Sherlock was in the throes of a particularly grand sulk. It was the type of sulk that had Mrs. Hudson returning his skull because Sherlock's 'quirky' antics were far more agreeable than bullet holes in the wall again. He was currently curled up impossibly tightly on the couch, in the fetal position.

'He looks barely out of the first trimester' John mused, from over in his ratty leather recliner. 'Although fetuses in the first trimester don't have a spine like that.'

Each vertebrae was poking distinctively through Sherlocks' blue dressing gown, creating little shadows that swam all the way up to the curly dark locks at the nape of his neck. It reminded John of a swan - frail, yet strong and beautiful.

'Wait, beautiful?'

Now John Watson is an open minded man, or at least he likes to think so. He likes to think has no problem with being able to recognize beauty in other men; that's how it should be.

'Shouldn't it?' he pondered. 'I've only ever found a few other men attractive, per say, but with Sherlock's androgynous, bordering on feminine features, it's perfectly reasonable that my mind will occasionally remind me of his more appealing features. Like his hair, thick as a horses mane; Or maybe it's actually thin, black is such a deceptive color. One day I'll run my fingers through it and find out...'

That made John's train of thought stop right on it's tracks.

'Since when do I think about petting my flatmate? Dear god, I need a shag. If things had worked out better with Sarah I would be at her flat now instead of here, dealing with this insufferable child... Perhaps I'll go out to the pub tonight and try and meet someone if Sherlock doesn't need me.

...But since when did Sherlock's wants get higher priority than my sex life?'

A shrill ring broke through the deafening silence of the flat. Sherlock gave his blackberry a death glare that could have melted Christmas, from his twisted position on the couch. John felt the distraction from his quickly side trailing thoughts was he best thing he'd received all week and threw the phone over to Sherlock from its' position on the floor.

'he really should take better care of that... I can't even imagine the destruction he'd cause if he didn't get any cases because he'd accidentally smashed it' John let out a huff of air 'he really is a child.'

Sherlock flounced back into the living room after hanging up with Lestrade and took up his pacing stance in front of John, who was secretly praising whichever gods that may or may not exist for giving Sherlock a case, from behind his newspaper. He was just about getting to be too much to handle, and john didn't particularly feel like partaking in a freezing 'Flatmate escaping' walk to Tesco's on his day off.

"Victim, 36 year old female, Rachel Cole. Obvious signs of struggle from the pictures Lestrade sent of the crime scene. Sliced jugular, and non-lethal blunt force trauma to the skull. She was found in the kitchen by her husband, who owns a small law firm, when he returned from work Friday night. Dull, John. Why are the all so Dull? ...There isn't even any point in going to the crime scene. Husband had a lover, lover discovered wife, lover murdered wife out of jealousy. Painfully obvious. Scotland Yard may as well be staffed by a culture of Staphylococcus for all the good they do!" Sherlock spouted in one powerful burst.

John rested his eyes on Sherlock suspiciously. "Then why are you still standing here instead of being on your way to give your grand finale deduction to Lestrade?"

Sherlock made a noise halfway between a grunt and a sigh and tore his fingers through his curls. "Because, John! This is too simple. It can't possibly be this simple! If this is all there is to it then there's no longer any hope for humanity."

"Because damn it all if we can't spend our days plotting extremely devious murders for the sake of one certain Consulting Detective. And excuseme," John retorted. "Some of us actually belong to that group of lowly animals you deem 'humanity'."

"Not you John... There may be hope for you yet." Sherlock declared, before grabbing John's laptop off of the cluttered table and striding determinedly into his bedroom. The door slammed shut and audibly locked before John let out a defeated sigh and went back to the sports section of his newspaper.

'If this case doesn't take a serious turn for the wicked, I am going to put my head in the oven' John let out an exhausted huff of air.

'Where could Mr. Cole have obtained a lover that he could easily hide from his wife? Not work. Too small. Can't keep any secrets there. Hobbies? None. Friends? Very few. Public transportation? Cabs Monday through Thursday, and Sunday. The Tube on Friday from Westminster to Liechester Square at 8:00. Why? Where is he going? No credit card records for that time of night on Fridays and no CCTV footage. Where does he go?' Sherlock glares menacingly at the laptop screen.

