DISCLAIMER: All rights go to the BBC! We own nothing!

SUMMARY: John Watson has accepted his feelings for Sherlock Holmes. The only problem: How to tell the self-proclaimed sociopath that he is in love with him. Solution: Make him jealous. So, John Watson, with the help of Irene Adler, sets his sights on the goal of trying to make the narcotic detective green with envy. WARNINGS: SLASH in later chapters, FLUFFY-NESS galore! ENJOY!

AUTHORS' NOTE: Okay, so this is a collaboration of both myself and my dear friend, BecomingOneWithRussia. You will find her profile at www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net, followed by /u/1648520/BecomingOneWithRussia! We take turns writing the chapters. For example this chapter is written by me and the next one is written by her! Anyway I hope you enjoy our fluffy plot bunny!

Chapter One: Acceptance

John Watson had finally gotten past his denial. He was completely and totally in love with Sherlock Holmes. The man was like an enigma; a brilliant, narcotic, delicious, insane, gorgeous, sarcastic, rude enigma. John knew he could no longer deny his feelings for the world's only consulting detective. One problem remained, however. How do you tell a self-proclaimed sociopath that you want to be more than just his flat mate; that you want to be… intimate, lovers even? Oh, that's right, you don't! Thus, John Watson was frustrated.

It didn't help that Sherlock had come down earlier that day complaining loudly that he couldn't find his beloved blue scarf. John suggested that it was due to the fact that Sherlock seemed to never tidy anything up, and that, perhaps, the detective should give it a try. To which the sleuth responded with a dramatic sigh and a moaned, "Dull."He had gone out instead, without the scarf. Later, after returning home, he complained again, whining to John about how cold he had been without the garment. John's patience snapped and he told him to either stop complaining or clean up his rubbish and find the bloody scarf. So, now, Sherlock sulked.

Hours had passed in silence, before John could stand it no longer. "Fine, Sherlock!" John sighed, exasperated. For pity's sake! It was like dealing with a bloody child. "I'll help you find your scarf, but we have got to get this flat tidied up!"

Sherlock rolled over from his spot on the couch dramatically and pouted at his doctor.

"No, Sherlock! Don't give me that face!"

"John," Sherlock started, a frustrated whine present in his deep voice. "Cleaning is dull. Utterly dull."

"No, cleaning is a necessary evil. You have to do it. At least sometimes. Kind of like breathing, and eating…. And sleeping."

The detective heaved a great sigh. "Well, you're better at dull things than me. You do it."

John took a deep breath, reigning in his temper. "Sherlock," he said in a low, threatening tone. "You can either help me, or I will do it myself and I will throw everything away."

Sherlock scoffed. "Please, John. I know you wouldn't actually throw away my things. It's completely out of your character."

"Try me," John warned.

Sherlock sniffed and flipped around and faced the cushions of the couch once more. Blatant challenge.

"Fine." The doctor stood and dragged a trash bin from the kitchen into the living room and started gathering paper and old files from the various contact surfaces and began depositing them, without regard, into the bin.

Sherlock whipped around. "What are you doing?"

"Throwing this rubbish away. Exactly as I said," John replied nonchalantly.

"You can't just throw everything out!" Sherlock informed him, outraged. "Some of it is important."

"It's not to me," John replied. "And since I'm doing this alone, its importance is up to my discretion alone."

"John, this is childish!" Sherlock stated indignantly, which John found extremely rich coming from the perpetual child before him. "Besides, if you throw everything away, I'll have nothing to occupy myself with while you sleep, so I'll play the violin through all hours of the night." He said this smugly, assuming he had won.

"You won't be able to if I throw the ruddy thing away," John merely tossed over his shoulder, as he continued to throw out various articles of clutter around the room.

"Don't. Touch. My. Violin. John."

"Or what?" John challenged. "You'll blow up the flat with another one of your experiments? I'll throw all of that out as well!"

"You wouldn't dare!" He sounded genuinely appalled.

John simply gave him a look that clearly said, Would you like to test that theory?

"I don't believe you," Sherlock stated, though he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "You're bluffing."

John smirked and shrugged. He headed toward the fireplace mantel with the bin and swiped everything into the trash, save the detective's prized skull. He plucked it from its spot on the mantelpiece and looked at it briefly.

"I should just toss this in the fire, don't you think?" He brought his arm back in preparation of a good toss, when his arm was snagged in a vice grip by one Sherlock Holmes.

"Don't, John." The detective was clearly losing his usually stoic control over his temper.

"I'm not kidding, Sherlock," John told him. "I will throw it all out. All of it."

"My files?"

"All of it."

"My notes?"

"All. Of. It."

Surely not my microscopes!"

"Everything, Sherlock."

The detective stared at John suspiciously for a bit longer before glaring. "You're cruel," he pouted.

"It was the military's influence," John explained with a wry smile.

"But you're a doctor! You're supposed to help people."

"I am helping you, Sherlock. I'm helping you find your scarf."

"Fine!" Sherlock sulked. "But put my skull back!"

"Are you going to help?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, exasperated. "Happy?"

"Extremely," John responded flippantly, placing the skull back in its habitual spot. "You start on the kitchen. I'll begin in here."

"Don't throw anything away," the detective warned, already digging things out of the trash bin.

"We will have to throw away some things, Sherlock. But I promise not to do so without consulting with you first."

Sherlock still didn't look to happy, but he figured that was the best he would get, so he nodded reluctantly before heading into the kitchen. "I'm only doing this to find my scarf , " he grumbled.

"Yeah, and because you're afraid I'll throw all of your rubbish away," John muttered after his was out of earshot. He then, dove into cleaning the mess that was the living room. While he did, he thought.

He knew he should be angry with Sherlock, but he just couldn't stay mad at his eccentric flat mate. There was just something about the insanely childish nature of the man that made John smile every time he thought of the detective. He had it bad and he knew it. The dark haired man had John Watson wrapped around his little finger. How he wished he knew if Sherlock felt the same, or if he even could. He wished there was some way to test the detective, instead of going off of what could possibly be just his wishful thinking. He had no one to ask after all.

It's not like he could go up to anyone at the Yard and confess his feelings feeling for Sherlock bloody Holmes. And he definitely couldn't talk to Mycroft. His sister was constantly drunk, so her advice would be meaningless. Molly would be too jealous and awkward. The only person who would have no problem offering advice would probably be Mrs. Hudson, but John saw her as a mother figure, and talking about his potential love life with her would be far too embarrassing.

John sighed as he started going through the desk drawers. And that's when he found it. The phone. Her phone. The Woman.

Now, that's the person that could help him here. She was not afraid to be blunt in these situations. It was ironic that when she was alive, John loathed her. Jealousy, mostly. Then it clicked. Jealousy! That was the solution! He had to make Sherlock jealous! Now the only question was, how?

A/N: R&R please and let us know what you think! Next chapter will be up later today or tomorrow.