There was a knock on the door.
John didn't even look up from his position in the corner of the room. He just pulled his legs tighter up to his body.
The door made a creaking noise as it opened but John still didn't take his head out of the safe nock into between his chest and pulled up legs. He didn't care who it was in the room, it could be a murder for all he knew. He honestly couldn't give a shit. Whoever it was wasn't seeing him like this, crying like a little girl on his bedroom floor. They certainly weren't going to see his face.
The man who had just walked in cleared his throat, "John," the voice sounded...unsure. A thing John was almost certain that voice never sounded like.
Sherlock.
God, why couldn't he just go away, leave John alone. Did he have to come and embarrass John even more than he already was? Upset John to the point of no return? John already had no dignity left, had Sherlock come to try and take away more?
John almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his arm. He could have sworn he hadn't heard Sherlock move from the doorway. Was he going delusional now as well?
"John," Sherlock said again, in that same unsure, almost timid voice, "look at me, please."
John didn't move his head up. Wouldn't- no couldn't- look Sherlock in the eye after his confession.
John had always expected Sherlock's hands to be rough but the delicate touch on his chin proved him wrong as Sherlock's ice cold fingers pulled John's head out of his lap and forced the doctor to make eye contact.
John almost gasped. Sherlock was so close, sat on his toes, his long arms reaching to lift John's chin and stop him from looking down again. There were shadows in his eyes mixed in with the grey and small swirls of blue, and somewhere deep within the sea of colour was a sadness, a burning sadness. And also...something else John didn't quite understand. Pity? Did Sherlock Pity him for his predicament?
The two men stared at each other in silence for a long moment before Sherlock slowly retracted his hand, and it fell limp at his side, "you see but you do not observe," he murmured, softly, as if he was speaking to himself.
"Sherlock," John's voice cracked as he spoke. He didn't want to cry in front of the man who had stolen his heart. Had stolen his mind. Had stolen his soul. But he felt tears streaming down his face anyway, "please, just leave me alone. Lestrade wants you on a case. Go there instead, please. I just can't do this," John begged.
"John," Sherlock said again.
"What?" John asked, he tried to lower his eyes but he just couldn't. Sherlock's stare held him prisoner.
"You are my everything too," Sherlock used his hand on John's arm to start tracing circles on his doctor's arm.
You are my everything too...
What did Sherlock mean? He wasn't making any sense. John thought about asking exactly what the hell was going on behind those deep eyes but realised he wouldn't get a straight answer.
Except he would.
The truth drug.
Here goes nothing.
"What is going on, Sherlock?"
Dropping his eyes, Sherlock finally let John free from his gaze, instead Sherlock watched his own hand that was currently twisting patterns on John's upper arm.
"What is going on," Sherlock began, "is that you are a complete arrogant twat. How can you not see what's going on here? You said you loved me..." Sherlock took in a deep breath, as if preparing to jump from a very high height "isn't it obvious the feeling is mutual?"
For a moment, John's brain didn't register what was being said. What Sherlock had just confessed too.
And then it hit him.
John's heart rocketed...Was Sherlock saying what he thought Sherlock was saying. Was Sherlock...in love with him? Was the great consulting detective truly in love with the army doctor?
The truth drug made John answer Sherlock's rhetorical question, "Nope. I had no clue you felt the same way. I still can't even. Oh, god, Sherlock, is this really happening?"
The detective nodded, "Yes."
John could practically feel himself filling with happiness. It felt like helium. John was certain that if it wasn't for Sherlock's hand on his shoulder he would float away.
Silence flooded between the two men, but it wasn't awkward at all, both were happy just to sit and stare at the other.
Breaking the silence Sherlock laughed hoarsely, nervously, "I thought you weren't gay?"
"I made an exception for you," John whispered.
The moment seemed too fragile. Like it would smash in an instant. Was this even real? Maybe John had dozed off or something. It seemed the only logical expiation for the way Sherlock's eyes were looking at him; full of wonder, astonishment, slight shock and ...well...love.
"What happens now?" John asked after another moment of them both staring into each others eyes, completely mesmerised in the discovery of love that grew between them.
"Now I kiss you."
John smile filled his whole face as he leaned in and all his wildest dreams became real.
