John let out a small sigh, glad to finally be done with work and returning to 221B.
I hope Sherlock isn't there, he added as a side thought. His mind returned to thoughts of his earlier experience, and God he could not wait to be back in his flat.
He opened the door hastily, hands sweating in anticipation. He shut it quietly behind him, standing at the foot of the stairs, listening for any indication of movement.
Nope, he's not experimenting today, John acknowledged with what could best be described as a bit of disappointment mixed with relief.
He released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding as walked up the stairs. He opened the flat door, walking in slowly. He saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, staring intently at something that looked like a mutated body part on the coffee table.
"John," Sherlock acknowledged, not changing his line of sight.
John gulped, quietly choking out, "Sher-ahem, Sherlock."
"John." His flatmate didn't move. "You're...uncomfortable," Sherlock's eyebrow raised.
John lightly blew through his lips. This was going to be tough. He lightly set his bag down on the counter, then crossed his arms nervously. "I've been thinking, Sherlock."
"An improvement," Sherlock lightly smiled.
John bit his lip. Even in the most serious of moments, Sherlock had to be a smart ass. "About yesterday," he added slowly, straining to get the words out.
After a moment's silence, Sherlock twisted his position toward John, "What have you been thinking, John?"
John looked down, tracing the lines in the floor with eyes. Looking at anything other than Sherlock. "I just-" he sighed, trying to find the words.
My hormones can only focus on you? How am I supposed to formulate this into a conversation?
He took another deep breath, closed his eyes tightly, then opened them slowly as he looked up, meeting Sherlock's eyes. "I have not stopped thinking about yesterday," he laughed lightly, trying to cover his forwardness.
Sherlock visibly perked up, an almost bemused smile flitting across his face.
"I mean," John tried to reformulate his thoughts, "I just-can you just not do that again?" His voiced cracked on "that"; his brain and mouth moving in two very, extremely different directions.
"It was for an experiment, John," Sherlock slowly explained, furrowing his brows.
"Well," John gulped, "I hope your results were successful, but, please, no more experiments for a while, okay?" John turned around to head to his room, hoping to escape this conversation as soon as humanly possible.
"For science," Sherlock uttered the two words softly.
John stopped, shaking his head. He turned around, voicing his thoughts, "What?"
"I said 'for science,'" Sherlock stood up from his place, sliding his hands into his pockets, taking a step toward John.
"I heard you, yes, but what did you mean?" It was now John's turn to raise his brow, not exactly sure about or comfortable with where this conversation was going.
"Yesterday, during my experiment, I said 'for science,'" Sherlock took a few more steps toward his flatmate, emphasising his last two words with his hands.
"Yep, I was, um, I heard that," John loosened his jumper collar, wondering why Mrs. Hudson had turned on the heater.
"I was reminding myself, John," Sherlock.
