Oh, hello there. Didn't expect you. Honestly, what writer expects that someone will actually read their story? Maybe at this point you're wondering "why the hell is this story talking to me?" Maybe you're even considering skipping to the next story, because the fact that the writer is actually talking directly to you is slightly disconcerting. Well, don't go away just yet. It gets better.

See, I only wanted to greet you. How rude most writers are, just starting their story with no introduction! After the reader has taken time out of their very busy schedule to read their story, the least they can do is offer up a proper hello!

And so I am.

And now maybe you're wondering when I'm going to get to the point, and again thinking about closing this window. Well, fret not. I am getting to the point right about…

Now.

I suppose you're here because you want to hear about John Watson and Sherlock Holmes and how no matter how much they try to deny it, they're actually in love.

Well, good reader, you've come to the right place. Except, you and John aren't really on the same page, not yet. Here, I'll show you.

John's sitting on the settee. Worry not, he can't see you. You're not really here or anything, but you can see him. He's sitting here in the silent flat—the curtains are veiling the dark, storming early evening—staring at the ground. He looks obviously distraught. Both you and John are very aware that Sherlock isn't here, because if he were, he'd be making his presence known. Sherlock, for a complete genius, is really quite the attention-hogging child most of the time.

And confusing, which John is musing about right at this second.

John's having one of those moments where he wonders whether or not it's actually worth it to date Sherlock Holmes.

They've only been dating for about a month and already John has gone through this inner struggle six or seven times.

A day.

Well, "dating" is kind of a relative term when talking about what exactly is going on between he and Sherlock Holmes. He only calls it that because that's what he would call a normal more-than-friends relationship with a normal more-than-a-friend type of person.

But, as both you and John know all too well, Sherlock Holmes is nowhere near being a normal person.

Not even the circumstances of them getting together were normal. Well, normal for anyone else. For John, it was only half surprising. I'll show you exactly what happened.

You're still in the flat, but it's light outside this time. There's no rain, like there was before. There are birds chirping, actually, which is exactly what has Sherlock Holmes ticked off.

"Shut up, will you?" he bellows suddenly.

John looks up from his book in surprise. This time he really isn't sure what he's done. He wasn't even flipping the page or sighing or anything. Not that Sherlock needs an excuse to be a complete lunatic, but usually there was some sort of reason behind outbursts like this.

And John is getting really tired of Sherlock's outbursts nowadays. When usually he would stay silent, this time he speaks.

"Sherlock, I'm not talking," he says irritably.

"What?" Sherlock snaps, looking over to John. "I wasn't talking to you," he says after a moment.

John blinks a few times. "Gotten an imaginary friend, have you? Is he a pain in your arse like you're a pain in mine? I bloody well hope so."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Very clever, John. That witty remark must have taken almost all of your brain power."

"That wasn't witty, that was the truth. Now who're you telling to be quiet if it isn't me?"

"Those infernal creatures outside!"

John's head slowly turns to the window, an incredulous look on his face. "Sherlock. Please tell me you aren't talking about the birds."

"Yes, John, the birds! They're always chirping about and it's not conducive to a good deducing environment!"

"Well, Sherlock, believe it or not, not everything on the bloody planet is about you. And the birds surely don't know they're irritating—wait a moment. Deducing? Deducing what, you've just been sitting there across from me all morning."

Sherlock sighs in exasperation at the stupidity of everyone else in his life. He even thinks you're stupid, and he doesn't even know you. Don't be insulted. Everyone's a moron to him. You probably know that already, but I don't want you to think I'm insulting you. I, unlike Sherlock, think you're a fine gentleman/lady/person (because I shouldn't assume you have a gender at all. You never know nowadays).

"John, please, prove to me you aren't quite as dense as your fellows. If I've been sitting here across from you all morning, doing nothing else, then what do you think I'm deducing?"

John takes a deep breath to keep from standing up and socking his flatmate in the jaw. "Sherlock, what the hell are you deducing about me? I thought I was boring to you."

Sherlock is quiet for long enough that John looks up at him, and John is surprised that Sherlock looks… well, if John didn't know any better, he'd say Sherlock looks confused. You, as a second opinion, would probably agree.

"When did I ever say you were boring?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, there was the time when you said that my 'funny little head' was boring. And then another time when you said my taking Sarah to the cinema for a date was boring. And you called Jeanette, the last woman I dated, boring right to her face. And then—"

"No, John, none of those were calling you boring. I'm sure inside your brain is boring. Your taste in dates, yes, it's boring. And dear god, every girlfriend you've ever had is dull."

"I thought everyone was dull to you."

"Most people are. My brother is boring all the time. Lestrade's generally uninteresting usually. Mrs. Hudson frequently bores me. But you, John… you aren't boring."

