Four-Letter Defect

Hello there! Just a quick note: if you're planning on reading this, I suggest you read A Study in Love first, as these one shots might not make much sense if you haven't already read it. This first one is an exception though, as it takes place before the start of that story.

As promised, this will consist of several one-shots written from Sherlock's POV of chapters/events from ASiL. Hope you'll like them!

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It started with a smile.

A slight upward tug at the corner of Sherlock's lips as he sat across from John in the lounge, the two of them relaxing in their respective armchairs after a long, hard day's work of crime fighting and deducing. John had cracked some joke about burglary and despite the fact that Sherlock barely found John's attempt at humour to be comical, the smile was on his lips before what John had said registered in his mind as slightly funny.

Even more surprising than the smile on his face was that after only a few hours Sherlock had forgotten the joke, but not the strange feeling of warmth he felt in his chest when he realized he was smiling.

It grew with a look.

A brief meeting of the eyes as Sherlock and John walked through the aisles at Tesco, shopping for something to eat for dinner that night. An hour earlier John had expressed his desire for a home cooked meal rather than Chinese takeaway and without thinking Sherlock had offered to provide him with one. Now, he was walking at John's side through the grocery section with his eyes fixed on the shelves and the foods they held, pointedly ignoring the strange looks John occasionally sent his way.

"Um, Sherlock?" he heard John ask as he studied the back of a box of rice. He made a quiet humming sound to indicate that John had captured his attention. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Sherlock asked, though he knew exactly what John was getting at.

"Making dinner."

"Because you said you wanted to eat a meal that wasn't out of a box with chopsticks."

"Yeah, but..." he trailed off, and Sherlock glanced over at John. Their eyes met for a brief moment and it caused something in Sherlock's chest to tighten. He turned his attention onto a box of multigrain pasta as John spoke again.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is...thank you." The gratitude in John's voice was evident, but even more so was the dryness in Sherlock's mouth as he mumbled an awkward 'You're welcome.'

It was solidified with a touch.

A gentle ghosting of John's fingertips across the pale skin of Sherlock's jaw while he checked his face for injury. Sherlock had been dealt a rather painful blow to the face as the result of a rather snarky remark made by Sherlock while interrogating a witness to a robbery at a bar. The man was large and had obvious anger issues, and was quite inebriated at the time, which is never a good combination. Still, Sherlock had been unable to resist commenting on the tattoo on the man's neck. Apparently, it was 'not good' to ask how low one's IQ must be to actually go through the process of getting a tattoo in such a vacuous place. His comment had ended up with Sherlock being laid out flat on his back, a sharp pain in his jaw.

Fortunately John had stepped in before the situation escalated and Sherlock was spared from further injury and humiliation. As Sherlock lay on the ground propping himself up on one elbow while John examined the cut on his jaw like a concerned parent, the quickening of his own heartbeat when John's hand came in contact with his face did not go unnoticed.

There may have been a crowd of people then, but when Sherlock thought back to that night, all he could remember was John and those fingers of his, lightly brushing over his skin, tilting his head so the light from the street lamp was shining on his face.

This worried Sherlock greatly. Never before had his memory failed him in such a way, and never before had the mere presence of one person managed to overpower all of his senses. It was confusing to say the least. Sherlock spent many a night lying awake in bed, his mind searching for some sort of solution to this newly-presented dilemma.

The answer came to him while in a half-asleep state one Thursday night when Sherlock once again found his mind overflowing with thoughts of John Watson, the army doctor with the golden hair and golden heart to match. The man who had limped into his life and shown him there was more to life than crime scenes and deductions. The man who said 'amazing' instead of 'piss off'. The man who had shown him that caring was not always a disadvantage when he shot that cabbie through two windows and saved his life.

Sure, Sherlock knew he cared for John, and it pained him greatly to admit it. However, he had no idea that what he felt for the man went farther than just enjoying his company. Not only did Sherlock crave John's companionship, but he found that he actually thrived during the moments they spent together. He smiled, even laughed, and whenever he was around John for some reason the world didn't seem so dismal.

Finally he had an explanation for the shallow breathing, the racing heart beat, and the strange dreams and thoughts that came to him at night after prolonged exposure to John. Sherlock Holmes was in love with his heterosexual flatmate and best friend. This infatuation may have begun with a smile, but it would no doubt end in heartbreak.