The following day was spent at the flat, with Sherlock and John testing the new waters that had formed between them. The first night was spent in their respective beds, but both found themselves longing for the other person more fiercely than usual. However, the possibility of taking these too quickly was a constant threat in both their minds, so they settled for uncomfortable sleep. Sherlock lay on his back staring up at the blank, cream colored ceiling wishing that he could wrap his arms around John and pull the man in close, pressing kisses to the top of his head with all the affection he could muster.

John gazed at the wall, the darkness only slightly impairing his adapt vision. His hand tightened around the sheets as he brought forward the memory of earlier. Sherlock's lips had been soft, not chapped and windblown like his own. The detective's curly hair had become entangled in his hands and John was memorized by its silky texture. And his almost heavenly scent of aftershave, sandalwood and crisp cotton, it made John feel like he was spiraling into a wonderland. The ex army doctor frowned at the empty other side of his bed, then ruefully turned over and forced himself asleep.

Sherlock however, had a bit more trouble drifting off. He couldn't get his mind to slow enough to allow any sort of sleep, so he comforted himself with images of John. The shorter man was muscular, still very fit from his time in Afghanistan. Sherlock could feel the muscles through his cable knit jumper, the definition clear beneath the weave of the yarn. The detective sighed and flipped himself over, burying his face in the pillow and yearning for his love.

When both men awoke the next morning, they found this odd sense of security and fulfillment in their minds and hearts. John was puzzled as to why, and it took a minute for everything to set in.

He had kissed Sherlock last night.

He had kissed Sherlock a lot last night.

The man rolled over and tried to ignore what he knew was an evident flush. What did this mean for them? Were they in a relationship now, would they tell others they were dating? John rather liked the idea of having Sherlock on his arm, being able to tell people that yes, they were in a relationship, rather than that uncomfortable pause before unhappily stating no.

And, it would give him a more just reason to punch Anderson the next time he poked fun (viciously taunted if you asked John) at Sherlock. Everyone did seem to think lovers had more reason to defend their significant other than friends did.

But John wondered how Sherlock would feel about all this. The man was always one to hide his affections, trying to distance himself from everyone. John had asked him about it once, confused as to why he found emotions so "unneeded".

"I'm proving my theory on detachment."

"And what does that theory say?"

"That caring is a disadvantage, John."

John smiled slightly, thinking about it again. Was he considered Sherlock's disadvantage then? Had he really managed to wiggle his way into Sherlock's heart?

"No time quite like the present to find out..." John thought as he peeled the duvet back and clambered out of bed. He shivered at the temperature difference between the warm sheets and the air as he descended the stairs and entered the main part of the flat. Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch with his eyes shut, and John briefly thought that the man was asleep. Upon hearing John enter however, his eyes opened and he perked up.

"Morning." John greeted, smiling. Sherlock's lips quirked up at the ends. John paused in his steps, then rerouted himself, walking over to the couch. He hesitated a second more, then bent over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He began to pull away, but felt Sherlock's cool hands grab his face and pull him back down. The detective placed a rather inexperienced kiss to John's lips, the odd pairing of Sherlock's head being upside down while John's was normal making for a difficult embrace. But, Sherlock managed and was smiling when John rose.

"Good morning, John." he replied, staring up at the man. John laughed and brushed an unruly curl from Sherlock's face. "You seem rather happy today." he commented, gazing down at the detective. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, as if John had said something odd.

"Well, of course." Sherlock dragged out the last word. "Kissing is more pleasurable then I anticipated. You especially." John raised an eyebrow this time, tilting his head slightly.

"Implying that you've thought about it?"

"More than you can imagine." John laughed again and ruffled Sherlock's hair a bit. "I'll take your word for it." he said, walking into the kitchen. He grabbed the loaf of bread that sat on the counter, and opened the bag, taking out 4 pieces. When Sherlock had pretty much blew up their last toaster in an experiment to see how much bread could be fit into one slot, John had griped endlessly over the loss of his dear appliance. The next day however, he came home from the clinic to find a box waiting on the doorstep with his and Sherlock's name written on it. Inside was a brand new, 4 slot toaster, obviously Mycroft's doing. While Sherlock complained voraciously about his brother, John was highly grateful and happy to see the end of his lonely, toastless mornings.

