AUTHOR's NOTE: Hello. This is my first Sherlock Holmes fan fiction, I fell absolutely in love with the characters after watching Game of Shadows. It is largely inspired my the talented Candle Beck's writings, especially 'Mistakes of our Youth'. I was planning on making it a one-shot, but it is far too long. There will be about one or two more chapters for this.

Summary: Everything was always black and white for them. The facts. The imaginations. Realizing their affections, not falling into it and attempting to conquer it, was a shade they had not expected to encounter.

X.x.X

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Holmes found that he just might be a bit too comfortable with the designs of his madness. He believed it so, because there wasn't any other way to explain the fact that he had yet to find a solution for it...albeit his insufferable struggle to.

He sat in his apartment, slumped over a haggard piece of paper as he wrote down his findings for the day.

There had been a missing case of a constable's niece who had come over to London to celebrate the festive season. Young woman of sixteen. Visited town regularly, undoubtedly during most holidays. A young man around the age of eighteen, newly trained into the military was also amiss for the past two days. Based on the information from her uncle -which he did not necessarily need to dig to come to this conclusion, but found himself with too much free time on his hands not to- she had met a young boy who became a regular friend of hers over the years she visited. But he had yet to meet the said 'friend' in person.

It was definitely the most memorable way to show responsibility for a child thrust into one's hands, he had mused on the side while he half-listened to the constable's ramblings .

The young lady was definitely of the age for hopeless sentimental subjects to stay affixed in her thoughts.

Holmes already made the connection that the young man was with her immediately after finding that he was amiss around the same time of the day as she was...which meant she was under no harm under him because her absence was of mutual grounds.

But where would they have fled to?

He flipped his pen nonchalantly over and around his fingers, before dropping it onto the paper.

He knew all too well that a few words with the young man's parents in regards to the places their son sought the most comfort in would lead him right to their hiding spot. The military drafts were to be put out soon and the young man was most likely going to be pushed into service. Therefore the entire action associated with risqué love, such as taking flight with said loved one could not ensue.

The biting compilation of problems he was having was definitely not the case. It was actually so void of thrill that it was particularly insulting to his person.

The actual problem was getting a certain John Watson out of everything that his brain controlled. Hence his agreements to this case and many more of the like, to distract his train of thoughts from aligning ever so readily back to his flatmate.

Watson was on the paper he was reading, because he really didn't seem to care much for such 'duties' as his flatmate referred it to be, and Watson was always wholeheartedly indulged in its more-often-than-not ridiculous content. He was on the doorstep, just watching him with an expression Holmes calculated as mildly affectionate and overtly exasperated as he set to work; tense from lack of sleep, drugged from well, drugs and starving his way through the days to keep alert on the job.

He was behind him; on his shoulder where his hands lingered before he picked up his hat and dashed off this afternoon for a walk, which recently always turned into a drunken night out.

He was in everything he was not meant to be, twisting Holmes's very being into an irrational scream of want.

And he could come up with a dozen dozens in respect to variations of just what he wanted from him; how he wanted him; when; where- that really didn't seem to matter, for at this time of his frustration no place really was out stroked by him. But for the life of him, he could not wrap his mind to deduce why he wanted him so.

The only answer, unreasonable and pointless, - but ever so rigid as a wall concealing every truth but one- was that he just did. And the fact that he couldn't rationalize this one absurdity was making him begin to scramble for his sensibilities.

The entire ordeal had frustration biting at him. It had been for several months at least, if Holmes dared his thoughts to relapse.

He couldn't find the solution anywhere. Not when he tried to lay out the premises on paper. Not when they stayed affixed in his head in a semi-logical manner, before trailing off into rather irrational, irresistible thoughts.

Watson.

Holmes ran his calloused fingers through his wild, dark hair, forcing in a breath.

If he could not find the solution to his problem anywhere else, then the last resort was to ask the subject of the issue for one.

X.x.X

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The subject of the unfortunate collapse of Holmes's mental uprightness came pacing back towards their home. He pushed the apartment door open, stalking in and bringing with him the remainder of the day's sunlight in the shape of a rather beaming smile. The sun must have had an eerie amount of alcohol at its disposal because that particular beaming smile was a very drunk one, Holmes thought offhandedly.

He turned back to the table, picking up his forgotten pen.

"Care to share?" Holmes asked nonchalantly.

He resigned himself to scribbling more useless nothings about the case on one of the papers in front of him. He heard Watson pause in his steps for a few seconds at the question, before struggling out of his coat and dumping it on the sofa.

