"I think I might love you." Sherlock whispers. More to himself than John.

John's eyes fluttered for a moment before his eyelids sank, he mumbles something incoherent to himself yet understood by Sherlock , and he's sent into a deep stillness. The warm air of Sherlock's breath brushes against John's peacefully sleeping features. "I'm inclined to kiss you."Sherlock states freely, his words barely audible to the doctor that lie before him. Sherlock wishes he had could say these things to a more conscious and alert John. Unrequited love just isn't cutting it anymore.

Sherlock nudges John's lips with his own, ever so slightly, almost ghost like. A sensation creeps down John's spine. This time with a little more courage, he grazes John's plush lips with a little more force in; every last shiver being worth it. Finally, Sherlock had mustered enough confidence to lay his lips firmly on John's.

Sherlock wonders what the outcome would be if he did confess to John. I could lose my only friend, the glaring thought at the forefront of his mind. No, John's far to loyal to abandon Sherlock even after but the dynamic would never be the same. Come one, it shouldn't be this hard. Either tell him or don't. Sherlock frowns, he shouldn't risk it, it's not worth loosing the only person who's every mattered. In a fit of confused rage, Sherlock springs up from his seat infront of John and storms out of the room, ignoring the nurses in the hall. He needed time to think.

An agony arises in John's midsection. It's enough to pull him out of his pressure building against his abdominal muscles, feeling as though his stomach would at any moment burst. He grunts, sitting up in the bed. "Sherlock!" He grumbles.

The Monitor starts to bleep faster and more high pitched and the pumping of tubes grows in sound as his pain worsens. A small staff of two nurses jog into the room. "Be calm, Dr. Watson, The pain killers are wearing off. That's all." The bloody hell do you mean "that's all"? It's causing me pain, Idiot. John has spent to much time with his beloved detective. If John wasn't desparately trying to cry, he would have laughed instead, speaking of which, "Where is Sherlock?" His question went unnoticed.

"Let me just get you a glass of water and so you can swallow these." More than anything, John hated the languid pace at which the nurses moved. "No," John hisses between breaths and the nurse stops to look at him. "No more pain killers." John spat, not meaning to sound rude but meant to get his point across. "Dr. Watson, you'll be in a great deal of pain if you don't." Really? I would have never guessed. John immeaditly feels bad, even if it was just a thought. "None." He huffs, trying to remember the relaxing mantra; Breath in through the mouth, exhale through the nose. As he repeats it, for several minutes, the searing sting in his stomach begins to muffle. The monitor fall back to a normal pattern and the pumps follow his breathing rhythm.

The nurses give an bewildered look at the young blond doctor. How often did a patient, by pure will, pull something like that off?

Unbeknownst to them, Sherlock stood in the door way. Watching in awe of John. No pain killers. It repeats itself in Sherlock's mind as he waites for the nurses to leave. He wanted as few people as possible to be present in the room.

When the two nurses stride out of the room, Sherlock enters and makes a direct path for John's bed. "There you are, I've-" "I'm aware." Sherlock says, cutting John off. John glance at Sherlock's disgruntled face. "Sherlock, is every-" "Yes and no." He slowly nods, unsure of which of Sherlock's mood swings this could be. The onyx haired man is pacing the edge of the bed like a mad man. "Why don't you just tell-" "I'm getting there, John."

Finally, Sherlock stops and turns to face John. Gripping the bed post until his knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white. John opens his mouth but thinks better of it. "I despise what you do to me," Sherlock begin. John's heart shatters with this; he must have said something to Sherlock while he was drugged and Sherlock wants to break off their friendship. God no, don't let it be that. Anything but that, John begs.

"Fuck," He mutters. On a rare occasion does Sherlock utter this word and so, convinces John of the inevitable heart break. John begins to well up, looking down to avoid eye contact. Sherlock observes this, carefully sitting on the bed next to him. "John, I like you." John rips his gaze from the ground to meet Sherlock's calming gaze. "Yeah, I like you too, your my best friend." Leave it to John to misinterpret this, of all things.

"No, you're not getting it. I like you... in a romantic sense." Sherlock admits. Quietness filling the roomn as John stares at the blue eye'd man.

... Oh.

Hello again! I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! Don't be afraid to comment.

I was suprised myself at how this chapter ended and wonder what's to come of Sherlock's confession. (the outcome may not be as clear as we probably think.)

Let's all wish Sherlock and John luck on this one!

~ Danni