Disclaimer: Original characters belong to Sir ACD, but these versions are Mark Gatiss's and Steven Moffat's. I just get to play.

A/N: Sorry it's been a couple days guys. I was having trouble thinking of the content for this chapter. But here it is. I must note that I'm headed up to Oregon for my Aunt's funeral service and to help take care of her property and belongings for a few days, so there may not be another chapter for a while. I hope you guys enjoy this one. Feedback is always welcome! Enjoy!

A Second Glance

It had been another month since the fiasco with the heroin. John had taken the liberty to plunge out the rest of Sherlock's three syringes filled with the stuff, even though Sherlock no longer seemed interested in it. Sherlock had been rather cheery of late; he ate breakfast and dinner every day and he slept during the designated sleeping time. He was more interested in what John had to say, and he kept his rude remarks to a minimum. John was utterly and completely befuddled by Sherlock's behavior.

Sherlock hated being kind, he hated eating and sleeping, but he did it all to please John. After all, John had saved Sherlock's life in a way. He felt like he owed John his gratitude and tried his best to be gracious in John's presence. Sherlock would have liked to deny it, but he also felt abnormal emotions toward the doctor, ones he had never before explored. No matter how often he told himself that sentiment and love were a liability, he couldn't help but love the doctor. Look at me. The great Sherlock Holmes falling in love with an ordinary man, Sherlock thought.

Although, that was the thing. John wasn't ordinary. He was sweet, loving, confident but vulnerable, and ever so handsome. Sherlock loved John's striped jumpers. They stirred the fleshy anatomy just below his abdomen. It was unnatural for Sherlock, but it was not unpleasant. In fact, he found himself fantasizing about John when he wasn't focused on a case and touching the straining erection just underneath his pants.

Now, Sherlock had never dated anyone, never even felt sentimental about another human being. He had been the only one that mattered; the rest of the world could rot away for all he cared. Until now. Sherlock needed to be in John's presence. It soothed him; he felt alive around John. The only problem was that he didn't know how to tell John. He dropped subtle hints with new cologne, tight shirts, and even lingering touches, but it seemed that John just couldn't pick up on Sherlock's affections.

"Or he's already noticed and isn't interested," Sherlock grumbled to himself as he rolled over in bed. He decided that he would tell John once he woke up; he was drowning in his feelings and didn't know how much longer he could take it.

Sherlock rolled out of bed and strode to the kitchen, quickly whisking up crepe batter and frying it, creating perfectly brown crepes, one of John's favorite things. He thinly sliced a variety of fruits and put a bowl full of yogurt on the table. He also put out some powdered sugar and whipped cream, just for John. Sherlock stuck the crepes in the oven to stay warm and flounced over to the couch. He plopped down with a loud sigh, his hands steepled under his chin. He glanced back and forth between the stairs to John's room and the breakfast on the table.

Sherlock was there for a good fifteen minutes before John walked into the living room.

"Haaaauuung," John yawned.

The detective's face lit up as soon as he saw John.

"Good morning," Sherlock said with a smile.

John started, smiling back after realizing it was just Sherlock.

"Morning," John said, rubbing his eyes.

"I made breakfast." Sherlock glanced nervously at the table.

"Oh goody. What is it?"

"Crepes." Sherlock beamed proudly.

"Yum," John said with a smile, licking his lips. It turned Sherlock on.

Clearing his throat, Sherlock said, "Shall we?"

John nodded, and they walked into the kitchen.

Sherlock pulled John's chair back, pushing it in once John had seated himself comfortably. Sherlock took the crepes out of the oven and set them on the table. He went back to the cabinets to get out two plates and two glasses. He also took out a fork and knife for each of them, setting the table as he went.

"Orange juice or milk?" Sherlock asked with a shy smile.

"Orange juice, I think," John responded warmly. What the hell was up with Sherlock? And why was John warm and tingly inside?

Sherlock took out the orange juice carton, carefully pouring it into both glasses. Once he was done, he capped the carton and stuck it back in the fridge. He swiftly pulled out his chair and sat himself down. He grinned happily at John and dug into his breakfast.

John just sat there staring at Sherlock as he ate. My flatmate is clearly trying to kill me, he thought. He vowed not to eat the crepes, they were most likely one of Sherlock's experiments. They sure did look good.

"John?" Sherlock questioned, stopping John's thought process.

"Hmm?" John replied.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"Oh, yeah," John lied. They sat staring at each other. Oh, what the fuck, he thought.

John took two crepes and filled them with yogurt, strawberries, and powdered sugar. He rolled them up and put a dollop of whipped cream on top of both, beginning his feast.

"Mm, Sherlock, these are really good," John swallowed a mouthful of crepe and then beamed.

Sherlock blushed and looked down at his food. "Thank you John."

"No, thank you!" John exclaimed.

Sherlock turned a darker shade of pink and picked at his food to distract himself.

Once they had finished their breakfast, Sherlock cleared everything away and washed all of the dishes while John turned on the telly. Sherlock joined him on the couch not long after John had sat down. They sat watching the program in silence, Sherlock's thoughts in turmoil.

Okay, he thought. Now would be a good time to talk to John about your feelings.

"Umm, John?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Yes Sherlock?" John replied absentmindedly.

Sherlock turned off the telly impatiently. "John, we need to talk."

Uh-oh, John thought. "What about, Sherlock?" John kept his eyes trained on Sherlock's.

Sherlock laid his hands atop John's, the gesture taking John and himself by surprise. John's eyes widened measurably.

"Umm, John, I'm new to this since I've never been in a relationship. In fact, I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be saying right now. But, I want you to know that my feelings for you have grown over the past two months, and I think I would be interested in giving dating a try, as long as you're okay with it." Sherlock exhaled loudly; he had been speaking very quickly and high in pitch.

John just looked at him, not sure what to say. He found himself trying not to laugh, but his giggles escaped him. "You can't be serious Sherlock. There's no way you could fall in love. You just don't work that way." He continued to laugh at Sherlock's advance.

Sherlock's face changed almost instantly, going from an expression of hopefulness to one of hurt. He drew his hands away. "I am being serious John." Sherlock's voice cracked at the end. John had rejected him, and he had to admit that he was more than just a little disappointed.

Sherlock's facial change had silenced John's giggling immediately. He can't be serious, John thought. But it was evident in the way the consulting detective held himself that John's words had deeply wounded him. "Oh..." John was at a loss for words. He had never been with a bloke before. Well, there weren't all that many women around in the military, so there was a lot of pent up sexual frustration. So he had been there and done that, but he had never been in a committed relationship with one. John looked away. He had actually hurt Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock cleared his throat, back to his mask of indifference. "I'm sorry John. I thought that you might be open to trying something new with me, but I clearly misread you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I apologize for my inappropriate advance. I ask you to forget what just happened and we can carry on being flatmates." And with that, Sherlock stalked off to his room.

John could only sit there and gawk at what had just transpired between the two men. He ran up to his room to get dressed. He needed some fresh air and time alone to think about things. He scribbled something on a sticky note quickly and ran back down stairs. He grabbed his coat and slapped the sticky note on the fridge. He hustled out of 221B and into the morning air of London.

o0o

Sherlock heard John exit the building in a rush. He felt bad for making John uncomfortable. He left his room and went to the fridge, knowing that John had left some explanation for Sherlock in his hurry to get away. Sherlock plucked the note off of the fridge and read it.

Sherlock,

I'm very sorry for hurting your feelings. I've gone out to think about things. I will be back before dinner.

Sincerely,

John

Sherlock sunk down to the floor and began to cry softly.