A/N: Just a quick little drabble I wrote just because. I told you I can't focus on anything! Anyways, there might be a smutty sequel, I haven't decided yet but if there is, I will change the rating accordingly. If not, hope you enjoy it as is.

Sherlock wasn't quite sure how it had happened, which was a new experience for him. But somehow John had gotten into the habit of touching him. There had never really been any touching before, at least not that wasn't strictly necessary. The odd brush of fingertips as John passed him his tea, the occasional comforting arm on the shoulder and very rarely, hand holding – which had only been the keep the police cuffs from digging into their wrists as they ran – but had been dropped the moment John thought to hang on to Sherlock's sleeve instead.

So it was safe to say John Watson was not big on touching, at least not when it came to Sherlock. He seemed determined not to fuel any more rumors about their relationship. That's why it came as a great shock when John started touching him daily. He had a feeling that John did this to comfort himself, just a reassuring touch to be sure Sherlock was in fact there. It was nothing more than an aftereffect of Sherlock faking his own death, disappearing for three years and then showing back up.

John never touched without a reason, no matter how far-fetched the reason was. He stood closer when they walked, their arms brushing against each other. He'd pluck some nonexistent lint off of Sherlock's suit. He'd even begun ruffling Sherlock's hair in a playful manner, especially when he was sitting down at the kitchen table, lost in an experiment.

Sherlock for his part had no idea how to take any of it. He didn't dare tell John to stop, he wasn't even sure he wanted him to, but he had no idea what any of it meant. But the last thing he wanted was the drive John away after John had let him back into his life after such a long absence.

XXX

Things stayed the same until the night John fell asleep with his head on Sherlock's shoulder. They'd been watching some crap telly while Sherlock worked on his laptop. He hadn't even noticed how late it was until he heard John gently snoring, face somewhat buried in the crook of Sherlock's neck. His breath was hot against Sherlock's skin, giving Sherlock a tingling sensation and a slight shiver ran through him.

He knew he should get John to bed but didn't want to wake him. He could have just gently eased himself off and let John sleep on the sofa but he knew that would cause him back and neck pain. Despite what people thought, Sherlock was not completely uncaring, especially not now when it came to John. There was no way he could get John up the stairs so the only logical solution was his room.

He ended up carrying John bridal style through the kitchen, wary of John's feet hitting anything important. John had his head resting against Sherlock and he looked quite peaceful in his sleep. Sherlock smiled to himself and gently slipped John onto his bed. He pulled off John's socks and trousers, leaving him in his t-shirt and boxers.

Debating with himself, he wondered where he was going to sleep. John's bed was an option but for some reason that felt like an invasion of privacy. The sofa was always an option; he'd spent enough nights resting on it. But for some reason when he tried to leave, he found himself unable to move. Seeing John asleep was such a rare thing and Sherlock was curious. He'd heard of John's nightmares but had never witnessed one. Would John talk in his sleep? Would he steal the covers? It was like an entire world of new information that he had not yet been privy to.

Making a decision, he changed into his pyjamas and climbed into the bed. Now his bed was not exactly built for two people since when he'd purchased it he had not thought such a scenario was likely. It meant that their bodies were quite close as Sherlock settled in next to his flatmate. He draped the covers over them and watched John intently, studying how the other man slept.

XXX

Sherlock had no idea what time he fell asleep, but he remembered waking up with John pressed up against him, breathing against the nape of his neck. Sherlock's eyes were wide in shock, wondering just how they had managed to get like this and the best way to diffuse the situation. If he could extract himself from John's arms, the army doctor would never know the difference.

"M'rning." John mumbled sleepily, nuzzling the nape of Sherlock's neck with his nose.

"Um, good morning." Sherlock winced, knowing it was too late now.

John sat up suddenly and looked around. He had his brow furrowed and his lips pursed in confusion as he took in the scene around him. "How –" John opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again. Sherlock rolled over onto his back and looked up at John, waiting for the inevitable wobbly.

"How did I get here?" John asked, pulling the covers up.

"I carried you." Sherlock replied simply.

