The Professor NEW CHAPTER!!!

"This Desire Is Eating Me Up"

Three months later nothing exciting happened. John became Sherlock's PA when it came to experiments. "You're the only person I work well with." he stated as he rushed papers into his bag. And from there on out, he was a PA. He wasn't, to be honest, too fond of being a personal assistant, but he was Sherlock Holmes' PA, which made it okay.

He already knew of his feelings for Sherlock. Fire, it seemed, cursed through his veins within slightest physical contact. Electrical pulses, it felt, shot all throughout his body whenever he would strip something completely with his brilliant deductions. He found his intelligence quite sexy. He hated the idea that he found another man sexy-when it came to his reputation. But something about Sherlock brought out his preference for guys in his bisexual sexuality he had recently discovered.

(He had actually known for a very long time, it was just that he needed to allow himself the pleasures. He needed to admit it to himself; be okay with it. Which he was, no doubt, he just didn't like a lot of people's responses.)

It was the last Friday before summer break. John knew that it was time to tell Sherlock. He knew how things would normally go, with a normal person, so he was scared to know how Holmes would react. He had gathered up the courage that morning, and would wait until after class to ask.

'I don't know about Sherlock' John thought in his uncomfortable seat five minutes before class let out. 'maybe he'll reject me. I know he will. What am I thinking he's not a normal person. He is Sherlock Holmes, not some normal bloke. But that's it! He's not normal; there's no telling what he could do, or say, or what he feels. I will do this. Yes. Yes. Yes. No-no, yes. Gah why is this so difficulty?!'

The bell rang and he froze, allowing everyone to rush before him. He slowly packed his belongings-which include his notebook, some pencils and a purple pen. In his notebook he drew a portrait of Professor Holmes, and colored in his shirt with the deep purple pen. He placed his things in his backpack, and headed to Sherlock, whom of which just so happened to be free of any sort of drink.

"Can I help you, John.?" Sherlock didn't look up, he was reading over some papers.  

"Um, yeah." there was a long silence. Sherlock looked up after a while, to find John standing across the hall talking to somebody. He jumped from his chair and opened the door, yelling across e hall. "Watson! Come here!" His supposed friends left and he walked to his room. Sherlock walked back to his chair and continued, scanning the pager rather fast.

"John?" 

"Yes?" 

"What do you need?"  

"Oh, right. Um..." 

"Okay, I don't exactly have years to sit here and wait for a possibly ignorant response so please tell me what it is that you need so don't need to continue with my tangent." Sherlock was looking into John's eyes, they were so beautiful.  

"Do you think- Would you like to go have a drink, with me, at a café. Any, really. Possibly the one...um...by your flat?"  

"That would be lovely. Maybe Mrs. Hudson could make tea for us, I know I'm perfectly capable myself, but she makes tea the best of anyone I've ever met. We do have some things to discuss." 

"Great! When should I drop by?"  

"Tomorrow around five. No, scratch that. Be at 221B by six thirty."  

"Okay. Have a good day." 

"See you later, Watson." John left with a slight blush that Sherlock luckily missed.

~

He went straight to his dorm to ask his roommate, and captain of the baseball team, Darek what he should wear. He wouldn't dare tell him it's a guy, let alone his professor!

"Watson finally gets a girl! Good job. Some poor girl is gonna get lucky." 

"I don't think anything's gonna happen." 

"Don't doubt yourself. You should, but don't." he gave a joking wink and massaged his shoulders. John pulled his vertically-stripped, long-sleeved, jumper over his head and wiggled in.  

"Who is she, a cat?" Darek laughed and walked to John' closet to pick out something better.  

"Here-black tee, you leather-padded jacket, and you dark blue jeans." 

"I'm fine." 

"Dude." 

"Hessshe likes the jumpers!" That was close, good thing he slurred it. 

"Whatever you say man." it was four, it took an hour and a half to get to London, then another half hour to get to baker street. He could walk around London for a while until it was time.

~

He had been walking around the streets of London when it started to get a bit windy. Ten more minutes before John can start going. He headed there because it was okay to be early, and there was lots of traffic on the streets.

Meanwhile Sherlock was rushing around e flat trying to make it decent. He was so nervous. John had been there in it's worst states before, but Sherlock wanted to Impress John. He never thought that he would want to impress someone my cleaning, but he did. He wasn't sure what the was feeling. He took it as An unwanted emotions and shooed away from his thoughts.

Sherlock doesn't feel things like John, but he is not totally vacant from the knowledge of "feelings," as most people assume. For if he was clueless, he wouldn't know how to keep away from such thins; how to ignore them; how to classify them as "undesired emotions." He allowed this emotion for once, just to test it out-see how it feels.

He had felt them once, for a guy when he was younger. He believed these feeling to be okay, and gleefully expressed them. But he soon learned that they weren't according to others, and his love. So he was afraid, he stopped being friendly and nice. He passed up his feelings because he was always told that they were unacceptable and wrong. He disagreed, but if none else agrees, then why bother? He won't be using them. They're utterly useless in his mind. But this time, this is different, because John is everything that he wants. He is, of course, not superior to Sherlock's greatness, but he is the only one who seems to enjoy it.

In Sherlock's mind, John is everything he wants in a friend, and he desperately needed one. Also, Sherlock could tell that John was attracted to him-he didn't realize that it was more than a friendly attraction. Much more. For John, it was a physical longing, and want of his love. A need for his ownership, and his possession. It was of such great praise and desire-passion and love, want and need, acceptance and appreciation-that made John crumble at even the mention of his name.

The desire was devouring him, burning him like acid and melting him like heat to ice. Every atom in his body and soul urned for his touch, for his kiss.