Acting on Impulse

I couldn't believe the words had slipped my mouth. I just watched as the magnificent Sherlock Holmes gawped at me, his smiling returning, happiness emnating and oozing from him. He seemed to be thinking, and I chose to forget about "Rude Boy" for the time being and set my focus on something-else.. I wanted, no, I needed to kiss him. I had built up all this energy, I yearned for him, to be close to him somehow. I didn't want to talk seriously about my emotions, not until I'd sobered up, because I didn't want to ruin whatever this was. I just didn't want to be a fool and act on drunken, physical impulses- taking advantage of the moment. So I sat and swayed, staring at my gorgeous flatmate, wondering what on earth I could do to suppress what I was feeling. Instead my alcohol and meth-addled mind decided to proceed with the worst possible communication ever; a chat-up line.

"Shhherlock, you're l-like strawberry jam.." My jaw was beginning to ache from grinning.

He looked at me, forcing laughter back, but indicating that he was interested. His eyebrows raised and his gaze was fixed on me.

"You're v-very, verrry tasty." I let out an embarassed giggle and Sherlock continued to suppress his amusement, with his smile flickering from time to time. Then he furrowed his brow and hummed slightly, he was thinking.

"What's up Sherly?" I made my face a little more serious, cocking my head to the side, eager to know what was going on in that brilliant head of his.

"Absolutely nothing, John." For a moment he seemed disappointed and even in the state I was in, my gut wrenched at this. Then he reached out his hand and placed it on my knee, the long fingers gently holding on to it as he leaned forward to look at me closely. "But it's good, because rather than all this information cluttering my palace, I have but one thought John, one thought that I have to act upon." I could feel myself perk up, leaning forward carefully to get closer to him. He was such a bloody tease.

We moved further and further to the edge of our seats until our knees were pressed together and our faces a mere centimetres apart. His beautiful eyes scanned my face for a moment, while I probably had a vacant expression on my face (Smooth move, John). He lifted his hand from my knee up to my face, he cupped my left cheek and brought me even closer to him. Then simulataneously, we pressed our lips together. I hadn't wanted this to happen this way initially, after Sherlock's confession about me being Rose, I wanted it to be romantic and special, though I was never completely sure if it would happen, but this was brilliant. It was something that even the alcohol couldn't suppress. I could feel his cool lips on mine, pressing against them softly but with passion. It was the first kiss I'd ever had that truly felt incredible, it continued for a few spectacular, shimmering moments but was broken as Sherlock gently bit my bottom lip. Oh dear God.

I could feel my eyes widening and I began to panic, hoping that this incredibly seductive (and bloody successful) technique was not having an um- physical effect on me.. I smiled and giggled nervously, his eyes were glistening and his smile unmistakeably bright. I pushed away all worry I had had and carefully manoevured my hand so that it held his and squeezed it slightly. He giggled slightly too. Aww.

"I think it's time we both went to bed John." he stood up out of his chair, still holding my hand. He hoisted me up and I tried to keep my balance. Then I thought about what he'd just said. He thinks that we should go to bed. My mind at the time interrupted this as: "let's go to bed John".

I stuttered to utter half sentences and prefixes, being unable to construct a proper sentence. Sherlock began to chuckle "I didn't have you pegged down as the raunchy drunk type," I giggled and he gave my hand another squeeze. "C'mon Rude boy." he mocked. He helped guide me out of the living room and as we reached his door and began to walk past it, I stopped and I shook my head. I didn't want to be on my own tonight, I just wanted closeness and warmth. Fatigue was consuming me and I wanted to know that the man I would always need was close by. Then, instead of walking me to my bedroom he silently agreed with me. He released my hand and opened the door to his room, gesturing for me to go first, I stumbled in and he followed. He moved over to his bed, untucking the covers and plumping up the pillows to ensure ultimate comfort, I just overlooked it all idly. He used his hand to gesture towards the bed. I turned away from him as I clumsily removed my clothing until I was down to my boxers. The positivity that was being triggered by the Meth allowed me to openly show my scar tissue without embarassment, Sherlock tried his best not to look though, which even disorderly me appreciated. When I had turned to see he was looking me up and down, I realised that he was already out of his clothes and stood infront of me in silk boxers that matched the wonderful purple shirt of sex. I was in for a treat. He hopped into bed and moved the cover so I could slide in easily.

He was laid on his side, so he could face me. I copied him and we laid there, gazing at eachother. I could feel my eyes shutting forceably, and I opened them one last time so I could give him eye-contact as I spoke. I needed to say what I felt and luck with Sherlock was on my side tonight, so I took a blind leap of faith.

"I love you y'know.." I said sleepily. I tried to look at his reaction. He nuzzled towards me, putting his arms around my neck, while I put my arms around his waist, moulding ourselves together beautifully. He chuckled quietly. I knew that if he truly felt the same, it would be difficult for him to say, as sentiment really wasn't a primal instinct to him, but he suprised me.

"And I, I love you too."

With that, I dozed off in toasty-warm, nightmare-free sleep, safe and sound with Sherlock Holmes. How beautiful.