"John."

Sherlock's voice snapped John out of his sleep, mostly because the detective was about three inches away from his face, a curious look plastered across his face. "What?" he grumbled, scooting the other direction so he could see Sherlock properly.

"I'm bored."

John groaned. "Go shoot the wall then, don't bother me." He attempted to yank the duvet back of his head, but Sherlock grabbed it first.

"I wasn't going to. At first. Are you aware that you have dreams of a sexual nature about me?"

Johm shot up. "Excuse me?" Sherlock still looked extremely calm. "What in the world got you to that conclusion?"

"Oh come on, John, even you would've been able to tell. I was contemplating whether to actually go get some milk, because we're out again, when I heard noises coming from your room. Moans. At first I assumed you were having some sort of war dream, you've done that before, and I often check to make sure you're all right when that happens. But before my entry to the room you said my name, so it didn't have to be about the war. It could've been about any number of dangerous situations we've been in. All the more reason to reassure myself that you were okay. So I came in. I noticed three things; one, you were gripping the sheet incredibly tight, with both fists; two, the topsheet and duvet were twisted around you as if you'd been tossing and turning all throughout the night; and three, you were (and still are) sporting a rather noticable erection. It has not subsided since I woke you, which means you are either not embarrassed by my seeing or you hadn't realized it was so visible. I tend to lean towards the first one, as I find erections hard to not notice. I also think it would be prudent to inform you that while I have never outwardly expressed any desire to engage in homosexuality, I find that I am more comfortable around you than perhaps anyone else I have ever met and it would be logical for us to engage in such activities, if we are both truly accepting that this would constitute as a relationship."

John could only stare, mouth hanging open.

"Am I to take your silence as acceptance?"

Once he regained function of his being, he stuttered, "I-I was a-a-aware... yes."

Sherlock pressed a sudden, chaste kiss to the other man's lips, then righted himself. "I'll be getting the milk, then," he remarked as if nothing had just transpired and completely changed their entire lives in a minute.

John flopped back against the pillow, trying to think over what just happened. One thing was for sure, he'd never hear the end of it from the Yard.

And Sherlock was getting the damn milk.

A/N: This is my first time ever writing Sherlock. At all. I've been shying away from it for a while because Sherlock is such a difficult character to understand, let alone write. Plus I don't really know how to write gay men. Lesbian-lizard-human couples and straight characters, sure. (I mostly write Doctor Who. Seriously, I've about sixty DW fics published right now. That is thoroughly my comfort zone.) So let me know if I'm way out of my depth and I should go back to writing River and Doctor fluff forever.

Also, this is sometime after Reichenbach. Don't know when, but long enough for John to cope with everything, I suppose.