Their faces were still barely over an inch apart, but confusion widened the gap again. Sherlock's brain had gone from standstill to near the land speed record in the space of about three seconds (which had to be some sort of record in itself). He took half a step back to give himself thinking room, letting the gentle fingertips slide easily off his face. "I don't understand..." he said slowly.

"You daft prat." John laughed exasperatedly. "Did it ever occur to you that you might not be the one to blame here? That you might not have been the only one enjoying it?" the emphasis on the word was deliberate and the look John was giving him was one you might give a slow child you had to encourage step by step towards an answer. The detective's head had started to clear itself now, though this unnerving fog of feelings was making his thought process sluggish. Was John trying to say that he shared these feelings? He hadn't even allowed for this possibility...

"But... but you were -"

"Drunk?" the doctor laughed his easy, quiet, rendering snort of a laugh, rolling his eyes again. "Sherlock, what does alcohol actually do?"

"Increases ADH production in the hypothalamus, increases serotonin in the blood str -"

"No, no," John was smiling now which Sherlock found more than a little irritating given that he was in a state of turmoil and emotional uproar. "forget that you're a graduate chemist for minute, what's the most obvious thing?"

"Lowers inhibitions."

"And what does that mean?"

Sherlock shot him a 'don't patronise me' look, but still continued with caution. "That you'll take risks and do things you never would without -"

"No." his flatmate cut across him a second time. "It means you do things without thinking about the consequences like you would normally. It means acting more rashly, not doing things you'd never do sober." as he was talking, he'd closed the gap between them once more, so they were face to face again, and run his fingers swiftly up Sherlock's forearms to wrap his fingers lightly around the inner elbow.

"Does that mean... are you saying that you..."

"It would appear so." another pause; both of them shuffling and blushing and curling their toes."I wasn't going to tell you either." they looked back up at each other and John snorted again. "God look at us, we're both so pathetic!"

"How so?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, we both had these feelings all along and if we'd just talked to each other-"

"Why on earth would I have talked to you about this when I thought you would leave? What happened to 'not gay'?"

"What happened to 'not my area' and 'married to my work'?" John countered.

"I don't know. I really used to believe that, but now I... I don't know." Sherlock didn't like that everyone seemed to want to fit him in a group, find a label, a diagnosis. Questions about sex and sexuality had bombarded him since he was around fourteen and they always elicited the same reaction: he pulled his arms easily from John's grip and folded them defensively across his chest, dropping eye contact. It was strange really, any other questions about his abnormality resulted in the perpetrator turning to a victim of his cutting deductions or, more recently, his flatmate's chivalrous anger on his behalf. But this was something he didn't know the answer to and he didn't know what was wrong or different about him because he'd never wanted to find out. It was the not knowing that caused the 'curl in' reaction, not the fact that he found it offensive. Even with his eyes on a particularly nasty acid stain on the carpet, he could tell John knew that his line of inquiry probably wasn't the best; the blond was looking for a way to restart their discussion. Sherlock remembered the shouting and the low, authoritative accusation and decided to interrupt the hush himself. "Are you still angry?"

"Yeah, with myself." John sounded a lot less serious than before, his lighthearted and more familiar tones caused Sherlock's posture to soften.

"Why?"

"Well, A because I kissed you and B because I don't even remember it."

"Not... not any of it?"

"Well, maybe... Last night is very fuzzy but... Oh I don't know!" the frustration that had returned to his voice made the taller man look back up.

"I thought I was dreaming! I... I've uh," John coughed, it was his turn to avoid all eye contact. His ears were now bright red and the flush was spreading to the rest of his face as he finished the sentence: "had dreams like that before."

It was probably a good thing he couldn't see Sherlock's face at this point because the detective was blinking so rapidly the flashing light reflecting off his eyes might have given anyone a migraine. The only thing faster than his eyelids was the speeding of frazzled words through his mind: he dreams about you, he dreams about you, he dreams about you. He was almost entirely certain he'd never felt more flustered in his life, which was saying a lot considering the day he was having.

"Anyway, I dreamt, or I remember, being in your bed so when I woke up there... You can see why I panicked."

"And, New Years Eve?" Sherlock's question was practically absentminded, he was still reeling from the fact that he actually occupied such a considerable space in John's head that he was appearing in his subconscious...

John shook his head, "not a thing, I was pretty pissed to be honest. I wish I did."

Silence settled once more, but this time it was a comfortable, content quiet rather than a tense one. That is until the rational, organised, detective part of Sherlock's brain clunked back into gear and started firing off questions at his left side and limbic system. "So what happens now?" he asked, a lot more confidently now.

"Huh?"

"If you're not going to leave I assume the grounds of our relationship have changed?"

"I guess..."

'I guess' wasn't really good enough at this stage, if things were changing Sherlock needed to know what, when and how so that he wouldn't overstep his boundaries again. "So, what exactly are the new grounds?"

John gave an incredulous laugh. "Why do you expect me to have all the answers?"

"You're the expert."

"Well, uh," he looked suddenly nervous again, rubbing the back of his head in agitation, ruffling up his hair. "I suppose, I should ask you, if you think, maybe, we should take it to the next level...?" his gaze flicked upwards again to meet the taller man's as he spoke the final words, and the sincerity of them was clear in his eyes. But Sherlock could see the insecurity and doubt tucked away behind the usual honest loyalty that suggested John had completely laid himself bare. This was clearly supposed to be a heartfelt, genuine question that left the asker very vulnerable but Sherlock didn't really understand.
He felt slightly awkward asking: "take what to what level?"

John;s eyes flicked side to side in his habitual 'are you serious? What am I supposed to say to that?' way. "This," he said, gesturing to the two of them standing so close together, "our relationship. We could take it up a notch, be more than friends...?"

