Sherlock's secret

CHAPTER 25

Sherlocks POV

He had done it. He had kissed John, something he didn't even know he wanted. Running his hands down his face, Sherlock sighed. He had been sitting in a café for the last few hours, his broken mind replaying the kiss more times than he could count.

Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only consulting detective, was stumped. His mind ran at an impossible speed, sorting through every possibility.

John could hate him.

John could make him leave.

Sherlock could make himself leave.

John could feel the same way Sherlock did.

He knew what he had to do. Jumping up, he ran back to 221B.
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Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, pausing to catch his breath. Mentally preparing himself for what he had to do, he reached to open the door.

It was opened from the other side, and John was standing there. He jumped back in surprise.

"Jesus, Sherlock. You scared me," Sherlock tried hard to maintain a straight face as John clutched his chest in fright. Looking him up and down, John continued "Are you okay?"

"John, we need to talk."

Johns POV

Sherlock grabbed his sleeve and pulled him over to the lounge, motioning for him to sit. John freaked out internally, wondering about what Sherlock could have to say.

"I need to know what we do now," Sherlock blurted.

"What?"

Sherlock sighed, his face falling. "I mean, what happens now? Do I leave or - "

John was taken aback. "Why would you leave?" He replied, cutting him off.

"Because of - because - that," he stuttered, gesturing to the place that they had kissed. "I mean, fuck, what is the normal convention in these situations, John?"

Oh, Sherlock.

"I don't want you to leave," John whispered.

"You...don't?" Sherlock seemed genuinely surprised, and Johns heart squeezed. Could he have truly believed that John wouldn't want him around anymore?

"Of course not, you idiot."

His heart pounded as he moved to sit next to Sherlock.

Sherlocks POV

John was moving closer to him. What was he doing?

"Are my pupils dilated?" He asked.

Oh. They were.

"Y-yes." Surely it didn't mean what Sherlock thought it meant.

"Take my pulse," he said.

"What?"

"Just...do it," John replied, holding out his wrist in front of him.

Sherlock placed two shaky fingers on Johns wrist, his own heart fluttering as he realised just how fast Johns heart was beating.

Satisfied, John whispered, "I don't want you to leave. Ever."

Closing the distance between them, their lips met.