chapter eight: conscience

Sherlock sat in his arm chair, long legs tucked up to his chin. He was running through the case he was working on. In his mind, he saw Ella Whitaker in big, bold white letters. Several bubbles of information spawned off of her name, but Sherlock was focused in on what she could possibly be doing instead of nightschool.

Obviously she felt like she had to hide it. Affair, perhaps? Not so often. Too noticeable. Drugs, gambling, then. Those were more likely suspects. But drugs would take a toll on her appearance. Gambling would dwindle her husband's money, and her own as well. Sherlock pursued many other options, but found faults in all of them.

With a sigh, he unfolded his legs, and stood, stretching slightly. John glanced over at the movement, but returned back to his computer. Sherlock came and stood behind John, and looked at the screen. Blogging, of course. Sherlock was bored.

Placing his head on John's shoulder, Sherlock decided to try something. He started kissing John's neck, and biting timidly at his ear.

"Sherlock, what -?"

"Shut up, John. I'm working." Sherlock growled. Since his last encounter with Irene, he had decided that he and John should pursue a similar path. For a while, Sherlock payed attention to John's neck, but that grew old, and he turned John to kiss his lips. John stood, and the two moved away from the desk, arms twining around each other.

Sherlock hesitated at the edge of John's coat. He didn't really want to do this, he didn't find any appeal in it. But he felt obliged to create an accurate set of data, and that included doing this. With a small mental sigh, Sherlock slipped off John's coat.

Clothes flew off after that, as the two messily made their way over to the bedroom, leaving a trail of shirts and shoes in their wake. John was really enjoying himself, Sherlock noted. His anatomy made that rather clear. But Sherlock wasn't really responding. Apparently, John had noted this too. He decided to take things into his own hands, quite literally. Sherlock's eyes widened a little, and John pulled the two of them onto Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock had, like he would for any experiment, done a bit of research, but he relied heavily on John to show him what would produce the most efficient reactions. He made notes for the next time, and added it to his previous knowledge he gained from Irene. The database was reaching its necessary capacity, and soon, the experiment would be finished and retire as an aid in future cases.

After they were done, they layed in bed for a while, Sherlock mostly starting at the ceiling, and John turned on his side. Sherlock was processing the events, but who knew what John was thinking?

Eventually, John turned to face Sherlock. "Sherlock?" He asked, starting to run his fingers over his flatmate's chest.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock retired his thoughts for the moment and glanced to John.

"What are we...I mean." He coughed, unsure of how to word his thoughts, despite having planned it out in his head moments before.

"Are you inquiring about the status of our relationship, John?"

"Yeah. What are we, exactly?"

Sherlock paused, and thought of his response. He could not honestly tell John this was merely an experiment, it would ruin his results. But he also did not want to lie further. "I am not sure. What would you like to be?"

John looked Sherlock in the eye, and took a deep breath. "I'd like to be more than friends I'd like to be a couple, Sherlock."

Sherlock broke the gaze. He hadn't been oblivious to the spark that lit up in John's eye at the prospect of being a couple.

"I mean, I understand if you don't. I just, I care about you Sherlock, and I know this is a new thing for you, so I don't really -"

"Yes."

John stopped short. "Yes?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied again, still looking at the ceiling. John smiled widely, and kissed Sherlock deeply on the lips.

"You are brilliant, absolutely brilliant." John settled himself onto Sherlock's chest, and contented to listen to the detective's heartbeat while Sherlock thought.

Sherlock was boring a hole in the ceiling with his eyes, running circles in his mind. For the first time ever, Sherlock was unsure about an experiment. A little nagging thought tore at the corner of his mind, and he tried to push it away. Sherlock had no time for emotions right now. He had a case, and an experiment. He was busy.

But the nag refused to go away. Sherlock attended to it, and with a sinking feeling, confirmed his suspicions. He felt guilty, horribly guilty for treating John like this. His one friend. But, he had work to finish. He would confront his feelings then, not later.

With one last glance at John, now asleep on top of him, Sherlock pulled the rumpled sheets up and fell asleep next to John, his flatmate, friend, and now, boyfriend.