Sherlock knew that he wasn't normal; at least he wasn't everyone else's definition of normal. He craved the distractions that cases brought him because he wanted to ignore the loneliness he felt inside. He despised social convention and tried to distance himself from other people as much as possible, because he was awkward, anxious and – it hurt to admit it to himself – shy when around others in social situations. And because Sherlock did not know how to act or what to say in front of other people, he convinced himself that he didn't need friends anyway. Who needs friends, when you've got a brilliant mind to use and develop? But the truth of the matter was, he was stuck in a vicious circle. When Sherlock refused to socialise because of his fear, he eliminated any possibility of making friends and feeling better. And this continued on and on and on….. until he met John, of course.
There was something about John that sparked his interest; something that he hadn't found in other people so far. John seemed to understand him. He didn't run away because he thought Sherlock was a freak, or because he was scared of Sherlock's apparent sociopathy. He didn't talk about Sherlock behind his back or get annoyed by his deductions. John understood that Sherlock was a person, just like anyone else. He understood that deep down, Sherlock wanted to be loved, just like anyone else. In fact, unlike so many others, John seemed to be impressed by Sherlock's deducing skills and would say wonderful things like 'brilliant!' and 'amazing!' after Sherlock had explained to him just how he had managed to solve the unsolvable. When John praised him like this, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a glowing warmth spread through his cheeks. And without even seeing it coming, Sherlock realised that he had fallen hopelessly in love with John Hamish Watson.
But that didn't mean that John would reciprocate his feelings. Often, when Sherlock's thoughts turned to things like this, he felt incredibly inadequate… because why would John, beautiful, tea-drinking, jumper-wearing, army-hardened John, want somebody as strange and cold and inexperienced as Sherlock? He had no experience whatsoever with relationships, because he had never been in one before. He had never expressed his love to anyone before, and had never been kissed before. Surely, John would find him boring, ugly and unworthy of his love. And right he would be, too. Sherlock's already sad eyes filled with tears. As much as he wanted John to fall in love with him, he truly believed it was never going to happen. John would eventually marry one of his many girlfriends, and they would start a family together. That was the way it was going to be, no matter how much Sherlock suffered because of it.
So why, then, was he sitting in John's bedroom, listening to the words Sherlock had always longed to hear escape John's mouth?
Sherlock had woken up in the middle of the night, because of strange noises. As he tiredly blinked the sleep from his eyes, he focused properly on the sound, which was decidedly talking. Male talking. As his exhausted brain tried to work out what it was, he realised where it was coming from. The sounds were coming from John's bedroom. With a start, Sherlock realised that it was John's talking. John was talking in his sleep! He knew he should have just gone back to sleep; he knew that would have been the right thing to do. But curiosity soon got the better of him, and he couldn't just let this opportunity pass by so easily.
So that was what brought Sherlock into John's bedroom that night. He opened the door slowly, carefully, for fear of waking John up. The sight he saw took his breath away. John was curled up cosily in the bed, legs tangled in the bedsheets, breathing coming slowly through his (oh so beautiful) parted lips. His hair was in a messy disarray on top of his head and moonlight was streaming through a small gap in the curtains, illuminating his face. His expression was blissful and calm, indicating pleasant dreams.
As Sherlock sat down beside the bed, he saw John's moonlit form shift slightly and heard a soft sigh escape his lips. Sherlock let the soothing sound wash over him, a peaceful smile forming on his face. He lay back in the chair and relaxed, gazing adoringly at John. How did you manage to capture my heart so easily, my brave blogger? he thought….
Sherlock didn't know how long he had spent in that happy trance, contentedly watching John's sleeping, when suddenly he heard a faint murmur from the figure in the bed. It was barely audible, but Sherlock was convinced he had heard it. Another murmur this time, which was closer to a whisper, found its way to his ears. Sherlock leaned in so that he could hear it clearer.
"Sherlock…." John spoke – so clearly, in fact, that Sherlock jumped and for a second almost believed he had been caught.
"I love you, Sh…'lock…" this caught Sherlock completely off guard, and he stared dumbly at John, eyes wide as saucers, brain not really registering what it had just heard. His stomach was doing somersaults and his head was spinning in all sorts of directions. Could it really be?... no, John would never…. I'm not good enough for him….
"Marry me Sherlock… take me away with you…."
Sherlock's heart leapt at those words, and his face flushed a deep shade of crimson. John wanted to marry him… John loved him… why had he never said anything? Sherlock had been oblivious to John's feelings all this time, being adamant that John would never return his affections, trying to suppress his undying love for the man, when he could have been in a relationship with him!
Joyous tears began to roll down Sherlock's pink cheeks, and his heart swelled until it felt like it would burst from his chest. With his heart hammering uncontrollably against his ribcage, Sherlock placed his hands gently on both sides of John's face, caressing him delicately; holding desperately on to this moment that seemed to him as fragile as a butterfly's paper-soft wings, he leant down to capture the sleeping doctor's soft lips with his own in an affectionate kiss.
That was when John's great big eyes flew open in surprise, waking him up from his tantalisingly sweet dream. But John was confused; his eyes were wide open, and he was clearly awake…. however the dream seemed not to have ended. The handsome detective's beautiful, pliable pink lips were still pressed up against his, and John was still enthusiastically responding to the attention. Not that he was complaining, of course! John sighed breathily into Sherlock's kiss, still half asleep, blinking attractively in a dream-like haze.
Then the reality of it hit him with full force.
Sherlock was kissing him!
And John wasn't even fantasizing about it; it was actually real. Completely, fantastically, astonishingly real. John's big eyes grew – if possible - even larger and elegant crystal-like droplets began to meander their way down his flushed face.
Sherlock immediately drew back in shock, concern and – was that anguish?
John cocked his head and stared at him bemusedly. Why did he stop?
"John…" the tears began to roll in buckets down the detective's exquisite face.
"John… I'm so, so sorry…. please stop crying… I thought… I thought you wanted me…"
At those words John instantaneously grabbed Sherlock around the neck and brought his face down to meet his in a crushing, desperate, passionate kiss. When they finally broke, panting for air, John spoke in a low and serious voice:
"Sherlock, I will always want you. Forever. Until the day I die, and possibly even after that"
And with that he tenderly pulled Sherlock into his arms, wrapping the blankets tightly around them, enveloping them in a cosy warmth. Sherlock gazed up at John endearingly, his eyes sparkling with happiness.
"…I think I'm in love with you, John," Sherlock whispered longingly, his mouth at John's ear.
"…. I know, idiot" John chuckled thoughtfully, "but I don't return your affections. I love you more,"
And with that, he planted a devoted kiss ardently in Sherlock's thick black curls, and the two fell into a deep, blissful slumber in the arms of each other.