"How was the shop?"
The door closed shut behind the army doctor as he made his way through Sherlock's mess and into the kitchen.
"It was alright," John shrugged.
"Better than last time, I assume?" the consulting detective grinned, giving John a knowing look.
Glaring in return, John began putting away their groceries for the week.
"What have you been doing all this time anyways?" John asked his flatmate.
"Thinking," was the simple reply.
"You're always thinking," John muttered.
"I have a lot to think about," Sherlock said, returning his hands to their pyramid-shaped thinking position.
John grimaced at the man, then continued to put away their groceries.
"How long were you gone?" Sherlock's voice rang out in the silence.
"About an hour, why?"
"It was too long," Sherlock grumbled.
John rolled his eyes, "What, did you miss me?"
"Yes."
John's eyes widened and his face tinted a faint shade of pink, "What?"
"What?" Sherlock looked at him, his head tilted to the side slightly, which only made John blush more.
God, he hated when Sherlock was cute.
He always is, John laughed to himself, then physically shook the thought away.
I'm not gay.
"What's wrong?" Sherlock said, rising from the sofa and making his way to the kitchen.
John suddenly turned on him, "I was just thinking. Surprisingly enough, you aren't the only one who can!"
And with that, the shorter man stormed off to his room, leaving a very confused flatmate behind him. Sherlock stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching John trudge up the steps to his room. He pondered for a moment on whether to go after him or not, but quickly turned around and sat in his chair with a huff, deciding to return to his thoughts instead.
-----------
"I'm sorry."
Sherlock looked up to see John in the doorway, his head bowed to the ground.
"What for?" he asked softly, internally panicking that he'd say the wrong thing and set John off again.
"Blowing up at you. It was rude. I'm sorry."
"Oh," Sherlock paused, having to try (for the first time in his life) to find the right words to say.
Finally, after a long moment, he decided on, "I forgive you."
"Alright. Good," John nodded curtly, then turned on his heel and grabbed his coat.
"Where are you going?" Sherlock peered after him, silently asking John to invite him along.
"Out," John said simply, then looked at his flatmate, who seemed to be waiting like a puppy for his command.
He sighed for a moment, then, "Would you like to come with me?"
John saw a glint in his friend's eyes, one he would call excitement if he didn't know any better.
This was Sherlock he was talking about. Sherlock would never get excited over such a simple thing as going on a walk. And with John, of all people!
John smiled at his eager flatmate, "Alright, you're ready?"
"Nearly!" Sherlock leaped in front of John and down the stairs, nearly tripping on his own feet. He frantically grabbed his coat and tugged it on before looking at John with that same gleam in his eyes.
John grinned softly at Sherlock's antics, "Let's go."
The two walked along the street and, since it was the busy time of the day, they had to stand fairly close together. Sherlock didn't seem to mind at all, but John's face would turn a bright shade of red at the slightest brush of their arms. This, of course, didn't go unnoticed by the consulting detective.
"Something wrong?" he looked down at John, analyzing his pink face.
"No, yep, everything's fine!" John rushed out, staring at the ground.
"Your face is red," Sherlock said matter-of-factly, "Are you cold?"
"No, no, I'm just-"
Without a moment's hesitation, Sherlock removed his coat and placed it over John. The bottom of it trailed along the path, but that didn't seem to bother the detective. John, on the other hand, was an absolute mess. It was a simple, kind gesture, something so insignificant that shouldn't have bothered John the way it did. And yet, here he was, wrapping the giant coat around his shoulders, feeling the fabric between his fingers, and discreetly smelling the cologne on it whenever Sherlock wasn't looking.
It was just a coat, but to John, it felt as if it meant so much more.
The two made their way back to their flat, both content with their lives and refreshed from their walk.
As the two walked inside, John attempted to return to Sherlock his coat, but he waved the doctor off gently.
"It suits you better anyways," he grinned, turning his back to John and walking calmly up the stairs.
John's knees gave way, and he melted into the floor then and there. At least, he would've, if it weren't for Mrs. Hudson, who had heard the entire exchange. She smiled at John, giving him a knowing look, before patting him on the shoulder and walking off back to her own flat.
Now redder than before, John made his way up the stairs, his mind demanding he confront Sherlock about this whole business once he reached the top. When he did make it up, Sherlock was already in his chair, thinking.
Sighing, John began walking toward the kitchen, thinking, I'll talk to him another time, before he heard Sherlock shuffle behind him.
"Ah, John, you've made it. Took you long enough," Sherlock smirked, eyeing the cloth draped over his flatmate's shoulders, "I see you're still wearing my coat. Doubt you'll be needing it in here, it is quite warm."
John hesitated for a moment, then swiftly turned around so he was facing his friend.
After taking a long, slow breath, he said, "Sherlock, we need to talk."
Sherlock's grin immediately dropped, his mind swirling with awful possibilities as to the reasoning behind this 'talk'.
"What about? What's wrong? Are you moving out?"
John laughed, "Calm down Sherlock. No, I'm not moving out. Yet."
He mumbled the last part, but Sherlock easily understood him, "Yet?? Do you plan on leaving?"
John frowned, rubbing the back of his neck, "Ah, Sherlock?"