John is surprised by the comment, but he is more surprised by the fact that his ears have gone hot and he has a little nervous lump in his throat at Sherlock's words. The intense ice blue eyes are enough to make his stomach clench uncomfortably, but he doesn't understand why. You know why he's feeling that way, of course, it's obvious, but John can be a little slow on the uptake from time to time. Give him a minute.

"So you're telling me everyone bores you but me," John says.

"I don't know why you must repeat everything I say for it to make sense to you, but yes, that's what I'm saying," Sherlock confirms, his fingers forming a steeple beneath his chin as he continues to stare at John.

"What about Irene? She didn't bore you," John says, a little surprised at the disdain in his voice.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "The Woman bored me too," Sherlock assures John. "But, oddly enough, she is the reason this whole case started."

John blinks. They have gone from him being interesting to Sherlock being on a case in less than a second. How did Sherlock keep all his thoughts straight in his head all the time?

Sherlock had been being extra weird of late, which is saying something, as you might imagine. Mostly, it's because he's quiet. Like he's thinking very, very hard. John thinks maybe he's still upset about Irene, and how she's in America now—even though John knows she is actually dead (Though, both you and Sherlock know that isn't the case either. Sherlock doesn't know where the Woman is, but she certainly isn't dead).

But John can't be sure, because Sherlock is acting unlike he ever has before. Just thinking nonstop—well, that's normal, but being quiet about it isn't. And then he's been trying to keep out of John's sight. It'd been annoying John for eight long days now. Every time John came into the room and sat down, Sherlock would place himself out of John's line of sight, and John could feel Sherlock's burning gaze on him. A few times, he's tried turning so he could see Sherlock again, because it made him feel less anxious, but then Sherlock would just move again. And the yelling at inanimate objects and animals and the air for being too loud, that had been a very frequent thing in 221B for the past week.

The only thing different today is that Sherlock is sitting right in front of John. It makes John feel better that Sherlock isn't hiding, so he doesn't say anything about it, but he's still been on edge.

And that's when Sherlock screamed at the birds and John couldn't stay silent about Sherlock's insanity any longer.

So now, he is very confused indeed. Sherlock says he's on a case. And it has to do with Irene? How is that possible?

John remembers to respond after a few too many seconds of thinking. "You're on a case? I thought Lestrade hadn't called you in days, and that's why you've been especially odd this past week."

"No, he's called. I told him I was busy."

John blinks again. "But you haven't been doing anything."

"Yes I have," Sherlock retorts.

John sighs angrily. Sherlock and his cryptic explanations that explain nothing. "Then what does this have to do with Irene?" John tries. "She's—she's in America."

"It's a text from a while back. I ignored it at the time. But then I read it again and realised she might have been on to something. So I started looking into it."

John takes a moment to put the puzzle pieces of the conversation together. "Something Irene said has you deducing something about me?"

"Exactly. You're keeping up better than I expected."

"Okay then," John says, trying not to sound annoyed. "Then what is it?"

Sherlock doesn't reply.

"Jesus, Sherlock, just tell me!"

"The experiments will be starting soon anyway. You'll figure it out."

"You aren't doing any experiments on me," John warns dangerously.

"Don't worry, if I'm right, and I usually am, you'll quite enjoy it."

John growls in irritation and Sherlock smirks. "What?" John snaps.

"I like when you growl," he says. "It's hot."

John's breath catches in his throat. He couldn't have actually just heard that. There's no way, no way in all the world, that those words just came out of Sherlock's mouth. But here Sherlock is, looking at John with amusement twinkling in his eyes. John doesn't notice, but you see that his ears have gone pink and that he's nervously twisting his fingers together. And, John really doesn't realise he does this—and would never admit it even if he did know he did it—but you see him give Sherlock a quick up and down, actually checking him out.

Sherlock sees all that you have seen, however. And more. John's breathing changed just barely. His heart is beating just a fraction of a second faster than before. And he shifts his leg just slightly in arousal that is so premature that John doesn't even realise he feels it yet. He still thinks it's just embarrassment.

But Sherlock knows.

"It's also attractive when you look nervous like that," Sherlock muses. "I like it."

This time John's mouth actually falls open. Sherlock knows more each second that he's right. Really, he knew he was right all along, ever since he actually opened his mind to what he had been almost purposefully ignoring for so long. All the time thinking was not about how John felt… but how Sherlock felt.

"You're surprised," Sherlock says. "Tell me why."

John's still gaping. Sherlock is saying the oddest things—John didn't realise that Sherlock knew the meaning of 'hot' in slang terms—but he's treating it like some sort of experiment.

"Sherlock, you're being ridiculous," John says. But what's wrong with his voice? It sounds all funny and quiet. You know, and Sherlock knows, but John's just denying it at this point. He and Sherlock had that in common. They both would have noticed their feelings a lot earlier if they weren't both stubbornly ignoring them.

