Four-Letter Defect

Almost

Author's Note: Sorry it's been so long since I updated. I've actually had to write this on the phone app because my computer is not working at full capacity as of this moment. I will try not to take so long with the updates in the future, I promise. I apologize for any spelling/grammar mistakes in advance.
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Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he'd felt apologetic. The whole act of apologizing had proven to be quite tiresome, so he'd deleted the feeling of guilt long ago. And yet, Sherlock found himself waking up early in the morning to prepare breakfast for John in hopes that he would forgive him for whatever it was he had done. John had been upset with him for so long Sherlock wasn't even sure he knew why he was mad anymore. He knew John's anger had stemmed from a comment Sherlock had made about his blog, but surely he wasn't still mad over that. There had to be something else, and though Sherlock wasn't sure what it was, he was hoping to dissipate John's anger with a few crêpes and a nice hot cup of coffee.

However, his plan went awry when he became distracted with thoughts of how pleased John would look when he saw what Sherlock had done, and how his face would light up with the smile Sherlock had come to adore, and the next thing he knew there was smoke in front of him and the alarm was going off. There was the hard pounding of footsteps and then John was in the kitchen, looking rather flustered and still a bit groggy from sleep. The look on his face now was far from what Sherlock had imagined it to be, though he had to admit he found 'sleepy John' to be very attractive.

What happened from that point on Sherlock had yet to discern if he wanted to delete or remember. His failed attempt at breakfast, as horrific a memory as it was, had resulted in him and John technically holding hands beneath a stream of running water and a subsequent breakfast at a crepe shop in town.

Their hands had touched when they reached for the menus, and Sherlock received a painful reminder of what he had stupidly done earlier. With that painful reminder came the tactile memory of John's fingers curled around his hand, and he could almost feel the way the electricity that had surged throughout his body when they made eye contact. It had hardly left his mind since the event occurred, which had resulted in Sherlock not realizing the cabbie had taken them to the wrong street. He'd been so preoccupied with trying to catch John's eye and see if he could feel that spark again. He hadn't been able to.

Still, the meal had been pleasant and Sherlock had to admit he quite enjoyed himself. Of course, it was impossible for him not to enjoy himself when in John's company; It was one of the more pleasant side effects of being in love.

Everything had been fine and just when Sherlock was becoming convinced that all was right with the world, their waitress made an off-hand comment about them, assuming, like every other human being on the planet, that he and John were a couple. Sherlock remained quiet, as he always did, silently wishing that her words were true and pretending to not be hurt by John's response. Though he would never tell anyone, John's words had felt like individual stab wounds that he wasn't sure would ever heal.
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"There's always room for you."

Sherlock nearly cringed at the sentimentality of his words. He glanced down at the doctor sleeping on his shoulder and could feel his heart swell with emotion.

"Oh John," he said quietly, softly stroking the man's short blonde hair as he slept, "What have you done to me?" John's slow and steady breathing was the only reply Sherlock received. For a while he sat there, ears listening for any sign of life outside the car, but the rest of his senses all focused on the person currently using his shoulder as a pillow. He shifted, and then Sherlock could feel a hand on his stomach, and he knew his cheeks would be tinted pink in no time. The air was cold around them, but with John cuddled up to him and clutching his shirt in his sleep, Sherlock had all the warmth he could ever want.

Ever since he was little Sherlock had heard what it was like to be in love. He remembered sitting quietly and listening to stories of what it was like, and how the entire world seemed that much brighter when you were with that special someone. He always used to scoff at them, deciding they had all gone mad, but now he understood perfectly what it was like. He stared down at John's sleeping face, and decided that while 'sleepy' John was attractive, 'sleeping' John was downright adorable. He kept his hand firmly on John's shoulder and allowed the man to cuddle up to him in his sleep, his chilled body seeking solace in the warmth that Sherlock's body provided.

Sherlock was allowed a few hours of this bliss before John roused from his slumber and he was blessed with another opportunity to see John just as he was waking up.

"Good morning," he said softly when he saw that John was mostly awake. John responded to his greeting and started to stretch, but stopped for some reason.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked.

"No." Sherlock could hear John's sigh.

"Sherlock..."

"Well someone's got to stay awake and keep an ear out for robbers." Sherlock figured that would be a better reason for staying awake than 'I just really wanted to watch you sleep'. John nodded his head and apologized for a reason unknown to Sherlock. He seemed upset, so Sherlock decided to try and lift his spirits. He said the first thing that came to mind.

