A/N: I was thinking what if I did a companion series to this that were John's notebook entries? Would anyone be interested? Mind, I don't guarantee I'll do it but if anyone's interested I can certainly try.

I hope my canonical references are noticed and understood. Please, please review! Thanks so much for follows and favourites.

0o0

Day 20

Sherlock's signs of – well, I still don't know what else to call them and they seem to be growing more obvious – lust have continued. I don't want to think it's just me and it's all in my head but it's a very real possibility isn't it? I don't want to get ahead of myself…I'm just waiting for some sort of sign. Something that'll prove to me that he does feel something for me as more than a friend because I can't tell anymore. Sometimes I catch him staring at me for more than a couple seconds or trying to be helpful around the house after noticing the lack of help bothers me (which, regardless, is great and I want to continue) or even brushing against me more.

I just need a definite sign…

0o0

One day while John was in the shower and Sherlock was not, he got curious. He entered John's room and looked around, he was risking discovery if John decided to come out for any reason. As expected, the item in question was not easily spotted. He quietly checked under his flatmate's pillow, deducing it would be there what with the importance and secrecy the army doctor had placed upon the item. This was probably one of the few times in a day that it was not on John's person.

Sherlock grabbed the notebook he had purchased for the doctor almost a month ago, inquisitive as to what the blogger had been writing. One thing he had determined was that whatever it was; it definitely had not been cases.

The scientist opened it up, starting to read it from the beginning. He was a quick reader and finished up to day 20, yesterday. As he went on, he wasn't sure if he wanted to read this, it seemed too much but his curiosity urged him to plunge on. Most of it was John writing stream of consciousness and usually that consciousness involved his feelings.

His unresolved feelings.

For Sherlock.

He wasn't sure how to feel about it but his thoughts were halted when he heard the shower turn off. He hastily left the room and went to his own, the place he could always be guaranteed absolute solitude, to continue pursuing these thoughts.

John had declared his feelings for Sherlock in the notebook increasingly as Sherlock had increasingly lost restraint on his emotions. Anytime he would demonstrate this lack of willpower by texting John more, sitting closer to him or trying to get him out of work, the blogger had noticed and his feelings had responded in kind.

At the same time, Sherlock found it difficult to believe that John had written these entries. He was a good man, smart and kind and good looking, surely he could find someone else to fall for? Why would he choose Sherlock of all people as the object of his affections? Stiff, robotic and rude. He lacked John's social graces and that didn't bother him though they sometimes bothered John; he was stubborn as all hell and surely no one admired that trait; and he knew everything about anyone in a five second sweep of their clothes, face, office or what-have-you. Being Sherlock's partner surely wouldn't be an easy task.

But despite all of that, Sherlock still had the biggest grin on his face that he just couldn't seem to remove. John seemed to want him, just as Sherlock did him.

0o0

Day 21

All day today Sherlock seems to have been in an extraordinarily good mood, not really sure why. I asked him if he was alright (yeah, him being happy without a murder is actually a cause for concern) and he said, "Absolutely." I'm glad to see him so happy but I'm just wondering what it could be. From what I can tell, nothing unusual occurred today. As I said, no cases, Mycroft came 'round (or rather, I was told to) for one of our usual "meetings," and he continued working on his skull decay experiments.

I actually had a kip today, always enjoy when I get the time for that, and I had the oddest dream. Sherlock and I were working on various cases and we were going 'round London working on them and halfway through he took me by the hand and didn't stop. I really liked that. And then suddenly we were flying and I almost plummeted to my death, nothing to worry about of course. But then we somehow came back to life (don't ask me how) and had to escape a legion of turtles (I did say it was odd!) and then we stopped in an alleyway when I got tired. We both were standing there, gasping for breath and then…I pushed him against the wall and we kissed yeah really strange as I said no clue what my brain's doing.

John looked up, away from the pages, blinking back tears and thought to himself, I'd really like that though.

He placed the pen back inside and closed the notebook, tucking it under his pillow before flicking off the light and going to sleep. He wanted it so badly.

