Hmmm, wondering about this chapter. Not sure how I feel about it.

John finds himself connected to Sherlock.

Connected

"You're not going to put a shirt on?"

"I don't have any need to."

"...I think you should."

"It's warm."

John peered at Sherlock dubiously. "It's not warm."

Sherlock's pale eyes darted up to look in the face of his flatmate. "It is."

John sat back against Sherlock's pillows. "If you have a fever and miss your midterms, I'll see to killing you myself."

"I don't get sick."

"You're not a superhuman, Sherlock."

Sherlock snorted. John rolled his eyes.

They sat on Sherlock's bed, John leaning against the mahogany headboard with pillows tucked behind him, Sherlock laying on his stomach with his head on his arms, reading from a textbook. John had an avalanche of notebooks and binders in his lap. Helping Sherlock study for his midterms had eventually given way to a relaxed silence in which Sherlock looked over chapter outlines and John quizzed him when asked. In the meantime, the young doctor flipped through Sherlock's notebooks, marveling at the notes and things written there. Every inch of paper was crammed with Sherlock's scrawl.

"Tough, becoming a scientist?" asked John as his eyes read over chemical equations.

"Not really. I rather enjoy it."

"You specializing in something?" John didn't know why he didn't have an answer, seeing as Sherlock knew that particular tidbit about him.

"Chemistry."

Ah. "Makes sense."

Sherlock smirked. "Hnn."

They lapsed into quiet again. John grabbed another book and leaned his head back, stretching out a little more. Sherlock's bed is awfully comfortable, he noted ruefully, wondering if Sherlock had claimed the better mattress for himself or if it was by chance.

John continued looking through the notebooks, pausing when he saw Sherlock's name written at the top of a worksheet. "Hey."

"Mmm?"

"What kind of a name is 'Sherlock' anyway? And 'Mycroft' for that matter."

"Family names," was the answer. "My great-great paternal grandfather was named Sherlock Holmes, and he had an elder brother named Mycroft."

"So...not the result of parents being drunk during the name-confirmation?"

Another smirk flitted across Sherlock's mouth. "No, thankfully. Had that been the case I would have been named something mundane, like 'Bob.'"

"There's nothing wrong with the name 'Bob.'"

"There are universes of things that are wrong with that name," grunted Sherlock as he flipped onto his back and stretched his lean body until it was taut as a bowstring. "You've asked two questions, now it's my turn to ask you two."

"You should be studying for your midterms, actually."

"Mmmm, not really."

"People will think you're conceited if you give that kind of answer. The other students will hate you." Despite this, John couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice, amused with Sherlock's arrogant answer.

The consulting detective curled up like a cat on his side and peered up at his flatmate. "They already do. Now, question one: how were you shot?"

John blinked. "Ah. You...you really want to know that?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to."

John leaned back again, settling himself against the pillows. "Well, our regiment was a small one, perhaps only twenty-five hundred. We were pretty outnumbered during our attack- massacred ten times over, it seemed. I was running to a comrade to pull him out of danger after his leg had been shot. I got hit in the right shoulder." He shrugged. "I was nineteen. I came back here to make my decision of what I wanted to do and decided on medicine. I have an army pension but it's not hefty enough to help with school all that much."

"Shouldn't the army cover your tuition?"

"Not with my plan and qualifications. It doesn't work quite so easily, Sherlock. Often people assume that being in the army means going into university free, but that's not necessarily the case. There are requirements of the university, the career, the tuition price, et cetera. I get a bit towards university, but as much as I'd like." John shrugged and smiled. "Hence the jobs at Bean There and with you. Next question?"

Sherlock was hesitant with this one but asked nonetheless. "Why did you say you were my colleague to Jim and Sebastian?"

"Well, aren't I?"

"Yes," continued Sherlock, seeming perhaps slightly uncomfortable- an intriguing notion to John, for Sherlock always seemed so collected and confident. "I introduced you as a friend and you corrected me."

John stared at him for a minute, and then sighed. "So that's what it was. Look, Sherlock, I didn't do it with any desire to hurt you, all right? It was done for stupid reasons, looking back on it. I mean...I almost felt like I should've. They came off as very sophisticated, and I guess that if I was to be associated with you, you'd want someone a little...I dunno. Someone better than a barista for a friend. 'Colleague' sounded a little better, because it established me as your partner when you go to crime scenes, not some college yuppie who hasn't got much going for him."

Sherlock broke in almost immediately. "I won't go into everything wrong with what you just said, John, but there is one major point that I'd like to highlight for you." He twisted his body around so that he could sit up and looked at John piercingly. "If I was ashamed of who you are I would've dropped you long ago. Incidentally, I find I wouldn't want you any other way, which is why I introduced you as my friend and not something detached like my 'colleague.' I wished to make such a connection to you in the hopes that you'd reciprocate because I am proud to have you as my friend. If I wasn't, I would've said so. I've been told I'm rather abrasive and often honest to a fault. You can trust the things I say."

John wasn't entirely sure how to respond to Sherlock's declaration or the warm feeling bubbling up in his chest. "Sherlock?" he finally said.

"Yes, John?"

"Thank you."

Prompt was #12: mahogany

I only have 30 more prompts left in the 100Colors table...which means I get to move on to a new one. XD PSYCHED. It's often hard to work colors into these.