John Watson and the Sociopath

Chapter 4

"Sherlock!" John called as he kicked the door to 221B shut, careful not to drop his groceries. He stumbled into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding knocking over the coat rack. As he dropped the brown paper bags on the counter, he noticed a plate on the counter. Cookies. God bless Mrs. Hudson!

John stepped into the living room, and upon noticing silky black curls over the edge of the sofa, he moved around to the other side.

Sherlock... John wanted to run his hands through that mane of fluff. He wanted to brush Sherlock's cheek, to feel his warmth, to...

Nope. John grabbed Sherlock's hand.

"Sherlock..." He whispered. The taller man shifted, his hand falling and slapping himself in the face. Making very unnattractive snorting noises, he sat up, running a hand over his face.

"Hello, John." The detective said, drowsy from sleep.

"Hello, Sherlock." Sherlock stood up suddenly, standing so close to John they were sharing air. John cleared his throat, turning towards the kitchen. He strode to the table, practically ripping the milk out of the bag. Opening the fridge and finding body parts has become normal, so John just shifted the fingers to make room for the milk. As he shut the door, he jumped.

It was Sherlock.

Again.

A-hem.

"Tea?" John asked. "Yes, great idea."

They both lunged for the teapot, and accidentally brushed hands. John's heart stopped. He had been trying so hard, for so long to ignore his feelings for Sherlock, and he was NOT going to give in now.

Unless, of course, Sherlock had anything to say about it.

"Sorry, sorry, I'll- get out of your way." John stuttered, moving to leave.

"No," Sherlock almost shouted, reaching out and grasping John's arm. Then quieter: "Please. Please stay."

Sherlock ran his fingers down John's arm, sending shivers up John's back, and stopped at the wrist. Pulse, John thought. He's taking my pulse. John didn't care. He had never felt that brave, standing there and staring straight into Sherlock's eyes, daring him to question John's arousal. John could practically feel his pupils dihilating.

And then their lips were pressed together in a sloppy, long awaited kiss. All of the pain they had gone through, John's anger at Sherlock for leaving him, and Sherlock's broken heart, poured out and made for extra pressure in the room. if you asked either how their first kiss felt, they would only smile and demonstrate.

All too soon, Sherlock pulled away and flicked his eyes towards the cookies. "Cookies and milk?" He asked.

"Oh, god yes!"