Improbabilities

Chapter 3: It's All Fine

The room fell silent, the only sounds being the audible clicking of John's swallowing and Sherlock's words echoing around them awkwardly. Sherlock knew that after tonight, everything would change. For better, or for worse. Even if John didn't completely hate him afterwards as he suspected, things would never be the same. Realizing the consequences behind his rash actions, Sherlock surged forward swiftly, so much so that John barely had a chance to widen his eyes even further before a warm mouth and spidery arms were swallowing him whole.

The kiss was simple. Partly due to the fact that Sherlock was hideously inexperienced and dared not to complicate things, but mostly because John had apparently turned into stone. 'But he hasn't backed away,' the small annoying voice niggled in the back of Sherlock's mind. Stepping away with his eyes closed, Sherlock could feel heat rising to his face. "I'm sorry, John," were the only words his mind supplied before he turned around and opened his eyes. Unable to bare the look of shame undoubtedly plastered onto John's face, Sherlock bashfully scurried through the threshold, pulling the door shut behind him. He stood on the opposite side of the wooden door, listening carefully for breathing, movement, anything. When all he heard was silence, Sherlock nearly ran downstairs to his own messy bedroom, silent wetness that felt a lot like tears falling from the corners of his eyes.

John could only stand there, staring for what seemed like an eternity at the spot in his bed where his colleague, flatmate, and best friend, and secret crush had moments ago been soundly sleeping. Moments after feeling the gust of wind from his closing door, he released a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Sherlock, his asexual self-proclaimed sociopathic roommate had just confessed to not only having feelings but, having feelings only for him; a washed-up and tattered army veteran. Unable to think much more on the subject without igniting some sort of heart murmur, John stripped down to his shorts and undershirt and carefully reclined into the side of his bed adjacent to his recently disturbed sheets. It has been a long day and he was exhausted, never mind the fact that it was hardly past 6 o'clock. When he noticed he wouldn't be doing any sleeping without aid from a few sleeping pills, John angrily reached for the bottle in his bed-side table. The same pills he had been so avidly ignoring ever since the prescription was set. Soon the induced coma would engulf him and there wouldn't be nightmares, only darkness which is some ways, was worse.

In his room, Sherlock paced, as much as he could considering the always cluttered state of the place. "Idiot. I'm an idiot. The great Sherlock Holmes is officially an idiot. A CRYING idiot," Sherlock muttered exasperatedly, wiping his face with clenched fists. "I may as well me normal," He spit the last word out like it personally offended him, which it did in a way. Ever since he was a young boy, Sherlock knew he wasn't normal. Not like the other children his age. His mother chided him for his insistence on irregularities, though that was a step up from his dads' negligence. However, rather than allow this to tear him down, Sherlock spent his life purposefully denying the presence of any feelings or sentiment. Now, here he was, years later, secreting salt water from his lacrimal system over some normal doctor. Until now, he'd deemed any person without his intellect unworthy of even his basic attentions. Now, this John person was bringing him to tears. This feeling nonsense was quickly drowning all energy from his usually overactive mind. Sherlock dramatically, as was his specialty, threw himself atop his sheets and gave into the pull of the darkness for the second time in 24 hours. His dreams filled with the sight, sounds, and scent of one certain army doctor.

John awoke the next morning feeling refreshed though not sure what to do. Sherlock was obviously awake downstairs, probably working on one of his many experiments. John went about his regular morning routine; toilet, shower, shave, dress, before he decided he had to go face the music eventually. "Just another day at 221B Baker Street," John mumbled to himself. "Other than the fact that your offensively attractive heartless flatmate confessed their love for you just 10 hours ago and you didn't tell him," he added sarcastically. Rolling his eyes, he walked down the stairs and into the living from where said attractive flatmate lay still as a statue on his favorite leather couch. "Good morning," John croaked. Clearing his unexplainably dry throat, he tried again. "Good morning, Sherlock," he gave a half-smile when he noticed one clear grey eye watching him. Being under the scrutiny of just one Holmes eye was enough attention to make John's palm's sweat and his heart beat rise. Something that's happened before, John noticed. Thinking to himself, John stalked toward the kitchen and began the kettle. Instinctively, John grabbed two mugs and waited for the kettle to whistle. When it did, John added copious amount of sugar to his cup and a modest tablespoon to Sherlock's. When he walked, tray in hand, back to the living room, Sherlock was still laying there, stiff as ever. "I made tea, Sherlock. I can make toast if-"

