There was a tense silence in the room. Did Sherlock hear him correctly? He couldn't have.

Surely not, definitely not.

"Now would be a good time to say something." John's voice broke his thoughts and he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Maybe John had drugged him again and he wasn't hearing right – no, John wouldn't do that again. Would he? What if I told him how I felt last night but I just can't recall doing so? What if John's just toying with my emotions?

He looked down at the cars driving by Baker Street, he thought about how unaware they all were of what was going on inside the flat. How lucky they were to not think like him.

John wouldn't do that, would he? Would he?

"I've ruined everything, haven't I? Me and my big mouth, nice going John." John muttered behind him. Sherlock could feel him turn away and heard him sit at the kitchen table.

"Why?" Sherlock asked; he wanted to know; he needed to know if John was telling the truth. But why on earth should he doubt John? He felt the same didn't he? Do I?

Evaluate the situation. John is his friend, kind and gentle John who is also threatening and often terrifying. John has something about him, an almost pure nature – he's a truthful man, a reliable and trustworthy gentleman. Why would Sherlock doubt him?

It's too good to be true. It is, isn't it? Of all the people on this earth – seven billion one hundred thirty million and fourteen thousand – Sherlock happened to be the person John had strong emotional feelings for. It was ridiculously unlikely, John was such a good man and Sherlock...Sherlock was Sherlock.

Yet, he was left with a disgusting taste in his mouth when thinking about falling in love with John-

Love? Possibly, Sherlock had never felt love for anybody before, John was the first person he had ever felt so strongly about, elevated pulse, pupil dilation, the term 'butterflies'; it all made sense yet it made little sense to Sherlock. His head ached from all this thinking; he decided to venture back into the present, where John was staring at the back of his head from the kitchen table.

"Why?" John repeated.

Sherlock turned around to face him, John – his John – "Yes, why?" Trying to forget these thoughts swallowing him up.

John looked lost for words – not good, proof of lying – he then looked around the kitchen, obviously thinking – avoiding eye contact, also not good.

Stop it.

"I can't really explain, it's all...It's different." John said; his head in his hands for a few seconds before looking back up at Sherlock.

"What have you heard?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes. He had to be sure – why do you doubt John!? Stop doubting him! STOP IT!

"What do you mean?" John frowned, "I haven't 'heard' anything."

Sherlock avoided looking at John and walked straight to his bedroom, ignoring John's calls. He needed to be alone, he needed think; needed to wrap his head around this – all of this. He's toying with you, Sherlock.

He most certainly isn't, Sherlock knows John, John would never do that.

Are you sure?

Obviously.

John betrayed your trust, he can easily do it again.

Sherlock dropped himself onto his bed, shoving his head under his pillow and hoping for these thoughts to just leave him alone.

It was always John. Always, always his John.

Brilliant, John thought, I've buggered it all up.

John walked away from Sherlock's bedroom door and fell down into his chair, suddenly unable to get comfortable. He could only think about how distant Sherlock looked – the lost look in his eyes as he walked past John.

This was all John's bloody fault; he just had to say something didn't he? Just when things had settled down, he decided to pull the rug back up. He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing in frustration.

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the flat door and poked her head round, "Hoo-hoo." She called. John sat up straight, smiling at her.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson?"

"I'm nipping out to do a bit of shopping, is there anything you boys need?"

John couldn't help it as the words left his mouth, "a time machine would be lovely."

Mrs. Hudson approached John, "oh dear, what's happened?"

Sighing, John looked straight ahead, "It turns out I am probably in love with the man who is in his bedroom because I scared him off by telling him."

Mrs. Hudson sat on the arm of the chair, "Oh John, give him time, this is Sherlock we're talking about, he's so unpredictable." She smiled placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "everything will turn out alright, just give it time."

John considered her words and soon smiled, placing his hand over hers and giving it a gently squeeze, "thank you Mrs. Hudson."

"No problem, dear." She stood from her spot, still smiling. "I'll get you boys some things anyway, make sure he cleans out those thumbs from the fridge." She winked.

"Will do, and thank you again."

"I'm always here to help." And Mrs. Hudson left the flat with quick wave.

She was right; John just had to give it time.

Hours had passed and Sherlock hadn't left him room at all. John had given up worrying himself; he just kept thinking 'I need to give it time, I need to give it time.'

Of course he bloody needed to give it time, he just confessed to his flatmate that he had feelings for him, not everyone takes that too lightly. At the end of the day, what more could John have done? Taken that secret to his grave? Impossible, it would have come out some time.

But what did he think he was achieving? What the hell did he expect to happen, Sherlock to pull him into a hug and snog his face off? John almost laughed at the thought; the man hated being touched as it is, let alone mouth-to-mouth contact with his flatmate.

John put his head in his hands and sighed again, of all the people in the world, it just had to be Sherlock Holmes to make him fall head over heels. He looked over to the clock, 10:13pm. John needed to alert Sherlock of the time anyway, if this 'plan' was going to go smoothly, which John bloody hoped it did.

After a few more minutes of thinking, John rose from his chair just in time to see Sherlock leaving his bedroom. John gawped at his appearance, he looked...so young. A plain back dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, casual dark blue jeans with hung nicely on Sherlock's hips and shiny, smart black shoes. His hair was still a curly mess but it looked a lot more volumized.

"I, uh, I was just about to..."John trailed off realizing he was staring and thought that wasn't such a good idea.

There was a tense silence where John could see that Sherlock was contemplating what to say.

"Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry, I-"

"John, it's all right." Sherlock interrupted softly. John immediately shut up, he noticed that Sherlock was going to say something again and he prepared himself to be turned away, rejected. Then Mrs. Hudson strolled through the door with Sally Donovan in toll.

"Is your doorbell not working again?" Mrs. Hudson asked John, she turned to look at Sherlock and paused, "you look nice, you two off out?" She winked subtly at John.

"It's, uh, for a case." John forced a smile and avoided looking at Sherlock. Sally sighed loudly,

"Lestrade asked me to get you two."

"We didn't arrange that." Sherlock replied walking past Sally to get to his coat. John couldn't stop looking at the way that shirt fit so nicely around his body, Sally must have noticed because shot John a strange look before speaking again,

"Yeah, well, he said he didn't want you two being late; said there was tension between you." Sally smirked looking between the two.

John shot a glance at Sherlock and their eyes met again, but John was the one to break the contact, "We'd better get a move on."

"Couldn't have said it better myself." Sherlock murmured.

Next time: case closed.