"Carried…" John trailed off, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Right and why was that necessary?"

"Had you slept on the sofa you would have been experiencing a stiff neck and back pain. I thought I was doing you a favor."

"Yes, right, good." John nodded and went to get out of the bed. He noticed he was only in his pants and immediately covered himself up again with the blankets. "And it was necessary to remove my trousers because…."

"You would have rumpled them in your sleep." Sherlock shrugged.

"Right, ok, perfectly logical I guess." John said with a heavy sigh, scratching his eyebrow with his thumbnail. He chewed on his lower lip and then glanced down at Sherlock. "Uh, would you mind turning away so I can get dressed?"

"Honestly John, it's nothing I haven't seen before. After all I was the one who undressed you." Sherlock reminded him with an over-exaggerated eye roll.

"Yes well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't look."

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked in frustration. "It's not like you to be modest. You were in the army for crying out loud."

"Well this isn't the army so please."

"Fine." Sherlock grumbled, turning to face the other wall, still wondering why John was acting so strangely. After all Sherlock had seen him just out of the shower in nothing but a dressing gown. "Oh, is this because you've got an erection?"

"Sherlock!" John shouted, obviously embarrassed.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, it's a perfectly ordinary response. I'm given to understand that quite a few men receive morning erections."

"Well do you have one?" John asked.

"No."

"Yes that definitely doesn't make this awkward then."

Sherlock could hear the rustling as John got dressed, thinking to himself that this was rather ridiculous. He was also lying through his teeth, his own erection hot and heavy between his legs. He was lucky John hadn't seen it and had no intention of divulging such information. He knew John was dead set in his heterosexuality and would most likely be uncomfortable with the idea that they both had become aroused from the current situation. No, it was much better that John believe Sherlock incapable of such a thing.

"Right, well, thanks…I guess."

"You're welcome." Sherlock said, turning his head only slightly to watch John leave.

XXXX

The night spent together was not brought up again and John did not share Sherlock's bed any other night. John seemed to be extra careful around Sherlock, any of the former touching was now gone and John kept his distance. Sherlock honestly wasn't sure which he preferred.

Then one morning Sherlock was on his way out of his bedroom just as John had finished in the bathroom. They gave each other small smiles before going about their business. John had a shift at the surgery and Sherlock had begun a new experiment. He remembered he had left his phone in the living room and he needed to text Molly about possibly getting a femur from the morgue. He grabbed it off his desk and sent a rapid-fire text, passing John just as he was putting on his jacket.

"Right, I'm off to work then."

"Have a good day." Sherlock said, absentmindedly as he waited for Molly to text him back. He bent down just as John leaned up and their lips met in a quick, chaste kiss. John walked away and closed the door behind him. Sherlock blinked a few times and then stared after him, wondering what on earth had just happened.

XXXX

John was humming to himself as he made his way down the seventeen steps to the front door. It wasn't until he had closed the door and checked to make sure he had his keys that he realized what had happened.

"Oh." He said, his eyes widening in shock. He touched his lips, still feeling the ghost of Sherlock's against his. He took in a shaky breath and wondered what that meant for them. Should he ignore it and continue on to work or would it be better to talk it through? Before he had even really started debating with himself, his key was back into the lock and he was bounding up the stairs to 221B.

He threw the door open and found Sherlock in the same spot he'd left him, looking slightly dazed. John swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Did I just kiss you?" he asked, trying to sound as normal as possible.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded, biting his bottom lip and pointedly not looking at John.

"Right, just checking." John said going back the way he'd come and closing the door behind him.

XXXX

The kiss was another thing filed under "stuff we don't talk about." John wasn't sure whether he should be glad of the fact or concerned. The kiss hadn't been that bad, had it? Obviously it hadn't been a full on snog, pretty much nothing more than a simple kiss but still. It hadn't been entirely forgettable, he was sure of that because it was still replaying in his mind over and over.

But the last thing he wanted to do at this point was drive Sherlock away, so if Sherlock didn't want to talk about it then they wouldn't. John was very good at ignoring things and so the kiss went unmentioned, just like the night they shared a bed.

