Two hours, one long explanation, a crazy police chase, and an arrest later, John was back at the flat with nothing to do. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for Sherlock to return so that he could tell him about the successful arrest.

John waited in his chair for an hour with nothing to do except be with his distressing thoughts. What was going on with Sherlock? Why did he like this Charlie character so much?

Finally, the door creaked open and Sherlock walked in, dressed in suit and tie.

"What's the occasion?" John asked, peering at his handsome companion.

"Charlie and I had dinner."

John felt himself grow hot. "You what?"

"You know," Sherlock said, shutting the door, apparently oblivious to how red John had just gone. "Went to a restaurant. Ate. Talked." He walked out to the living room, a small smile on his face.

John stood, shaking, his hands curled into fists. "You went on a date?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow, now taking notice to his friend's body language. "John?"

"You've known him," John spat, "For less than a day, and now you're going out?"

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "John?"

"What makes him so special, huh? Is he better than I am? Is he enough for you?" He looked away for just a moment. "Am I not?"

"I don't understand."

John let out a cold laugh. "Of course you don't, machine."

A rare flash of hurt visited Sherlock's eyes.

"None of my friends liked me; you deduced that and told me yourself. And here I was, dreaming that there was one man who wouldn't let me down." He stared Sherlock down. "Of course you don't understand. You don't know what it's like to go through life, hoping that someone, anyone, would show you that they care, would show you that you're fine just the way you are, would show you love, only to be disappointed every time!"

John realized his mistake too late. The pain wasn't subtle in Sherlock's eyes this time. John scolded himself. He wasn't done telling Sherlock everything yet, he couldn't let sympathy get in the way. He raised a shaking finger. "I thought- I thought I meant something to you! I thought I was special to you! I thought I was irreplaceable, for once in my life! So you machine, freak, I hope-"

"Charlie and I aren't dating!"

John took a step back. "What?"

"John, I'm not in love with him!"

"Then what do you call thoroughly looking at him when we met him? What do you call staying after the case for an hour for tea and biscuits, engaging in small talk like you never do, right up until there was only one biscuit on the plate? What do you call going out to dinner with him, dressed up all fancy as you did? What do you call coming home from said dinner, obviously happy?"

"He's dying, John!"

The clock's ticking seemed thunderous in the silence that followed.

"John, when we met him, did you see his features? His skin was a sickly color, his eyes were dulled, he was thin. Too thin. He hasn't been eating enough! He hasn't been taking care of himself! I stayed for tea afterwards and ate all of the biscuits but the last one hoping that he would figure that eating it would be less work than putting it in a container that would have been otherwise empty and putting it away! I invited him to dinner hoping that I could convince him to eat a little more, and dressed nice because he seemed a little offput by my appearance this morning! And I came back happy because I did convince him to eat something!"

John stared at Sherlock, taking in this information.

"And of course you're special to me, John! I did all of this because I saw you in him!"

"What?" John breathed.

"John, when I met you, you were getting thin. Your disorders from the war weren't doing you any favors. People who have someone they love suffering from something, they're much more likely to take action against said thing to help other victims. Cancer, for example. I helped him because I saw that he had weaknesses you've overcome. I saw you, John. I helped him, John, because I lov-" Sherlock trailed off and cleared his throat. "Well, I think you get the idea, so I won't waste your time with the rest of the explanation."

"No, no, no!" John interjected. "What were you going to say?"

Sherlock met John's gaze. The two stood in silence until Sherlock mustered up the courage to finish the sentence.

"John… I love you."

John closed his eyes and nodded, drinking in the sentence that he had yearned to hear for so long. He let out a chuckle, not of resentment this time, but of true happiness. He then looked at Sherlock, only to see his expression. He thought for a second that his friend was mad at him, but that didn't seem right.

Sherlock had tensed up and was hugging himself. His bright blue eyes were wide, and he was trembling a little. He wasn't mad, he was scared.

It took John only a moment to figure out why. He himself had been afraid to admit his feelings to Sherlock for months, maybe even years, and here Sherlock, the sociopath, the one who usually shied away from such emotions, had to be the one to admit them.

John echoed the sentence he knew would put his friend at ease. "I love you, too."

As if on cue, Sherlock visibly relaxed and a small smile appeared on his face.

"So, um, you and Charlie…?"

"Yes, we are just acquaintances who care for each other's needs."

"So… you're friends."

Sherlock made a noncomittal gesture. "I guess you could call it that if you like, but in my mind, there's only one person I know who deserves such an affectionate term."

John grinned. "Well if that's the case, then I guess it would only be fair that you called him your friend if you called me your boyfriend- if, of course, if you'd like that."

Sherlock positively glowed with the idea. "Why, of course!" He then turned something of a shade of pink. "Um, John, what if tomorrow, we went to see the movie you wanted to see?"

"But I thought you said it would be predictable?"

Sherlock waved a hand. "It's no matter. Besides, I've been told that movie theaters sold candy. Maybe they have Maltesers."

At this, John couldn't help but laugh. "You're telling me that whenever I wanted to see a movie, all I had to know was that you have a weakness for Maltesers?"

Sherlock recoiled at his boyfriend's choice of words. "I don't have a weakness for them, John. I just enjoy them."

"It's a date, then," John said, and after a moment of debating whether it was too early, stood on his tiptoes and gave Sherlock a gentle kiss on the lips.

Sherlock beamed at this, and John returned the smile, but it soon fell from his face.

"I'm sorry about-"

"It's okay, John. It turned out fine."

John hugged his companion, smile returning to his face.

In just a few minutes, Sherlock had taken what was going to be a very bad day in turned it into the best day John had had in years.

So, yeah. I think that this was my first romance-type story, so I hope it wasn't bad. Have a nice day, y'all!