"JOHN!"

John jerked from his light slumber on the couch to the sound of Sherlock roaring his name at an ear splitting volume.

'Can't he just open the god damn door?' He wondered.

As if reading John's mind, Sherlock opened his bedroom door and poked his head out into the living room, searching for his flatmate.

"John, where do people go for fun?" Sherlock asked with an urgent tone that made John initially laugh, then study Sherlock's face for signs of mischief.

John chewed his words a while before cautiously replying. "Generally the pub, or the movies. Sometimes dates... Why, Sherlock?"

"Dull...Oh, don't look at me like that, it's for the case, obviously. I need to know where Mr. Cole would have gone on Friday nights, but needed to be unseen. Perhaps out of necessity, but more likely so he won't be recognized. Clearly it's a place that's often busy, because otherwise there would be no need to hide himself. I suspect he wears a disguise of sorts because he doesn't appear on any CCTV footage anywhere near the station that he gets off at every week. Why would he go somewhere where he may recognized, to hide, John? That's extremely illogical." Sherlock rattled off in one quick burst again.

John thought momentarily. "Well maybe he just doesn't want his personal life interfering with his private life. Kind of like how I don't appreciate when you show up at my dates, Sherlock."

"Oh, hardly. None of those women are satisfactory, and I only come when I absolutely need you." Sherlock spit out.

"Not by my standards! We don't all require a partner with the brain the size of a small planet, you know. Sometimes just friendliness and security is nice. Dinner and a movie is nice. Visiting the morgue at 2 am when I have to work the next day is not nice." John passes a worn hand over his face while waiting for Sherlock's justification of John's poor taste in women.

"John, that explains nothing about why Mr. Cole is trying so hard not to be seen! Do try and be helpful, and if you can't at least go make some tea." Sherlock furrows his brow in annoyance.

"Make your own damn tea." John snaps at Sherlock.

"Yours is better."

"Well, yeah. I do try to not put lethal chemicals in the tea I make, Sherlock."

"It was an experiment, John! You know I wasn't going to drink it."

"'Course not... Now look," John explained. "maybe Cole had a habit that he knew his wife wouldn't like so he carried it out in secret. If his wife was murdered by a mistress than perhaps Cole was going out to clubs to meet people. You wouldn't usually wear a business suit to a club, Sherlock. He probably kept a change of clothes in his briefcase and changed at the station, which is why you wou-"

"Brilliant! Wonderful John! That's why I didn't recognize him on any of the CCTV footage. Search all of the clubs within 10 blocks of Liechester square station, quickly! We're going out tonight." Sherlock announced, before throwing himself out of the apartment and down the street, with the exiting dash of something else that he adopted when there was a worthy task ahead of him.

John loved to hear that in this flatmates voice. Unfortunately, with it came Sherlock's total disrespect of John's free will, and as John sat scrolling through Google for nightclubs that fit the correct perimeters, he started thinking about what he was getting them into this time...

When Sherlock flounced in the door with a two shopping bags a few hours later, John was watching crap reruns on the telly and nursing a cup of tea. It was dark now, and the soft light from the fireplace gave the flat a mellow winter-y feel.

"What did you find, John?" He demanded

"Absolutely nothing. There are no bars or nightclubs that Cole would have to change his clothes to go to. There's just a bunch of mediocre places for Uni students and uptight pubs fo-"

"Good. Because we're not going to any of those. John, take this bag and go get dressed." Sherlock held the bag out at John and texted rapidly on his Blackberry."

"You knew we weren't before you left, didn't you Sherlock?" John scoffed. "Of course, lets leave John all alone in the dark. Again."

"You aren't afraid of the dark, John. Why should it matter" Sherlock still hasn't diverted his attention from his phone.

"Ugh. Nevermind, Sherlock. Give me the damn bag." John stomped up the stairs to get dressed into god knows what."