He dropped 4 slices into their individual slots and pushed the lever down, watching as the toaster started. He took a step back and bumped right into Sherlock, who promptly wrapped his long arms around John's shoulders. He placed his head down in the crook of John's neck and the doctor let out a little sigh and leaned into the touch.

"Making tea?" Sherlock mumbled, his eyes closed.

"You could have made it yourself if you wanted some." John replied, moving and taking Sherlock with him as he walked to the stove and turned on the kettle. Sherlock sighed.

"You make it better. Tea preparation was deleted long ago."

"Liar. You're just lazy." John teased, a smile playing at his lips. Sherlock halfheartedly scoffed in reply, but offered no defense in his case.

"How long have you even been awake?"

"2 hours and 37 minutes."

"It's only..." John craned his neck a bit to get a good look at the clock on the wall."9:30. Neither of us went to bed until close to 11."

"So?"

"You got what, less than 6 and a half hours? Not what your doctor recommends, Sherlock."

"Ah, yes, but he's an idiot. Perhaps you should be my doctor, John. I think I would like that a lot better."

"Not when I'm nagging you for your poor diet and sleep habits you won't. Speaking of that," John looked over to where the toast popped up with a metallic sounding burst. "You're going to eat the toast I made." Sherlock made a low groan in the back of his throat, then puffed a warm breath out onto John's skin.

"Eat the damn toast or I won't kiss you."

"Oh, you are a cruel, cruel man Doctor Watson."

"Thanks. Now go sit down, you berk." The detective muttered an illegible protest, but did as he was told and pulled away from John as he moved to take a seat at the table. John immediately missed the warm contact, but ignored his wish for it as he grabbed two plates from the cabinet and plucked the toast out of the toaster, placing two slices on each plate. He moved to the fridge and grabbed the jam that both he, and incredibly Sherlock, had a taste for and slathered it on the toast. Walking over to the table, he placed one of the plates in front of Sherlock, then took his place at the opposite side of the table. John took a bite, but stopped there when he noticed that Sherlock hadn't made any attempt to acknowledge the toast, let alone touch it.

"Hey, eat it." John said, swallowing his food. Sherlock tilted his head to the side and a smirk played at his lips as John narrowed his eyes.

"So, is the deal that you won't kiss me until I eat all of it, or that I only have to take a bite before you kiss me or-"

"Oh, come here." John sighed good naturedly as Sherlock leaned over the table and pressed his lips to John's, the detective humming happily with the gesture. The kiss was soft and gentle and just barely there, and John loved it.

But, when it looked like Sherlock wasn't going to move away unless John made him, the ex army doctor pulled away with a pointed look to the toast and Sherlock pouted.

"Now eat. No more until that plate is clear."

This sort of routine continued for the next week, with the pair waking up to lonely beds, but being enticed with one another's presence for the entire day. They rarely left the flat, and John assumed Mrs. Hudson sensed something different in their relationship by the sly smile she wore. John had expected Sherlock to become antsy, and complain for his lack of a case, but he remained collected and from what John could tell, very happy and content with their current situation.

Later that day, nearly a week and a half after they had first reciprocated one another's feelings, they were both laid out on the couch, with Sherlock's head in John's lap and John absentmindedly running his fingers through the detective's hair. Sherlock must've had sensitive follicles, because he let out a low sigh of pleasure when John's fingers brushed the hair in different directions. John chuckled a little bit, and gazed fondly down at Sherlock. The taller man had his eyes shut, and a little smile was on his face. John's focus faded from the show they had been watching and went to his love, the doctor's eyes following each little line on his face.

"John." Sherlock said, his voice pleasant and content.

"Yeah?"

"Let's go out for dinner. Angelo's?"

"Yeah, sure." John replied, looking down at himself. He and Sherlock hadn't changed from the their pajamas from this morning, and frankly, John felt a bit grimy. Sherlock sat up, then turned to look at him.

"You can shower first, if you like."

"I think I will. Thanks." John rose from the couch and stretched, letting out a low groan as he did. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head, then walked off to shower.

