johnlock oneshots <3

Eating

"John?" Sherlock whispered.
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"What day is it?"
"Monday."
"Ah, I see."
John looked at him for a second. It wasn't an odd thing for Sherlock to ask random questions without context, but it was odd for him to just, whisper like that.
"Why did you whisper?"
"Hmm?"
"Why, did you, whisper?" John repeated himself.
"Why do you ask?" Anyone else would've taken that question in a defensive tone, but John knew he didn't mean it that way.
"You've barely talked all day. You sound, weak."
Sherlock softly laughed.
"I thought we discussed this topic when you first moved in." Sherlock looked at John, curious.
"We did, but this is a different kind of silence." he paused.
"When was the last time you ate?" John continued.
"I'm not sure.. maybe Thursday? No, Friday."
"Sherlock you haven't eaten in 3 days." John said in a concerned tone. He couldn't believe him, how could he go so long without eating? John needed to get him to atleast drink water. Atleast.
"I've gone longer." Sherlock said, almost in a melancholy manner. John scoffed. He got up from his designated chair and walked to the kitchen, cluttered with stains and specimens, and way too many microscopes than the average person. Sherlock was already gone by the time John was in the kitchen, in his mind palace cracking their newest case, something else was occupying his mind, aswell. John was.. concerned? This was odd. He was never concerned, no one cared about Sherlock, but he remembered a certain encounter they had, just a few weeks ago.

Sherlock had gotten injured and had to go to the hospital due to blood loss. John assumed he was barely conscious or completely out of it but Sherlock remembers every single second. Especially the seconds when he saw the panic on John's face, and the tears forming in his blue eyes. Why was he upset? Did he really care?
When they got to the hospital Sherlock was half-asleep, so everyone just thought he had gone unconscious.  He heard the nurses who had once surrounded him leaving, telling John his "husband" would be okay with a few days' rest. John normally was very explosive and defensive when someone was to think something like that of them, but instead, he just said, "Thank you, so much." When they left.
John came to Sherlock's side with silence, silence quieter than he thought silence could be. It's like he was hesitant to say something. To admit he cared. Instead, he just sat by him, every once and a while playing with his dark curls, which Sherlock observed he liked to do a lot when he thought Sherlock was oblivious, he didn't mind, though. Sherlock could feel the wind of John's hand hovering back and forth Sherlock's. He moved so quickly, Sherlock could only assume he was scared, scared to care. Minutes passed, and he ended up giving in and holding Sherlock's hand. Resting his head on the hospital bed's bars. He whispered, "It'll be okay, Sher; You'll be okay."

Was this something friends did? Sherlock wouldn't know. He had never had friends, he had no one to compare John's romantic actions to. At first he had brushed it off, but now with this sudden concerned voice, and facial expression, what was he supposed to think?
Sherlock snapped back into reality when a plate was placed infront of him.
"Mycroft told me this was your favorite as a child."
He was confused. Why would John do this? What happened?
Sherlock looked up at him with an alert expression, meeting John's eyes.
"Why did you do this?" He asked.
"Because you need to eat Sherl." John responded, as if it was obvious to Sherlock. The use of the nickname brought Sherlock back to the memory in the hospital, and he knew he had to ask about it.
"Do you remember when I had to go the hospital for the Sandburg case?"
"Yes, I do. Why?"
"You held my hand. You told me it would be okay, and you didn't correct the woman who referred to me as your husband.
John, is that normal?"

Sherlock was shocked at John's bewildered expression. Why was he surprised? He knew this would've come up, one way or another. John took a second, or maybe a minute, to answer.
"I was scared Sherlock. I didn't know if you'd be okay or not, it was out of pure panic.
Listen, I don't wanna talk about this, just eat, you really need to."
Sherlock didn't budge.

"John, are you in love with me?"

The room went silent. John looked, afraid? Sherlock looked at him with not a trace of anything on his face. Not anger, or sadness, or anything.

"What would you say if I said yes?"

Sherlock was surprised. He foreshadowed that John would dismiss it, as he always does.
"I'd say your feelings are reciprocated." Sherlock didn't even mean to say that. He was speaking without scripting, something he found he did around John a lot. It was nice, to not worry about reactions from other people, and not think about every single word to say to make you sound "polite." Maybe it was why Sherlock liked being around him. Maybe it's why he just said what he did.
John looked like had just seen a ghost. Sherlock figured he already knew, but based on his reaction, probably not.
Sherlock stood up from his chair, placing the plate aside. He looked directly at John, and hugged him. This, this was odd. Sherlock never got hugged, or especially hugged others. He felt compelled to do it. He felt John's arms hesitantly wrap around his waist. He seemed afraid. Sherlock knew why, John had never directly told him but he didn't have to. Sherlock could deduct that John's dad wasn't the best father around. He was less than that. And he assumed that because of that, he wasn't very accepting of John not being straight. He was reminded of it every time John got overly defensive when someone assumed they were dating. He was reminded every time John flinched away from his hand, or his shoulder, or him in general.
They stood comfortably entangled with eachother.
"You really should eat." John whispered into Sherlock's shoulder.
"I'm an optimal weight, John. Eating is not something I need. It slows me down." Sherlock coldly replied, pulling John slightly closer, hoping it was so subtle he wouldn't notice.
But he did.
John pulled away, suddenly.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" He asked, looking concerned for not the first, and definitely not the last time tonight.
"Yes, I'm fine." Sherlock replied, unable to read. They were standing so close to eachother that their hands were still wrapped together.
"Mycroft told me you always had a bad relationship with food, even as a kid." Sherlock scoffed before John could even finish the word Mycroft.
"I wouldn't call it a "bad relationship." God, Mycroft is dramatic."
"You should eat." John picked up the plate and handed it to Sherlock.
"Please." John pleaded.
Sherlock was hesitant.
"Just this once, will you convince me."
John smiled at Sherlock's words.