I can't believe I'm posting this, it turned out so bad D: Oh well, enjoy.

John Watson scanned the aisles of the grocery, snatching up the last box of Earl Grey. Two milk jugs were hooked around his fingers and a loaf of bread was tucked under his arm.

Now, he thought, what else did Sherlock let spoil? Oh right, jam.

The deranged detective had used their last jar of strawberry jam on some experiment or another. It'd taken two hours for John to help Sherlock wash the sticky mess out of his curls. He smiled at the memory.

And there it was again. Sherlock. Why was John constantly thinking about his flatmate?

He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his reverie, but he couldn't stop picturing how soft Sherlock's hair looked once they'd finally gotten it clean. He wondered if it felt soft too…

Stop it! John mentally slapped himself. For God's sake, he wasn't gay and neither was Sherlock.

Actually, now that he thought about it, that night at Angelo's Sherlock never openly denied he was homosexual. He hadn't said much really. John did most of the talking, and he made a right fool of himself.

John walked to the checkout when it was his turn. (Not wanting to get into another fight with a machine, he'd selected a human checkout this time.)

His clerk snapped her gum as she bagged the shopping. He paid and thanked her and walked out of the store.

John still couldn't get the detective out of his mind as he hailed a taxi and gave the driver directions to Baker Street.

He felt himself drift off as he watched out the window at busy London streets flitting by.

It wasn't as if Sherlock wasn't attractive, no, John had caught many women, and even a few men, staring at his flatmate as they passed. As for the doctor himself, well, he did remember feeling a bit self-consciousness when he first saw the man working in the lab at St. Bart's. He was so plain, so ordinary against Sherlock's height and sharp cheekbones, his dark ruffled hair and those piercing eyes that weren't quite grey, but weren't quite blue either. And when Sherlock had left the room, his long black coat swishing dramatically around his ankles, John felt the room dim a bit, as though one of the lights overhead had gone out.

No, Sherlock definitely had something no one else had.

John also liked to think he knew Sherlock better than anyone, in all actuality, he probably did. He could tell if Sherlock was in one of his moods and he could see the light in his eyes when he found a new case. He knew, despite Sherlock's best efforts to hide it, if the detective was ill or just needed rest. John could put up with him when no one else would. People called Sherlock a sociopath, and maybe on some level he was, but Sherlock had a heart. John knew that. The incident at the pool had been enough to prove that. Sherlock cared.

He cared about Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

He cared about John.

The cab stopped outside John and Sherlock's flat. John tipped the cabbie and stepped out with the bags of shopping in his arms. He walked up to the door with 221b emblazoned on it in bronze lettering.

Hands full, he knocked on the door with his elbow.

Oh please, what was he expecting? Sherlock to open the door for him? Nevertheless, he tried again.

"Sherlock?" he called. Nothing. "Oh for goodness' sake," he muttered placing one of the bags on the pavement beside his feet. He turned the doorknob and opened the door to find Sherlock himself standing in the doorway. He seemed to have been reaching for the doorknob as well.

"Bloody hell!" John cried jumping backwards, almost losing his balance as well as his grip on the shopping bag.

"John?" Sherlock questioned.

"You startled me," John said panting a bit.

"Did I? I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "You off to another case?" he asked.

"No," Sherlock said frowning. "I heard you knock so I came to open the door."

"Oh," John said taken aback. "Well, thanks. Here, take one of these bags."

Sherlock bent down and swept up the one by John's feet and walked inside. John followed, closing the door behind him. He followed Sherlock towards the kitchen.

Suddenly Sherlock turned to him.

"John, do you find me striking in any way?"

"What?" The paper bag slipped from John's grip, the contents spilling all over the floor.

The doctor swore and bent down to gather the food back up.

"John, do be more careful," Sherlock said watching John grab for the jar of jam that was rolling away.

"Why that question all of a sudden?" the doctor asked hoping to change the subject.

"Molly, John, from the lab. I've been trying to figure out why she enjoys spending every waking second around me. I'm not even particularly nice to her. What about me does she find so incredibly interesting?"

John stopped what he was doing. "She probably thinks you're attractive, Sherlock."

"What about me is attractive?"

"Hell, I don't know. Could be a lot of things," John said without thinking.

Idiot!

Sherlock's mouth turned up at the sides.

"Please John, enlighten me."

"Er, well…" John felt the blush creep up his neck. "I don't know… You have nice…skin?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "You think she likes me for my skin, John?"

John became increasingly interested at the box of tea in his hands. "Why don't you ask her yourself, Sherlock?"

The detective waved his hand dismissively. "I don't much care what she thinks."

"Then why are you asking me all these questions?"

Sherlock didn't answer and continued watching John in silence.

"Do you think I'm attractive, John?"

Oh no.

John couldn't look at his flatmate. He swallowed. "Well…sure Sherlock. I mean, you're definitely not ugly or anything – I mean, er, there are a lot of reasons that…" John sighed and stood up with the bag of groceries in his arms. "Yes Sherlock, you're plenty good-looking." He walked around Sherlock so he wouldn't see the red tint to his face. "I think Maury's on tonight, I know you like that show. I could make tea-"

"John?"

"Hm?" He was so flustered he didn't notice Sherlock walk up right behind him and as he turned his lips bumped the detective's.

The kiss was clumsy and not at all like the first kisses are in the movies. It wasn't passionate or desperate, but John still felt his brain shut down as he leaned into the kiss.

Sherlock broke it off and he smiled at his flustered flatmate who was still trying to wrap his head around the whole situation. "Shut up John."

I wonder what it's like in their funny, normal brains. It must be so inconvenient.

He skipped around the doctor into the kitchen.

"Tea sounds lovely."

Ugh, the most overdone kiss scene in the book, right? I didn't get to edit a lot of it, so please point out errors and suggestions are always welcome. Oh! And I'll do a request chapter for the first person to point out the reference from the sixth Harry Potter movie :D