"John! What are you saying?!" Sherlock shouted.

John cowered slightly from Sherlock who looked rather pissed off.

"I just…he strapped a bomb to my chest…" John mumbled, "And I just sort of talked to him…and I don't know…I kind of like him."

Sherlock paced about angrily for a moment before he calmed down.

"This is flirting with danger, John," Sherlock said quietly.

"He seemed so nice though!" John said defensively.

"Oh yes," Sherlock said sarcastically, "The man was strapping a bomb to your chest and had guns pointed at us. Oh I'm sure he's just fantastic."

"Just because he listens to Moriarty, doesn't he's a bad guy!" John shouted, his own anger rising, "You of all people should know that you shouldn't judge a person so quickly!"

"Why me "of all people"?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Because, you prick, everyone judges you so quickly!" John snapped, "And hardly anyone gives you a chance! Well, maybe that's how Seb feels! Did you ever think that maybe Moriarty is the only one that would give him the time of day?! That maybe he was just lonely and bored and suddenly Moriarty bust into his life and showed him adventure again. Gave him something thrilling to do and be a part of. Picked him up and acted like he was worth talking to and giving his attention to. Doesn't that sound familiar, Sherlock?"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Sherlock demanded.

"Me, idiot!" John shouted, throwing his hands up, "Me and you! We're just like them! They're just like us! Just different sides of the glass."

Sherlock frowned at him for a moment.

"But you wouldn't kill someone-," he stopped mid-speech and looked away suddenly.

John gave a look that said "Took you long enough."

"Oh," Sherlock muttered, his eyebrows furrowed, "I suppose, you are correct."

"Yeah, so don't give me any more grief over it," John said, though his anger waned as fast as it had waxed, "I think I understand him a little more than you do."

"Then by all rights, I should understand Moriarty," Sherlock stated to the air.

"I guess so," John shrugged, "I think you can relate to him more than you want to admit."

"But, John," Sherlock said softly, his head turning to look at John, "I don't."

John felt his heart clench as the detective looked at him with lost eyes.

"Sherlock…" he whispered, trailing off.

The taller man stepped towards him until he was centimeters away.

"John," Sherlock said, "Teach me."

"Sherlock," John said sadly, "I don't know if I can."

"Please," Sherlock pressed, leaning forward and laying his forehead on John's.

"Sherlock, it's not that easy," John mumbled, "It's not like a skill that you can just learn. It's just a feeling. Just another way of deducing someone. I don't think that's something I can just teach you how to do."

Sherlock stopped John's rant by covering the shorter man's mouth. With his own. John stiffened in shock as Sherlock pulled his mouth away and looked back into his eyes.

"Please," Sherlock beseeched him.

John blushed furiously and leaned his head away from Sherlock.

"Sh-Sherlock, understanding someone isn't something I can teach you," he insisted, "I just don't think you realize that it's something you just-."

Sherlock pressed another brief and fluttery kiss to John's mouth.

"Please," he repeated in that pleading voice.

"Ok," John relented, his mind fuzzy.

There was another sacred kiss before Sherlock was gone, leaving John wobbling slightly.

"Just think about what you would do," John suggested to a very frustrated Sherlock, "If you were trying to get the attention of someone on the same level of intelligence as you, what would you do next?"

Sherlock's eyebrows came together for a moment before he leapt up and clapped his hands together. He strode over to where John sat and leaned down with a huge grin on his face. John smiled back at him, glad that Sherlock had finally figured out whatever had been bothering him for the past few days. Sherlock placed his hands on the arms of John's chair and leaned in close.

"You are brilliant," Sherlock said, his grin not fading.

Then he swooped down and pressed another sweet kiss to John's mouth. John's heart beat jumped quickly. Sherlock hadn't kissed him again since the time he was trying to get John to "teach him" how to understand Moriarty. Sherlock's lips were gone as quickly as they had come and he was rushing into his room, presumably to dress so they could go run after whatever lead Sherlock had in his head.

John thumped his head against the back of the chair, his eyes closing.

"Why me? why does it have to be mean?" he groaned, punctuating each word with another thump against his chair, "What did I ever do? Why?"

Suddenly, as his head came back down, it landed on something softer. His eyes snapped open in surprise. Sherlock's head was floating above him. John blinked rapidly. Sherlock's hands were pillowing John's head now, preventing him from beating it against the chair's back. Sherlock's eyes were filled with concern as he stared down at John. John's eyes flicked down to how Sherlock was leaning over him and then flicked back to the burning eyes that pinned him to the chair more effectively than Sherlock's body did.

"Do not hurt yourself," Sherlock commanded in an angry tone.

"Ok," John said weakly.

Sherlock moved away and went back toward his room. John watched in confusion, wondering what had brought on the suddenly tender moment. A ding from his pocket pulled him from his thoughts. He struggled for a moment before managing to get the damn thing in his hands. He nearly dropped it in shock when he read:

Would you like to get a pint with me? –Seb

John hesitated for two seconds before typing out a response.

I'd love to! When and where?

I'll pick you up in thirty minutes.

Ok! See you then!

He put his phone away grinning. All thought of Sherlock's chaste little kisses were gone as he leapt up to get ready for going out with Seb.