Once John was out of sight, Sherlock fell back onto the couch and sighed. God, he felt high. Was this really how love made people feel? Sherlock could still feel John's fingers running through his hair and he shivered slightly. He was absolutely mesmerized anytime their lips touched, and the way John cupped his face or held him closer or breathed out anytime they parted was enough to make his heart stop and his mind go blank. He wondered if it was the same for John, or maybe if he was just second rate like all of his ex girlfriends had been. Sherlock hoped it was the former, hoped that every touch left John craving for more and that he was left with a bit of an empty feeling when they weren't together.

At around 7:30 that night, the two went off for dinner. Sherlock was dressed like he usually was, the ever posh Spencer Hart wool suit fitting him to a tee. John had settled on one of his nicest jumpers, a brown cardigan type that he wore over a white button up shirt. Jeans followed as always and dare he say, John thought that he looked rather dashing.

As dashing as jumpers and denim were anyway.

Angelo welcomed them into the restaurant with open arms and a booming voice.

"Sherlock! So nice to have you back again!" he greeted, a wide smile on the man's face. His vision flickered over to John, then back to Sherlock and a knowing grin crossed his face briefly.

"Come, come, I have the perfect table for you and your date."

John felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders when he didn't have to remind Angelo that no, he and Sherlock were not a couple.

"Because now we are."

That thought left John giddy as they sat down at a table that was nestled in a far corner, and a dim one at that. However, when he lit a candle between the two of them, the light managed to catch Sherlock's aristocratic features just right, and John found himself breathless. Sherlock thought just the equivalent, finding himself enticed by the way the candle lit up John's smile and eyes. The conversation came easily between the two of them, and John even convinced Sherlock to order something more than a salad. They both decided on pasta, with Sherlock adding garlic bread as side. Both John and Angelo knew that Sherlock had a particular weakness for garlic bread, and were glad for it. The restaurant owner would always send him off with extra, not wanting to see the person that had gotten him off a murder charge end up keeling over from starvation.

Sherlock and John both had wine with their dinner, the drink adding a fuzzy headed calm to the atmosphere. They talked and laughed and after a particular story about a prank he had pulled at Uni, Sherlock found himself on the verge of tears from laughing so much.

"S-Stop John, you'll put me into cardiac arrest." Sherlock choked out, his words unsteady. Something inside John's head clicked, and his laughter died out along with his smile.

"Sherlock has a heart problem. Sherlock is dying." the reminder sounded off in his mind, like an ominous bell tolling. John suddenly found it hard to swallow and weakly tried to smile. However, Sherlock noticed the immediate change in John's face and frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Hm, me? Nothing, I'm okay." John replied quickly, not wanting to damper the high spirits anymore. Sherlock knew that he was lying, and pressed further.

"Your face went blank when I spoke of cardiac arrest. You haven't been to the clinic in days, and you do mundane, simple work. Nothing where you would've lost a patient." Sherlock's face screwed up in thought for a second, then he let out a heavy sigh.

"Mycroft told you, didn't he?"

"Sherlock, please tell me he's lying. Or, maybe I missed something or-"

"Why would he be lying? I've already showed you that it's true, have I not?"

"He said you were dying, Sherlock!" John slammed his hands on the table. A few people in the surrounding tabled glanced over and John looked the other way self consciously. He looked back over to Sherlock to see a peculiar expression on the man's face.

"I'm not dying. Where on earth did you get that idea?" he asked incredulously. John's brow furrowed as he stammered out an answer.

"H-He said that you were having heart problems, a-and that it was killing you and I shouldn't pester you about it and-"

"Oh, John. No, you completely misinterpreted him!" Sherlock exclaimed, a smile crossing over his lips. John gaped at him, completely flabbergasted.

"Heart problems, John! That's always been a sort of code word in out family for um..." Sherlock flushed a bit and looked the other way. "For when one of us develop feelings for another person."

"B-But, he said-"

"Killing me? Quite so, I thought that I might die if I didn't express my affections soon. Mycroft thought that you had spent enough time around me understand every little Holmes family clue, which is highly impossible to do, even for someone like you John."

