The Kissing Analysis

9

Immediately after he woke up, Sherlock turned on the computer.

He pulled up word document, and began to type things up, and after about an hour or two, he stared down at the typed up document on his computer screen. He had transferred his notes from his notepad to the computer, but now he glared at the words.

He really wasn't good at this.

He wished John would just come in and kiss him.

Or at least take control of this whole experiment, due to his own lack of knowledge in this area. That fact made it very frustrating.

He ruffled his curls and sighed before saving it, and slamming the laptop shut.

He walked out into the living room,-still in his pajamas- where John was sitting, watching crap telly. Sherlock stared at him for while, and then paced away, mumbling something, before going over to make some tea.

John hummed as he took his eyes away from the T.V., watching after the detective as the man walked into the kitchen.

"Could you make tea for me lo-ehm...Sherlock,"

John face palmed, cringed, and felt himself shrivel up and die inside. He was nearly about to start having a coughing fit when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

"I have the Tea-are you okay?"

He mumbled something, not turning to look at Sherlock as he tried to swallow down a flush. Holmes blinked, pulled his hand away, and placed the tea next to his friend.

He went to sit down next to him, before moving to place his feet on John's lap, laying down on the couch.

John bit his lip, still recovering from the embarrassment that he had almost inevitably made worse, before glancing down at Sherlock's toes, and smiling a little.

He looked back up at the telly, and lightly played with the fabric of the detective's pajamas, in which Sherlock began to become extremely aware of.

They sat there that morning in pure silence, John's focus on the T.V., Sherlock's focus on John.

Can I kiss him? Will he let me? Do I have to ask? Can he just kiss me, I really want to kiss him. I wonder if...

And then Sherlock's began to create a plan. A perfect, perfect plan.

Although he wasn't so sure he would be able to control himself.

-

He closed his eyes, and raised his fingers to his lips, signaling that he was leaving reality, and thus leaving John.

The blogger glanced over, sighed. His detective was so bloody brilliant, and Watson decided that he was lucky to share a flat with him.

He began to slowly ignore the T.V., deciding to spend some time.... not staring, but admiring, his flatmate, love-struck. He marveled the way his face was structured, and how his tummy would flow up, and sink down when he breathed deeply. He traced long legs, and feet with his eyes, the jut of his hipbones (that would definitely keep John up at night), and felt something deeper fall on him.

John loved every inch of Sherlock...

Loved. Every. Inch.

However, soon John's main focus began to fall onto Sherlock's lips. They were slightly pink, and carved in that bite-able way that made John want to just...

I need him.

He sighed, getting a bubbly feeling in his chest. Unfortunately, these feelings were soon interrupted as he heard a knock at the door, looking in just the nick of time to see Lestrade barging in.

How had I not heard him storming up the stairs?

"John," He nodded, before taking a breath. "I need Sherlock, it's-"

"I won't be taking any cases right now Lestrade, thank you,"

Both John and Greg's heads flew towards the detective-whom still had his eyes closed, fingers only slightly away from his lips- eyes wide.

"Sherl-" "But we need you!"

The consulting detective grumbled and sat up, sending a glare towards Lestrade.

"Don't you see I'm busy-"

"Doing what?! Being Domestic?!" He cried, gesturing between Sherlock's feet and John's lap. Sherlock wiggled his toes in retaliation, and the blogger rolled his eyes.

"Okay guys, calm down." He said, glancing between the D.I. and his detective.

"It's okay, I'll find a way to make him go," John reassured Greg, turning to look at Sherlock as he spoke.

"He never misses a case." He smiled at Sherlock, whose features softened a little, glancing away briefly.

Lestrade then nodded, eyeing their closeness for a few minutes more, before then leaving the room.

After a few moments, Holmes spoke. "Lestrade saw my feet," He said, blinking down at them and wiggling his toes once more.

"Hmm, oh yes..." Watson glanced down at them and shrugged.

"I don't mind."

The older man turned to look back at the telly, allowing Sherlock to process his words. He spoke slowly.

"You don't... mind?"

He glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

"Um... no,"

Sherlock stared at him for a while, before eventually resting his head back and closing his eyes again.

I don't mind.

-

omg okay noms from fucking 2021 here to say i cant do it anymore i just feel so unbelievably compelled to explain the feet thing literally every time i go thro the comments 4 this fic and i get to this chapter i am just so HAUNTED so i'm going to explain it here and now -

NO 13 Y/O ME DIDNT HAVE A FOOT FETISH AND NO I DONT HAVE ONE AT 19 EITHER OKAY LISTEN FEET ARE GROSS. DISGUSTING. BUT ALSO THATS WHY ITS LOWKEY CUTE OKAY LIKE UR COMFY ENOUGH W/ A MF TO HAVE UR FEET OUT AND SHIT??? BRO??? ON GOD??? ON JESUS LORD OUR SAVIOR WHO DIED FOR OUR SINS??? U WANNA HAVE UR NASTY DISGUSTING FEET OUT IN THE OPEN???

at the time it was symbol for their closeness and domesticity okay 😭 i'm sorry it came off weird, there was nothing ever inherently sexual about it. just like having ur toes out in front of some1, to me, is a sign that ur comfortable w/ them. and u know how sometimes ur parents rub each others sore feet??? like they'll be watching a movie and doing that shit??? idk man thats rlly sweet. feet are gross but we set aside that repulse to massage and relieve the stresses from something that literally carries our partner from moment to moment, place to place.

I cannot believe how genuinely frustrated and bothered i am w/ the comments as to go so far as to add a fuckin author's note literally 6 years later but here we are.

Anyways wedding chapter soon 🥰