His Greatest Adventure

A Misunderstanding

John felt an arm wrap around his waist, and he gasped softly. Sherlock shifted his body against the older man's so that they were touching. From his position, John could see Sherlock's long, pale fingers fitted against his hip. He wiped his tears and turned to face him.

For the first time, John could see worry in Sherlock's bright green eyes. His hair fell into his face against the pillow.

"What's wrong, John?" he spoke in a tone barely higher than a whisper.

John hesitated. I love you. I need you. I want you. What would Sherlock say? Would he slowly get up, and leave the room? Would he sit next to John in biochemistry again? He didn't notice tears were streaming down his face again until Sherlock lifted a hand to wipe them away. John's breath hitched.

Sherlock leaned in closer, and brushed his lips against John's. John pulled away. He stared at Sherlock for a moment before he tilted his head upwards and kissed him back.

John forgot how to think. The kiss deepened when Sherlock slipped his tongue inside John's mouth, and John reached for the wrists of the man beside him. Pinning him gently against the mattress, John raised himself above Sherlock and ground lightly into him.

Sherlock released a moan. John let go of his hands momentarily in order to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, followed by the button on his pants.

Sherlock grabbed his wrist.

"John," he whispered, "I can't do this to you."

John stopped. He rolled himself off of Sherlock, his face burning bright red. Hot tears welled in his eyes once more.

"Jesus fuck, Sherlock. I'll just leave then."

He stood, pushing Sherlock's arm off of his torso. It lay limply on the mattress, his other hand covering his face. 

John felt embarrassed and hurt. Why had Sherlock let it go that far if he didn't want it? As John gathered his things and exited the bedroom, he avoided Sherlock's eyes. 

It was snowing outside. Thick snowflakes landed in his hair, which was still a mess from the events of the day. It seemed insane that only hours ago, the two men were investigating the murder at the run down house.

After years of depression and PTSD from the abusive household of his childhood, he finally felt at home with Sherlock. He finally felt safe, maybe even okay. Even if Sherlock didn't love him, he had convinced himself that that would be alright, because at least he could see him whenever he needed. At least, with the way things were, John could wake up in the morning and look forward to one part of his day. Now, John had no idea what was happening. It may have been an overreaction, but the feeling in the air when he left the bedroom had been so real. It felt so, so real.

John's face burned from the cold, and he found himself sobbing as he walked. It was only after five minutes in the snow that he realized he was walking in the wrong direction. 

Fucking hell. John wanted to die. How easy it would be to just jump in front of the moving traffic...

As he turned around to walk in the direction of his dorm, he slammed directly into Sherlock.

"What the hell? Why are you here?" he yelled, surprising himself with his anger.

"John..." Sherlock began, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I'm sorry, are you okay? Can we... talk about this?"

John closed his eyes. 

"Sherlock, do you have any idea what you've done to me? Do you care  about anyone other than yourself?" Sherlock grimaced at John's hurtful words.

"And why am I so mad?" he continued, "I don't know that either, Sherlock, but maybe it's because I'm fucking in love with you."

Time slowed. The snow fell upon the men, and John froze when he realized what he had said. Sherlock's eyes widened, then closed slowly. He lifted a hand to run through his dark hair.

"Oh."

John stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets, and began to walk past Sherlock. He couldn't handle the embarrassment, and if Sherlock said anything other than 'I love you' back, John wouldn't be able to live with himself. 

As he pushed past the taller man with his face down, Sherlock grasped John's arm and pulled him around. 

It was John's turn to be surprised. Without hesitation, Sherlock bent down to kiss John. It was different than before; they kissed slowly, John's fingers twisting in Sherlock's hair and Sherlock's hands sliding across the back of John's neck. When they came up for air, Sherlock laughed softly.

"Well, I mean... I love you too."

John couldn't handle it. Laughing and smiling, the men walked back to 221B Baker Street hand in hand.