Chapter 2
Sherlock looked up from his screen, smiling. "So John is that not good?" he asked again.
The doctor blushed then cleared his throat. "Well I wouldn't call it … bad." He shuffled uncomfortably before changing topics. "So other than doing experiments, what did you do today?" He asked while hanging up his coat.
"As I said before, I burnt your jumper with an acid fire and shot the wall again," said Sherlock looking unbothered.
"Oh, alright." John replied simply, handing the paper work over to the other. "You wanted this?"
Sherlock looked at him intensely for a moment before saying "No, I want to fix the mistake I made earlier."
The blond man held his hands up in protest. "There's no need for that," he answered quickly, knowing what the detective meant.
Sherlock ignored his flatmate and pulled him in close. "I told you I wanted to say it face to face. I love you… John Watson."
He blushed again, standing there awkwardly. "…Sherlock…"
The man in question looked down at his friend. "Problem?"
"…Well … no, not really…" said John, avoiding eye contact.
Sherlock smiled, leaning closer to the doctor. "So how long will it take you to kiss me this time? I believe it took you twenty minutes last time." He teased.
He laughed nervously. "It's so like you to keep track of something like that."
Sherlock chuckled, nuzzling the top of John's head. "I simply observe." He said quietly.
At this John looked up, his blush darkening. "I've noticed." Their eyes locked.
With an even broader smile than the one he'd had at Buckingham Palace, Sherlock leaned even closer to John so that he was barely a hair's length away. John's frame shook before he gathered all of his courage and kissed Sherlock. He broke the kiss shortly afterwards.
"There. It wasn't twenty minutes this time." He grinned.
"No, it took you seven seconds this time." Sherlock chuckled, gently caressing his flatmate's neck. He hugged him even tighter, humming. "What would I do without you?"
"You would do your own cases." John replied smirking.
"But who would write them up?" Sherlock asked feigning a shocked expression. "I'd be lost without my blogger," he added quietly.
"You make my blog so much bigger than it really is," the army doctor smiled, a bit embarrassed by the complement.
"But some of our most interesting cases come from people who read your blog," Sherlock assured him.
John then nodded. "Well we do get clients because of it," he admitted.
They stood there for a while, Sherlock smiling more than he'd had in a month. "By the way, did you get the milk?"
John smiled. "…We don't really need milk, do we?"
"Well it was your idea in the first place, you decide." The dark haired man kissed John's forehead gently, content with standing in their simple embrace.
Of course they were interrupted by their landlady Mrs. Hudson walking in.
"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock yelled. "Knock before you come in." The landlady looked between the two men, confused by their current position.
John stood there, eyes wide in shock. "I-I… this-we..." He tried desperately to explain but had no excuse prepared beforehand.
Seeing John's distress, Sherlock jumped in. "It's an experiment Mrs. Hudson. We're analyzing the extent of body heat transmission. It's a process that I don't want disturbed." He added, trying to be polite.
"That's right!" the shorter man stated, glad that Sherlock was quick on his feet.
Giving one last confusing glance at her tenants, Mrs. Hudson left. Sherlock turned back to his blogger. "So how do you like the difference between virtual kisses to real ones?" He asked playfully.
"Its …uh…" John struggled to find the words, "…different." He said innocently.
The dark haired man pouted. "I was expecting a better response. Maybe we need to… experiment… some more?" He suggested, smirking.
Before John could answer he swooped down for another kiss. John made no effort to protest, letting a small moan escape his throat. As Sherlock deepened the kiss he led them over to the couch, pulling John down beside him. He broke the kiss for a single moment, "I do love you, I really do." He switched to kissing the man's neck.
The doctor's laugh sounded almost like a giggle although he would never admit it. John's awkwardness returned when he noticed that Sherlock had been the one confessing and he hadn't said anything in return. "I love you too." He blushed.
Hearing these words the detective's eyes lit up and he wrapped John in a hug so tight that it would take hours to separate them. He buried his face into John's shoulder. "Thank you… thank you so much."
"Sherlock?" John questioned.
"It's just that I've never loved anyone before. I don't know what to do." In truth confessing to John had taken all of the detective's energy and composure away from him. The doctor smiled and pet Sherlock's brown curls. "What an honour to be loved by the world's greatest detective," he teased.
Sherlock chuckled again. "And it's an honour to be loved by a war hero."
"So um … forgive me for asking, but when did you realize?" John asked.
"That I loved you? Probably when you giggled at the crime scene."
"I did not giggle," was John's first retort. "I couldn't help it; the way you work is amazing."
The detective twinned his hand into John's. "Almost as amazing as you shooting that cabbie through a window, which was a good crack shot by the way,' he added. Then he started giggling hysterically.
"What?" John chuckled, holding onto Sherlock's hand.
"I was just thinking about how you had nerves of steel when you shot the cabbie, but when I confessed to you, you acted like a nervous Nellie," he explained.
John huffed, slightly annoyed by the passing comment, but brushed it aside knowing it wasn't meant to be an insult. He pushed himself out of the detective's grasp and stood up, walking towards the kitchen. "Tea?"