More than friends? But many things are more than friends, John...

"I still don't..."

"A romantic relationship!"

Oh Sherlock thought. Then: "Oh." he said out loud, feeling more and more stupid with every second he stayed silent. He didn't like this; he was used to being the smartest person in the room and knowing what was going on before anyone even spoke - this was different. It was unfamiliar and confusing and, for once, John understood more than he did. He supposed that was a little better because at least someone in the room had some idea how to navigate this. But the idea of not being in control of the situation made him nervous. He couldn't find out what he wanted by observation, so he would have to revert to talking. "Is that what you want?" He asked, unsure of what he wanted the answer to be.

John shrugged, "I suppose there's no point lying now. Yeah, yeah that's what I'd want."

Sherlock had nothing to say except "Oh." again.

His reaction was decidedly not helping John feel comfortable in the conversation, if that were possible. He looked unsure himself now and reshuffled his feet. "Is that what you want...?" he asked slowly.

"I'm not sure."

"I... What do you mean you're not sure?" his tone was demanding, but he wasn't shouting anymore; there was teasing and flirtation there too.

"I mean I can't make an informed decision, because I don't know what that would entail." And I'm scared of getting it wrong

That cracked a smile, and whilst Sherlock still found it slightly annoying that John thought his serious queries were so funny, it was worth it to see him grinning ear to ear with his face lit up like the first day of summer. It sounded pathetic, but over the last few months, making John smile had become a crucial ritual. "Oh my god, really?" he chortled incredulously.

"How should I know?" Sherlock retorted, smiling too underneath his irritation.

John laughed again, shaking his head, "ok well, it would entail, uh, less friend stuff and more couple stuff."

The still uncertain detective barely had a chance to cautiously utter "couple stuff?" before his flatmate/potential boyfriend was talking over him yet again.

"Dates, movie nights, holding hands... Fewer bedrooms maybe, more kissing for sure." after each item of the list he gingerly took up one of Sherlock's fingers in his own and it was this renewed contact that got through to the taller man more than the words. The still electric touch had convinced him: he wanted to be a couple. He wanted him and John together with no one else in the equation, and not in a 'partners in crime' way in a partners way. He never thought he'd hear himself say it, but then again he never thought any of this would have happened. And if this list John was describing was what couples did, he would do it, and do it with more enthusiasm than he had ever done anything in his life.

It was a struggle to stop himself gushing right there and then, to stop the garbled adoration from pouring out of his mouth. He bit his tongue before asking: "And if we were in a relationship, you wouldn't be going on dates with vapid women all the time?"

"No of course not, that's not how it works!" this time the exasperation was only slight, and the way John said it made it sound more like comfort. "Unless you're a polygamist." he added as an afterthought, before tilting his head to indicate the question still stood. And though five minutes ago Sherlock would have been at a loss to find an answer, it was now the most obvious thing in the world.

When he was alone he'd thought he craved the solo spotlight, lusted over recognition. Then came John and new feelings and all Sherlock had wanted was to be invisible again because surely the person who truly deserved to be applauded here was the one with a doctorate and 3 years military service and a heart; that and the fact he couldn't bare for anyone to shine a light on how he truly felt. Now, he understood what he wanted. And that was nothing more than to share the spotlight with this wonderful person who, for some unknown reason had decided he was worth it, had somehow seen past what put so many people off and seen something he deemed 'brilliant', 'amazing', 'fantastic' and almost every other positive adjective under the sun. The very idea of it made Sherlock feels invincible.

Again, he had to take a moment to formulate his words so as not to trip over his own tongue in eagerness. "I would like that." He said.

And John grinned, and really why hadn't Sherlock realised before how important it was to make John grin like that, it lit up the entire room, it was infectious. "Really?" he asked, sounding surprised but as fervent as Sherlock felt.

"Yes."

"Okay then."

And now they were both positively beaming and Sherlock wanted nothing more than to confirm this wasn't all a dream, to kiss the idiotic, goofy grin of John's face and not feel a hint of guilt. But even after their conversation he was nervous about initiating it, so instead he asked: "So what now?"

John rolled his eyes, picking up on Sherlock' s awkwardness at once. He stretched up on his tiptoes, crossing his arms behind the taller man's head. "Well, I'd very much like to kiss you again and actually remember it, but I suppose I could always buy you dinner first?" He flashed another playful smile.

"I'm not hungry."

"Of course you're not."

This time the collision of mouths was far less careful, far more enthusiastic. This was the first time they'd both entered into it with informed consent and it felt limitlessly better. There was a sense of starvation to it, because of course John hadn't really been present before. His longing and hunger was evident in his eager movements, his relief was obvious from the way he softened into it and sighed as if he'd waited millennia to experience this level of bliss. This tangible respite revealed that this moment was the resolution of a long and arduous internal struggle, one that Sherlock could certainly empathise with. Finally, finally it was just the two of them, blocking out the rest of the world because no one else mattered. Why would anyone else matter? Why would Sherlock ever need to even think about anyone else? It really was insane, he thought, how this had started as simply questioning his motives when he asked John to fix a light bulb and turned into this. This blinding affection that made him feel like a bullet train and a cloud all at once. This insurmountable attraction that felt like a stab and a flutter at the same time. This almost automatic affirmation that both grounded him and sent him soaring higher than he'd ever been under the influence of any substance. It was incredible, the past few days had been incredible, John was incredible. Incredible and his.

He didn't hear the words but he felt the varying pressure and the breath on his lips as John murmured "thank god for that..."

Well, that's all folks. I really hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. And thank you all about a thousand times because the response to this has been kind of staggering, you're all awesome :)