Secrets [Johnlock]

1: Confessions

A beautiful melody was dancing throughout the room, taking over John's mind as he listened carefully to each note. Sherlock was a magnificent violinist, his fingers clutching onto the bow and creating music that could hypnotise. John had ceased typing to provide a silence, allowing the taller man to get lost in his own composition.

The song had finished just minutes later, yet John was still in a trance.  He could watch his flat mate play for hours on end, not once wishing to move or think of anything else. It was moments like this, with no cases, no work and no cares, that he loved and always craved more of.

"That was wonderful, Sherlock." He stated, shifting in his armchair to begin typing again.

"Thank you." He smiled before standing the violin against his own chair.

"How long did that take you to write?" John was now immersed in his blog and typing at an increased pace.

"Oh, you know me, John. I write as I play."

"Hmm, so all of five minutes then."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Did you like it?"

"I loved it."

A few hours had passed and John had typed up three cases. Sherlock had been texting Mycroft and retreated to his mind palace after getting wound up and storming off in a flurry of rage. Aware that he wouldn't be talking for a good while, the doctor went down to visit Mrs Hudson, asking what she needed before he went to the shops.

He soon returned with the carrier bags heavy in his hands, hauling them onto the table next to Sherlock's 'experiments'. Each item was placed neatly in its cupboard or part of the fridge. Luckily, the severed head had been removed after inevitably rotting so there was more space for a lettuce.

For some reason, John could never stay mad at Sherlock for anything. He could hold grudges with others forever, yet with Sherlock Holmes this was impossible. Instead, his soft gaze and whisper of an apology, or his feeble attempt at making a cup of tea, or his cute expression when focusing on the issue was enough to pull John out of whatever angered state he was in. He also noticed that the little things made him look at Sherlock lovingly, such as when he jumped after hearing a case, or when he swung his coat around his shoulders and helped his flatmate into his, or when he flipped his collar up to look cool. These things were enough to cause the otherwise controlled man to lose all ability to think or form a coherent sentence. Nobody else had ever had this effect on him...

Similarly, Sherlock had the same feelings: John Watson was his lifeline, the one person he wanted to be around. If anything happened to him, the detective didn't know what he would do. His world would end. Sometimes, Sherlock would enter his mind palace just to escape the overwhelming and unknown feelings his doctor would cause, even by just sitting in the same room. He depended on John and was ever grateful that he would put up with him. Anybody else would have surely left him by now. Yet, he had always declared that he wasn't looking for a relationship and didn't feel those emotions. Which was true at the time he said it, but not as his bond with John Watson got ever stronger. If Sherlock just blurted out that he had feelings for the smaller man, who had stated many times that he wasn't gay, surely he would take it that everything said previously was a lie. What if he then thought Sherlock was a liar? No, he couldn't risk that.

It was later that evening, when the rain was gently tapping the window and both men were together in their chairs, that John had decided to confess his feelings. The only word he could think of to explain these feelings of belonging, of attachment, of caring... was love. He loved Sherlock Holmes.

With his words prepared carefully on a folded piece of paper and placed beside his mug, and his soft beige jumper offering some comfort, he decided to say the words. Sherlock would never do it, and it was unlikely that he would feel the same, but the words still had to be said nonetheless. He couldn't live with his secret anymore.

"Sherlock," he exhaled, shuffling nervously. "I need to tell you something."

"Oh," replied Sherlock with his voice questioning. "Okay."

His nervousness was overwhelming, causing him to not talk for a moment. Instead, only eye contact was shared, which, in all honesty, did nothing to help with John's calm state. After another deep breath, he continued.

"Sherlock, I... ever since I met you, I've felt our relationship becoming stronger and I can't go any longer without saying this. I love you. You're the one person I want in my life, whatever happens. You brighten up every day, you stand with me at my strongest and support me at my weakest. You've become a part of me I never knew existed, showing me happiness and giving me purpose. I need you, Sherlock. I love you."

Fearing his flatmate's reaction, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. His emotions had taken over, leaving him vulnerable and open to attack. He should never have said that. Now he seems a fool who can't even suppress his feelings and carry on as normal. Great, another friendship destroyed.

Before any more thoughts could race around John's head, Sherlock was moving closer. He lowered himself to kneel by the armchair, raising his arm to let his fingers cup John's cheek. His eyes were piercing, yet soft. Hypnotic. Exploring every inch of the blogger's face.

"I... I don't quite know exactly what to say in this situation, apart from that those are the words I've been longing to hear. Not a day has passed where I haven't wished you'd tell me you feel the same way and I feel like I've been going insane waiting. I want to be able to call you mine because you make me feel... normal. I'm so happy when I'm with you. I'm human with you. You complete me. I love you, John."

John beamed with pride at this, staring deep into his detective's eyes. He took the hand that was by his side and lifted him onto his knee, wrapping an arm around his waist. Sherlock leaned into him, the two enjoying the comfortable silence.

"Though," he continued. "I have a little dilemma."

"What's that?"

"I'd rather people didn't know about us. It's easier that way. Do you mind?"

John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, planting light kisses on his cheek. This caused him to blush slightly, his whole body feeling electric.

"As long as I've got you, and we know, nothing else matters."

The two remained cuddled up in the armchair, their fingers laced and breathing slow. Sherlock could even hear the beating of John's heart, gentle and steady. Soon enough, they had fallen asleep, feeling safe and content in each other's arms.