John sat on his bed eyeing the bag with disdain. He was running through his mind all the possibilities of the off-the-beaten-track, most likely morally questionable, places that his flatmate was about to drag him too.

He groaned in defeat and dumped the contents of the bag onto the bed.

He stared into the mirror at a pair of very dark, very tight jeans pooled at his knees. 'How in gods name am I supposed to get the rest of my legs in here? This is ridiculous... ' John pulled the unyielding fabric up his thighs millimeters at a time. '...Um. How am I...? This doesn't look...' What felt like an eternity later, the trousers were now situated properly on his legs, although he really wasn't quite sure how to get theother bits in...

John surrendered that battle for the time being to survey the rest of himself. he was wearing a very well fitted dark grey/blue blue button up shirt, with a light brown cardigan. 'A cardigan?' he huffed at his image. 'Guess I can cross cult gatherings and human sacrifices off the list, then.' He fiddled with his shirt cuffs, rolling them up and smoothing them back down again. 'I wonder what Sherlock is wearing...Where did he even get this at such short notice? And how does he even know my size? ...Mycroft I'm sure. I really hope he used his credit card as well; this doesn't look cheap.'

Once the rest of John's was properly clothed, he stared down the remaining folds of his trousers hanging on his thighs. 'I really can't understand why people wear this stuff; It cannot possibly be healthy. Sherlock owns tight jeans...Maybe if I force him to wear them more often, he'll think twice about running halfway across London and scaling buildings in the middle of the night. He'dlookdamngooddoingitaswell...' At the image of Sherlock's impossibly tightly clad rear, John blushed and worked faster with his pants. Unfortunately, John's flatmate seems to take up permanent residence in his thoughts, so getting those images out of his head would not be easy, added to the fact that John's jeans were getting a little bit tighter, wasn't helping the cause atall.

"John!" Sherlock belted from the living room.

"What are you doing in there?" The voice much closer this time.

Sherlock opened the door to find John staring into the mirror with a look of horror on his face.

"Good God, Sherlock. Why can't you knock?" John squeaked out.

"It's obvious that I was coming." Sherlock retorted. "You've been up here for ages. Get in your pants, we can't be late."

It was then that John fully realized the extent of his situation; Standing in front of his flatmate hanging out of his trousers, sporting the very beginnings of what could soon become a pretty impressive erection.

"I... it's... It's not!...Sherlock, Leave!" John sputtered out, his face greatly resembling a sun dried tomato.

Sherlock gave a slightly amused look, then swooped gracefully over to John and thrust his hand into his flatmates trousers.

"Sherl-!" The yelp caught in Johns throat when his flatmate put one hand on his now growing bulge, and 2 fingers of the other into a sturdy belt loop. In one swift motion Sherlock lifted and tugged his trousers up to John's hips. He then gave John an quick appraising glance and strode out of the room as if nothing just happened.

If John hadn't been so mortified at the time, he may have noticed the light squeeze he received before his flatmate removed his hand from John's trousers, and the minuscule smirk that followed.

'Nine minutes Forty-three seconds. Clearly still in denial. Understandable. Textbook John.' Sherlock mused as his flatmate finally descended to the living room.

"Ready then?" Sherlock asked, while winding his scarf around his neck.

John sat down in his armchair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Not until you tell me where we're going, no."

"I'd figured that would be obvious. John, we're going to a nightclub." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "There's only one club in the area that Mr. Cole would feel suitable for his needs, and we are going. I needed to keep you busy so you wouldn't leave if you managed to work it out before I returned."

"...Work what out?" John asked hesitantly.

Sherlock grabbed John's jacket off the sofa and offered it to him. "The suspect is a regular at a popular gay club called Oxygen. Cole was notorious for cheating on his wife with other women, and she knew it, so she wouldn't think for a second that he would be interested in men. That makes it easier to continue to hide his affairs. I need you to pretend to be my lover so that I can hold up the facade of a dull relationship that way Cole's scorned lover will seek me out before the end of the night, and the other's won't be as much of a distraction."

