John immediately rushed to Sherlock's side, collapsing to the floor beside the taller man.
Sherlock shirked away from him, closer to the cool tiling of the walls, his hand's wrapping themselves around his knees.
Sherlock regarded John through slightly misty eyes, but his expression didn't waver, still holding the look of Denial that it had held from the moment he had noticed John's presence.
"Sherlock," John's voice was far too quiet and…soothing…to be considered natural and it was beginning to make Sherlock feel discombobulated.
He was no child to be squawked over, while he was younger than John, and he didn't appreciate being treated as such.
For that reason, Sherlock tore his eyes away from John not wanting to see the sympathy shining in his eyes for a moment longer.
John however, apparently misconstrued this discontent for sadness, and so he reached across to place his hand on Sherlock's shoulder in a manner not dissimilar to the way Mrs Hudson had done to John the night before.
Sherlock hand flew to said arm and gave it a violent push, sending a flailing John backwards, completely taken aback by the sudden change in events and only managing to catch himself at the last moment so he was now supported by one arm and one leg that wobbled precariously under the unexpected weight.
Guilt tinged Sherlock's mind, intensified by the voice at the back of his head saying 'No, not good' in a voice eerily similar to Johns, but it was quickly outnumbered by the many voices screaming bloody murder at John and what he had reduced Sherlock too.
The emotion that had once caused tears to form in Sherlock's eyes rapidly transformed into frustration.
The frustration then manifested itself as anger. Anger that was aimed at John.
Pushing himself away from the wall onto his feet, Sherlock pushed roughly past John and into the main chamber of the morgue where John had been standing moments before.
John did not dare to follow his friend but instead watched from a distance, cautious but also rather curious.
Sherlock's footsteps were now echoing loudly around the morgue, each step like a gun shot that was aimed at John with no intention of hitting.
John watched Sherlock's internal battle for a good five minutes before he worked up the courage to take another step forward and into Sherlock's line of sight.
This turned out to be a bad move as Sherlock's eyes had snapped to John's face, his eyebrows narrowed dangerously and his hands balled into fists at his side.
"This isn't fair." Sherlock's voice came out much less threatening then had been intended, and much more like a whine that reminded John vaguely of a child not for the first time. "Why do I have to be the one who feels like this?"
Sherlock was unaccustomed to feeling most forms of emotion (aside from intrigue and the occasional bouts of genuine excitement) and much less any form of upset.
There was a time, of course, when such emotions played a regular part in Sherlock's life, particularly during his younger years.
However the transition from child-hood to adult-hood had played its part to Sherlock's advantage (or disadvantage depending on which way you chose to look at it).
And now, all of the progression his mind had made by separating itself from most of the mundane human qualities had backtracked, and left Sherlock back at square one and unsure how to deal with it.
And really it was all John's fault, and so he felt it was well within his right to punch the other man.
He even went to do so, but stopped abruptly when John visibly flinched. The John-sounding voice had returned in full force and so Sherlock let his fist drop to his side, guilt now tainting his anger into something far more mellow, but none the less painful.
"I…Sherlock?" John began hesitantly, his eyes not daring to catch Sherlock's and so instead he stood awkwardly staring at a spot beside an ajar door with his body facing towards Sherlock.
"No!" Sherlock snapped, spinning on his heel and pacing away from John once again.
John was unsure of how to react; Sherlock was extremely unpredictable at the best of times, and even more so in times like these. He would flicker between anger and happiness faster than a pregnant woman, which would often leave John completely in the dark.
Normally however, the unpredictability would be born of a case, and directed at said case in turn. Never before had John felt so unsure of his own standing, and it was putting him on edge.
Before John could stress over the matter for a moment longer he felt hands press against his shoulders and begin to push him backwards until his back collided roughly with the wall behind.
Grunting in surprise at the sudden contact, John looked up to see Sherlock staring at him intently.
Fidgeting under Sherlock's scrutiny, John realised he was now trapped between the taller man and the wall leaving him little room to move and no room to escape from Sherlock's grip.
He could, if need be, have fought Sherlock off of him, but the look in Sherlock's eyes had piqued John's curiosity enough for him to want to stick around to see how this was going to end.
"Just…stop." Sherlock ground out between gritted teeth, his eyes still narrowed and fixed on John. "Stop…stop this."
"Stop what?" John asked, beginning to feel frustrated by the evasive way in which Sherlock attempted to convey his emotions.
"Stop doing whatever the hell it is that makes me feel this way about you." By this point his voice was practically a hiss, and it took a few moments for John's mind to register what he had said.
And then…it just happened.
There was no pre-kiss meaningful look, no deep intense talks, hell John's mind was barely working as he launched himself forwards at Sherlock.
Not one to be out done, Sherlock returned the favour with equal vigour; their lips working in unison as their shoulders rose and slumped with the throes of passion.
As far as first kisses go, it hadn't turned out exactly how John had anticipated.
Perhaps he'd rather underestimated the amount of raw passion that Sherlock was capeable of (a mistake he was sure he wouldn't make again), but John had been expecting an awkward mashing of lips and clashing of teeth.
Or maybe it was more the sensation of Sherlock's hands clutching desperately at his waist that distracted him from any possible awkwardness.
The scent that John had noticed before at Baker Street but never really associated with anything before now filled his nostrils, and suddenly it smelt so very Sherlock that whenJohn inhaled deeply he was practically shuddering at the familiarity of it.
Sherlock was clearly thinking along the same lines as his lips had moved from John's and were now – "Oh god " – nibbling on the shell of John's ear, his nose buried in John's short hair.
Throwing his head backwards, John wondered briefly where Sherlock had learnt to do that, before his thoughts were once again occupied by Sherlock's lips on his.
The dominance that John had stolen at the beginning of the kiss was reclaimed by Sherlock who had pushed John back against the wall once more, his hands flying to the buttons that connected John's shirt while his lips fell to John's collarbone in such a way that John practically mewled his approval.
Raising eyebrows in amusement at the reaction Sherlock proceeded to attack his collarbone hoping to provoke more of the sounds only for an awkward cough coming from the entrance of the morgue to ruin the moment.
Pulling back slightly from John, his chest heaving as he attempted to regain his composure, Sherlock looked across to see Molly standing nearby, her face only showing signs of approval at the scene she had walked in on.
"Just thought that I ought to warn you that a body's being moved down here in a minute, and most people aren't accustomed to seeing two men going at it in a morgue."
"and you are?" Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows.
"I've had my days." She muttered, suddenly nervous once more.
Sherlock noted how…on occasion…awkwardly endearing the girl could be.
Sherlock shook his head, all this hanging around John had made him go (dare he say it) touchy-feely, and it was making him feel slightly uncomfortable.
Speaking of which, Sherlock turned back to face John who looked slightly bewildered at the events that had just transpired.
"Is this when we have the awkward and soul-touching conversation of what this means for us?" John questioned, his mouth tilting up into a small smile as he searched Sherlock's eyes for a clue as to what was going to happen next.
"Oh god I hope not." Sherlock complained, pulling John closer until John's head was buried in the crook of his neck.
Grinning as John's shoulders began to tremble in amusement, shortly followed by Sherlock, Molly gave the couple one last appraising look before leaving them to it, all the while running through a list of possible diversion tactics she could try out on the dead body and company that she had no intention of letting ruin John and Sherlock's moment.
