This is my first attempt at fanfiction so please review! I would love to get some feedback.

I don't own these characters, but oh how I wish I did.

"I hate it when you do that." John keeps his eyes on his laptop, determined to write up the case they had just solved while it is still fresh in his mind.

John turns his head to glance at his flat mate, who is sitting across the living room, fingers steepled under his chin, calmly regarding John.

"Do what John?" Sherlock asks innocently, raising an eyebrow. John sighs and turns back to his laptop.

"Deduce me." He shakes his head and mutters.

Silence.

"You're always deducing me." Sherlock grins but says nothing.

They are both remembering the same occasion.

It had been weeks after Sherlock "returned from the dead", when John's anger and betrayal had slowly begun to subside, and life in 221B Baker Street continued on, almost back to normal. Almost.

Sherlock noticed a change in John, one that was not fading with his initial anger at being deceived. Sherlock had crushed him. Ripped away the only thing John had, and left him with nothing. Because of that, Sherlock was able to understand why John refused to talk to him for days, refused to look at him even. But he knew that John would come to understand his actions, so he waited. Waited until John stood before him as he sat thinking. Waited as John stared, his eyes filling with tears. Sherlock watched as the tears spilled over and ran down Johns face, all the while John stared. He rose then, and took the smaller man into his arms, holding him tightly. Sherlock held John until his chest stilled and his eyes were dry. Then the army doctor pulled back, looked straight into those gray eyes, nodded once, and retreated to his room.

After that day, things began to return to normal. And that was when Sherlock noted the difference in John. He began to watch John, to study him as he made his tea, wrote his blog, ate his meals. He watched, and he deduced.

John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him during those weeks. He could almost hear that incredible brain whirring away; collecting data, storing it, coming to god knows what kind of conclusions.

Sherlock found he was surprised with what he discovered. All the data he had collected, all those thoughts and observations in his brain that were filed under "John" had pointed toward one conclusion. What really surprised Sherlock however, was the strength with which he prayed he was right. What was this tightening in his stomach when he thought of the behavior of this new John? This John that looked at Sherlock like he was afraid the younger man would disappear, that watched Sherlock when he thought the detective wasn't looking. This John that had something in his eyes that he was desperately trying to hide.

Sherlock decided an experiment was the only way to know for sure, and immediately set to work putting one in place. It began with a simple touch. John had been working on his laptop when Sherlock casually walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was not the first time he had touched John in this way, but with this new John, it was different. He leaned over to see what John was doing, hand still resting lightly on his shoulder. He could feel John tense ever so slightly, the doctor holding completely still as Sherlock examined the screen, face level with John's, only inches away. As he pulled back, Sherlock allowed his fingers to graze lightly over John's pulse point.

"Interesting." Sherlock remarked, and promptly threw himself on the couch. Sherlock continued on this way for a week, grazing John's skin with not so accidental touches. He needed to measure John's reactions. He let his arm brush the doctor's as they walked to a crime scene. Slid his hand across the back of John's shoulders as he walked past where the doctor sat. Let his fingers linger over John's when he passed him his cup of tea. He was even so bold as to place his hand on the small of John's back as he directed him through the doors to Bart's.

These touches were setting John's nerves on end, and Sherlock knew it. John's heart began to race whenever the detective was near, anticipating the contact, even though it rarely came when he expected. He tried to ignore it, but he knew Sherlock was up to something. He just wasn't sure he wanted to figure it out.

On the following Sunday, Sherlock considered John as he rose to make his afternoon tea. John returned to the living room, and handed one steaming cup to Sherlock. But before he could take his usual spot in his chair, Sherlock grabbed his wrist.

"Sit with me John." John froze and looked from Sherlock's hand on his wrist to his best friends wide, gray green eyes. Shrugging away his confusion John moved to sit beside Sherlock. Tea finished, John leaned back to enjoy some crap telly. For some reason, the good doctor found the head of a certain consulting detective resting in his lap, his long legs curled into his angular frame in a childlike position as he watched the screen. John froze again, bewildered at the younger man's odd behavior. After a tense few moments, John relaxed and let his hand fall lightly to the younger man's shoulder. Sherlock hummed softly and John wondered if he had imagined it. Hesitantly, he brought his other hand to rest in Sherlock's dark curls. He let the silky strands run softly through his fingers as he stroked the detective's head. This earned him another hum of appreciation that sounded to John like the purr of a cat, happily being pet.