"Sherlock!" John protested.

"Problem?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at his flatmate.

John looked flabbergasted. "Yes. Problem! I amnot going to pretend to be your lover! You can use that massive intellect of yours to find Cole some other way."

'Displaying aggression and dominance to draw attention from the fact that he's clearly attracted to me. Still textbook, my dear Watson. Do try a little harder, you're not fooling anyone.' Sherlock just continued to hold John's coat out in front of him.

"John, heis a murderer. he could easily have multiple new targets by now, the scene is at it's fullest on Friday nights. The last time I went without you, I almost killed us both. Plus, I'd be lost without my blogger." Sherlock flashed his people-manipulating smile and thrust John's coat out a bit more.

John mumbled something incoherent.

Pulling up to the club, John noticed groups of women peppering the hoard of men waiting to get in. The bouncers seemed unnecessarily large for the type of establishment.

"Sherlock, there are a lot of women here. This has to be the wrong club." John made a final feeble attempt to thwart his flatmates plan.

"John, you walk through the park, but that does not make you a duck." Sherlock states, then dashes away from the cab towards the entrance.

"But that doesn't even... Sherlock!" John yelled out, as he threw some bills at the cab driver and chased after his friend, muttering apologies as he pushed through the crowd.

He found Sherlock at the door, chatting up one of the enormous bouncers.

'Of course he has friends here, why should I be surprised? Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and patron saint of those who commit minor arson...' John chuckled.

"Ah, John! Come along." Sherlock flashed him another million dollar smile.

As Sherlock searched around for an adequate people watching spot, John couldn't help but notice his flatmate. He was wearing a pair of shiny black, skin tight trousers and his usual incredibly tight shoes. His legs looked impossibly long and John couldn't help but stare as Sherlock bent over a railing to get a better view of the dance floor on the lower level. The trousers rode dangerously low on his hips, offering John a shimmering sliver of marble skin. He wondered what it would feel like, it would probably be cool due to how little energy Sherlock consumed. He really shouldn't be looking at his flatmate like this, but ever since said flatmate groped him through his pants, John hasn't been able to get the thought out of his head. When Sherlock unexpectedly whipped around, John attempted to switch his gaze up to his 'partner's' also impossibly tight, indigo, v-neck t-shirt, or his oddly gelled and side swept hair - anything to get his mind to less treacherous territory.

'Oh please, god, don't let him notice.' John begged silently as Sherlock gave him an inquisitive look. 'Of course he noticed. he's Sherlock Holmes...'

"Stay here. I need to see a few things. Don't move!" Sherlock yelled over the booming of the horrendously repetitive music.

John turned positively scarlet when Sherlock sent a flirtatious wink over his shoulder a few seconds later.

'Oh god... He's just acting, right? That didn't mean what It looked like.' John paled about seven shades.

Appreciating the physical appeal of another man wasn't uncharted territory for John Watson, but never had he once ever had the desire to do something about it. Until now? He couldn't decide if what he felt for his flatmate was due to extraneous circumstances, or if it had been there all along. Just a month ago, they'd almost both been blown up. They'd been careful not to leave each others sides since, but that was just out of friendship, wasn't it? His flatmate even started making tea for him when John was too tired, even though Sherlock had gotten the worst of the explosion. John had just not realized just how out of character that was for him.

From the edge of the dance floor, Sherlock looked up at his flatmate, and friend, having quite the sexual identity crisis up on the balcony. He could use this to his advantage, pull some strings, alter some variables. This could be a magnificent experiment, but for some reason Sherlock just didn't feel comfortable experimenting on John anymore.

'John isn't data, he's a friend.' Sherlock ponders. 'Perhaps more than a friend...'

Sherlock Holmes is sexually attracted to John Watson. That much is non debatable. However, he doesn't quite know how it's supposed to feel to have romantic feelings toward another person.

'I wish I could just ask him to tell me how I should feel, but John is too noble for that. he'll make me figure it out myself...Fine.'

"John H. Watson, the game is on." Sherlock declared to no one in particular.

