NOW WHAT?
John worked his way around the body parts in the kitchen as he tried to prepare dinner. He couldn't imagine a fridge without a severed head, a blender that wasn't filled with eyeball puree (the one time John was well and truly grossed out and started a row with his flatmate), or a microwave without random body parts, the most recent being the (recovered) fingers. Sherlock's journals and other random bits of his research covered the kitchen table, which was scarred and pitted due to his experiments. While unconventional, John couldn't imagine a kitchen that felt more like home.
As he cooked, he let his mind wander over the events of the past few days. He hadn't planned on ever discussing the nightmares with Sherlock, because he didn't know how he would even begin to. He was also afraid of Sherlock's reaction when he found out that he had the lead role in them. Apparently, his subconscious had taken care of that for him.
And when the hell did Sherlock become so touchy-feely? The consulting detective never showed affection, or touched any one, except for Mrs. Hudson. It started during the walk back from Regent's Park when they'd argued over the milk. Sherlock had made a calculated comment about John's outburst and John had gone along with it. He wasn't sexually attracted to Sherlock - that much he knew - but he didn't want to be with anyone else. It was time to accept that Sherlock was his everything.
#
Sherlock's stomach grumbled as he smelled dinner cooking in the kitchen. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened. As he waited for John to finish cooking, he replayed the afternoon over and over in his head, filing away the important bits in his mind palace. He had touched John several times, in public, and John had not once shied away. Each time they had touched, that unfamiliar feeling came rushing to the surface. It was starting to frighten him.
He had told John the truth - he didn't know what he was doing, he didn't know how he felt, but he was relieved when John said he didn't want to kiss him. He'd also tried to show John what he had missed during their first dinner at Angelo's. Women definitely didn't do it for him, men were questionable, but the Work. The Work was his life… and now? Now John was, too.
When he thought about being poolside with John and Moriarty, he got sick to his stomach. There was enough explosive material on his blogger to take out an entire city block but John had launched himself at Moriarty in an effort to save Sherlock's life. That was the moment everything had changed between them. That was the moment he knew he couldn't live without John. That had to be the cause of these feelings, but how to prove it?
#
"I had thought about making a pot roast, but the last time I saw the slow cooker, it had feet in it." John paused. "I should really start keeping a list of which appliances I need to replace and then mark the ones you use for experiments so we don't get confused." He watched Sherlock inspecting the food. "Eat. I can hear your stomach rumbling."
Sherlock tried the chicken piccata John had set in front of him. It was amazing. John was an excellent cook and Sherlock couldn't think of a good reason why he'd passed up so many meals over the last year. "This is very good, John. I'll buy you a new slow cooker tomorrow."
"And a blender. And a microwave. And maybe a mini fridge for your experiments?" John teased.
"Why are you still here?" Sherlock was blunt and straight to the point. "A normal person would have left when they saw the severed head in the fridge. No one in their right mind would live with me after the eyeball experiment."
John swallowed hard. The eyeballs. He had to bring up the eyeballs. "Let's not talk about your experiments while we're eating. Besides, as you're so fond of reminding me, I am an idiot."
"I may have underestimated you. Repeatedly."
"Did I ever tell you what Mycroft said to me the day he kidnapped me and tried to get me to spy on you?"
"No." Sherlock got up and served himself a second helping.
"He basically noticed that I'd moved in quickly and started solving crimes with you. He asked if he could expect 'a happy announcement' within the week, or something along those lines. Obviously there's something about you that I'm missing." John put his fork down and looked Sherlock in the eyes. "You said you were flattered when you thought I was hitting on you. Angelo thought we were on a date… and you never answered me at the crime scene."
"You never asked me a proper question, and I certainly didn't want Mycroft to know my answer if you had."
"Right." John swallowed hard. "You said you were celibate. I always thought you were asexual."
Sherlock sniffed. "Most people think that. It's a common mistake. Next question."
"Are you attracted to women?"
"No."
"Not even Irene Adler?"
"I said no, John. Next question."
"Are you attracted to men?"
"I experimented while at uni. It interfered with my concentration and I decided that it was pointless. Am I attracted to you, specifically, in a sexual manner? No. Do I like touching you? Yes. It feels good. Did I miss anything?"
John blushed. Why did Sherlock always have that effect on him? "And you say you can't figure me out. You didn't miss a single question. Except for one."
Sherlock sighed. This was just like not knowing Harry was John's sister. "What did I miss this time?"
"Why did you decide to start touching me? That row in the park… that was different. Even for you."
"I was curious. That was an experiment. I didn't think you'd play along."
"What did I say after Baskerville, Sherlock? I'm not your damn guinea pig!"
"I didn't do anything that could be harmful!"
"This time." John glared at him. Sherlock, to his credit, shut up and focused on eating.
#
John tried to read the new book he had picked up at the library, but Sherlock's sulking was distracting him. He still couldn't figure out why Sherlock had felt the urge to "experiment" on him in the park, and while he didn't exactly mind this particular one, he really didn't want Sherlock getting in the habit of making John part of his experiments. "I'm not mad at you anymore."
"Good." Sherlock didn't move from his place on the couch. "I don't like it when you're mad at me."
"You're such a child." John paused for a minute considering his next comment. "You do still owe me an explanation. What made you decide to start touching me? You never touch anyone unless you have to, except for Mrs. Hudson. Why me? Why now?"
Sherlock sighed. "I see you do it all the time. With Molly. With Lestrade. I wanted to know what it felt like."
John let Sherlock's words sink in. "Apparently you like touching me because you haven't stopped."
"I didn't know what I was missing. Obviously."