Sherlock and John stood a few feet apart, each gazing down at their own feet. A shiver ran up Sherlock's long spine, and John was blinking rapidly. They both felt a little too warm for comfort.

Sherlock's brilliant mind was running so fast that he felt dizzy. He was so used to being in control. Okay so I'm feeling an emotion. When did this start happening? Try reading John...Go on... Look at him. Sherlock looked up, but as he glanced around John's person, he drew nothing but blanks. Question marks popped up all around John's frame. So I can't read John. That's new and...unnerving. I wonder if John could read me right now. I'm sure he could. Compose yourself, hide this emotional indiscretion. Don't let John see. Sherlock was right of course, if John would only have looked up at Sherlock, he would have been able to read him with ease.

John felt as if he was falling. Sherlock kissed me. John couldn't understand what it meant. Is this just another of Sherlock's experiments? That thought was so painful John pushed it away immediately. No, he wouldn't. A means to an end? A necessary step to solve the emotional puzzle that I am? John shook his head slightly and bit down so hard that his jaw began to ache.

John desperately wished that he could rewind to that moment when Sherlock had pressed his lips so gently to his own. If John could, he would pause on that moment of connection forever. In that moment there were no questions, no second guessing, no regret. If only... John thought.

Time passed, feeling like days even though it was only a few moments. John cleared his throat to begin to speak. Before he could get the first word out, Sherlock looked up at him. John's heart sank when he saw those big blue eyes glazed with tears. He couldn't help but feel pain as he saw Sherlock, who was normally so...mechanical, let go and just be human for once.

"John..." Sherlock's voice was so low it was almost impossible to hear, but all of John's senses were tensed toward Sherlock at this moment (and at most moments if John was being honest). "I'm sorry John," Sherlock continued. "I crossed a line... I don't know what I was thinking."

John watched as a single tear rolled from the corner of Sherlock's eye and down his cheek. The droplet glistened on that sharp cheekbone, but quivered and rolled further down when Sherlock gave a hurt little shiver.

That single shiver sent an arrow through John's heart. He felt pierced and the pain spread until he felt it radiating through his whole body. John willed himself to move, and closed the space between himself and Sherlock. He slowly reached his hand up and used his thumb to wipe away the tear from Sherlock's face.

"Please don't cry," John said softly. He let his hand rest against that porcelain skin. "It's like I imagined," he muttered.

"What is?" Sherlock asked as he tilted his head slightly so that his face pushed more into John's hand.

John hadn't really meant to say that out loud, but he forced himself to look Sherlock in the eye and tell the truth. "The way your skin feels," he said as he slid his hand gently down to Sherlock's chin. "I've always wondered if your skin felt as smooth as it looks."

Sherlock was cataloguing every sensation as fast as he could. The slight roughness of John's hand, the pure green sliver in John's right, mostly hazel eye. The smell of John's breath (a mix of coffee and something sweet like a scone, with the recent addition of Sherlock's mouthwash). The way John's eyes flitted from Sherlock's eyes and back down to Sherlock's neck.

"I thought you hated my violin playing," Sherlock asked, thinking that he ought to say something.

John let out a small laugh. "Only when it's at 4 'o clock in the morning and you're mindlessly plucking the strings and not actually playing." John thought back to one of his first nights in the flat when he was woken up by a beautiful and tragic sounding song coming from the living room. Sherlock had been working a case that appeared to be a string of suicides, but that he believed to be a serial killer. "Let's sit." John motioned to the sofa with a nod of his head.

Sherlock sat down and wrapped his long arms around his knees, which he'd pulled up against his chest.

"How can you fold yourself up so much?" John asked, attempting to lighten the mood, but Sherlock simply looked at him with his "isn't it obvious?" face, so John just sat down next to his lanky flatmate. "Why did you apologize?" Sherlock tilted his head at this question as he looked at John.

"I made physical contact without asking your permission. I did so with no concern for your feelings. I acted on pure impulse. Typically when I act in those ways people become perturbed. I assumed you'd be the same."

"Most people become perturbed after talking to you for 5 minutes Sherlock. I am not one of those people, I actually enjoy being with you. I think I made that point pretty clear. But you didn't offend me. I was startled, but I would characterize it as a pleasant surprise. I've wanted to kiss you before." Getting these things off his chest brought John so much relief that he felt as if he were floating. How he'd longed for the courage to come out and tell Sherlock how he really felt. Sometimes he'd even imagined that it would be easier going back to Afghanistan than sharing his emotions with Sherlock.

"Can I lean my head on your shoulder John?" The request was soft-spoken and tentative. But when John lifted his arm as an answer, Sherlock nearly knocked him over in his haste to regain contact. John draped his arm around Sherlock.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner Sherlock."

Sherlock made a low grumble in response. He was in paradise. He had never realized how good it could feel to have someone touch him in this way. No he thought, not someone. John.

John began running his hand slowly over Sherlock's back. "Is this okay with you?" John asked. He was terrified that the answer would be no. Perhaps this is an experiment after all...

But Sherlock dispelled John's fears when he nodded vigorously and gave a contented sigh into John's chest. John could feel the tension in Sherlock's muscles melting away, so he continued to sit there and trace patterns on the detective's back until he heard a small snore.

John had never been able to fall asleep in any position except lying on his back. But tonight he felt so comfortable with Sherlock asleep against his chest that he closed his eyes and fell into a deep and blissful sleep.

Author's Note:

Okay, just another quick editing update here. I did add some extra insight into the boy's minds, hopefully that helps build their characters. I really hope you like it, and please please leave me reviews. Thanks :)