When John woke up, his bedroom door was open. Not much, maybe 3-5 centimetres.
The hell?
He grabbed his robe and slipped it on as he descended the stairs into the living room. Sherlock was laying on the sofa, thinking away with his hands under his chin. John went to the kitchen to make breakfast for himself. Maybe a bit for Sherlock, too, but it was unlikely that he'd even eat it.
John fried up an egg for himself, and made enough beans and toast to split between the two of them. He'd made tea for them, as well. John carried the cups of tea into the living room first, then went back for the plates of food. He snapped his fingers next to Sherlock's ear for a good 10 seconds, and the detective still wouldn't come out of it. John tried to shake him, and that didn't do anything.
"Sherlock," John said, concern present in his voice.
No response.
"Sherlock!"
No response.
"Oh, come on! The food is getting cold."
No response.
John sighed.
The films Harry used to make me watch should have prepared me for this.
He took a deep breath in and released it slowly. He couldn't actually do this, could he?
What's the worst that will happen?
John leaned down, closed his eyes, and puckered his lips. Sherlock's own lips must have their own gravitational pull, because John could no longer pull away - in the event that he even wanted to pull away. John's lips were closing in on Sherlock's. Only about 9 centimetres apart.
8 centimetres..
7 centimetres..
6 centimetres..
5 centimetres..
"What are you doing, John?" Sherlock asked.
John opened his eyes, not moving to stand straight again. Sherlock's eyes were open and watching him.
"I - uh - see, you wouldn't wake up, so I -"
"Thought you'd have your way with me?"
"What? No! For God's sake, Sherlock. I was trying to wake you up."
"By doing - whatever it was that you were doing?"
"Yes."
"It seemed you were trying to kiss me."
"Kiss you? Why the hell would I do that?"
"You tell me."
"Could be because you resemble a beautiful princess," John started, sarcasm intertwining with his voice. "and I couldn't awaken you from your slumber. So, I thought a kiss of true love could wake you!"
"Very funny. Why were you trying to 'wake me?' "
"'Made breakfast."
"I'm on a case, John! Food only slows me down."
"Oh, here we go. Sherlock, you can't just not eat for an entire case. Some cases take a long time, and you need food."
"I don't need food."
John sighed again. His back was starting to ache a little from staying bent over.
"Please, just eat, Sherlock. You need it, no matter what you say. I am the doctor here, after all."
"I don't want food, John."
"Then what do you want?"
Sherlock grabbed John by the back of his head and collided their lips together. Normally, John's first instinct would have been to pull away, but the pull of Sherlock's lips kept him in place. The detective parted his lips and grazed his tongue across John's bottom lip. The doctor parted his in response and lightly bit onto Sherlock's top lip. They pulled away for a second and crashed together once more.
John pulled away, stood up, and cleared his throat.
"Breakfast is going to get cold," he said.
"Right."
John took the chair from Sherlock's desk and put it on the other side of the table. Sherlock didn't look like he was going to eat. He was just watching John move.
"Sherlock, you're staring. You should be eating."
"I don't want food."
"Tough. Eat your breakfast."
"No."
"Sherlock, really. It's only toast and beans. Nothing bad will come of eating it. You're not doing anything else at the moment anyway!"
"On the contrary, John. I'm watching you."
"Why?"
"You're fascinating."
"All I'm doing is eating."
"Oh, not about the food," Sherlock said. His tone sounding more like that's not what I'm talking about, you idiot.
"Then, what?"
"You were going to kiss me when you couldn't wake me. You tied me to the chair and whipped me. You care about me, and you care for me."
"And?"
"It's quite fascinating."
"Sure, it is. You know what would fascinate me? If you ate your damn breakfast."
"Okay, John."
Sherlock sat up, ate his food, and drank his tea. His eyes never broke away from John's for that entire time.
"Happy?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
John forwarded his eyebrows in confusion, and ate his breakfast.
It's fucking cold. Great.
"John."
"Hm?" John couldn't use actual words, since there was a large bite of cold egg occupying his mouth.
"I got you a gift yesterday when I was out."
"Another gift?"
"Yes. It's not as -What would you call the whip? Enigmatic?"
"Over the top?"
Sherlock huffed. "I supposed." He stood and walked to his bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a small box, wrapped in the same kind of paper that the whip was wrapped in. He stopped behind John and held it in front of the sitting man.
John took it and opened the package slowly, cautiously. He stared into the box, confused.
"Red pants?"
"Correct. I knew the approximate size but didn't know exactly, so I got you a couple extra-"
"Why did you buy me red pants, Sherlock?"
"Because I want you to wear them, John. At all times. Or, at least, carry a pair around with you."
"No."
"It wasn't an option."
"Well, it's still a no."
Sherlock bent down and got next to John's ear.
"You will do it, John. Or I will make you."
"I would love to see you try."
"If you wish," Sherlock said, walking away to sit on the sofa across from John.
"You know I'm not gay, right?"
"That hasn't really seemed to stop you. But, yes, you are rather importunate about it."
Sherlock had a tone of annoyance.
"Listen, I don't know what the hell is happening in this flat anymore. What is going on, Sherlock?"
"Trying to have a bit of fun."
"Like this, though? A game of domination and sex?"
"John, like I've said, I saw the way you reacted to the Woman."
"I didn't have a thing for Irene Adler, Sherlock!"
"I'm not saying you did. I just saw the hunger in your eyes over her power. The thought of being able to do as you wished to a person. I know you want to do it, John. I'm volunteering to be that person."
"I'm not gay!"
"Your growing erection seems to have a different opinion on the matter."
John looked down and the answer to his shrinking trousers was there. He quickly moved his hands to cover his groin.
"This isn't a game-"
"Oh, sure it is, John! It's the biggest game you'll ever play! We flirt with death with our danger and violence, but when it comes to your sexuality, you're far more stubborn."
"Sexuality isn't an opinion."
"No, I suppose you're right. It's not. However, trying to deny it won't get you anywhere."
"I'm not denying anything! Except that, obviously. I'm not gay, Sherlock. That's that, and that is final."
"Alright," Sherlock said, standing up from the sofa. He walked over to John and kissed him roughly. His voice must have dropped a couple octaves, because John couldn't hear the words - rather, he felt them course through him like adrenaline. "If you say so, Dr. Watson."
The statement flowed through John and right to his cock.
Fucking hell.
And just like that, Sherlock walked away to his bedroom.