John had waited for a slightly dazed Sherlock to answer, but when none of forthcoming, he decided to make a hasty retreat.
His own mind was reeling.
He had just kissed Sherlock Holmes.
In fact, scratch that.
Sherlock Holmes had just kissed him back.
As soon as he was standing on Baker Street itself, he hesitated, glancing up at the window he knew looked in on Sherlock's living room.
He wanted to give Sherlock space. Let him think. But at the same time, he didn't want Sherlock thinking he was running away.
The two conflicts battled for a moment, and then John stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi.
He was sure Sherlock had never done anything remotely romantic. The kiss had contained that element of newness which told him Sherlock had never kissed anybody before.
A slightly scary thought. Why had Sherlock picked him of all people?
Or had he? It could have been an experiment. A flight of fancy. It could have meant nothing.
But John somehow thought not. Sherlock had been almost fearful, or at least cautious, as if worried he was making the wrong move.
John climbed into a taxi, nestling into the grimy seats and watching a dark London trundle by. Harry would probably be worried by now, but he felt that his evening hadn't been totally wasted.
Well, it had been interesting.
He'd kissed the world's only consulting detective, and shot a murderer.
Despite the euphoria of the kiss, the fact his name now described a murderer was something which made him shiver.
The only thing that comforted him was that Sherlock didn't seem to hate him for it.
Everything was so complicated all of a sudden. And maybe if he had the intelligence of Sherlock, he could have figured it all out. But unfortunately, the thousand conflicting ideas, feelings and thoughts charged round his head, and he was unable to rein them in.
The two murders, that of Adam, and that of the drug dealer, were similar and yet completely different. Apart from the fact he didn't feel he should cry over the drug dealer, his feelings were similar. But the circumstances were different. And Sherlock added a twist the the whole situation.
Sherlock, who had promised to protect him. Did that make Sherlock as bad as himself? Should he offer himself up?
The thought only briefly passed through his head. He didn't want to go to prison. Not when things were beginning to look brighter. He'd found somebody. Harry was almost off her alcohol. So apart from two deaths, both of which could be blamed on him, he was happy.
Finally the taxi arrived outside Harry's small flat, and the cabbie impatiently tapped the glass when John failed to move.
He clumsily climbed out out, paid the fare, and hurried up to the house, pulling the key Harry had presented him with when she picked him up from the crime scene.
God, that seemed ages ago.
How had so much happened since then?
He rammed the metal into the lock, somehow feeling a little better at the nasty scraping noise it made. He stepped inside, only to find the hall light was on.
Obviously Harry had waited up for him. So he softly made his way to the kitchen, which was also illuminated. Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine of some description.
She looked up at him when a the floor creaked, and he was greeted with a scowl.
"Where the heck have you been?" she demanded.
"Out." John said cautiously.
"You've been 'out' hours." Harry snapped, stilling glaring from her seat.
"Sorry." John said, aware there was the smallest hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Harry's look softened slightly.
"So what were you doing?" she asked again.
I was shooting drug dealers, and kissing detectives.
"I was having lunch with a man who's trying to prove me innocent. But it stretched on at his place." he said.
Harry winced, but said nothing, merely nodding.
"I'm going to turn in then." John said, giving a forced smile and walking away before Harry could reply.
He could see the worry in her eyes. Her little brother was probably going to be accused of murder. And he knew that suspicions would be going through her head. How could she not think John had killed Adam when the police believed so.
He was woken by his sister roughly shaking him awake, an anxious frown on her face. Nobody else could look annoyed and worried at the same time.
"There's somebody to see you John." she said as John mumbled for her to go away.
It took five minutes for John to actually be awake enough to have the sentence register.
"Who?" he asked finally.
"I don't know. I haven't let him in. I think it might be the police." she replied.
"This person didn't say if he was with the police?"
"Nope. Rude bugger he was. Just told me to fetch you."
In John's experience, however limited, the police force were not prone to being describe as 'rude buggers'. That gave him a twinge of hope it wasn't somebody coming to arrest him.
"Fine, give me a minute."
Harry left the room while he dressed, and he glanced at the clock, finding it was obscenely early. Six thirty if you wanted to be precise.
That however, took away his smidgeon of hope. Who else called that early?
Maybe Sherlock had caved in and told Lestrade he'd killed somebody. Or maybe they'd figured it out for themselves. Or maybe some evidence over Adam's case had come to light. Or-
He brought his increasingly fearful thoughts to a stop, and pulled on a jumper, hurrying out into the hall where Harry was waiting.
"I'll leave you to it." she said, slowly moving into the living room with a worried glance.
John drew a deep breath, smoothed down his wild hair, and stepped over to the door, wrenching it open.
The tall man who had been leaning against the porch gave a small twitch of the lips.
He looked surprisingly ill at ease, righting himself to a standing position and chewing on slightly red lips.
"I couldn't stand it any more. I thought maybe..." Sherlock trailed off with a shrug, light eyes watching John closely.
John smiled, feeling a touch of happiness in the stretching in his lips which seemed to becoming more and more frequent when Sherlock was around.
He stepped outside, shutting the door. That seemed to calm Sherlock a little, and he absently scuffed his foot against the step, waiting for John to speak.
"I'm sorry for leaving last night." John said.
Sherlock nodded.
"I understand that you needed to think." he said.
John offered a tentative smile, watching the man closely. There were many barely concealed emotions in his eyes as he met John's gaze.
"John, I need..." he trailed off, lips twisting.
Several seconds elapsed, and he didn't continue.
"You need..?" John prompted.
Sherlock shook his head.
"No. It can wait. I should probably leave you alone. I just had to... Check." he said.
John knew he should do something, but just looking at Sherlock's marble, frankly gorgeous, face made him wonder if he could ever be on his level.
Better find out now rather then later. He thought, and took Sherlock's limp hand in his, leaning up.
Sherlock bent, and their lips met halfway. He could taste the relief in Sherlock's lips. Feel the free-flying joy and smell the dispelled fear.
It was Sherlock this time that pulled him close, almost closer than he thought possible. He smiled slightly as strong arms wound round his upper back in a comforting embrace.
He felt safer than he'd ever felt before with Sherlock wound round him. And this was the man, only yesterday, he had been wishing for, but knowing - or at least thinking he knew - Sherlock would never enter anything as dangerous as a relationship.
It was Sherlock that finally, reluctantly pulled away. He gazed down at John, eyes still confused and unsure.
"I have to go." he said, pulling John closer instead.
"You don't to come in have some breakfast?" John asked hopefully.
"No." Sherlock said, peeling himself away with a sigh.
John watched him turn and walk swiftly back down the path.
"Come to Baker Street at lunch time." Sherlock called without turning, stepping onto the road and hailing a cab.
John watched him climb in, and raised his hand in answer to the small wave Sherlock sent his way.
Thank you so so much everybody who reviewed! I found all your lovely comments extremely buoying, and encouraged me to write that. I hope to be showing you the next chapter soon.
On another note, I've had an idea for another fic. Any interest?