"We're roommates," John said suddenly through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
Sherlock looked up in shock.
"When did that happen?" he demanded.
John all of a sudden looked very nervous.
"Well, you were by yourself…" John said, looking down at his plate, "I just thought that it would be…good for me to be there…you know, to help…"
Sherlock squinted at the boy and frowned.
"Did you ever think that I like to be alone?" Sherlock said in a rather angry tone.
John looked up with wide, sorry eyes and Sherlock instantly forgave him (not that he said that out loud, mind you).
"I just want to help, Sherlock," John said timidly, "I'm sorry…I'll move back out, if you wish."
Sherlock desperately wished he could tell John that yes; he did want him to move back out. But he couldn't. He couldn't muster up one ounce of himself that was completely willing to be so harsh to the boy who saved his life. Normally, he was sure that he would tell the person to piss off, but for some stupid, unknown reason he just could not bring himself to say something like that to John. John was like a familiar stranger and Sherlock hated that he liked that and wanted John near him. It was grossly emotional and made Sherlock want to puke.
"It's ok," Sherlock muttered, "You can stay."
John visibly brightened and straightened up, beaming at Sherlock. Sherlock's heart thumped a little harder in his chest. He swallowed thickly and returned his attention to the small plate of food John had retrieved for him. There was yogurt, mashed potatoes and pudding. He poked the mashed potatoes with his spoon. He laid the spoon back on the plate and moved to set the plate aside, but a hand gripped his wrist tightly. He looked up in surprise to see John standing and glowering down at him. He felt himself shrink as John reached over and put the spoon back in his hand.
"Eat something," he commanded firmly.
"My arms are just so tired," Sherlock lied.
John frowned at him and turned, releasing his wrist as he did so. He hopped up onto the bed and scooted closer to Sherlock. He grabbed the spoon and scooped up some of the potatoes. Sherlock stared at him in confusion. John lifted the now full spoon to hover in front of Sherlock's mouth.
"Open," he instructed.
"But-," Sherlock was interrupted by the spoon being stuffed in his mouth.
He glared at John, but swallowed the food. John scooped up another spoonful and lifted it to Sherlock's mouth once again. Sherlock frowned and shook his head, crossing his arms like a defiant child.
"Open," John said firmly, "You have to eat."
Sherlock shook his head again. John frowned and grabbed ahold of the other boy's jaw. He pulled Sherlock's face towards his until they were centimeters apart.
"Sherlock, you need to eat," John said in a low voice, "You will get even sicker if you don't. I'm trying to help you, not torture you, ok?"
Sherlock's eyes had focused on John's lips as they said the words and now he found himself staring at the offending pink flesh with a fascination he usually associated with mysteries. His mouth popped open and another spoonful of mashed potatoes was pushed in. he continued staring as John shoveled more food into Sherlock's mouth. John's tongue flicked out and swiped across his bottom lip and Sherlock found himself leaning closer to watch the motion.
Suddenly, the lips he was staring so intently at pressed against his own. He gasped in surprise as John's still wet lips kissed gently to his. He stared in shock as John pulled off and blushed.
"S-sorry," John muttered, "Y-you w-were looking…it w-was s-so in-intense…"
"Do it again," Sherlock whispered, already leaning forward in preparation.
John looked equally as shocked as Sherlock had, but leaned forward and pressed their lips together again. He pulled off again, looking rather sheepish.
"Sherlock?" John's voice called.
Sherlock blinked hard several times and the world swirled around him. John's hand was on his arm and he was looking concerned. Sherlock blinked again and shook his head.
"I think I'm having hallucinations," Sherlock mumbled, "I mean, I know I am."
He rubbed his face and clutched at his hair.
"I'm losing it! And I'm not even on drugs right now!" Sherlock shrieked.
The bed shifted as John sat next to him and placed his warm hands over Sherlock's. Sherlock looked up and John smiled softly at him. He tugged on Sherlock's hands and Sherlock released his hair. John nodded reassuringly and lowered Sherlock's hands to his lap. He squeezed them gently.
"I know, it's hard," John said softly, "But you can do it."
"I have never felt so emotional in my life," Sherlock said, silently cursing the weakness in his voice, "Is this what normal people deal with on a daily basis?! No wonder the suicide rate is so high…"
John squeezed his hands more tightly. Sherlock winced and looked up at John with a frown. John looked rather panicked as he stared into Sherlock's eyes.
"You don't want to kill yourself, do you?" John demanded quietly.
"No," Sherlock stated, "Don't be stupid."
John's grip on his hands loosened slightly and he looked away from Sherlock's face.
"Sorry, you freaked me out for a second," John admitted shyly.
There was a long, awkward pause while Sherlock stared at John's face and John stared at the floor. Their hands didn't disconnect, a fact that Sherlock was highly aware of. John looked back at Sherlock suddenly.
"What were you hallucinating about?" he asked, curiosity showing clearly on his face, "Was it weird? I hallucinated once, because I had a lot of pain medication. I had my appendix out."
"It was weird," Sherlock answered, "It was something that never happened to me before and I was quite shocked by it. I thought it was real."
"Oh?" John prompted.
Sherlock looked away from the curious face in embarrassment.
"You were kissing me," he admitted in a small voice, "I never engage in such activities. I have never wanted to."
There was another awkward silence before John spoke up.
"Well, you did die, Sherlock," John pointed out, "I'm sure things are a bit different for you now."
"I didn't die," Sherlock protested, "I'm alive now."
"Your heart quit beating," John said in answer, "That technically means you died."
"Whatever," Sherlock muttered, ripping his hands from John's grasp and crossing his arms, "It is entirely irrelevant."
"Jeez, ok, no need to get your panties in a bunch," John laughed, "Just saying that things are going to be different now. Most likely anyway. On the other hand, it could just be the simple fact that your withdrawals are getting to you. Don't worry about that, though. It doesn't take too long to get through them."
Sherlock frowned at him.
"How would you know?" he snapped.
John smiled sadly at him.
"I just do," John replied.
Sherlock sighed heavily and looked away.
"Oh, you should eat some food," John said, "You'll have a worse time if you don't get something in your stomach."
"Will you feed me?" the words left Sherlock's mouth before he could stop them.
John looked at him in surprise.
"My arms are tired," Sherlock said in explanation.
John's face relaxed into a smile.
"I understand," John said, "You're probably pretty weak still."
Sherlock nodded, unsure of why his heart beat so fast and why he felt happy that his excuse had worked. John scooped up some yogurt and lifted it to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock immediately opened his mouth wide for John. He shivered as the plastic spoon slid over his tongue and he thought of other things.
John seemed perfectly content to feed Sherlock and didn't seem to mind or find it weird at all. Meanwhile Sherlock was freaking out. He was still trying to figure out why John had such an effect on him. It was starting to really piss him off. First of all, he felt grateful. Second, he felt attraction. Third, he felt a connection to the blonde. Fourth, he fucking felt things! He never felt anything! And now here he was feeling…he didn't understand and he hated when he didn't understand something.
