The kiss was brief but passionate. Sherlock sat back once they had parted, entirely bemused by his own actions and emotions that were betraying him. Kissing? Sherlock Holmes did not do kissing! John carried an expression of equal bewilderment. However, both men also smiled at one another as if to say "you have no idea how long I have wanted to do that!"
"Wow! Er, wow!" John ran a hand through his hair nervously. "That just… we just… did we just…"
"We kissed, John," Sherlock tried to say coolly, although his voice crept an octave higher than usual.
"We did, didn't we…"
Sherlock ached to change the subject, and grasping for a new topic blurted: "John, I'm truly sorry and I will explain why I did what I did! It was all to protect you, I swear on m—"
John didn't want to hear that yet. He covered Sherlock's mouth to shut him up, then kissed him again, picking up where the last kiss left off. The kiss was deeper than before and less urgent. Sherlock let himself drown in it, although he was still entirely confused and conflicted by his actions.
Sherlock's mind was whirring painfully slowly, no longer dusty from lack of use, but now baffled by brand new feelings. It convinced him to stop and pull away, then immediately telling him to screw that and pull John closer still.
All John could think was "Holy Shit! I'm kissing Sherlock!"
Sherlock pulled away, his eyes wild but pained with confusion and his curls wilder than ever. He sat back and John retreated slowly to the sofa, seeing that the detective was entirely overwhelmed by all this. They both sipped their coffee, not making eye contact for more than a few milliseconds. The distance between them felt like a thousand miles, and Sherlock, for the first time he could remember, craved closeness. John seemed to realise this and patted the settee cushion beside him. Sherlock scrambled to sit next to him and cautiously reached out to hold John's hand.
"I cannot fathom… I can't… believe that I'm feeling like this!" Sherlock palmed his face angrily. "Damned emotions!" he pulled at his hair and buried his face in his hands.
"Shhh, it's perfectly natural to feel like this," John soothed, stroking his hand.
"Not for me! Not for Sherlock Holmes it's not natural!" Sherlock raged.
"I know it's hard to believe sometimes, but you are human," John teased, squeezing Sherlock's hand extra tight. "It is natural to have feelings for someone; it's just new to you!"
"Bah! Love!" Sherlock seethed, popping a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it up, for want of something distracting.
"Love?" John's voice caught in his throat and Sherlock choked on the thoughtful drag he had just taken. "You love me? Sherlock Holmes loves me!" he sang.
"I didn't—I just meant—well I mean, I guess I do but—"
John silenced him with a kidd.
"Good to know, Sherlock, because I love you, too!"
Sherlock lay with his head in John's lap. The TV was droning on in the background and he was aware of John playing with his hair; which he rather liked, to his great surprise. He was thinking about John and these new found feelings. John was right, it was a natural thing: love. Lots of species mate for life. People are supposed to fall in love, like in films and fairytales. Aren't they? But Sherlock Holmes, the self confessed sociopath, in love? This was big news.
He rolled to face the TV but closed his eyes in disgust when he realised John was watching a boring, predictable detective show.
He tried to deduce how John had taken his death as he lay there. John was pale, drawn and thin. Sherlock had noticed, from his trips to the graveyard during John's visits and from the cane hanging by the door that the psychosomatic limp was back. All these pointed to the obvious fact that John had not taken Sherlock's "death" well at all. He was clearly conflicted, as was Sherlock himself. Sherlock could tell John was angry with him, even as he played with Sherlock's hair and allowed him to lie in his lap, John was stiff. He wished Sherlock would have trusted him and this made Sherlock feel guilty. He probably could have trusted John to fake mourn him for a few years, only meeting in secret, whilst Sherlock restored his reputation on the down low. But at the same time, Sherlock knew he had made the right choice- John was safe, if a bit damaged. But hopefully nothing that time wouldn't heal.
Sherlock, feeling guilty for hurting his precious doctor, snuggled closer into John's lap. He reached up and untangled John's hand from his hair. John had beautiful, soft, healer's hands and Sherlock could not help but kiss each finger gently. John took Sherlock's hand and returned the favour, kissing each bony finger tip and savouring the moment. Sherlock reached up and kissed John.
John smiled, despite the fact that Sherlock tasted of cold coffee and cigarettes, and that he had lied to him for six months, he was happy they were reunited.
"My blogger," Sherlock whispered, lying back down in John's lap, practically purring like a cat with happiness.
"My detective," came John's whispered reply.