|| ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ-ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ ||

|| ᴊᴏʜɴʟᴏᴄᴋ // ꜱʜᴇʀʟᴏᴄᴋ ||

Everyone the boys knew thought that they were together, and admittedly this hadn't bothered Sherlock at all, though John on the other hand wasn't exactly pleased. This fact didn't go unnoticed, no, John made it very clear to anyone that would listen. But truthfully .. John didn't actually mind it, in fact it made him feel a certain way. A certain kind of way that you can never really describe; Like when in books, authors use words like flutter and love, but that's never how it really feels. Your heart never actually skips a beat, and there aren't really butterflies in your stomach, but it was that type of indescribable feelings that you have to make up metaphors to describe how odd and lovely it truly is. 

This was the kind of thing on the mind of the restless detective and his loyal assistant when they weren't working. "John?" Sherlock prompted, taking the doctor out of a daydream-like trance. "Yes?" He says it with a smile every time regardless of his mood, because he knows how important it is to Sherlock that he enjoys his company, even if he'll never say it. And true to form, Sherlock smiles back, because it's impolite to decline a notion of those dear to you. "Are you familiar with the work of Mr. Edgar Allan Poe?" John thought about it, and replied with a hesitant nod. "I've heard of him." Sherlock nodded, and took a breath, which usually meant he'd soon begin to rant. "Well, I can't help but to recall the line in which he stated that he was 'never really insane except upon occasions where his heart was touched.' as of recent, seeing as it's been on my mind lately." John nodded as usual while Sherlock spoke, and when Sherlock was done John agreed with him. "Poetic. Why's it on your mind?" Raising a brow, Sherlock begun to explain. "A certain someone has been taking up some headspace of mine recently, hasn't yours been occupied?" John laughed, "You sound like Mycroft, and to reiterate, that translates to ridiculous." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, I know. Although it's nonsensical, it's kept me occupied since we've been out of work this past week." John nodded, "Fair. Who's the lucky someone?" Sherlock, his back to John at this point, smiled. "Oh, you know him." John went into that thinking-face he did, which always did seem to amuse Sherlock. "Him... him... Um.. Is it Lestrade?" John's scattered thoughts spilled out of his mouth and Sherlock laughed while throwing himself down onto the couch beside John. "No, it's not Lestrade." John shrugged with a smile, "I give up." Sherlock smiled back, "If we get drunk enough, I'll tell you." I mean, John wasn't going to turn down an excuse to drink, just like any reasonable man, so he agreed.

Hours of drinking, ending in a tired walk back to the apartments and an incredibly concerned landlady having to lecture the boys, eventually landed them where they'd wanted. Drunk. Perfect! They didn't even mind the previous conversation anymore, they were just having a good time. But it did happen to cross John's mind, and then he wouldn't leave it alone. "C'monn, tell me!" Sherlock smiled and sighed, "Fine, fine okay, okay." He replied but they both sat in silence afterwards for a full minute and then burst out laughing when they'd make eye contact. The goal wasn't to get Sherlock to confess to being hopelessly in love with his flatmate as it'd seemed, it was simply to have a nice evening with his flatmate - whom he happened to be hopelessly in love with. The kind of love that was hard to explain, but if you could even fathom the idea of it, it'd be impossible to fight off a smile and an ominous heaviness weighing on your chest until you experience it yourself. The kind of thing where you didn't know you wanted it until you realized you couldn't live without it. The kind of thing that makes you want to skip everywhere, greet strangers on the street, and dance around your bedroom at five in the morning. Exquisite, lovely, and incomprehensible to the point of unreasonable complexity.