I have not finished Series Two yet and I'm a bit afraid too after hitting some hints at spoilers. I have not read a single fanfiction piece on Sherlock yet but am dying too! I've written only one little ficlet on these two - a PWP on my lj. So I'm still getting use to writing them in character. Enjoy some slash!

I do not own Sherlock.

Chapter One: Measuring the Distance

"Sherlock!" John's scream ripped his throat dry. He coughed violently, his hands bleeding from tiny cuts that littered his palms. "Sherlock!" John's voice was raw. It was the voice of a man screaming out his hollow soul yet no tears made their way down John Watson's face.

A retching cough came from somewhere to the North East and John dashed in that direction, jumping over smoldering pieces of building.

"John," a voice croaked. John skidded to a halt and spun to his right. There lay Sherlock Holmes, on his back, under what looked like a burning coach. Whatever it was, it was burning and on top of Sherlock. John went to Sherlock's side.

"Are you alright?"

"Just a tad stuck," Sherlock grunted out, rolling his eyes, pushing at the rapidly heating sofa's side.

"On three. One-"

"Get on with it," Sherlock snapped. And the sofa was tossed off Sherlock. Sherlock's forearm was grasped by John and he was being helped to his feet, the sound of sirens breaking through the sound of a blazing building crackling.

Sherlock took in the destroyed building, estimating the time it would take the police to arrive, he was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts as John's arms wrapped around Sherlock's upper back. "God, I thought..." Sherlock just made out John's voice over the sound of the sirens and the popping wood.

Sherlock did not like physical contact. He was not use to it. He knew John was not the type to be sentimental. John pulled away almost as quickly as the hug came to being. Sherlock's eyes went to John's and his eyes widened when John's lips hit some lips, some chin, mostly cheek. John jumped back, eyes wide.

It would have been possible that it was a bump. Both knew it wasn't and both knew that would not work as a cover.

The distance between them, less than 30 centimeters yet it could have been the Atlantic for all intent and purpose.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade screamed, an army of policemen and medics and Secret Service already on scene.

In the panic and rush, the two had gotten separated. If it was just the current situation or on purpose, John did not think about it.

"Hello, Mrs Hudson." John greeted as he entered 221 Bakerstreet.

"You all right, John? Saw you two boys on the tele." Mrs. Hudson asked, taking John's soot covered jacket.

"Ah, yes, Mrs Hudson. Cabbaged, though," John said with a tired smile.

"Of course, dear. Sherlock's-" She stopped and looked up the stairwell, the sound of the violin fluttering through the door. "He's been at that since he returned."

John gave a tight frown before nodding to Mrs Hudson. "Good night."

"Good night," Mrs Hudson nodded. Concern shown in her eyes as she watched John slowly ascend the stairs.

"Are you composing?"

Sherlock looked startled when he turned to look at the doorway. John in a beige knitted jumper, dirty jeans and trainers. Soot on his face and in his hair. Bruise under his right eye. The same as he looked four hours before.

"Helps me think," Sherlock stated dryly.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sherlock turned, played a few notes before releasing his stance, holding the violin at his side. He looked back at John who was standing in the doorway, waiting patiently. "I believe you know." At John's sudden turn of his head, a look of shame, Sherlock felt compelled to continue - to protect John. "You were emotional. It's completely understandable you got lost in the moment."

John met Sherlock's eyes for a moment before Sherlock turned back to the window, about to play again.

"It wasn't a moment," John said. A moment of foolish bravery or maybe a leap of faith, he wasn't sure but like Hell was John Watson going to leave it at nothing.

Sherlock placed his violin on the coffee table, bending his long form and then standing up to his full height again. He looked to the doorway where John still stood. It was a safety, a quick escape for John. Before Sherlock could say what he wanted to, John quickly said as he stepped into the apartment, "I've wanted to do that for a while."

"You're not gay," Sherlock said with confidence, his eyes intense and confused and insecure, burning into John's eyes.

"No," John smiled and shook his head. "I've never had strong feelings either way. Until you. Do you?"

"Do I what? Have strong feelings either way? No."

"Have you wanted to kiss me." John corrected.

"Yes," Sherlock said. They're gazes locked, Sherlock's full of intensity and John's full of open emotion - fear and courage trumping his fear.

Slowly a large smile grew on John's face. "You want to try this?"

"This?"

"Love. With me. You know, a relationship."

"Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?" Sherlock blinked, confusion clear on his face.

John looked confused for a moment before shrugging. "If you...if you want me to be, I will."

"I don't think titles are needed. Shall we got on with it then?"

"On with what?"

"The kissing."