"So, you alone tonight?" An unfamiliar voice brings John out of his daze.

John gives an awkward smile. "Uh, No. I'm here with someone... Sorry"

"Well, your someone is sure showing you a good time. Mind if I steal you for a while?" The strange man makes what John thinks is an attempt at coy flirting.

"No. You may not." The familiar 'thank god' baritone resonates across two tables as Sherlock returns with a certain predatory je ne sais quois. "Sorry, dear." Sherlock places a quick peck on John's cheek. "Got a bit turned about in the crowd."

The stranger rakes his eyes over Sherlock much longer than necessary, and makes a face like he's found the Holy Grail before clearing his throat. "I'll just leave you too it, then." He attempts a seductive timbre. "If you decide to have a bit of real fun, I'll be right. here."

"Noted." Sherlock says, with a look of more interest than is deemed safe around Sherlock Holmes, before whisking John away and towards the dance floor.

"Where were you?" John complains at his 'partner'.

"I had to give adequate time for you and I to look single before staking my claim. That way if either of us attracted attention initially, being in a relationship won't heavily thwart anyone with a purpose." Sherlock explained, with a tone suprisingly non condescending.

"I highly doubt I'm attracting much attention here... I'm not exactly 'bait' material."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, John." Sherlock smirked, then dragged john just far enough onto the dance floor to be part of it, while still allowing for escape if need be.

"Sherlock, what are we doing?" John asked, with a bit more than a hint of worry in his voice.

Sherlock huffed. "Dancing John,obviously"

"Is this really necessary?" John is clearly panicking at the situation now.

"Relax, John. If I am correct, a slow song is about to play. If you're worried about dancing I hardly think you will be able to make a fool out of yourself, and if you clearly have no problem being in close proximity with me, as we are often in such situations."

John tried not to think of those situations at the moment, as the current one had the potential to go very bad, veryfast. He noted a slightly unusual look on his flatmates face. As He predicted, a slow and surprisingly not too horrible song began to play, and he awkwardly wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thin waist.

"You really should eat more, you know." John attempted at conversation.

Sherlock placed one arm on the front of John's chest, the tips of his fingers brushing John's scar; the other wound around the back of John's other shoulder and his hand lightly grasped his neck. The taller man then leant down so that his chin was resting on the top of his friends head. John momentarily stiffened with the intimacy of the embrace.

"This is what lovers do, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, sincerely and a bit hesitant. "Are we too close?"

'God no, not close enough.' John thought.

"No, we're fine. It's all fine."

Sherlock swayed surprisingly easily with John, the height difference allowing them to be much closer.

"You used to come to these places with Harry."

"Sometimes, yeah."

"Why did you stop?" Sherlock moves his head to look down at John.

"The almighty Sherlock Holmes can't deduce the reason?" John chuckled.

Sherlock gives a small smile "I am often at a loss with you, John."

"The drinking, obviously."

"Obviously."

John sighed. "And hanging around gay clubs didn't really make finding girlfriends very easy."

"I apologize if bringing you here will hinder your attempts to find a suitable mate." Sherlock replied sincerely.

John laughed heartily. "Spending my time with you has just the same effect. I think I'm permanently hindered."

"If it woul-"

"And I don't mind. Sherlock. I like spending my time with you, even when you're being insufferable." John smiled genuinely into Sherlock's chest.

The song faded out as Sherlock and John swayed comfortably in each others embrace. The companionable silence did not last long, though, as the next song came blaring out of the ceiling high speakers. This one another of the repetitive dance beats that shake the room. Sherlock didn't falter for a second, and started moving in quick rhythmic motions in front of john, still holding him at the shoulders.

"Sherlock. What are you doing?" John attempted to take a step back.

He pulled John back to his chest. "Dancing, John. Can you not see everyone else doing the same? We need to look like we belong here."

"I am not dancing like that. How can I look you in the eye when your doing...that..." John stares openly at Sherlock, who was doing a surprisingly accurate rendition of Pop, lock, and Drop it.

"Then Don't."