They stayed like that for a while, Sherlock's head nestled in John's lap as John gently ran his fingers through the others hair. Satisfied with his results so far, Sherlock decided to initiate what he hoped to be the final phase of his experiment. Getting up from his place on the couch, Sherlock reached down and offered his hand to John. Blinking rapidly for a second, John took his hand, and allowed the detective to pull him to his feet. Sherlock gently pushed John's bangs across his forehead, letting his fingers trail down the side of John's face before stopping to rest on his shoulder.

"You need a haircut." Sherlock told him simply.

"Sherlock-" John said questioningly. But Sherlock ignored him. Keeping his gaze locked with the doctors confused one; Sherlock leaned in slowly, relieved when the other did not pull away, and touched his lips to John's. John sucked in a breath in surprise and gaped at Sherlock's smiling face. He bent down to kiss John again, this time lingering there a moment before smiling against his lips. Sherlock had taken John's wrist in the hand that was not resting on the doctor's collarbone, and was nonchalantly taking his pulse. He smiled into the kiss because he could feel its pace quicken, and when he leaned back to look into those blue eyes, he saw they were dilated.

"I was right." Sherlock said happily, not moving away from John. He was beginning to feel giddy in that way he did when he solved a puzzle. John knew that look, and he frowned more deeply.

"You're in love with me." John paled and attempted to step back. Sherlock just followed his movements however, keeping them close. John opened his mouth several times in an attempt to refute this statement, but he couldn't seem to find the words. He was still trying to get over the fact that he had just been kissed by Sherlock Holmes.

The most stifling minute John had ever experienced passed at an excruciating rate. Sherlock just stood there grinning, as John grew more and more uncomfortable. Finally, Sherlock backed away and began to pace. John plopped onto the couch, all too familiar with what would come next. As usual, Sherlock needed an audience for his genius, someone to appreciate his brilliant logic. So as he paced, he deduced John aloud.

"I would have discovered it much sooner, but you did not even know it yourself. You first realized you were in love with me when you thought I had died." John cringed, but Sherlock ignored it.

"When I was dead you realized you hurt for someone who was more than a friend, and regretted that you had not been able to tell me of your feelings before it was too late. Again, I would have noticed as soon as I returned, but your immediate anger hid those feelings. I had been expecting the anger you see, so it wasn't until after you began speaking to me again that I realized something was different." Sherlock paused to lock eyes with John, whose expression was blank. 'This is not happening' was all the doctor could think.

"You walked around as if you were trying to keep a secret, one you felt was obvious. You watched me when you thought I couldn't see, and when you thought I was sleeping. But you kept yourself distant, as if you feared I would find you out. Might I point out that it was your efforts to keep your feelings hidden that caused me to discover them. Honestly John, did you think you could fool me?" Sherlock scolded. John dropped his face to his hands, sighing heavily. He had been an idiot, falling in love with Sherlock Holmes of all people.

The world's only consulting detective dropped to his knees in front of John, gently pulling the doctor's hands away from his face. John opened his eyes to find Sherlock staring at him intently, concern on his face. This was usually the part where John told him how brilliant he was, except now, he was clearly distraught.

"The kiss?" John asked tiredly.

"An experiment." Sherlock stated simply.

"Of course." John mumbled to himself before nudging Sherlock aside and standing up. Anger bubbled up in his chest, battling with a deep hurt.

"You can't just play with people's emotions like that Sherlock!" John was one step away from screaming into the younger's man face. "Not everyone is like you." He added softly.

Sherlock rose and touched John's forearm gently. He jerked away as if he had been burned. A lump formed itself in Sherlock's throat, realizing he had done something not good.

"Don't touch me." John snapped. "This isn't one of your cases you bastard. I'm not a fucking experiment, I'm a person." Sherlock shuddered at the malice and raw hurt in John's voice.

"John." Sherlock said softly, almost pleading. John shook his head angrily and turned to storm out. Sherlock grabbed his arm and roughly pulled him around so they were once again standing face to face. John tensed as if to tear himself out of the taller man's grasp.

"John wait. Please." Sherlock begged. John stayed where he was but he didn't relax. Sherlock moved closer, so close that John could feel the detective's breath ghosting over his face. Sherlock tightened his grip, willing John to read in his eyes what he was unable to say.

