being Sherlock Holmes.' Dusted, erased, torched. Because John was doing all of those things, and it felt good. And he was okay. And he was smiling into the kiss and somewhat clinging, toying with a lock of Sherlock's hair that rested on his neck. He was John Watson kissing Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock found his desire insatiable. He wrapped his arms around John, pulling him in tighter than ever, one hand buried in the back of his hair. Sherlock kissed deeper and more passionately. It felt as though he were trying to pour his very heart and soul into this man, this wonderful man, that he was kissing. It felt like they were melting together, becoming one. Sherlock could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and John's pounding very close by. He was running out of air, but he didn't want to let go.

John, having up until this point been worried about his breath among other things, let himself sink into Sherlock's chest, his fingers curling around the fabric of Sherlock's shirt. He felt weak, and emotional, and stupid, but that was okay, because everyone was stupid, and according to Sherlock, John wasn't as stupid as everyone else. Which made him feel a little spot of pride, right there in his chest, the kind that can only be comparable to being the only one in the room with the correct answer. Then, when Sherlock was in the room, of course you weren't the only one with the correct answer. It was just John and Sherlock, they were the only right ones in the world. And that's all he needed. He broke the kiss involuntarily, gasping, and sighed contentedly. "Sherlock," he mumbled, not really having a reason for saying the detective's name aloud.

Moving his hand to caress John's face, Sherlock whispered back, "John. Oh, John." He gave John a chaste peck on the lips. "I have never been in love before. I never thought it was possible for me to love until you walked into that lab at Bart's. I love you, John. I do. It scares me and excites me, but I love you."

John's lips were most likely bright red from kissing, and his pupils were most likely blown as wide as they've ever been, and he probably looked like a hopelessly romantic, hormonal teenage boy, but he didn't care. He looked up at Sherlock with his huge, slightly frightened eyes and nodded, listening to what the detective had to say. "Don't be afraid, then," he replied. "Most of the excitement is in the danger, the thrill of not knowing what lies behind every single corner," he started to ramble, feeling his smile stretch across his face as he described literally every romance novel he'd ever read. "Love's literally the one thing that you shouldn't have to think about. It just happens."

"But, John… I've been careful to avoid emotions and feelings of all sorts, especially love. I've seen the way love ruins people. How it hurts them. It is a dangerous disadvantage. Thinking is all I've ever done. My head always spinning and whirling with thoughts and ideas and information of all sorts all at once. The first time it ever slowed to a one-thought-at-a-time track, was when I kissed you. My only thoughts were of you: holding you, touching you, kissing you, loving you, being awe-struck by you."

"Those are more of an impulse than a conscious decision to think," he grinned, explaining patiently as he nuzzled into Sherlock's chest. "Just try to let it go. Not love, obviously, I think I'd die if you did that. But.." He paused. "I'm not telling you to crumble any of your walls, Sherlock. It's good to have walls. But if you lock yourself up in a box, nothing good can get in, and nothing bad can get out."

"John, that's how I've always lived my life. Without love, I won't have to experience loss or pain. I just don't know how to handle this. I have never felt like this before," the inflection of Sherlock's voice made his fear and worry apparent.

He sighed, looking up at Sherlock again, to take his face in his hands this time. "Sherlock, it's alright," he assured him. "It's all alright. It's not some textbook procedure, step-by-step surgery." He tilted his head to kiss Sherlock's nose. "Okay, look. I love you, yes?" He ran his hand through Sherlock's hair. "And you love me, right?" He pulled the detective in, their foreheads bumping. "Then there's nothing to worry about. Nothing's going to change, really, Sherlock. We already live together and act like we're an old married couple. It'll be like clockwork. Promise," he grinned.

Sherlock sighed, "Okay, John. You do have a point. Or two." He smiled warmly. He planted another chaste kiss on John's lips before saying, "Just promise to be patient with me, please."

He nodded, grinning lazily, nuzzling his nose up into Sherlock's chin. "As ever always," he agreed, moving his arms to wrap around Sherlock's neck and shoulders. "It'll be right easier than before, though, I can imagine." He shrugged. "I mean, sure, exactly the same, only more open hugs, and comforting each other, and just being there- if you ask me, that's a really nice upgrade. I'll be patient with you if you are with me," he offered.

Sherlock smiled fondly.
"Haven't I always been patient with you, John? Even when you're being an idiot?"