Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any recognizable character and am not making any profit by using them.

This one is the counterpart of "First kiss". While that was more from John´s point of view, this one is Sherlock´s.

Enjoy!

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First Kiss (Sherlock's POV)

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They´ve been squabbling ceaselessly all day and didn´t even stop in the cab to the crime scene, or at the crime scene for that matter, or at the Yard while Sherlock explained the case´s solution to a baffled Lestrade, and certainly not in the cab back home.

And now they´re standing in front of each other, and Sherlock can see that John´s not worn down one bit because he is stubborn, and he won´t let Sherlock off the hook either. They can´t seem to settle the issue, and neither of them is willing to give up.

"I really don´t see your point,"Sherlock says, deliberately nettling John. "If you eliminate all impossibilites there´s only the one logical solution."

"No." John shakes his head. "You are still not taking into account that there might be a third alternative."

Sherlock grimaces: "Come on, we both know that that´s rather ridiculous."

"All I´m saying is that it could have developed differently. And there are other species-"

"But the question is not about any other species. It´s specifically about a chicken."

"Speaks the scientist."

They look at each other, unsure whether this is a reprieve or a tie. Both of them are prepared for another round, and it shows in their respective stance: any observer would have described it as 'ready to pounce'. Simultaneously, the break into a grin, locking their gazes and trying to read each other´s mind, suddenly transfixed.

The expression on John´s face slowly changes into a smile: "Idiot,"he says, though it sounds rather affectionate. No pouncing then.

Sherlock can suddenly feel his heart as it is picking up speed; he´s enjoyed their bickering, and now all his nerves seem to flare up at the warmth in his friend´s voice and the notion that they have reached a dead end, which would be disappointing. Somehow, they are not done yet.

"No, you´re the idiot," he replies in a low voice.

Neither of them moves while the air around them is being charged with electrons until it is brimming with energy, fuelled by Sherlock´s wildly beating heart and the affection in John´s voice and the mutual if silent understanding that something has to be done about the situation; clearly, neither of them is going to back off, because if one of them just walked away now, they´d miss something absolutely fabulous.

The gravitation which has kept them revolving around each other so far seems to be increasing; they couldn´t walk away if their life depended on it.

And while Sherlock still stands rooted to the spot, helpless in the prospect of finding a solution, John takes a step towards him, and then another.

Sherlock, for the first time in his life, experiences his brain going blank; well, maybe not exactly, but it´s certainly the first time without any drugs involved. His surprise must have shown on his face, because there´s a minute pause in John´s stride; oh no, Sherlock´s brain pipes up, no second thoughts, please.

But he needn´t have worried, because John seems determined to carry on. And then he is there: not exactly pouncing but still an unstoppable force, reaching out and catching Sherlock´s coat, pulling him close with surprising strength.

If Sherlock has had any doubts before, they are dispelled now that he and John are standing chest to chest, hip to hip. Impossibly, wonderfully close. John really wants him, he can read it in his gaze, in the smile which is still lingering in the lines around his eyes, in the tightness of his grip.

Sherlock´s arms seem to move of their own account, trying out what it feels like to embrace John Watson, to be allowed, welcomed to touch him. He marvels at the solid reassurance of doing so; it feels indescribable, just as it does when their faces touch; Sherlock inhales John´s scent and thinks that this is something he could get used to, that it´s far less strange when it happens to yourself.

John pauses, taking in Sherlock´s face; the detective can feel himself tremble ever so slightly, and he hopes that John sees more in him than he does himself. What´s there to like, he wonders, but John seems to be content with it, because the smile is back more prominently, and then he asks whether he may kiss Sherlock. Half asks, half demands, to be more precise, and Sherlock, overwhelmed, hurries to encourage him.

John is gentle, and he is caressing Sherlock as though he´s something very precious. Which is new to the detective, and he savours every second of it. The kiss is tender and promising and what he needed, now that he comes to think of it because naturally, once it has kicked in again, his brain won´t shut up; fortunately John, wonderful John, is doing his best to keep Sherlock´s attention directed on him.

And Sherlock, unaware that he has closed his eyes at one point, surrenders to John completely, chicken-or-egg-first forgotten. It´s easy because he trusts the doctor like no other: in fact, there is no one else he´d let take over control like that.

And he really, really could get used to this.

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Fin

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