John sat up in bed. Now that he remembered the night before, he naturally had to see Sherlock immediately, headache or no. He shuffled groggily down the hall, pulling on a dressing-gown as he went. The raven-haired detective was in the kitchen, doing something dreadful with something that looked like green slime and smelled like burnt cabbage.
"Don't expect me to kiss you again if you keep smelling like that." John said by way of greeting
Sherlock began "John, I'm in the middle of an experiment, don't inter... What did you just say?
"I was only joking...although if you Scould at least wash your hands that'd be nice"
"Kiss you?" Sherlock had a mixture of concern and confusion on his face that John never wanted to see there again.
"Well yeah, I mean, what happened last night didn't strike me as a one-time thing. We are friends too after all."
"John, what exactly do you believe happened last night?" Sherlock was peering at John-invading his personal space in a far-less enjoyable manner.
"We...were at the pub. I was talking to a girl, you scared her off, we went home, argued, you proved that I fancied you and... yeah."
"John, last night I was working on a case, and you were sitting on the couch having a one-way shouting match with the telly. We did not in any way..." Sherlock looked a little sad and supremely uncomfortable "Deviate from our usual habits."
"But...what about... are you sure?" John's memories were SO clear, so vivid. Sherlock's lips pressed against his own, his fingers tangling in those gorgeous curls... But of course it was a dream. If Sherlock was capable of that sort of affection, John would know about it. No, the cruel truth was, John had discovered that he had feelings for his ridiculous flatmate, and at the same time had discovered that these feelings would never be returned.
Sorry about this chapter, darlings D: I promise it gets better soon. Review to keep this poor writer moving?