"You hate me, don't you?" Sherlock interrupted. "I would hate me. You took nearly 15 minutes longer from the time you woke up until the time you reached the bottom of the stairs. Assuming that ignoring me for as long as possible was the cause without being obvious. But, you were obvious. To me, at least. I did apologize. For last night. I didn't mean it, you know. When I said I-" he hesitated. "Well, you remember. I wasn't in my right mind then. Or when I, uh, kissed you. So, it's all fine. Really. It's all… fine." Sherlock had begun his prepared speech just like he intended, sure, confident, and forceful. But by the time it came to the irritatingly blatant lie he had decided to add at the end, his voice was small and unsure, two adjectives that should never be used to describe anything about him.

"Um, well, Sherlock-" John began.

"No, John. Don't. It's really all good," Sherlock stood and took his tea from the tray now sitting on the coffee table. He took a long deliberate drink from the scalding cup, enjoying the burn as it cleared his mind. "You're straight. And, I'm… Well, I'm Sherlock Holmes. Always proving that repetitive love song from that bug band wrong. I definitely don't need love," he choked on that last word, avoiding the gaze he was receiving from the irritatingly true blue eyes of one John Watson. There was silence until Sherlock felt a warm sensation on the wrist of the hand not holding tea. He set it down as his hand had begun to shake rapidly from the contact. When he looked back, John was smiling. No, scratch that, the bastard was grinning from ear to ear. "Wh-" was all the angry snarl that was able to leave Sherlock's mouth before the achingly unfamiliarity of John's lips could make itself known for the second time in 24 hours. John and Sherlock's second kiss was nothing like the first, to both of their delight. John took Sherlock's shock to his advantage as he sneaked his tongue into Sherlock's mouth to caress the taller mans'. Both the shudder and the moan that wrangled itself from Sherlock acted as magnets to John's hands as one found it's way to Sherlock's cheek and the other to the nape of his neck, tightening in the unruly curls and deepening the kiss. Sherlock was lost in the pleasure of the kiss, drowning in John's scent, surrendering to John's ministrations. All he could muster the energy to do was grip the front of John's jumper and hold on for dear life. All too soon however, John was pushing him away. After reluctantly pulling apart, they stared at each other for ages with blown pupils, kiss swollen lips, and scarlet lips before John smiled that smile at him.

"The Beatles," he stated simply. John pulled the brunette into his arms for one of the best hugs either of them had ever experienced. Once again, John had to force himself to pull away from… whatever this was becoming. He couldn't help but smile at the disappointment on his… Sherlock's face. "Work," he whispered. It seemed his mind wasn't going to supply him with any full sentences. When he turned to walk away, the weak hand on his arm felt like an anchor as it stopped him in his tracks, when he turned, Sherlock was blushing. Blushing. "Mm?"

"You'll… come back… right, John?" Sherlock inquired softly.

John couldn't help but give Sherlock a chaste kiss on his uncharacteristically pink cheek. "Always," he assured. He turned around and walked through the doors of 221B Baker Street, leaving his smirking flatmate standing in the middle of their living room. When he found himself back on familiar London streets, he added "I couldn't stay away if I tried," heaving a breathy laugh.

Important A/N:

I would like to end this fic with one more chapter. The content of that however, is up to you.
Would you rather have a chapter directly following where John returns from work and they work things out?
Or an epilogue where they've been exclusive for a while and it's time for Sherlock's first time. (penetrative)

Either way, there will be lemons.
Just way more in the latter.

Leave reviews, please!