Two hours later Sherlock was stood at John's door, he no longer restrained himself from checking on John. He no longer hid his reasons for doing it to his brain. Yes, he wanted to make sure John was alright but he also enjoyed marvelling in the army doctor's presence. Watching him put his mind at ease, especially when he was so much calmer. He had noticed ever since he took to writing his personal thoughts in that notebook his sleep had been better. Not perfect, but better.

He wanted John to feel better, he wanted John to get through a night without any pain or memories or flashbacks. He deserved that much; he was such a wonderful man.

0o0

Sherlock's mind was racing, John had been texting someone all day but it seemed to be someone new and judging from the expressions he possessed as he read them, female. This tinge of jealousy felt alien to Sherlock, he was beginning to understand how emotions could overrule the physical. He didn't feel the two were exactly comparable but the sting he felt every time John would pick up the phone was unbearable by that point.

He had tried to attract his attention away from the mobile but the task proved to be impossible. He had even tried to interrupt by texting him but John only looked up at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow and an expression of reprimand before looking back to his mobile. When the conversation seemed to have concluded, the detective's pulse lowered and he felt the green within him flowing away. He stood up and headed over to the blogger.

Finally, John reached for his laptop and began to focus on something else. He opened it up and began writing a new blog entry, "The Bournemouth Dale Mystery." It was a case Lestrade had summoned them for and they had just wrapped up the day previous. He began recounting the story.

There was an Australian landowner who had been murdered outside in the middle of the night. This man's son was thought to be the culprit so why are they calling us, right? There was plenty of evidence but of course Sherlock determined there had to be a third party, that it wasn't the son at all.

Sherlock was perched over John's shoulder watching him type. John wasn't surprised as Sherlock often liked to read the entries and make his suggestions. Of course, these suggestions always involved John dulling the story until there was no excitement or emotion left, but it was Sherlock after all. He wasn't shocked. The detective wanted his cases to be told as they were: strict facts, logic and clues. No romanticising of events or extra details.

It seemed that more recently the younger man would reside over his shoulder for much longer periods of time, usually for most of the writing, reading everything as it was typed. While this didn't bother John and he had, in fact, grown accustomed to it, he was still surprised by it. He had even twice (yes, the doctor was counting) rested his chin on the doctor's shoulder, not for too long but for maybe ten seconds or so before abruptly lifting his head and leaving. He would come back quite quickly though.

Sherlock's eyes followed the movement of John's feeble fingers across the keyboard.

You would think with all the typing he does that he would have gotten faster by now.

He flicked his eyes upward, towards the screen.

Jimmy, the son, said the testimonials of the witnesses were accurate but that he had gone to the woods to hunt, not to meet up with his father. Then he heard his father yelling 'cooee'—

"John?" Sherlock interrupted the doctor's train of thought. "The sound was a 'cooah,' not 'cooee.'"

John looked through his peripherals with suspicion adorning his face. He didn't want to turn his head and accidentally brush his lips against Sherlock's face, which could startle the detective away for a day or two.

"Can you repeat that?" John asked sarcastically but Sherlock missed it.

"'Cooah,' John. Do keep up. It's not difficult."

"You know what else isn't? Recognising sarcasm." John smirked, "You might want to spend more time honing your skills on that."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, standing up straight and walking away.

"Just trying to help you get the facts straight since you seem to often get confused by them," Sherlock answered matter-of-factly.

He continued walking away and regretted saying that. Sometimes he was just so habituated to having his defences up he couldn't help his instinctual responses. They'd become ingrained and even though he knew John was only teasing, his mind sometimes forgot.

"I get confused by them? That's funny since you're the one who asks me to come on cases. I'm guessing that's so I can help you."

Sherlock stood still.

"Don't be naïve John, sometimes I want an audience." Again, it came out straightaway. He didn't have to think about it.

John laughed. It wasn't a joyful laugh. He put down his computer, stood up and took a few steps in Sherlock's direction, staring at his back.