However, things changed between them yet again during a case. They'd been in the middle of chasing a suspect when the man dropped his gun into the Thames, which was the only thing they had tying him to the other murders. So Sherlock, like the idiot he was, dived into the river to retrieve it.

John stood on the bridge, staring into the darkness, waiting for Sherlock to resurface. Come on Sherlock, come on. You can't do this to me again. Not again you bastard, John thought desperately, glancing at his watch to time how long Sherlock had been , when he'd had enough, John dove in after him. It was difficult to keep his eyes open and they were next to useless anyway in the dark. But he waved his arms around wildly, hoping to catch hold of any part of Sherlock.

When his fingers wrapped around the familiar wool of Sherlock's coat, John tightened his fist and hauled them both up. They both inhaled deeply as they broke the surface and Sherlock lifted up the gun, smiling triumphantly. John frowned deeply, his teeth grinding together, a million different insults running through his head that he wanted to scream at the detective. Instead he started to swim towards shore, only vaguely hearing Sherlock calling after him.

XXXX

Sherlock was once again wrapped in a god awful orange blanket. Lestrade was asking him questions that he quickly answered but was mostly distracted by John. John, who refused to speak to him, to even look at him even since they'd reached the beach. Sherlock chewed on his lower lip and wondered what could possibly be wrong. He'd had things well under control, he hadn't even been close to being out of breath. Why was John so unhappy with him, he'd recovered the evidence and now the guilty man would go to prison. Shouldn't that make John happy? Wasn't that usually a good thing?

By the time Sherlock was done being questioned, John was nowhere in sight. He asked the officer that had been sitting with his flatmate and was informed he had gone home. Sherlock went over the problem again and again in the taxi ride, wondering how he could have possibly messed up this time. He'd just have to go in and apologize and hope that covered it.

The moment he was inside the door to 221B, John had grabbed hold of him and had him shoved up against the wall.

"John I –"

"You complete and utter bastard." John shouted, giving Sherlock another harsh shove.

"What did – "

"What were you thinking, jumping into the Thames like that?"

"It was necessary to recover the evidence."

"Sod the evidence, you could have died!" John yelled, his hands balling into fists. Sherlock grimaced, wondering if John was going to hit him again.

"I had things under control."

"You fucking prick. Do you have any idea what that was like for me? To watch you disappear into the black? To stand on that bridge and wonder if my best friend was drowning before my very eyes."

"But I wasn't –"

"Well I didn't fucking know that did I? You didn't think for a second what that would be like for me, did you? To watch you die again." Sherlock finally noticed the tears forming in the corners of John's eyes. He furiously tried to wipe them away but Sherlock saw them all the same.

"John – "

"You bastard." John said again but there was no bite to it.

"I'm sorry, I –"

Sherlock was cut off by John crashing his lips against Sherlock's. There was too much teeth and he was fairly certain it was going to bruise but it wasn't wholly unpleasant, mostly because it was John doing it. John twisted his fingers into Sherlock's hair and brought him down to deepen the kiss, John sucking at Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock moaned, the sheer want John was pouring into the kiss was overwhelming and John took the opportunity to delve his tongue in, gliding it against Sherlock's.

Sherlock only broke away out of necessity, panting against John's ear. John dropped his head onto Sherlock's shoulder and fisted a hand into Sherlock's still damp shirt. "Don't you die on me again Sherlock Holmes. Do you understand me? Don't you fucking dare."

Sherlock closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around John. "I won't." he promised quietly. "I'll stay, I'll stay with you as long as you want."

John pulled away, his expression slightly less manic. He took a deep breath and gave Sherlock a small grin. Bringing his hand up to cup Sherlock's face, he left his thumb trail over Sherlock's cheekbones. "Forever then."

Sherlock ducked his head down and captured John's lips again. The kiss was much less frantic, more unhurried as they explored each other's mouths. When Sherlock broke away this time, it was because of the wide smile threatening to take over his face. For once he let it, beaming down at John. He pressed into John's touch, rubbing his cheek against John's palm and placing a soft kiss to it. "Forever." He agreed.