Disclaimer: I am still not owning anything. Duh.
What to do? Jim could still be lying. Still aiming to destroy him. Causing John to hate him would be the easier way to do that. But, if he wasn't lying… Sherlock needed to figure out that. But his deductive powers were useless when his feelings were involved. He could be projecting.
He couldn't ask Mycroft, though. His brother would despise him for developing an…attachment, in the first place. The elder Holmes brother was enough of a manipulative bastard that he could lie to him, if he didn't appreciate his choice of lover.
The most sensible thing would be to wait and develop a plan. But if Jim was right, they might have lost…who knows how long, really. No, this had to be solved today. There was no other choice. He would have to make first move. Maybe he could try to discuss the matter in increments, so that he could backtrack as soon as John reacted badly.
He texted quickly, "Come to my house today at five PM. SH" It wasn't an unusual invitation, and John would find nothing wrong with it. His friend had no club activity today, and honestly, he would likely have popped in anyway – but giving him instructions allowed him to control the parameters of the situation. At least he would have he field advantage, as John would say. In such a high-risk situation, he needed all the pros he could ensure.
Part of the planning – Sherlock could be as shrewd as Jim and Mycroft combined, if he felt like it – was to time a shower so that John, arriving, would find him still wet, in only a clinging silk bathrobe. The teen would blame it on his elder brother hogging the bathroom, of course. It was an actual fact that his brother did some of his best thinking during long baths (an habit John had started to copy, in the hope of acquiring even a slight percentage of the Holmes genius).
It wasn't even anything unusual – the one time John had convinced his friend to join him on a camping trip (never again), they'd seen each other in the 'just bathed' situation often. How Sherlock had not passed out that week from sudden blood flow redirection or had his feelings found out, he still had no idea. True, then there'd been no silk involved. That was supposed to be sexy, right? If John had feelings for him, he should appreciate the sight.
John did react – by gaping, greeting dying in his throat, and then immediately checking his watch. Wondering if he'd come too soon, no doubt. After an instant his eyes stayed firmly locked to his friend's, though. This was not encouraging.
Muttering his planned excuse, Sherlock led him to his bedroom. He'd debated long and hard if it was really a good idea – that choice would give him no place to retire to should things go awry. But it was his house, and his room, and John was still John – above anything else, a good man. There was a reason the curly haired teen had elected him to moral compass. If Jim had lied – if John reacted negatively, maybe even angrily – he would storm away, rather than attacking him. And if Sherlock, upset, asked him to leave, John would. Of course, if Jim had not lied, the venue would hopefully prove ideal. He blushed at the mere thought. If he was lucky, his best friend wouldn't notice. John could be thankfully so very oblivious.
John seemed surprised when he close the door behind them, and gulped. Scared? This was going downhill so fast, and they had barely exchanged more than a greeting. True, it was unusual for Sherlock to close any door – no matter what sort of disgusting experiment he was involved in. So the sudden need for secrecy might reasonably worry his friend.
"I don't want Mycroft to overhear. Or anyone else, really," the taller boy explained, sitting on the bed, legs bent and feet on the mattress, in an instinctive closed off, defensive posture. He was going to do this. He was going to unveil all his secrets. It didn't mean that he wasn't terrified.
John sat on the bed next to him, a hand patting his friend's shoulder. "I am glad that you're going to tell me, then. I'll always be here for you, whatever it is. We can work something out together. You know, right?"
Sherlock nodded once. He had to speak now. He had to. "Love," he blurted out.
"Yes?" his friend breathed, and oh – this sounded so so wonderful. If it just had happened after this awkward conversation, he would be over the moon from this simple exchange.
"You fall in love every week," he remarked, trying his best not to pout or sound embittered. John usually shared his feelings for this or that girl, and it was painful. Why was he reminding his friend of that, while trying to have this conversation? He hadn't meant to. Sherlock had planned this all so carefully, but John's mere presence had deleted all his careful strategies. Mycroft was right. He was an idiot.