John yelps as he's rapidly spun and maneuvered around by Sherlock until his back is rubbing against Sherlock's chest. John suddenly realizes that other parts are rubbing together as well and thrashes against his flatmate in attempt to escape.

"John! Relax. It's not like I'm your mother." The taller man encases John in his arms, effectively holding him in."And don't think I don't know that you've done this plenty of times before, because I know you have."

"That was with strangers and alcohol, Sherlock. It's very different." John began to move very awkwardly. "...and I'm not really used to being...in front."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why would I assume that you would be." He then slid in front of john and placed his flatmates hands on his hips. "This can't carry on too long because of the height difference, so we'll have to make it doubly effective, John."

"Effective? What are we trying to accomplish by rutting against each other?"

"What?" Sherlock yelled over the now blaring treble melody.

"What are we trying to do?" John shouted somewhere near Sherlock's head.

Sherlock straightened and laid his head back into John's shoulder to whisper in h is ear. "That man from earlier may be a suspect. He's still watching us, and will be for a while. We need to make him want to tear us apart John. We're making the world Jealous." Sherlock resumed his earlier position, then leaned back again "And John, please don't call it rutting. It's such an ugly notion. I prefer it to be sensual..." and to further his point, he slowly dragged himself down the length of John's body and lightly pressed the back of his head into his flatmates groin.

John was immensely thankful that Sherlock was facing away from him because when his flatmate bent his knees to get a better angle, John's face turned the reddest red that ever has been red.

John puts his partners hips in a death grip to stop him from moving around too much. 'Dear lord, he's like a stripper.' John's brain tries to form coherent thoughts whilst Sherlock's lean body writhes from side to side. 'I bet that's how he funded his drug habit.' The thought of his flatmate sliding down a pole in a nightclub to pay for dangerous substances doesn't even raise red flags right now because all John can think of is Sherlock's body, and not getting an erection.

'Oh god.' John panics silently. He isn't going to be able to take much more of this before Sherlock will notice, and he will notice. He always does.

"John."

"John!"

John quickly snaps out of his nightmare daydream. "What?"

"He's coming John. I think we've done it."

"Good! We can stop." John almost pleads.

"No, John. Kiss me."

"Wha-?" John doesn't finish his protestations because Sherlock has twisted at an impossible angle in order to drop his head back and smash his lips against John's whilst grinding into his pelvis.

John lets out a loud and very accidental growl that Sherlock can feel rippling through his body. This causes him to deepen the kiss in attempt to make John do it again, this time loud enough for the, now much closer, man to hear. Sherlock bites John's lower lip hard enough to draw blood and snaps back into John's pelvis, rutting as hard as he can at that angle. John lets out a noise halfway between a growl and a straight-up yell, and akin to a hunting lion, just loud enough for everyone in a 5 foot radius to take notice too.

The mysterious man passes John and Sherlock, sparing one long stare at the couple before heading to the nearest bar and ordering a drink.

Sherlock stops moving and turns around to face John, who looks beyond angry. "I saw no other alternative." He then flashes his gaze down and back up again and widens his eyes. "Oh... John, I'm-"

"Sorry? Yeah. You should be." John weaves through the crowd in search of the balcony and his jacket.

Sherlock returns to Baker street around midnight to find John asleep on the couch, the Television muted, but playing old reruns of crap shows. He removes his jacket and shoes and pads into his bedroom. Once in, he throws himself onto his rarely used bed and slams his head repeatedly into the pillows. 'Whatis it? John wasn't angry when we were dancing at first, he enjoyed it. Why did he get upset? Was it something I did? Of course it was something I did. It'salways something I've done...'

John awoke to his legs moving not of his own accord. Sherlock was lifting them up to make room on the sofa for both of them; he sat down and handed John a steaming cup of tea.

"I didn't poison it, John. Drink it." Sherlock watched John as he took a tentative sip of tea.

"So you woke me up to make me drink tea? Thanks, Sherlock. Now get off of me so I can go back to bed." John tugged at the small blanket under Sherlock in attempt to make his point more clear.

