THREE

"Uggghhhhh…" John rolled over and rubbed his eyes. "Sherlock?"

No answer. Light was pouring in through a crack in the blinds and falling right on John's face. He squinted in discomfort.

"Sherlock?" he called again.

The door opened a bit. "Yes, John?"

"Where am I?" He lifted his head up to look at Sherlock.

"My bedroom. Baker Street."

"Oh, god. Why?"

"You were drunk and you refused to go back to your flat. So, I set you up in here and took the couch."

"Oh." John shook his head. "Ugh. Jesus."

"How do you feel?"

"Bloody awful. Do you have any juice?"

"Yeah, it's in the refridg-"

"Juice that does not contain eyeballs?"

Silence.

"Why don't I just go pop over to Speedy's for something real quick?"

"Yeah, why don't you," John chuckled, leaning back into the pillow.

After a few minutes, he forced himself out of bed. Still groggy, John changed out of the clothes he passed out in and hopped in the shower.

He walked out into the living room in his robe, scratching his head. "Sherlock? You back with the juice ye-?"

John was cut off by a loud crash, as Sherlock whipped around and dropped the glass he was holding, sending orange juice and shards of glass everywhere.

"For god's sake, John, put some clothes on!" Sherlock growled, stooping over to clean up the mess.

John let out a laugh. "Since when do you care that I walk around in my robe? Used to do it all the time."

"Since… I don't know, just help me deal with this. OW!" Sherlock yelped, sticking his thumb in his mouth. "Shit."

"Let me see."

Daggers.

John was a bit taken aback by the look Sherlock gave him. "I'm a doctor, you twat, give me your hand."

Sherlock locked eyes with John and extended his arm.

John took Sherlock's hand in his own and flipped it over. He squeezed Sherlock's thumb lightly, observing the small shard of glass sticking out of it. "Easy. Stay there." He released Sherlock's hand and got up to look for tweezers.

Sherlock didn't budge. The only thing he could concentrate on was the softness of John's skin on his. How gentle John's hands were. Sherlock's hand was still suspended in the air when John returned.

He knelt down again. "Give it here," John commanded.

Sherlock rested his shaky hand in the army doctor's steady ones. He watched as John masterfully rested the tweezers around the shard, squeezed lightly, and pulled. Sherlock barely noticed the twinge of pain that came with the removal of the glass.

He couldn't concentrate on anything this morning. What is John doing? Does he remember what happened last night? I barely had anything at the pub, but John was so full of alcohol maybe he doesn't. Oh, god. The moment we met, I found myself experiencing… something.

"Sherlock."

I've never experienced anything like it before. I guessed what it must have been, so naturally I ruled out any possibility of anything happening between us right away. But now…

"Sherlock."

They were both still kneeling on the floor, Sherlock's hand in John's. Sherlock looked up, straight into John's eyes. Their faces were about three or four inches apart, and Sherlock jerked and stumbled back, disoriented.

"Christ, Sherlock, what's the matter with you today?"

"Nothing." Sherlock picked himself up off the floor and straightened his shirt.

"No, you're acting weird." John stood up too. "More than usual, that is."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock strode into the kitchen and tried to look busy with his various beakers and scientific instruments.

"Yes you do." John followed him and crossed his arms, staring Sherlock down. "What happened? Talk to me."

CLANG.

"It's your fault." Sherlock dropped the bowls he was pretending to compare and turned to face John, hands on his hips.

"My fault." John repeated.

"Yes." Sherlock pushed past John and curled up in his chair. John rolled his eyes and turned around.

"Stop moping and tell me what's going on, you arse."

Sherlock glared at John.

John glared at Sherlock.

Sherlock averted his gaze, but quickly met John's stern gaze again.

John raised his eyebrows.

"UGH! FINE, JOHN," Sherlock roared and sat up, bringing his knees to his chest. "You really want to know?"

"I really want to know."

"You kissed me."

Silence.

"No I didn't."

"You did."

"No."

More silence.

Sherlock stared into his friend's eyes and waited.

John laughed. "No." His smile faded quickly, and he stared incredulously back at Sherlock. "Seriously?"

"Yes."


An hour later, Sherlock and John were sitting in their respective chairs. They had both been staring at the floor the entire time with the exception of one or two brief glances at each other.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again.

John noticed and looked up. "What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, why does this have to change anything?

"John, it already has." Sherlock groaned and got up, pacing back and forth across the flat.

John's eyes followed Sherlock around the room. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock stopped abruptly and whipped around to look at John. "It's… hard to explain."

"Try."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and looked back down at the floor. He studied the rug for a moment before speaking. "Last night, when you… when it happened… I inadvertently reacted in a way that was immensely surprising to myself and would most likely shock you as well."

"Is that so?" John smirked.

"Do you think this is funny?" Sherlock shot him a look before turning around.

John sighed and got up. "No, of course not. I'm just… well, you were right. I'm a little taken aback." He walked over to Sherlock and placed his hands on the detective's shoulders. Sherlock flinched but settled into the touch. His eyes welled up with tears. He sniffed loudly.

"It's alright. You're alright." John's hands slid down Sherlock's arms to his elbows, his thumbs moving in a circular motion.

Sherlock let out a shaky laugh. "You said that last night. I had no idea what you were talking about."

"Apparently, neither did I." John laughed with him. He exhaled softly and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's middle, relishing the feel of his arms moving against the fabric of Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock slowly closed his eyes and let himself relax. It's John. You trust John. John is good. John is alright. He grinned. Yeah. John is alright.

With John's arms still around him, Sherlock turned around to face his friend. John raised his hands and captured Sherlock's face in them. "Do you trust me?"

"Always, John."

John pulled Sherlock closer. Pause.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment filled with a silence that was screaming out every unspoken feeling, every intense gaze, every gut-wrenching time when one feared losing the other.

Their lips met.