He followed shortly, collapsing right against his coat.

"Care to share what?"

"The reasons for the rather... jolly expression mapped across your face". Holmes continued his scribbling, like it was of the upmost importance. At this point it probably was. Anything that could distract him for even a moment from Watson was virtually important.

"Isn't it always the same? Whatever could sour my expression, Holmes?" Watson said with a mischievous hint to his drawled out words.

"I was led to believe anything but I would, my man." He replied with a light smirk, finally turning from his table to watch Watson. Dark eyes traced over his friend's form in a calculating manner. His doctor managed a small smile in response.

"So, how went your night?"

Watson quirked a brow.

"...the same as always. Was anything supposed to be different?" He asked, with a flavor of suspicion to his inquiry.

His eyes seemed to have lost the over cloud of drunken stupor, and he sat a bit more upright, his posture tense over the thought of Holmes's probable intrusion into his day. He was trying hard to find focus on his friend's face in the dim light.

Holmes noticed his eyes searching, and brightened the lamplight beside him, aiding Watson to find him in the relatively dark room.

"I didn't tamper with your good night, Watson. My curiosities are merely for the purpose of small talk." He held Watson's gaze as he spoke, so he could see the authenticity of his words.

Watson felt the sudden need to sober up regardless of whether his body had the capacity for such actions or not, sensing the seriousness in the voice speaking from across the room. He was sitting almost completely upright at this point, his eyes holding those of the detective.

"We seem to be lacking in that area recently." Holmes stated rather smoothly, though the tighter grip of his pen told otherwise. This was going to be the furthest thing from a smooth conversation.

He heard Watson's breath hitch from where he sat, and his flatmate slowly broke their long-locked gaze, finding comfort in the newspaper on the table beside him.

"I know..."

The silence poured in after that, filling the room with discomfort.

Watson shifted in his seat, flicking his fingers through the pages of the day's newspaper and Holmes's attention loyally followed. He watched as Watson's long fingers traced along the edge of a page of the newspaper; flicking it towards his direction, and then away. His dark eyes slowly left his friend's nervous display, settling once more on his face. His intricate, ordinary, absolutely breathtaking face.

It was always able to display the best and not-so-good emotions that the man harbored. Like his current troubled, something short of angry expression? – No. it was an 'in no need for conversations with unexpected turns' expression.

He closed his eyes just a short moment before Watson turned his blue ones back to him.

X.x.X

.

Holmes finally spoke to break the long, wordless minutes.

"Have I done something that I am unaware of to merit your aversion?" Holmes asked. When all he got in response from his friend was a wide eyed expression, he almost wrapped his entire resolve at that. But he pressed forward instead.

"You usually just let me know what terrible deed has been done by me, so I can have an apology in wait if it so pleases you. Why have I not been warned of your treatment this time? A new method?" He said dryly, his eyes darting occasionally across the room. They landed back of their focal point- Watson-and found that his alarmed expression was currently bordering on full-blown dumbstruck. His lips were parted open, as if to say something hopefully intelligible in regards to an explanation.

Watson stared at Holmes, and Holmes stared right back, awaiting the glorious explanation to dissolve all difficulties that followed their coexistence.

Watson closed his mouth after a moment of recovery, and then parted his lips again.

"I would say that the one doing wonders with this 'new method'is you, Holmes. You've been taking some rather challenging cases recently." Watson bit out, his hands held as fists against his knee. He did not like wherever this conversation was threading.

Holmes made the move to exert an equally harsh comeback but stopped midair. He sighed, slumping into his chair.

"We have been avoiding each other's presence, Watson..."

"No we've not! Well, I've not. I'm just rather busy." He protested.

The detective leaned against the chair in thought, his jaws clenched in irritation. Why did this have to be so hard for them?

For him?

He found it safe to pursue the conversation on the grounds that he was right about their avoidances of each other. He knew that Watson would be unable to deny this as fact if he pressed further. So he did.

" You've been rather tense lately. Especially around me, I presume. You leave the house to work earlier than usual. You're always home for a short while. In the times that you are home, you find something to occupy yourself with to ensure that there is little conversation between us. You have little to no interest in accompanying me with my cases. And your afternoon strolls around town...well, the time on the clock largely indicates that it isn't afternoon right now." Holmes said with an air of finality, his eyes burning intensely in the dark that surrounded them.

