Summary: After much confusion, things seem to work themselves out.
Disclaimer: Not even in my wildest dreams do I own Sherlock.
John's point of view
I could feel him standing behind me, his hand on mine. I turned around, and he was standing millimeters from me. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I couldn't help but want to kiss him. All I wanted, in that moment, was to completely surprise him and kiss him like he had never been kissed before, but he beat me to it.
I would have thought that kissing Sherlock would be rough and messy, but it was surprisingly soft and delicate. Sherlock snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I put my hand on the nape of his neck, making circles with my index finger. He pulled away from me and rested his forehead against mine, his blue-gray-green eyes piercing mine, looking past the surface and plunging into my soul.
The kettle whistled, and he kissed the tip of my nose, then reached to turn off the stove.
"Tea?" He asked softly, with a smile.
"Sure," I replied, stepping back and sitting on the table.
He made my tea as I like it, a dash of milk and two spoonfuls of sugar, and put it down on the counter as he made his own. He turned around, a mug in each hand, handed mine to me, and sat down beside me on the table.
Sherlock broke the silence first.
"John, please know that I care about you, but I don't really want to rush things..."
"You don't want a relationship?" I asked, disappointed.
"No, no. What I mean is, I just want to take things slow between us. I don't want to screw things up," He replied, looking into my eyes.
"Whatever you want, I would never want to rush you or make you uncomfortable, and I certainly want this to last," I said, relieved, putting my hand on his leg, not in a sexual way, but to show I understand.
"Thank you," The detective replied, kissing my forehead.
"Want to go for a walk in the park?" I asked, wanting to get out of the flat.
It was only mid-afternoon at that point, and I figured a walk would be good. I wanted to feel the warmth of the Sun on my face and the presence of the world's only consulting detective by my side. Instead of answering, he walked to the coat rack and grabbed his long trench coat and scarf. I followed swiftly behind him, grabbing my jacket and putting it on as we descended the stairs together.
We walked in the direction of Regents Park, standing beside each other, a comfortable silence between us. It's nice to have someone that you can walk in silence with without it being awkward. Having someone that you don't need to talk to, because you just know and they know, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. Like you're complete.
Wow, so much for 'taking things slow'. We kissed for the first time moments ago, and I already think I'm complete. Even though I only accepted the fact that I lov- like- that I very much like- Sherlock Holmes today, I've known for a long time, and I've felt this for a long time. Now it all just seems official and real.
As we entered the park, he took my hand and grazed his long thumb lightly over mine. I squeezed his hand, not wanting to ever let go. Sure, we got a few rude glances, but honestly I didn't care, and neither did Sherlock. Sherlock's never been one to care about the opinion of others, anyway.
"When did you first know?" He asked me, as we strolled past joggers, happy couples, and the occasional tourist.
He didn't need to explain what he meant, but I wasn't entirely sure. It had been a whisper in my mind that eventually became a scream, which became this. I thought back to all of adventures, and how I had felt then. The one that really stood out to me was our confrontation with Moriarty at the pool.
"When we were at the pool with Moriarty, and you were aiming the gun at the explosives. In that moment, my biggest concern was that you wouldn't live, or that I would live and you wouldn't. It was then that I realised that I didn't want to live without you," I said, looking into those beautiful eyes.
He stopped walking, and just stared into my eyes.
"When I was standing with the pill in my hand, the cabbie with his pill, my thought was that if I was wrong it would be okay, because I knew you would come. I knew I could rely on you to save the day. Since then, I have never doubted that I trust you completely with my life," He half whispered.
I stood on my toes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. I pulled away, just looking in those eyes, trying to figure out what was going on behind them. I can hardly imagine what goes on his brilliant mind. Then I remembered we were in public, so I took his hand once again and pulled him towards the Inner Circle.
"What do you want for dinner?" I asked him.
"Well, I was wondering if you fancied going to Angelo's. I was thinking it could be sort of a first date, if that's okay with you," He replied, unusually nervous.
Was he really concerned that I would say no? He really can be so oblivious sometimes.
"The great Sherlock Holmes asking me out?" I replied in a joking tone.
He blushed slightly.
"Of course I want to, don't be daft," I said, squeezing his hand.
We wandered around the park for an hour or so, sometimes talking and laughing, other times just enjoying each others company in a comfortable, peaceful silence, holding hands the whole time. I felt as if I was seeing a different, more vulnerable and adorable side of Sherlock, and I felt lucky that I was one of the few that get to see it. Hell, I may be the only one that knows that side of him.
By the time we left the park, it was only early evening, and neither of us were hungry, so we returned to 221b.
I took off my coat, picked up a book off the coffee table, and plopped down on the sofa. Sherlock followed me, putting his head on my lap and laying down, not really having to adjust his legs much to fit. After a while, I realised that Sherlock had fallen asleep. I chuckled quietly to myself, looking down at the sleeping detective. An abnormal peacefulness was sketched on his angular features. I swept a curl away from his face, resisting the urge to kiss him.
His eyelids fluttered open suddenly, and he looked up at me. In one swift movement, he was on his feet, getting his coat, and then holding mine out to me.
"Ready to go?" He asked.
I grabbed my coat from him and followed out the door.
Going to Angelo's for out first date seemed very sentimental. When we arrived, Angelo promised Sherlock, yet again, that everything was free for him and his date. Only this time, I didn't correct him. I actually grinned slightly when he said I was Sherlock's date.
Sherlock stared at me from across the table.
"I never thought I would be sitting here with you as my date. I remember when Angelo said I was your date when we first came here together, and now I am," I said.
"Odd how things change," He replied, not taking his gaze from mine.
We ordered our food and a bottle of red wine. I knew that Sherlock doesn't like how alcohol affects his brain, but I ordered it anyway.
We returned to Baker street at around 9, I slightly tipsy and Sherlock in a good mood, but not visibly drunk in any way.
"Tea?" I asked.
He nodded affirmatively.
I came back into the living room a few minutes later with two mugs of tea. I placed them on the coffee table, and picked up the remote for the telly. Before I could sit down, though, Sherlock had wrapped a long arm around my waist and pulled me into his lap. Sherlock took the remote out of my hand and turned on Doctor Who.
I grabbed my tea off the table, and leaned back against his thin figure.
"This is how I want to spend my evenings, just this right now. This is perfect," I said, relaxing against him.
"You know, I don't want to go to bed alone..." He whispered in my ear.
"Mmmmm and neither do I," I replied, turning around to face him.
Then his face went serious.
"But please know that by this I don't mean sex," He said.
"Yes, yes, I know," I said, placing a kiss gently on his lips.
I would never rush him to do anything, and at the moment I was just content with cuddling and being with him.
He turned off the telly and I got off his lap and walked to his room, the detective right behind me. I let him open the door, and he pushed some boxes aside, clearing a path to the bed.
His walls were cluttered with newspaper clippings and pictures of various body parts, with a large picture of a skeleton on the right wall. There were boxes and boxes of old case files; old violin bows and strings could be seen in various places in the room. He had a large dresser pressed up against the left wall, and a bookcase with large volumes against the wall opposite the door. It was so very Sherlock, and when I had first been in there I had been surprised, but then I realised that the room of the brilliantly mad Sherlock Holmes could only look like that.
I lay next to him on the bed, my head on his chest, his fingers raking through my hair. That's how we fell asleep: Fully clothed, limbs tangled together, my head on his chest. It was blissful.
There's probably only going to be a few more chapters, and possibly an epilogue. I'm not pleased with how this turned out, I feel like it's lacking something.
Once again, thank you for all of the favorites, alerts, and reviews.
