A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter, I struggled a little on where I wanted to go with this but I have a pretty good idea now. Also, thanks to everyone who reads, reviews, follows and favorites my story:D Enjoy all you BEAUTIFUL readers!
Chapter Twenty-Five: Realization
It'd been just short of 24 hours before Sherlock had come out of his room. Ever since they had gotten home from the hospital and Sherlock had found the flat the way it was, he had held himself up in his room. He didn't come for anything. No drinks, food, entertainment. John had told himself once 24 hours went by he would drag the over emotional git out of his room. But, at last he didn't have to.
Footsteps could be heard padding down the hallway. They stopped just short of the couch that John himself was seated in. John didn't look up. He wouldn't encourage Sherlocks fits, so he continued to pretend that he was engrossed in his new questionable zombie book.
"John?"
"I'm reading Sherlock."
"John?"
"Bit busy…"
Silence followed his last remark. He could hear Sherlock's footsteps retreat into the kitchen. The clanging of cupboards could be heard and the click of the kettle. He soon returned to John barring two cups of tea. Setting one down in front of John on the coffee table, Sherlock's mouth formed a slight smile.
"I made you tea."
"You never make me tea." Remarked John, a look of puzzlement plastered onto his face.
Sherlock must have misinterpreted John's reaction. for his reply was curt and laced with venom.
"My apologies, I won't do it again Doctor Watson."
"Sherlock, I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just surprised, that's all. I don't think in the whole time i've lived here you've ever made me tea."
"Oh."
"Thank you."
"For…?"
"The tea you idiot," snickered John.
"Of course, I knew that."
John couldn't help but roll his eyes at Sherlock. He really was a daft git sometimes.
"How are you feeling Sherlock?"
"Fine," he replied. "How are you feeling John?"
"I've certainly been worse," he snorted softly.
"Hows… the leg…" questioned Sherlock.
It was a bold move, well as far as John saw it it was. They hadn't really talked at all about what had happened with Moriarty, or Sherlock's 'fall' before hand. They just stuffed it down real deep underneath all their other life problems hoping it would be the last one that they would end up facing. Apparently that strategy wasn't working, because here it was resurfacing before them.
"John… I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked."
"No… No, it's fine; really it is."
In all actuality it wasn't. He didn't want to discuss the pain he'd suffered through while receiving the scar. What John hated to think was that Sherlock had given himself that scar and Moriarty had made on just like it. The pain John had suffered while undergoing the trauma was almost unbearable and Sherlock had inflicted a similar one on himself no less. With this in thought, John had been behind the reason Sherlock inflicted this on himself. He wasn't sure if he should feel disgusted with himself, or with Sherlock.
"It's fine, just a little tender. Thanks for asking."
"Would you like some paracetamol? It's about time for your next dose of medication anyways."
"How do…" John stopped himself short. Of course Sherlock knew when his medication doses were. The detective prided himself in knowing everything, which usually started with knowing just about everything there is to know about John. So why wouldn't he know? "That would be nice, yes."
Sherlock came back moment later with the medicine. The detective dropped two pills in his hand, fingers lingering slightly dancing on John's calloused skin. For once John didn't really mind. He let Sherlock dally for a few extra seconds; he acted as if he didn't realize it.
"Thank you."
"Mmm.." Sherlock mumbled sitting on the opposite side of the couch from John.
The detective curled up into his famous thinking pose. His hands were pressed together steepled beneath his chin. John dismissed this and went back to reading his book.
Pulling up we all took to our assigned jobs. Amy and I ventured into the building to scope out for any handy things. Stalking through the station the close corners of the gas station played with my mind. Really small buildings always had set me on edge the most. If a zombie does decided to jump out and consume your being, it's hard to run because everything's so congested. You'll end up tripping over those stupid little 'convince' baskets they have for shopping and face plant right into hell. That or you'll just run into a shelving unit, which would most likely end up just as bad...
Oh.
The cushion beside John sagged considerably. A warm sensation could be felt against John's neck. A hot dense feeling: Breath?
"Sherlock?"
"Yes John?"
The low baritone rumbled in John's ear sending chills throughout his whole body. "What are you doing?" He rasped trying to recover from the shudder.
"Reading."
"Why don't you go get your own book?"
"Because I like you- er… your book." Sherlock stuttered.
John turned to face the detective. His face was so incredibly close. Their noses almost close enough to touch if one only leaned in the slightest.
"John…" Sherlock's voice was low and raspy. The tone of his voice sent another tremor rippling through John.
What was happening? John wasn't gay. He certainly had never felt this way towards a man before. He'd only gotten these feelings when women were involved. Or maybe what he said was true. He really was falling for Sherlock Holmes. He really did love him after all.
"John, May I kiss you?"
"Wha… What am I. supposed to say. To that.." stammered John completely shell shocked.
"Yes," hummed Sherlock closing the remaining space between them.
Lips clashed with lips as Sherlock kissed John. It was like passion attacking him, yet delicate and feather like. Warmth spread through him as soon as Sherlock met John. John's eyes fluttered close recuperating the actions Sherlock was giving. Flesh ground against one another as the kiss became more intense. Sadly, good things always have their end; Hot fiery lips left John's. Pealing open his eyes he saw Sherlock. His pupils were fully blown consuming his whole eyes making him seem predatory. Something snapped in John Watson, the sight to much to handle. The need for John Watson inscribed on Sherlock's face an absolute, dare he say, turn on. He'd never seen anyone want him as much as this.
"Oh god…"whispered John. He lunged towards Sherlock's lips reaffirming their previous connection.