"You look absolutely adorable when you sleep." Sherlock could have slapped himself for saying such a thing, and he was surprised when John didn't slap him. He was even more surprised when John's befuddled face dissolved into a smile, but not terribly so where he was unable to reciprocate the curvature of lips John displayed. As he stared into John's eyes and found the blue pools shining with nothing but positive feelings, he couldn't stop his own emotions from spiraling out of control as they so often did when the two of them shared prolonged eye contact. Only this time was different. This time there was something more hidden in those steel blue eyes, something that Sherlock had never seen before, and certainly not directed towards him. Could this be it? Could it be the moment Sherlock had been dreaming of for the last few months? Was John thinking back to the time they had almost kissed in their kitchen and deciding that it actually did mean something to him? There was only one way to find out, and Sherlock knew John would never initiate it. Deciding that it would be better for his sanity to clear the air, Sherlock opted to get the conversation going.

"John, I-"

"Hold on a minute," John cut in, holding up a hand. Was this his way of telling Sherlock he would start? One look told Sherlock that wouldn't be the case, and that maybe John was just trying to get out of talking about it, but he wouldn't let that happen.

"But John-"

"Not now Sherlock. I think I hear something."

"But-"

"Oh, can't it wait?" John turned to glare at Sherlock, which was the last thing he'd expected him to do. It had been so long since John had directed a glare towards him, and the fact that he was doing it now when Sherlock had been preparing to pour his heart out to him wounded him greatly. He fought to keep a straight face while John's eyes watched him but he knew he failed. It didn't matter anyway; John's attention was soon on the warehouse outside and eventually so was Sherlock's. By the time they'd left the car and the chase had begun, Sherlock had resolved to delete the entire stakeout from his memory, for it was much too painful to keep. If only he could figure out a way to delete love, Sherlock thought to himself as he sat beside John on their way back to the flat.
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One of the many things Sherlock prided himself on was the ability to keep a secret. He had spent years perfecting his poker face and was certain he'd be able to get away with murder if he needed to, so he was more than surprised when a mere stranger had managed to see through his façade.

"You should tell him," the young woman had said while they stood side by side at Matthew's bed. Sherlock had feigned confusion, claiming not to understand, but this Lucy character hadn't bought it.

"I can tell by the way you look at him."

"I look at John as I would anyone else."

"You don't have to lie to me." It was at this point that Sherlock considered turning and exiting the room, but he knew he couldn't. John was standing just outside the door, and would no doubt ask for an explanation as to why they had to leave all of a sudden. There was no way Sherlock could tell him it was because Lucy was trying to convince him to confess his love, but there was nothing else he could say, and he didn't want to lie to John. Lucy shifted closer to him and lowered her voice, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"I wasted three years of my life because I was afraid, but I refuse to live in fear anymore... and you should too."

Over the course of his lifetime, Sherlock Holmes had been many things. He'd been annoyed nearly every time Mycroft asked or forced him to attend a family gathering. He'd been angry and perhaps a bit dispirited when all his peers alienated him, but he had managed to numb these emotions through the use of narcotics. He'd even been a bit apprehensive every time the ten year old nuisance named Arthur approached him on the playground, but he'd never been afraid, so for this commoner to tell him that he was living in fear was absolutely preposterous.

"I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"Look, Sherlock, it may be too late for me, but it's not too late for you. Tell him. Tell him you-"

"You're being ridiculous, Lucy!" Sherlock shouted, not allowing her to say the words he had tried so hard to keep unuttered. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Lucy smiled at him, but it wasn't a comforting gesture. In fact, her smile was the exact opposite, as was her placing a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"We both know that's not true. You're not the only observant one here." Sherlock turned to face Lucy, ready to 'chew her out' as most people might say, warn her to mind her own business and tell her that his loving John was nothing of her concern, but a quiet sound coming from the doorway silenced the words that had yet to spill from Sherlock's mouth. He turned and saw an obviously uncomfortable John, and panicked. Luckily he had not been standing there long, and hadn't heard what Sherlock was so afraid for him to hear. He quickly said goodbye to Lucy and managed to escape, John trailing behind him asking all sorts of questions that Sherlock couldn't answer.

While he sat beside John in the back of the cab, replaying the last hour or so, he found that his body as well as his mind was quite restless. Then again, who would be able to maintain perfect composure after going through what Sherlock just had? He'd just found out that his poker face was not as great as he'd thought, and John had almost discovered the feelings Sherlock had harboured for him for what felt like forever. Still, Sherlock eventually found himself able to relax in the comfort of knowing it had only been almost.