Disclaimer: Oh I would be so happy if I owned Sherlock, but I still don't...

I would like to thank those who clicked on this little story. An especially big hug goes to those who followed/favourited after just one chapter; tex812, ChazyChaz13, Drawing4Life and edken. It means a lot more than you can imagine!

Well, here is chapter 2 which I hope you'll enjoy! Please comment/review, it would help a lot! XoXo

Chapter 2

John opened his eyes, and immediately wanted to close them again; it was too early to wake up. He tried to fall asleep again, but now he had a nagging feeling in his body, like an itch you can't quite place. The sleepy mess in his head began to straighten out and something about "work" was making its way up to his more conscious thoughts. He snapped his eyes open and glanced at the watch on the wall. 8.57. Shit.

He jumped up from the sofa, a little too fast, making his head spin. After a deep breath to steady himself, he ran into his bedroom and threw on the first pair of clothes he could find. Then he went to the kitchen to try and find something he could eat on the way. He found Sherlock in his usual position by the table, with his eyes looking through the microscope at something which looked awfully lot like toe-nails. He didn't even look up when John rushed into the kitchen, making a mess as he was on hunt for something eatable.

"Why the hell didn't you wake me Sherlock? I'm supposed to be at work in," He glanced at his watch "exactly one minute!"

"I tried to wake you an hour ago, John. You shouted and slapped me. I think the exact words you used were; 'Shut the fuck up Rosie! My flowers aren't heated yet, go away'. I just did what you told me." Sherlock's lip twitched, though he kept his voice natural.

"You should never listen to me while I'm bloody sleeping Sherlock!" John felt angry with him, but at the same time he felt he might show some gratitude. It wasn't Sherlock's fault that he was hard to wake. "Thank you though" He added quickly, before sprinting down the stairs shouting "See you tonight! Don't blow up the flat."

John's day was dull. It usually was, but this particular day seemed endless. During his lunch-break he made sure to text Sherlock, reminding him about all the things that were obvious to anyone, but which Sherlock found too boring. Eating and drinking were two of those things. He received a short reply at this.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, John. SH" But only a minute after he got a series of texts that, in John's opinion, proved otherwise.

"Where do we keep the tea-bags John? SH"

"Found it. Pretty well deduced if I might say so myself. SH"

"Seriously? We keep the bread in the cupboard above the fridge? That is not logic John. SH"

"Where are the bloody beans, John? SH"

"Great! I spilled the beans. SH"

"That's it. I'm not cooking again. Ever! SH"

"When will you be home? SH"

All the texts arrived within three minutes, and John couldn't help but laugh a little. Sherlock could really be a child sometimes. Not that he minded taking care of him, he really didn't. He quickly scribbled a reply to Sherlock.

"Just leave it; I'll clean up when I get home, (at 17.30 as I always do). Try not to break anything else. See you soon! JW"

He then put on a big fake smile and greeted his first after-lunch patient. After what felt like an eternity, John finally packed up his things and made his way home, knowing he had beans and god knows what else to clean up. He heard the violin already out on the street. Right, so it was a thinking night John established, and opened the door to the flat.

Something was wrong, he could tell right away. It was a special atmosphere over Sherlock and the way he greeted John. He seemed almost…proud about something. It smelled something weird too. Not in a bad way though, just unusual. John walked into the kitchen and found it completely clean. Well as clean as it can get when you have various high-questionable experiments all over the place. But there were no beans to clean up, or any glasses that were smashed. In fact, a plate with food seemed to be made for John, standing on the counter. John furrowed his brow and slowly turned around, finding Sherlock almost bouncing up and down of barely contained joy. "Sherlock…have you cooked? For me?"

"Indeed I have John, I have made you dinner!" The pride was unmistakable as Sherlock gestured for John to sit down at the table.

But John remained standing, looking completely puzzled. "Wait, so you're saying you've actually made this…for me?"

Sherlock began to look a bit annoyed which made John quickly take place at the table, plate in front of him. "Yes John I made this. Why is that so hard to believe?"

John already had a mouthful which made it hard to answer, and god it was delicious! He said this to Sherlock which seemed to increase his little bouncing, as he watched John eat.

"I thought you were never going to cook again? It certainly sounded that way earlier today."

"Oh John, I can be melodramatic!" Sherlock was still smiling, and it seemed as John had been wrong about it being a thinking-night. Sherlock did actually play the violin when happy as well, it was just that it was very rare.

"Well it was really good, thank you Sherlock! Have you eaten anything yourself? Beside bread and spilled beans, I mean." John eyed the other man suspiciously but relaxed as he got a positive reply. He was still wondering why Sherlock had suddenly made him dinner, something he never would have dreamed would happen. When he asked that question though, Sherlock seemed almost a bit embarrassed. "I just wanted to do something for you John…as you do for me. I know I may not be the easiest person to live with" John snorted, "but I still appreciate everything you do. And I just wanted to do something in return. Isn't that what people do?"

"Wow Sherlock, I never thought you'd noticed what a dick-head you can be at times" John joked, but stopped smiling as he saw Sherlock's face. "No, sorry. I mean thank you, really. It was…I appreciate it. Thanks." They became silent and John felt the need to break it so he added "I don't expect it to become a habit though, don't worry." Sherlock smiled a bit at the statement, the kind of smile that always seemed to warm John up from the inside and out, and he was glad to see that Sherlock seemed more at ease than the previous night.

John cleaned the dishes after his meal and when he turned around he found Sherlock a lot closer than expected. John almost bumped into his chest, being the shorter one. "Oh sorry, I didn't realize you were there…" His words trailed off as he looked into the taller man's eyes. John had never thought about how beautiful eyes Sherlock had. The vague light reflected in them, making them glow with a certain color John hadn't seen before. For a moment they just stood there, gazing into each other's eyes and John had to suppress a strong urge to raise his hand and brush away a lonely curl that had escaped the rest of them and hung down Sherlock's forehead. Suddenly coming back to reality, John straightened himself and mumbling something about going to bed; he quickly exited the kitchen and headed towards his bedroom.

Even when he was safely inside, and tucked under his duvet, John couldn't shake the feeling that the bit awkward kitchen encounter had stirred in him. It was a tingling feeling, a strong need to do something, but he didn't know what. Was it possible that he was attracted to Sherlock…for real? No it couldn't be! It must be something else... He turned and twisted everything he knew, and everything he'd felt, trying to put the pieces together, but never coming up with an answer. It took a long time before he managed to fall asleep, and when he finally did, it was a restless slumber filled with dreams of black suits, long coats and curly hair.