"Sherlock!" John yelled from the kitchen, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes. So clearly John had found the ziplock bags containing somewhere around twenty earlobes apiece.
"Are these—Oh, God, Sherlock, are these earlobes?" John asked in horror.
Sherlock looked up from his newspaper. "Yes, John, they are. I'm experimenting with the reaction of-"
"I don't want to know," John interrupted, closing the refrigerator. He rummaged around the kitchen a moment, apparently not finding anything to his liking, and returned to the sitting room with a heavy sigh.
Sherlock folded his newspaper and looked at John. "Are you hungry, John?" Sherlock asked, slightly amused by the doctor's childishness. "We could go for breakfast."
John was startled. "Well, I suppose I am, yeah."
"You suppose?" Sherlock replied incredulously. "I'd reckon you'd know if you were hungry."
"Well," John began. "I am hungry. It's just that—well, you surprised me. I've lived with you for (how long, now?) and I don't believe I've actually seen you eat anything."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Of course you haven't, John. I don't eat in front of people."
"No, of course you don't," John laughed. "Is there anything you do in front of people, besides deduce things and assert your superiority?"
Sherlock's eyebrow arched even higher, a feat of which only his slim, bony features were capable. "I didn't realize that you thought me so arrogant. Lestrade, Sally, yes, but not you."
John's mouth fell open as he searched for words. "I didn't mean it that way—I was just-"
"I'm a little hurt, John," Sherlock stated as though it were a fact and not a comment on his own emotions, something he'd claimed on more than one occasion not to have.
Needless to say, this caught John entirely off guard. He took a faltering step toward his flatmate, and when Sherlock's expression remained exactly the same, he took another.
"I'd never want to hurt you, Sherlock," John said almost without meaning to, still inching toward Sherlock.
At this, Sherlock tilted his head curiously.
John hesitated, but continued cautiously. "Your arrogance isn't –what I mean to say is that-"
Sherlock stood, his head still cocked to the one side, and John suddenly realized just how close he'd gotten to the other man. His breath hitched in his throat.
"Do continue," Sherlock urged, attempting to fight back a smile. Oh, he had deduced where this was going, he just wanted to hear it for himself.
John cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware that if he just leaned forward a bit—
Before he knew he was doing it, his actions subconsciously following his thoughts, their lips met, and to his surprise, Sherlock did not pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arms around John, pulling him closer until what had at first been only a very uncomfortable accidental touch of the lips had become a deep, loving, and sensitive kiss, on both ends.
Neither pulled away for a long time, or, at least, what seemed to be a long time, as time had slowed to allow them to savor this one moment, but finally, they needed air and broke apart.
John, stunned by the turn of events, stared wide-eyed at Sherlock, who nodded to himself, seeming to determine that this was acceptable, and sat back down, unfolding the newspaper, which had been forgotten in the moment.
"So then," John tried. "That just happened."
And Sherlock's response made John realize that there would be no discussion about the occurrence, and life would go on, if not quite as usual: "Obviously."