"I'm glad I feed your ego so much, not that you enjoy my company or anything. God knows everything you do is an act. How do you function without having feelings for anyone or anything?"

Sherlock turned around and looked at John. He was looking at Sherlock with frustration. The scientist lamented his words and wanted to forget this petty row they were having. He took a few steps towards John. He was looking down at the older man and could only think of how he wanted to get closer.

This time he thought his response through before just spitting something out. He hesitated but the discovery of the notebook had been mulling around in his mind. He simply wanted to tell John he, too, felt the same way.

"I do have feelings," he said this and took a step towards John.

They were close.

"I just keep them under control," another step.

Now the detective could feel John's breath on his neck. He was looking down into John's glistening eyes that hung on to the end of every word, anticipating Sherlock's mouth to continue speaking. He could feel his self-control unravelling. John was looking at the taller man's lips and unconsciously licked his own.

Sherlock saw this, saw the sweat forming at his brow, and felt the stirrings within him and decided now was the time for the plunge into the abyss. He didn't know what would happen on the other side, if there was one but he was willing to find out.

"Most of the time," Sherlock completed his thought.

The taller man leaned down and placed his lips upon the other tentatively. He took the detective's face in his hands and slowly deepened the kiss. They both felt surges of electricity hitting them and couldn't believe the other was reciprocating. The kiss was nothing too heavy, soft and sweet. Sherlock loved the feeling of John's hands on him and John loved the feel of Sherlock's lips, especially on his.

He felt as soon as the kiss ended it would all be over and they would go back to being friends. They would fall into an uncomfortable stage with each other for a while but revert back to normal soon enough. He didn't want to have to avoid John for a "proper" amount of time after but his thoughts were running through his mind a thousand per second. He was foreseeing every possible path this could take and wasn't so sure of his choice anymore. What if John changed his mind afterwards? What if the realisation of what he had been thinking about wouldn't match up to his expectations or he realised he was making a mistake? What if he realised that they were better off as friends?

As if to brush this matter aside from the scientist's mind, John ran his tongue over Sherlock's lips and the younger man gasped, the pleasure he felt was unlike any other. This wasn't like getting high; this was an entirely new feeling and one to rival it. The blogger effortlessly slipped his tongue past the walls of teeth, smiling into the kiss. The detective returned the movement and all doubt left his mind. They were enjoying it, he was enjoying it. This man he had come to find irresistible as the days lingered was enjoying interlocking himself with the detective in the most physical sense. Sherlock had never expected this to happen.

John's head was dizzy with euphoria, he never thought, never could think that Sherlock bloody Holmes would be kissing him. Would initiate a kiss with him! No matter how many times his mind had gone there when he would doze off or daydream or even fantasise, he never thought it could feasibly happen. This didn't even compare to what he'd imagined. Sherlock's lips were perfect curves and so supple, his hair felt amazing to the touch as it wrapped around his fingers and his cheekbones weren't sharp at all.

This was most definitely a sign running smack into John and banging him over the head with it. Everything he'd been noticing had been right.

Once they ran out of breath, they separated themselves but didn't want it to be over. They looked at and away from each other both pleased and embarrassed.

John decided to break the silence since Sherlock had been the one to start the kiss.

"Well, that was nice," he chuckled, a hand nervously scratching at his neck.

Nice is an understatement.

As this line of thought passed through the blogger's mind Sherlock uttered the same one aloud. They both laughed anxiously and Sherlock continued speaking, his eyes searching John's for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry about starting that paltry argument John. I was merely taking out some frustration on you. Forgive me?"

John knew it had been a thoughtless argument and couldn't hold it over him, especially after what had just happened. Plus, how often did Sherlock Holmes kiss him and apologise?

"Absolutely," he looked up, smiling. "I do have one favour to ask of you though."

"Anything."

"Could we, uh…could we do that again?" John looked down. He had enjoyed the kiss massively and after not having felt anything like this before, he wanted it even more and he wanted it soon.

"I can do you that favour," Sherlock teased, closing the gap between them.