A/N: Tabby is back for a second. All ongoing fics have been postponed until I get into college, sorry. I just don't have the ability to get stuff typed up. Until then, only fics that I write spontaneously on my mom's phone or something (I.e. drabbles/ficlets) will be published. I'm really sorry, truly I am. :(

As for this one, I tried to funny and it didn't quite work out. The idea of Sherlock trying to delete love intrigued me, and this is the result. Thanks for putting up with me. :) Reviews are appreciated.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, sadly. :(

Ctrl, Alt, Delete

"Morning," John mumbled in the general direction of Sherlock as he set about making himself a cup of tea. He glanced at the detective while he waited for the water to boil, unsurprised to find Sherlock sullenly staring into space. The taller man was sitting on the edge of his seat, his elbows on his knees and his hands steepled underneath his chin.

"John, it's not working," Sherlock muttered darkly.

John yawned. "Too early to do that thing," he told Sherlock as he poured the hot water into his mug. "Don't do that thing."

Sherlock broke his sullen glare to send a confused and affronted look John's way. "What 'thing'?" he asked.

"That thing," John repeated, "where you stare into space and then arrive at a conclusion that that only makes sense to you and expect us to understand but really we just think you're crazy."

"Oh," Sherlock said. "That thing." But John could tell he didn't really understand, he was just humoring him.

"Yes," John agreed anyways as he took a sip of the steaming liquid. It was an ungodly hour of the morning. He was allowed to not care. "What's wrong, then?"

"I can't delete it, John," Sherlock said tensely, no longer looking at John. "It refuses to go away."

"What does?" John asked.

"Nothing. An emotion. Pesky things, emotions," Sherlock said vaguely.

John stared at Sherlock for a second before turning away. He scooped up his coat and walked out the door. "I'll see you later then," he said as he left.

When John came back that night, Sherlock was sitting in the same position as when John had left. "Have you moved at all?" he asked as he heaved the groceries into the kitchen.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, sounding every inch the petulant child. "Mrs. Hudson came up to give me a cup of tea, and I threw it into the potted plant."

"That's not any better," John informed him. He sat down across from the taller man. "So tell me. What is it that's giving you so much trouble? Not that you should be deleting things anyway. You know what could happen. Remember the Van Buren supernova?"

"An emotion," Sherlock said, then went quiet.

"What emotion?" John prompted.

"Love," Sherlock answered.

John sputtered. "You can't delete love!" he finally protested. "This isn't a primary school subject, Sherlock! Deleting love is like...like..." He trailed off, trying to impress the import of this action on Sherlock. "What brought this on?" he finally asked.

Sherlock hesitated, and to his surprise, John thought he could see a hint of a blush rising on Sherlock's cheeks. "I...care for...someone," he finally got out. "It's a liability."

John's mouth dropped, and he closed it before Sherlock could make a sarcastic comment. "On the contrary," he said, ignoring his shock, "that's great. Who would have thought, the great and mighty Sherlock Holmes is capable of love." An uncomfortable silence settled over them. John finally broke it, saying, "May I ask who the unlucky sod is?"

For the first time since that morning, Sherlock looked directly at John. "You," he said.

John felt his vision start to fade. "Oh hell," he muttered as he blacked out.

"34 seconds," Sherlock said when he came around. "Not unhealthy. Nothing broken, you'll be fine."

John shook his head to clear it. "Nice to know you care," he muttered sarcastically before remembering what they had been talking about. "Oh shit," he said faintly.

"Exactly," Sherlock said. "On top of causing me to make irrational decisions to protect you and not letting me think straight-after all, you remember Irene Adler-on top of that, my love for you is unrequited. In the end, it'll just cause both of us more pain. Therefore, deleting love is the best option. I suggest you forget about this conversation, because I certainly will."

John blinked a few times as he processed Sherlock's words. He looked at Sherlock, opening his mouth slightly to say something before shutting it immediately and looking away. He took a moment to steel his courage, then quietly asked, "What if it isn't?"

Sherlock's head whipped around to face John, and John turned to stare directly into his eyes. "What?" the detective asked, and John had to smile. It wasn't easy to confuse the high and mighty Sherlock Holmes.

"What if it wasn't unrequited?" he pushed on, despite his misgivings. "What if...what if I wanted you to love me?"

Sherlock stared. "If you wanted me to love you?" he repeated slowly. John nodded.

"Would that be reason enough not to delete love?"

Sherlock looked away. "I swear, John, if you are not serious about this..." He trailed off, and John's eyes softened at the vulnerability shining through Sherlock's facade.

"I'm not," he said softly. He stood up and padded across to Sherlock. He took the detective's face in his hands, forcing him to look into John's eyes. "I love you," he said solemnly, and leaned in to peck Sherlock on the lips.

When he pulled back, Sherlock's face resembled a tomato. John could feel his cheeks becoming warm too, and he turned away. "I'll be in my room," he muttered awkwardly. But he hadn't moved two steps before Sherlock grabbed his arm. He froze as Sherlock's lanky frame pressed up against his own.

"I...thank you," Sherlock said, embarrassment coloring his tone. "I...I won't delete love."

John smiled. "Good," he said. "I really do love you, you know," he mumbled, almost as an afterthought.

Sherlock pressed his face into John's hair. "I love you too," he mumbled after a moment, voice muffled, and John smiled.

"I know," he whispered, sinking into Sherlock's embrace. "And I'm grateful for it."

FIN