John turned to look at Sherlock in disbelief. At night he always heard the occasional noises that led him to assume that Sherlock never slept. He would toss and turn in his bed, his imagination conjuring up images of what Sherlock might have been doing; typing on his website, slapping on some nicotine patches, talking to the skull mounted on the fireplace. The situations John could think of were endless.
At last he nodded his head in Sherlock's direction and stood up, feigning being tired by stifling a faked yawn. "Yes actually, I am a tad tired." He reached down to grab his untouched and now cold tea. "Getting some sleep sounds pretty damn good right now," John muttered. He rubbed his eyes and moved slowly towards the kitchen.
Why the bloody hell did I just lie to the best detective in the world? Of course he's going to notice I'm lying.
…
As soon as John moved to grab his mug, Sherlock knew that he was hiding something, that his yawn and tired gestures weren't genuine. John wasn't tired and neither was he. Now was the time to put his brilliant plan into motion.
His hand snapped out in the blink of an eye and grabbed John by the wrist, walking him forcefully back against the wall. "John. We both know that you're not really tired. Come now, lying is distasteful. On the other hand," Sherlock narrowed his eyes and smirked. "On the other hand," he leaned forward and murmured against John's ear, "Gotcha." He leaned closer still, whispering, "Again." The word was barely audible, said as if it were only a soft exhale passing through the lips.
Just as the numerous nights before, their faces were separated by mere centimeters. "Is this what you've been avoiding?" Sherlock's eyes were open wide now, seeming hesitant, vulnerable to John's gaze.
…
John's heart stammered in his chest as he gasped aloud, and dropped his cup. The fragile glass shattered into pieces that flew in all directions. "Damn it, Sherlock!" he yelled, staggering back onto the wall in shock, colliding with a dull thud.
Sherlock's face appeared again, filling his vision with ice cold eyes that searched his own. John flinched when he felt warm breath tickling his ear.
Glancing away from Sherlock's intense gaze he stuttered, "I didn't mean to lie…I-I just, ah, I just….I don't know…." John looked back into his mesmerizing eyes. He felt exposed and trembled with anxiety whenever he was against the wall. It was becoming a habit.
…
"You could just tell me, you know." Sherlock was acting different than the other times, his eyes almost pleaded with John. His face was filled with indecision and a little confusion: a first.
"You never opposed this before…I just…I always thought that you didn't mind. Are my deductions of your body language incorrect?" He only wanted to express himself in the only unadulterated way that was available to him; actions.
Sherlock's hold on John loosened a fraction as he leaned away slightly. Am I being rejected?
…
"I could tell you…" he paused, whispering timidly, "But as you know, I, um, am not the best with my words." Shifting his weight from side to side, John looked to the ground, "I never minded. Well, don't mind, that is…."
John took a deep breath and mustered up any courage that being in the presence of this man banished, and slowly reached up with one hand and slipped his fingers into Sherlock's mass of curls. He gently moved their faces closer together, each breath they took mingling as their lips barely brushed.
I've never seen him be so hesitant before, honestly he's usually the one coming onto me!
…
Sherlock exhaled "Perfect," after John brought their heads together. It was as if he was back to his normal self. The vulnerability and hesitancy a façade he temporarily wore to coerce John to kiss him of his own free will. But John would never have to know.
Sherlock pinned John's free hand above his head and pulled John closer to him, their bodies pressed together by the weight of Sherlock's hand on the small of John's back. Their lips were parted but a moment longer before he pressed his mouth against John's with renewed vigor, just like he had all the nights previous.
…
John relaxed his whole body into the strong hand pressing against his back and he released a content sigh, reveling in the feeling of being held. Damn that Holmes for making me feel like this. Then doubt arose in John's mind as confusion painted a whirlwind of questions.
Ripping himself from Sherlock's hold, John put his hands to his head and yelled, "Sherlock WHY?" The ensuing silence was so quiet that John thought Sherlock would be able to hear his heart jumping out of his chest. Why did this always happen? Why so much doubt? Since when did companionship turn into desire? Did Sherlock feel the same? What the hell were they doing?!
…
About damn time John had some questions. He's always so compliant. Sherlock arched a brow and grabbed John's chin so that he was looking at him.
"Simple really." The detective planned his words out quickly so that they sounded just right. "It has come to my realization that I don't just need you John. I need to love you."
And thus the waiting game begins.
A/N: Alexis- Hey readers! Just to clear things up: the Bold is Sherlock, the 'Regular' is John, and the italics are their thoughts.
Chris- Enjoy my lovely JohnLock lovers. :P
Alexis- *OUR -.-