"Alright, you make tea, I'll be right back." Sherlock quickly headed to his room looking determined.
"Oh! Sherlock, what sort of tea?!" John called from the kitchen sounding a bit concerned, he knew that face all too well.
"Rosehip!" Sherlock yelled back. There were the sounds of rummaging that followed. John made the tea feeling a bit nervous as a teen would with their crush. He returned to the living room with both teas in hand. Minutes later the dark haired man reappeared with something in hand. John raised an eyebrow at the other in a questioning look.
"It's one of my old shirts," Sherlock said pulling a red, silk button-up shirt. "It doesn't fit me anymore, but it should be perfect for you,' he smiled. "This is a good replacement for the jumper, right? You need more button-ups anyway…"
"Oh, thank you," John said calmly. "Tea's ready," gesturing for Sherlock to take his.
"I want you to wear it," the taller man insisted.
"I'm already clothed, Sherlock," the blond chuckled.
"No, now!" said Sherlock marching forward and started to pull on the doctor's jumper.
"Not now, Sherlock," he protested. "You'll make me spill the tea!" Turning his back on his eccentric flatmate, John put the tea down on the table next to his chair. "Besides, I'm too tired from doing all that running around for you. Most of which I didn't do, but you know what I mean."
"But I want you to wear it!" Sherlock almost whined. "And how can you be tired from not running around?" he continued yanking on the knitted wool.
"Sherlock!" John yelled in annoyance. "I was occupied thinking of you! Of course I'd be tired!" Realising what he had just said, he sat down and blushed; he picked up his own tea cup and stared into it to keep from looking at Sherlock.
"Thinking about me…?" Sherlock repeated blankly. He walked up behind John's chair, wrapping his arms around his friend's shoulders. "What do you think about?" he asked innocently.
"I think you should drink your tea," he grumbled, looking back up at Sherlock.
Huffing indignantly, Sherlock strutted over to his chair after picking up his own cup. He flopped down into it, crossing his arms and balancing the cup on his knee. After a moment he spoke up. "Did you know that you're the only one who could make me speechless," he sounded half impressed, half annoyed.
John smiled. "That has to be the best compliment I have ever gotten."
Sherlock sipped his tea. "What if I didn't mean it as a compliment?" he asked quietly, but there was a playful spark in his voice and a smile tugging his lips.
"It wasn't?" he questioned with the same playful attitude.
"Maybe, maybe not. Why don't you deduce it?" He put his tea aside, folding his hands under his chin.
"That's your thing," John replied.
"Well, now my thing is this…" he swiftly stood up, crossed the small distance between their chairs, leaned down and gently brought their lips together once more.
John smiled into the kiss then moved in closer. Pleased with this reaction Sherlock began sucking on John's bottom lip lovingly. He leaned as close as he possibly could to the other. It was amazing he could keep his balance in such an awkward position. John softly ran his tongue against Sherlock's bottom lip, asking for an entrance. He felt like he should be as nervous as ever, but he was surprisingly calm.
Sherlock jumped slightly at the feeling of John's tongue, but he allowed access. His breathing became heavier when their tongues intertwined. A small moan escaped John's throat as he threaded his fingers through the detective's hair. Sherlock wanted to melt, how could John know that his one weakness was someone playing with his hair? John noticed Sherlock's distress from the awkward position and broke the kiss, panting lightly.
"J… John," the raven haired gasped. "Where… where are we going with this?" his arms started shaking lightly.
"I don't know… deduce it, Sherlock."
"Your pupils are dilated and your breathing is shallow, so is mine. My body has a tremor…" he swallowed to dampen his dry throat. "I think I may be hyperventilating," he added.
"You're not hyperventilating," John breathed out patiently. "But you're panicking?" he questioned.
"No!" the detective cried. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't 'panic'."
"I'm sure," John laughed.
Glaring, the consulting four year old turned around and lowered himself to the ground. He arranged himself so that his back was leaning against John's legs. John mumbled "childish" to himself, putting his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. "You should know more than anyone that panicking is normal, you've seen me do it… many times."
"Well you're the one who came when I said it would be dangerous," Sherlock laughed. "You knew what you were signing up for."
"Not necessarily…" he chuckled, "I thought you were a mad man for a long while."
"Most people think that…" Sherlock nodded. "But you were the only one who didn't tell me to 'piss off'."
The shorter man smiled. "Then I must be mad myself."
"No, everyone else is just an idiot," Sherlock reached up and squeezed John's forearm.
"Compared to you? Yes," squeezing back himself.
"Yourself, also," Sherlock craned his neck to get a better look at John. "You're not as much of an idiot as the rest of the bunch."
John leaned down further and kissed Sherlock's forehead for that, making the detective sigh contentedly. "Better than nicotine," he stated.
"Don't tell me you've started smoking again?" John asked, finally noticing the faint smell of smoke. He had first attributed it to the aforementioned acid fire, but his mind brought up other ideas due to Sherlock's comment.
"I just smoked one," Sherlock mumbled unwillingly, "and perhaps another ten."
"Sherlock," the doctor's said with a harsh tone.