"No John, that would be illogical. I woke you up to ask you something. You like tea when you wake up." He shifted so that John could take his blanket then moved back to the end of the couch.

"So did you catch the killer?" John stretched out and settled back into the gaping mouth of the sofa.

"What? Oh. No. It wasn't a priority." Sherlock shifted awkwardly and stared down at his tea. "Why did you get angry John? you weren't angry before, then you were angry. I can't think of a reason why you would get angry. I know you aren't comfortable doing those things with me but it was necessary, and lives may have depended on it. Saving lives is what you do. So why were you angry?"

John sighed loudly. "Sherlock, you stopped looking for a murderer to wake me up and ask me why I was angry?"

"Need I point out, John, that you're sleeping on the sofa. You are just as bothered as I, and when you're bothered you're not competent, and when you're not competent you aren't of any help to my work." John glared at his flatmate. "And you're my friend, John."

John kicked at Sherlock to move so that he could lay down again. He ended up with his calves resting on his flatmates thighs, which was oddly comfortable considering the current situation.

"Sherlock. It's not a simple answer. I don't really know why I got angry."

"I caused you an erection in public and I bit you. That's not the reason. I don't understand, John. You know I won't eat or sleep until I can understand."

"You're my flatmate, and you're my friend. You're my best friend I guess. I care about you, Sherlock. I am perfectly comfortable with being close to you. When we were dancing, slowly, I enjoyed that," A blush spread widely on John's face. "and when we danced, the other way, I enjoyed that as well." At that a very faint pink found its way to Sherlock's cheekbones as he remained staring down at his tea. "But then we were dancing just to make people jealous, and the way you touched me... It could have been a stranger, and I wouldn't have known the difference. I just wanted it to be you, Sherlock. I want to be with you." This sudden declaration caused Sherlock to switch his neutral glare at the cooling tea, to a wide eyed stare at his flatmate.

"John...I-"

"No. no. Not like that, I just meant that... not like that."

"Oh..." Sherlock raised himself from the couch and dissapeared into his bedroom.

"Sherlock?" John shifted on the couch. 'It can't be that. he's married to his work, you know the way he is. It must be something else. It has to be...'

John settled in, replaying the days events through his mind. Sherlock getting a case, Sherlock stealing his laptop, Sherlock storming out of the house, Sherlock returning. 'Do I have any thoughts that don't revolve around that brilliant man?' Sherlock giving him odd clothes...Sherlock's hand down his pants. 'Did he...?' Sherlock checking him out. 'hedid...' Sherlock...'smirking? And then at the club, bending over the banister, and winking at me when no one was looking? That doesn't help the case, Sherlock doesn't ever do anything that doesn't help the case...'

John replayed the past month. Sherlock in the hospital, sleeping in the plastic chair next to John's bed. Sherlock askingMycroftpolitely to let John go home. Sherlock cooking breakfast, Sherlock making tea, Sherlock...being nice? 'Dear god... How have I not seen this?'

Sherlock heard three light raps on his door as he was huddled over his notebook full of deductions, with an entire section dedicated to his flatmate already; the door gave a soft creak and a short moment later the page he was studying was cast in a John Watson shaped shadow.

"John.." Sherlock started, looking up to find his friend had gotten much closer, and was looking right back with a face that showed of affection, and guilt, and a little bit of something he wasn't quite sure of.

"Sherlock."

John's eyes flickered with determination and excitement as he placed a finger under his flatmates chin, and gently tilted it up so that their lips could meet. It was soft, it was chaste, and it was perfect.

"Oh John, I believe that you may be my life's greatest mystery."

Fin!

Soooooooooo, First fanfic. Ever. I feel kind of ashamed of myself...Like I murdered Santa...

I was going to add so much other stuff, and actual, thoughts and setting and all of the stuff that makes up a good fanfic, but I cannot stand to look at this any longer so I'm shipping it off somewhere far away where I will never see it every again.

And yes, this whole fic is in the past tense, or at least most of it. I have not the slightest idea how that happenned...