Nothing is mine, Brit-picked or Beta Read. See something wonky? Let me know. It's all Random-Nexus' fault. Blame her for this cracky mess.

Sherlock keeps a journal of sorts, several in fact. John stumbled across one of them the other day while straightening up the flat. This one was leather-bound with silver gilded edges and was worn for age and use. It felt comfortable in his hands, as John's fingertips slide over the cover. Of course Sherlock would have a leather journal, John thought, fondly. He was about to put it back on the shelf when his curiosity got the better of him. Oh, you're going to regret this Watson. Nothing good ever comes out of snooping.

But John opened the journal anyway and began reading.

Two hours later and one very enthusiastic wank, John closed the journal, placed it back on the shelf and quietly walked back to his room, shutting the door. He sat down on his bed and thought about what he had read. John wasn't the type to think that others fantasized about him, but apparently, a certain genius, consulting detective, flatmate had. Vividly.

John's face heated up again, thinking about several of the passages written in Sherlock's neat handwriting. Did Sherlock actually want to do some of those things or were they just an... experiment?How exactly was John supposed to face his friend after reading something like that...and something that was supposed to be private! What kind of hypocritical man was he?

"You're thinking loudly. Again," came a baritone voice from John's doorway.

"Ah...um...yes, I suppose I am," John stammered.

"Read it have you?" Sherlock said, giving nothing away.

John turned an impressive shade of red and quickly stood up. "I didn't mean...I'm sorry, I should've asked or not read it at all! Oh, my god..." John rambled, not knowing where to look or what to do. He stared at his shoes, wondering if he needed to start looking for a new flat. Sherlock's feet came into view, his unsocked toes moving impatiently. Only Sherlock could make his toes look impatient, John thought wryly.

"I believe we have some things to discuss," Sherlock said as John's head came up, unconsciously cataloging Sherlock's state of dress. No shoes, no socks, pajamas, clearly no pants, t-shirt, blue robe. John blinked. Sherlock smirked. Hang on. Clearly no pants? What?

John's confused blue eyes met Sherlock's amused hazel -Today they're hazel. Yesterday they were green. - eyes. John barely had a moment before Sherlock's soft lips crashed into his own.

Thank you for reading.