The Professor NEW CHAPTER!!!

Tea and Confessions

Author's note: I think the title is clever... ._. 

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Each step taken to the door seemed to drag him farther away. The Earth seemed to force gravity to pull anywhere but 221B. Anywhere but his destination. His heart rate grew, as did the wind. He was about to have tea with an incredible creature of mystery and beauty with exquisite features, and the fallow up course of action would not be weeks of shame and regret. Hopefully.

John reached Baker street, his lungs felt the cold air slide from their position and brush away, leaving him breathless. His legs felt as to be made of jam, with an enormous am out of weight to hold up, starting to fail at the slightest fantasy of Sherlock. But that seemed to be all the short man could do-fantasize about this gorgeous man that he, no doubtable, loved. It felt too early to call it that, but despite the time he had spent with his Consulting Detective/Professor, it felt like an unobtainable, passionate, even impossible-thought that may be too far, Improbable, rather-love.

He placed his hand randomly on the door, pushing slightly, then knocking with such light pressure it would make an ant jealous of it's undetectability. But it was nothing Sherlock Holmes wouldn't notice. The door rushed away form his hand, and the warm, comfortable air tingled his rosy cheeks and nose.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed, a bit too excitedly. "Kettle's just boiled." Sherlock motioned for John to enter. "Upstairs, there should be a cup of tea awaiting you."

"Thanks." John walks Sup the stairs, and intuit he living room. It was clean! Not as clean as Holmes would have wanted, but definitely cleaner than last time. The flat smelled of smoke, and cookies. He must have baked cookies, John thought, realizing how ridiculous that would be.

Sherlock rushed up the stairs. He wore his hair as usual-curly, messy, which he liked. He was wearing a far-too-tight red button down that appeared to be silk. He wore tight, black dress pants and shiny, black shoes. The top two bottoms on his shirt were undone-as per usual. Everything he wore shined in the dim light of the flat, even his pale skin that looked every so soft. His eyes seemingly more beautiful than ever before. John wanted to melt into Sherlock, just taking up Sherlock. John could smell him from miles away, and the only way to describe his intoxicating scent is 'Sherlock Holmes.'

The scent could possible be described, but not as one single thing. Maybe multiple things at one, maybe numerous things and all at different times. Of all he smells strongest of, and most frequently of, coffee. Minty coffee. And sometimes, mostly when he's on a case, or in the lab, he smells of lavender, or another floral, frankly unmanly smell that makes him even more desirable. At times where he has been living a lathargy-enduced life, mostly on weekends, he will smell of smoke, and alcohol. At those times he seems to be rugged, and unshaven. Which makes his appearance more arousing, and scruffy, which John finds unbearably adorable. (He sometimes wears beards, which he quickly decides to shave due to feeling, gross.) Then there are times, much like last Friday, where he smells like a smell that John is familiar with, like it is his own scent, and he can't figure out why he doesn't smell his usually strong scent.

"Have a seat." Sherlock said pointing to a seemingly unused armchair. He sat and Sherlock gracefully handed him his tea in a very, um, feminine and floral, pink tea cup.  

"Thanks. So, you said we had some things to discuss?" 

"Yes. I did, didn't I. Oh, right, it's about class." John was a bit surprised, Sherlock was bringing up school on a date. Though, to be fair, he probably doesn't even know that it was a date. 

"What about it?" 

"You seem to be getting along well, but you're struggling with your essays. I read over your most recent about twelve times and I can't quite grasp what you mean. Would you mind explaining?" 

"I...How do you-" John stopped speaking.

He knew what he meant by "can't quite grasp" and felt very sorry, almost piteous of the poor professor. The essay was about the significance of marriage and the different rituals and ceremonies performed for it. John, as he was trying to explain the first part, stated: "Marriage is a symbol of love. To show upmost respect towards a person, and to show your faith in your relationships continued existence. Marriage is the ultimate level of bondage of two people in a sense of the word. People marry one another to confirm their foreverness; to express that their passion is so great, that they mustn't ever break apart..." and Sherlock Holmes, was incapable of interpreting this correctly.

He had always thought love to be tedious and unimportant. Merely a distraction from what is truly important. Love was something he had never really expressed, nor felt the need to. He'd never really felt it, and didn't plan on it. That was, of course, until Mr. Watson came a long.

Sherlock brought out the paper from his bag. It was completely intact. Seemingly undisturbed. Every other paper in his bag looked to have been shoved and uncared for, unlike John's paper.  

"What I don't understand is the first paragraph. Please can you explain in depth each concept clearly and try not to be dull." 

"Um. It's basically saying, overall, that Marriage is based on love, and you marry someone because you love them with so much passion, that you will never want to be apart from them."

Sherlock looked, confused, and somewhat worried. It was suppressing to see such a man look that way. He immediately noticed John deducing his emotions and covered it in a blank make of emotionless-ness. Sherlock straightened himself, snatched the paper from John,a n sipped his tea while looking angrily at the paper.

"So, John. I assume you wanted to talk about something. Am I correct?" 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Do not answer questions with more questions, it makes for a very complicated conversation." John looked at Sherlock with a blank stare.  

"You invited me for a drink, I presume it's important?" 

"Yeah, kind of. I wanted to ask about, I'm, because the last time I was here, Mrs. Hudson said that she loved having me around, and she also mentioned in abler conversation that you were-" 

"When did you visit last?" 

"You really shouldn't interrupt me with a question, it throws me off guard." Sherlock smirked and let him continue.  

"She said you were struggling with the rent." 

"A bit, yes. Your point?" 

"My point. I do not like my room mate, and I wanted to know of you'd be okay with us, um, sharing the flat?" 

"I don't see why not. How do you feel about the violin?" 

"Sorry?" 

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, and sometimes I don't talk do days on end. Would that bother you?" 

"No, not really. I don't think."  

"Good. I'll talk to Mrs. Hudson for you." 

"But I need to-"  

"Your signature is rather simple, I can do it. You will, of course, be paying your share of rent." 

"Yes, of course." 

"Great! Is that all? I am rather busy." John didn't bother with trying to explain the concept of a date to Sherlock, so he said thanks for the tea and left 221B slightly confused. The summer would allow easy moving, and all should be good.