"Oh, John," Sherlock said with his face full of empathy.
"You have no idea... How hard that was to say," John sputtered.
Sherlock reached out and placed one hand on the side of John's left arm. "I know exactly how it feels, John," he said solemnly.
John shut his eyelids over his shame. "But you never pretended not to be gay."
"Why did you pretend?" Sherlock queried.
"Because I was afraid that someone would see that I loved you, and given me away," John replied with his head hung.
Sherlock chuckled softly. "They thought that you did anyway. What was it? You were my 'date'?" Sherlock smiled at John, who stifled his grin with a cough.
"I still couldn't tell you."
Sherlock took a step closer to John, so that John's nose almost touched Sherlock's chin, and his hands he placed delicately, each holding one of John's wrists. "So what do we do now?" Sherlock murmured.
John's cheeks became a rosy pink as his breathing quickened and his eyes beheld Sherlock's, whose lashes brushed lightly over his skin as he looked down at John. John took in his friend's cheekbones as the soft morning light blessed them with a downy glow, and the way that his lips curved in a smile that refused to present itself.
"Now," John said, his voice wobbling as he stared intensely into Sherlock's verdant eyes. "You kiss me."
"Obviously." And Sherlock slowly leaned down, moving millimetres per second until his mouth came to rest like a shy sparrow upon John's. Careful and curious, his lips moved over John's with a feather touch.
John's hands came up and they found themselves creeping into the locks of hair that caressed the nape of Sherlock's neck, where his fingers knotted as he opened his mouth a crack and sighed in delight onto Sherlock's. With Sherlock's arms now encircling his waist, John pressed himself into Sherlock's body, deepening their embrace.
"John," Sherlock gasped between kisses. "The door."
"Screw the door," John mumbled into the corner Sherlock's growing smile.
"John," repeated Sherlock. "Close the door."
"Screw the door."
"Mrs Hudson doesn't want to see this," Sherlock managed between desperate breaths.
"Screw Mrs Hudson."
"Fine." Sherlock pulled away from John. "I'll close the door." He went over to it, leaving John gazing after him as though the few seconds that they were no longer touching were as long as the months for which they had been apart.
Sherlock pulled the door handle until the lock clicked, and then he slid the bolt across. He rested one hand in fist on the door as he leaned into the wood. John's head tilted questioningly.
"John." His voice was wavering as he stared at the chipped black paint of the door. "Where are we going with this?"
John paused. "I'm not sure," he replied cautiously.
"Neither am I." Sherlock stood straight once more, and began to walk back to John, his eyes never leaving his face. "Because I've never been there before."
Sherlock stopped before John again, and his eyes bored into his friend's, filled with adoration and trust. John could only gape back, breathless as emotion rose in his chest like a phoenix might rise from its ashes. He tilted his lips towards Sherlock's, waiting for their impact.
And then the doorbell rang.
Sherlock whirled around, leaving John stood with closed eyes and open mouth in the middle of the room, until John opened them in surprise.
"Lestrade," said Sherlock, apparently just as shocked as John was. He looked over his shoulder at his flat-mate, whose expressions had fallen in disappointment. Sherlock laughed gently. "It's alright John. We have the rest of our lives."
Without another word, Sherlock swept from the room, and John heard him open the door to 221B and the low greeting tones of the inspector.
A few seconds later, Sherlock returned with Lestrade, who nodded at John. "You came back, then." he said with raised brows as he observed John.
John's face was blank for a second. "Erm, yeah," he replied, even though it wasn't a question.
Lestrade glanced between the men, whose eyes had wandered towards each other's unintentionally, and he shrugged one shoulder slightly. "Sherlock," he said loudly, causing Sherlock's attention to be distracted from John. "We have a case for you."
"You do?" Sherlock perked up in delight. "Is it a good one?"
"Murder," Lestrade confirmed. "We have no idea how, though."
"Excellent." Sherlock rubbed his hands together in pleasure. "You head off then. We'll be right behind you."
"But you don't know where to go," said Lestrade, confused.
"Don't I?" Sherlock asked innocently.
"See you there, then," Lestrade grumbled as he departed. Sherlock waited unitl the outside door had slammed shut, and then he grabbed John by the sides of his shoulders and spun him around in excitement, laughing joyfully.
"A case!" Sherlock relished the words. "A case at last! Oh, John, I've missed my work."
Sherlock released John and glided over to his coat and scarf, which he donned eagerly. "Come on, John!" he called as he swung himself out of the flat.
"Where are we going?" asked John loudly, shouting after Sherlock.
"To a case!" Sherlock's voice carried through the walls and up the stairs, and John, although confused, followed after the sound like it was a lifeline.