"Yes?" the consulting detective said quickly, watching John's every move closely, trying to find a clue as to what this conversation would entail.
"I wanted to talk to you about something," John continued slowly.
"Yes, I gathered that," Sherlock said impatiently, "What seems to be the matter, John? Was it my coat? I can always have it back if it made you that upset."
"No! No, uhm, no, it's not the coat. It's, ah, it's about something else."
Sherlock looked at him impatiently, begging with his eyes for John to keep talking.
"Well, it's just that, uhm, I-"
"Yoo-hoo!" Mrs. Hudson called from the doorframe, "I made you both a cuppa, I'd bet you're both freezing from the cold air outside!"
"Not now, Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock slammed his fists on the armrests of his chair.
Mrs. Hudson jumped slightly, surprised by Sherlock's sudden outburst.
"Don't mind him," John attempted, apologizing for his companion's behavior.
"I'll take that. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he added softly, taking the tea from her hands.
She nodded curtly, then turned on her heel in a huff and made her way back downstairs.
John turned to his flatmate, "What was that all about?"
"She interrupted you. She shouldn't have interrupted you," Sherlock replied quickly, silently wishing for their previous conversation to resume.
"She's interrupted me before and you've never cared," John said, eyeing his friend.
"Well, enough is enough, isn't it?" Sherlock huffed, "So, what were you going to say before Mrs. Hudson barged in uninvited?"
John rolled his eyes, giving Sherlock a disbelieving look before continuing, "Sherlock, there's something we need to talk about."
Sherlock nodded intently, signalling for his companion to continue.
"Well, it's just that... it's just that I've noticed a change in your behavior recently... more specifically, towards me."
Sherlock tilted his head, and John internally swooned.
"Whatever do you mean?" Sherlock asked, watching John as he paced around the room.
"Well, it just seems, as of recently... you seem to have been... flirting with me."
Sherlock's face reddened, and he opened his mouth to speak.
But, before he could, John quickly added, "I'm not gay."
Nodding slowly, Sherlock stood, "Upon reviewing my recent behavior towards you, it appears that yes, I have been acting strangely."
Still nodding, he began to make his way out the door, refusing to look at John.
"I'm sorry if it has made you uncomfortable. I can find a new place to stay if that's what you'd like."
"What??" John yelled, following Sherlock down the stairs.
"If you'd rather us not be flatmates anymore, that could be arranged. I'm sure you hate me now."
John shook his head desperately, "I don't hate you, why would I hate you?"
Sherlock looked at the ground, then brought his eyes up to meet John's, "John, I'm gay."
John froze. He half expected this confession, and while a part of him was hopeful, the other was terrified. First of all, Sherlock thought he'd hate him because he was gay? That was absurd! John studied Sherlock's face, making sure he wasn't messing with him.
God, he's cute, John thought, panicking that he was thinking such a thing.
I'm not gay.
He eyed his flatmate's lips, knowing full well that straight people didn't act this way towards their friends.
I'm not gay.
Sherlock just confessed his sexuality to John, his biggest secret. He trusted John. He loved John.
John groaned internally. Sherlock just confessed he was gay. It was alright, wasn't it? Sherlock was gay, and that was alright. What would be the issue if John was gay? Sherlock couldn't hate him, he simply couldn't. If John told Sherlock he was gay, Sherlock would accept him with open arms. He'd be okay.
They both would.
I'm not gay.
John thought of every time he was happy, realizing that most of those times he had been with Sherlock. He thought of every moment they shared, realizing that he never wants to leave Sherlock's side, ever. He thought of every time he looked at Sherlock, wishing they were more than friends, wishing they were more than flatmates.
I'm not gay.
He stole another glance at Sherlock's lips. His perfect lips. His cupid's bow lips. His wonderful lips.
I'm not gay.
He stared into Sherlock's eyes, thousands of emotions flooding him. Wonderful, awful emotions.
Did he love Sherlock?
I'm not gay.
His eyes flitted between his friend's eyes and lips. Sherlock's lips were so inviting.
One kiss couldn't hurt, could it?
I'm not gay.
He watched as Sherlock's eyes found his own lips, both men now caught in a trance of each other.
John's head spun, his eyes only focusing on Sherlock. Sherlock was all that mattered.
John loved Sherlock.
Oh.
John loved Sherlock.
I'm not gay.
But John loved Sherlock.
But I'm not...
Oh, fuck it.
John crashed his lips onto Sherlock's, the detective squeaking in response. Immediately, Sherlock's hands weaved their way into John's hair, and John's hands rested on Sherlock's face. John, knowing Sherlock had never done this before, took the lead, prying open his companion's lips with his tongue. Once Sherlock's mouth was open, John's tongue invaded every inch of it, memorizing the taste, memorizing the sensation. Neither man could think, both were powered only by love and sheer passion. They separated at last, both greatly out of breath. John smiled, resting his head on the taller man's chest, Sherlock resting his head on top of the doctor's.
His doctor.
Behind them, they heard someone rapidly clapping. Turning around, both watched as Mrs. Hudson walked around the corner, beaming.
"About bloody time!"
The two laughed, John returning his head to the detective's chest.
His detective.
Maybe John was gay.
If he was gay, it meant he could have Sherlock.
He grinned at the thought, I could work with that.