"Take my pulse." John regarded him for a moment, unwilling to let go of his anger. There was something in Sherlock's voice that gave him pause, something in his eyes that John had not seen before. Slowly, John pulled his arm from Sherlock's loosening grip and felt for the detective's wrist. His pulse beat rapidly, heart pounding away in his chest. Sherlock's pulse never raced. John's brow furrowed in thought, unsure now.

Sensing his confusion, Sherlock leaned closer. Carefully measuring John's reactions as he closed the gap between them, placing a feather light, hesitant kiss to John's lips. John frowned at Sherlock, but held still as Sherlock moved to kiss at the creases in John's forehead. Unable to help himself, John sighed, his features relaxing.

"I don't think you're an experiment." Sherlock said softly.

"I know." John replied. Sherlock smiled at him again, and John reluctantly grinned back.

"You really are an idiot." John joked lightly, reaching up to ruffle those dark curls.

"I was still right." Sherlock pouted. John got on his tiptoes so he could reach the taller man's lips with his own.

"Shut up." John said against his lips. Sherlock only complied because he was too busy leaning into John's kiss, discovering John's taste, pulling John closer to him so that their bodies were pressed together.

John melted against Sherlock, parting his lips slightly in invitation. Inexperienced as he was, Sherlock didn't miss a beat, tentatively running his tongue along John's lower lip before beginning to gently explore the other's mouth. John groaned when their tongues met and something stirred within Sherlock. He was no stranger to arousal, but this was different because it was John. His John.

He deepened the kiss, allowing his hands to roam over John's body, feeling the tight muscle of his chest and stomach before pulling him closer to run his hands down the doctor's back. A whimpering noise escaped from somewhere deep in John's throat. Sherlock dug his nails into John's back, eliciting another moan from the doctor.

Gasping for air, John finally broke the kiss. He had one hand tangled in the now unruly curls on Sherlock's head, and the other gripping possessively on the detective's hip.

"Interesting." Sherlock panted, face flushed and eyes wild. John just laughed, amazed to see this brilliant man in such a state. Sherlock looked down between them, considering the growing hardness between his own legs. "Very interesting." He muttered.

John wondered briefly if Sherlock had ever had a hard-on before, but quickly banished the thought. Of course he had. Sherlock claimed to be asexual, but clearly that was not the case.

Feeling surprisingly bold, John grabbed Sherlock's hand, smiling as he led the detective to his bedroom. Said detective grinned smugly, relinquishing control to his doctor now that he'd proven he was right.

John snapped back to reality because he could feel Sherlock's tall frame looming behind him. The detective wrapped his arms around John's chest, his breath hot in John's ear. He began to hum softly, sending a shiver down the doctor's back. Sherlock gently nibbles at his ear and John struggled not to moan.

"Not now Sherlock. I want to finish this." John scolds, pulling his head away from the detective's mouth. Sherlock just tightens his grip, pulling the resisting man closer to him.

"No you don't." His silky reply came hot in John's ear, and went straight between his legs. He silently cursed his body for betraying him.

"Yes I do." John insisted stubbornly, once again attempting to pull himself out of Sherlock's grasp.

"Don't lie John, you're simply inept at it." John scoffs angrily and swats at the hand that is stroking his chest. Sherlock would not be deterred. He dips his head to John's neck, and ghosts his lips down to the smaller man's collarbone and back up to his jaw.

"Sherlock." John couldn't help but groan, lust fighting with his irritation.

"You don't want to write this now." Sherlock breathed into John's neck. "Actually, you don't want to write it at all."

"What makes you say that?" John asks softly, tilting his head so Sherlock has better access to his neck. Sherlock grinned, knowing he won.

"This case got to you, more so than other murders we've solved." Sherlock murmured into John's neck, not really paying attention to the conversation. John tensed and Sherlock froze.

"I've upset you." Sherlock spun John around so he could look into those blue eyes; they were guarded. Sherlock raises a hand to the side of John's face to gently run his thumb along his cheek.

"I don't want to talk about it." John says shortly. Sherlock stared deeply into his eyes for a long moment, and John wondered what he saw there. Suddenly, the detective's mouth curves into a wicked grin.

"Who said anything about talking?" John raised an eyebrow at that, but before he could respond, Sherlock's lips were on his, thoroughly erasing every coherent thought in his head.