John stared at Sherlock, confused but overall extremely relieved that his best friend was not dying, and didn't have a health concern as far as he knew of.

"I am going to punch your brother."

"Mm, I suppose I'll join you." Sherlock's mild tone set them both off an a round of laughter and they relaxed in each other's presences again. John and Sherlock stayed until past closing time, only being shooed out when the restaurant had been otherwise vacant for nearly half an hour. Angelo handed Sherlock a box of garlic bread and sent them both off into the brisk London air with a wink. The duo walked down the streets with a light atmosphere around them, perpetual smiles plastered to their faces. However, it began to dwindle as they climbed the stairs into their flat, both men being aware of how late it was. Neither John nor Sherlock was rather fond of sleeping alone again tonight, but both were also rather afraid of overstepping a boundary. Finally, John yawned and hesitantly wished Sherlock goodnight.

"John, wait." Sherlock grabbed John's wrist and held it with an awfully nervous grip. His face flushed a bit and he looked away. John found this oddly endearing, how Sherlock refused to make eye contact when he stated something regarding his joy or affections.

"Would you erm...like to perhaps, sleep in my bed tonight? It is far bigger than your's, and the feather down duvet is much warmer compared to your's and I noticed that you were shivering outside and-"

John cut him off with a peck to the lips, and Sherlock's mouth stayed shut and twisted up in embarrassment as John grinned.

"Yeah, I would. Just let me change, okay?" Sherlock nodded fiercely and John laughed again as he ascended up the stairs. Once out of his view, Sherlock bounded into the flat and headed straight for his own bedroom. The door was only half shut as he carelessly threw off the suit and dress shirt, somehow managed not to stumble around as he pulled on loose pants. He had just gotten his t shirt on and was under the duvet before John knocked on his door.

"You decent?"

"Will you still come in if I am not?"

John opening the door with a sly grin was his response and Sherlock smirked back at him. John let out a fake sigh of irritation as seeing Sherlock clothed and under the blankets.

"Damn. And here I was, expecting something highly different." John remarked, making Sherlock snort. The shorter man faltered at the side of the bed, as if he were unsure if he really belonged it in. Sherlock lifted the duvet and patted the empty space next to him as reinforcement, and John breathed out happily as he clambered into the bed. They were both fairly uncertain of what position to take, as neither knew if the other had some sort of preference. They settled for Sherlock having his head nestled in the crook of John's neck and their legs being tangled together.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! Your feet are freezing!" John exclaimed as a frigid appendage brushed over his leg. Sherlock only curled up further next to John, his feet touching John's warm body.

"Get them off me!"

"Mmm, John, you're so warm though. I think they'll stay." Sherlock lifted his head to gaze up at John, a small smile on the detective's features. John sighed, and smiled back at him.

"You're a sod."

"Thank you." John snorted and shook his head slightly before leaning down to press a kiss onto Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock sighed contently and wiggled up so that he could capture John's lips with his own, just barely brushing them against one another. The gesture was gentle, but meaningful, and they both felt fulfilled as they settled back into the bed. John reached over and shut off the bedside lamp, submerging the pair in the twilight darkness. John's eyes were closed, but he lay awake, listening to Sherlock's breathing pattern. Strong, steady breaths were warm against his skin and he found himself trying to push himself closer to the detective. Sherlock came to the same conclusion, and threw one arm over John's middle and held him close.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

It was nearly 10 when John awoke the next morning. He took a second to realize where he was, and once he did, an overwhelming surge of endorphins rushed through his bloodstream. John had always wondered why Sherlock didn't like to sleep in front of others, but he could see the answer now.

His sleeping position was probably as cause for embarrassment in his mind, as the detective was literally clinging to John, his arms wrapped around the doctor possessively. Sherlock's face was slack, with his curls sticking to his forehead and his mouth hanging open as he snored not so delicately. Still, the morning light that peeked through the drawn curtains managed to catch every detail just right and make him look like he had jumped right off the cover of some gaudy modeling magazine.

John found that he could get used to waking up to this every morning.

guess who's favorite consulting criminal is going to start stirring up trouble