Watson gulped down whatever retort he was planning to make after Holmes spoke, because he could see that the man's eyes had a ring of frustration to them. He could see how much this affected his friend and the sight put him at a loss. He definitely hadn't anticipated this.

"H-how..." He choked, pausing, and then scrambling for the right words once again.

"Where did this begin?" Watson managed, almost to himself. He felt discomforted by the weak sound of his voice. But he couldn't bother too long with that.

Holmes waved his hand in the air, gesturing his thoughts before settling to put them into words.

"A week? A month? That does not matter. What matters is that it is happening. And I would like to get to the root of the problem."

"What is it that bothers you? My eccentricities? I had presumed that you would be quite accustomed to my behaviours by now."

Watson almost stopped breathing.

Holmes was actually considering the idea that he was bothered by his...eccentricities to the point where it had pushed him over the edge? It was a part of Holmes. It was what made Sherlock Holmes. Sure, it irked him sometimes, but of course he was used to it and more...

"It's really nothing. I just thought that you weren't up for much company and I kept to myself. It took me a while to realise that it had become quite routine. I honestly didn't know it was going to affect us so. I believed it was what you wanted." Watson said, measuring his words as he spoke.

Holmes's eyes lingered on him long after he spoke, as though he was trying to find a crack in his words. It was the truth; almost- and god so help me that he does not find a crack because if he does-and he always does- then I'll have to say everything and I'll be screwed.

We'll be through.

Watson lifted his hands from where they sat on his knees to thread them through his hair in apprehension.

"That is not all. It does not explain the tension on your end. It must have begun somewhere."

The doctor felt painfully sober now.

"I thought it didn't matter where it began." The words where meant to thread light on sarcasm but came out harsh, defensive. Watson winced.

Holmes reclined into the comfort of his chair at that, remaining silent. He was trying hard to keep his calm. It was hard not to counter everything that the doctor said and vice versa. There was little progression. And the last thing he wanted was to get into a vicious argument with Watson, all in an attempt to make things better. He wanted them to be good. Very good, if possible.

"Why don't you tell me what is bothering you?" John asked.

Holmes remained silent; unmoving. But Watson was sure that a plethora of exemplary excuses were aligning in his brain at this moment. And he was not so sure he was ready to hear any of them.

The detective sat upright again, his dark eyes determined.

"It regards you, Watson. It is something that I can't quite decipher."

Watson was about to laugh at the ridiculousness of his friend's words because obviously it involves me- but he fell silent once his eyes read Holmes's expression. He looked...troubled by his conviction. If there was anything to go by based on the time he had spent with Holmes, it was to know that the consulting detective did not let such emotions crawl onto his features freely.

This meant that the large crack in Holmes demeanor which was letting so much- so much in the sense that it was Sherlock Holmes- show, was not just an expression of mere puzzlement.

It was an expression of damage.

"What is it?" He found himself asking before he could take it back. And he desperately wanted to take it back because he didn't want to know.

He didn't want to know that Holmes knew that he had the oddest designs of affection for his best friend which he definitely was not supposed to have.

He didn't want to know that Holmes was aware of the prolonged stares that threw the word normal right into a black hole.

He didn't want to know that Holmes knew and that was why Holmes had been avoiding him. And why he had been subconsciously avoiding Holmes.

Oh god...this was going to get so bloody messed up in such little time.

Watson shook his head, pressing the bridge of his nose with his fingers in an effort to calm his nerves. Then he raised his head to try to find Holmes- but the detective was standing right in front of him. When -how long had he been lost in thought?

Watson stared at his friend's form, flabbergasted.

"H-Holmes..."

"If you wouldn't think for a moment, then you just might understand the height of my dilemma." Holmes said, his face displaying the smallest hint of uncertainty. It quickly thinned into resolve before the doctor's eyes.

He risked a look into the Holmes's eyes. His eyes were so dark and searching- so beautiful and oh so close. Watson almost gained the illusion that the entire world reflecting in Holmes's eyes at that moment was him. He forced himself to look away from the intensity in his friend's gaze.

He watched the high rise and fall of Holmes's chest.

"Can you do this, Watson?" Holmes asked; his voice thick with emotions that were too close for Watson to pick apart and sort.

Too close.

The doctor found his lips parting, ready to ask lamely, 'do what, Holmes'?

And then a pair of lips was pressed chastely against his to give him the answer.

I wanted to end the chapter on a lighter note. So you can get your angsts-pants on for the next chapter. Reviews are very much appreciated.