The blond teen laughed weekly. "Well, yeah… fall in love easily, fall out of love as easily. That's my motto. It saves a lot of heartache," he said, shrugging. His eyebrows revealed he was lying. What was he lying about? This was consistent with all the evidence his behaviour offered. What was Sherlock missing?
"One would think that not falling in love in the first place would be the way to avoid heartache in the first place," the lankier teen muttered.
"Ah, but that's your motto," John quipped. His hand was still on Sherlock's shoulder, a spot of warmth that took entirely too much of his brainpower.
"Not anymore. I don't think. I'm not even sure I ever honestly stood by it. I'm…confused, John," he admitted, eyes on his knees. Had he ever not loved John? It seemed like seeing him and falling for him was one and the same. "And it's bad."
"If you have you fallen in love with someone, that's not bad, Sherlock! Unless…" his friend trailed off. He aborted an attempt at hug, and ended taking his hand away instead. Things were worse than he feared. John was withdrawing comfort.
"Unless what? Unless it's a boy? Well, it is!" the curly haired finished for him, raising his head and looking ready to challenge the world. It might be the worst idea he'd ever had, but he was done being afraid of his feelings. They were on the brink of resolution, anyway.
"What? Christ, no! That's fine. It's really, really fine, Sherlock. Harriet is gay too, remember?" the shorter boy exclaimed, jumping to his feet and swivelling to face the other. He was shocked. Who was the bastard who'd put that garbage in his best friend's head? Was this what he was afraid his family might overhear?
"Harry and you are like cats and dogs." Sherlock tugged nervously on a corner of his bathrobe.
"Because she's an arse, not because she's gay," John huffed.
That was…good. Very good. A shrill giggle escaped Sherlock, and in an instant they were laughing together, like a million times before. So maybe all was not lost. "Then what could be bad?"
"Well, if you finally gave into Jim's courtship…that would worry me. As a friend. He's bad news, Sherlock," his best friend huffed, frowning.
"Jim's what?" the taller teen echoed, puzzled.
"You're a genius, Sherlock, you can't tell me you didn't notice him flirting with you since the very first day of high school!" John exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration.
"Oh. I thought he was like that with everyone. Are you sure? Anyway, I am pretty sure that he gave up on me," he breathed. Why hadn't John told him? Of course, because he didn't want Sherlock to accept the other teen's wooing.
"Anyway, forget Jim. You were saying you might have a crush?" the blond prompted, leaning towards him.
The boy shook his head. "I'm saying I'm in love. It's different."
"Of course it is," John agreed, smiling, but there was a tightness around his eyes. Even knowing his friend didn't have feelings for Moriarty, he was still tense. Rather an ambiguous clue. After a few seconds of silence, stretching unusually heavy between them, he added, "So? You called me to let me know whom you're in love with, didn't you? I mean, as you pointed out, I always do."
"If you promise not to get angry, whatever happens," Sherlock bartered, suddenly jittery. What if Jim had lied, after all? He couldn't lose John.
"Obviously I won't. Promise, Sherlock. It's not my business, after all," the shorter boy replied. He sighed, almost wistfully. Good news.
"But it really, really is, John," the chemistry-obsessed boy muttered, words almost forming a single, incomprehensible expression.
"What are you saying, Sherlock?" John queried, when the breath wasn't caught in his throat anymore.
"I'm saying I'm in love with you, John Watson… and probably, I've always been," the young genius confessed, and immediately clamped his eyes shut, too terrified to face the reaction, should it be negative.
No sound came from his friend, and Sherlock was already considering if maybe he should ask John to leave. Maybe it was all a terrible error. Maybe Jim had finally managed to destroy him, with just a well-placed barefaced lie. Before he could work himself into a proper panic attack, slightly chapped lips were suddenly against his own.
Sherlock gasped, and his eyes snapped open. This could have been a wish fulfilling tactile hallucination, after all. He needed to see. And yes, it was John kissing him like there was no tomorrow, and taking full advantage of his gasp to plunder his mouth. He didn't know such bliss existed.