Back at the B&B two hours later, John flopped down onto his bed and switched the television on, more than content to watch anything that was on for the remaining time between now and going to the restaurant at 7 o'clock.
Cautiously, Sherlock moved over to him and sat on the edge of John's bed. "John?"
"Hmm?" He looked up at the taller man, and was once again struck by the handsomeness of his features.
"I feel that I should tell you than I know you're developing feelings for me."
Suddenly John didn't feel so relaxed. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, his heart hammering violently inside his ribcage. "How do you-?"
Sherlock sighed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. John supposed that to him, it probably was. "The texts of course. I could practically hear your thoughts in the car."
The shame seeped through John like water through cloth; he could feel it covering his entire body, welling up deep inside him; coursing through his veins with every pump of his treacherous heart.
"There's no need to feel ashamed," Sherlock continued, knowing exactly what John was feeling, as usual. "Because I'd be lying if I didn't feel the same."
John's heart leapt in his chest at his words. Slowly lifting his gaze from the floor, he found himself locked in a warped kind of staring competition with Sherlock; neither of them wanting to look away, breath hitching in the back of both their throats. John was surprised at just how much he could read in the other man's face, as Sherlock was usually so detached, and so calculative of everything he said; of every flickering expression that crossed his face. He was a master of self-control. Now though, there was a wild kind of fire in his eyes that spoke volumes. Words were unnecessary: John could see the tenderness in his expression, the vulnerability mixed with desire in those captivating blue eyes.
John leant forwards, his fingers knotting themselves into Sherlock's dark curls as he pressed their lips together. Sherlock flinched away, but then drew closer again, parting his lips slightly as John deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against Sherlock's lower lip, tasting him, feeling the movement of their lips against each other. He heard Sherlock sigh and felt him moan against his mouth as John separated his lips with his tongue, exploring his mouth delicately, delirious with happiness and pleasure.
Suddenly Sherlock pulled away, but placed his hands on top of John's. "John… I, err." He cleared his throat. "I don't have any…experience in this sort of area."
"None at all?" John was surprised that someone as good-looking as Sherlock had absolutely no experience of relationships or sex, but, then again, it was Sherlock after all. Normal conventions of society and ideas of humanism didn't exactly apply to him.
Sherlock shook his head in response. "It never interested me. All I cared about was my work. But then I met you."
"You told me that you considered yourself married to your work."
"I barely knew you then, John." He leant forward, the merest hint of desperation for John to understand leaking into his voice. "I assure that I want this; that I want you."
John closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Sherlock's. "I want you too. It doesn't bother me that you're inexperienced."
"Because you're probably more than experienced enough for the both of us?"
John chuckled. "I wouldn't say that, but I will say that as long as I have you, it doesn't matter."
"Thank you," Sherlock whispered, before cautiously angling his head to find John's lips again.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon lying together in John's bed. The television stayed on, but neither of them paid attention to it, as they were both too preoccupied with the other. They didn't go any further than just kissing; they both decided that it would be best to take their relationship - if it could be called that – slowly to begin with. They lay tangled together, limbs entwined, arms around each other, and with tenderly exploring hands as their insistent lips and searching tongues familiarised and learnt everything about the other person. They were both disappointed when they had to pull away from each other in order to get ready to go out. They both got changed: John into a clean pair of denim jeans, a plain white shirt and a grey suit jacket, and Sherlock into a black suit and purple shirt. At half past six, Lestrade knocked on their door and came into their room whilst John was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. Lestrade had changed his shirt – now blue and white pinstripes - but otherwise looked the same as he had earlier. John exited the bathroom to find them in the middle of a conversation about the case. Uninterested, he got his things together and waited for them to follow him out of the room. He led the way downstairs where Rebecca was already waiting. She had evidently dressed up: her purple skirt was a little shorter and her cream top was a little tighter than what they probably should have been.
"Bright red lipstick and more noticeable eye makeup," Sherlock muttered into his ear. "Obviously for your benefit."
John smiled. "Don't worry; I'll let her down gently."