"John, I am going to do something," Sherlock says. "I was going to wait before I got to this part of the experiment, but I just…" Sherlock cannot bring himself to admit out loud that John just looks too attractive in his startled, just barely sexually-frustrated state for Sherlock to stay back any longer. "I am going to do something and I need you to have an open mind."

John's mind isn't open at all, but Sherlock can't wait, not anymore. So he goes over to the settee and sits next to John first. John is confused, and for some reason he's flustered. He doesn't realise, as I'm sure you have, that Sherlock sitting so close to him is the reason John is feeling confused, why what John figures is an inexplicable flush is rising up his cheeks.

"Are you ready?" Sherlock asks.

John's actually scared now, he really is, because what the hell is that glint in Sherlock's eye? He recognises it… but it can't be. Because it looks like the look any one of his girlfriends gave him when they really wanted to shag him.

So John's scared… and excited. This time, he feels it, but he doesn't know why. It startles him, but he has no time to think about it before Sherlock's made up his mind and Sherlock lurches forward and their lips crash together.

And something odd happens to John in that moment. Once Sherlock's lips touch his, every doubt in his head literally disintegrates on the spot. He's never felt so right in his whole life. Everything he always felt for Sherlock but always ignored is there clearly in his head, and he understands perfectly well that this moment is what the two of them have been leading up to for a very long time.

So he just gives in. He lets out a tiny sigh and his arms go around his flatmate, one around his back and the other tangling up in that curly, raven hair of his.

And too quickly, the kiss ends. Sherlock backs away an inch or so. You can feel the tension in the air as they both want to plunge in for more, but neither of them do so.

"See?" Sherlock says. "Knew it. You want to be in a romantic relationship with me. And I accept."

John blinks. Yes, he realises now that he has feelings for Sherlock, strong ones. But jumping into a relationship? He isn't ready for that yet.

And what about Sherlock? What happened to Sherlock having no feelings, being married to his work?

"Yes, I thought you might ask," Sherlock says, as if John had actually asked anything out loud. "It's what I've been thinking about all week. I decided that my work will just have to share my head with you. So I accept your request."

John's quiet for a while, trying to make sense of all of this. "I didn't request anything," John finally says.

"Not aloud, no, but I know you're thinking it now, and yes, I'll do it."

Sherlock stands up and goes into the kitchen.

John's brain is working as fast as it can, but it still takes him another second or two to process what Sherlock just said. He just said that he and John were now in a relationship. Dating.

"Sherlock," John says. "Wait a minute. Can't we talk about this?"

"What's to talk about? I know how you feel, you can probably figure out how I feel from the fact that I kissed you a moment ago."

"It's not exactly proper, Sherlock."

"I'm not proper," Sherlock replies. John takes a breath. That's certainly true. "Oh," Sherlock adds. "And now that the experiment's over, you can see why Irene started all this. I had never considered… well, I was ignoring the facts until she pointed it out to me. There's a paper on the table with a copy of the text."

And so John stands and goes to the table. You see the paper before him, but then John picks it up.

John's blog is HILARIOUS. I think he likes you more than I do. Let's have dinner.

John wants to be irritated, and wants to force Sherlock to talk to him like a normal person… but instead, he just smiles. He didn't think ever in his life that he would thank Irene Adler for anything… but now he feels he needs to.

So that's how the relationship—though John still hesitates to call it that sometimes—started. And John was uncomfortable at first, but he quickly got used to it.

Things didn't actually change much usually, which was most of the problem. Sherlock was still a prat, and confusing as hell, and just really unbearable in general, except now John was more emotionally attached to the situation, making every blow-up from his flatmate hit him harder.

John would've ended it several times by now if it weren't for the tiny moments when their attraction was obvious, flaring in the air between them. John'd be working on something, reading or watching telly or on his computer or whatever, and then he'd notice Sherlock staring at him. And he'd stare right back.

Yes, that's all that happened. Nothing more. Just a lot of really heated staring that was actually enough to get both parties completely hard on more than one occasion. You probably would have been turned on by it too, had you been there, because both Sherlock and John were very good at being intense when they wanted to be.

And I don't know whether you understand or not, but for John, just those small moments were enough to make him want to keep whatever "relationship" they had going.

But now it had happened again. Sherlock being crazy. But this time, Sherlock seemed to be upset with John.

It'd been just a normal day, and John had come home from work to see Sherlock waiting for him, sitting on his seat and staring at John. John's heart started to race when he realised that it was going to happen again. One of those unbelievably sexy stare-offs that left him frustrated in the best sort of way for the rest of the day. It's not that he didn't want more, because he did, but he wasn't sure if Sherlock was capable of more, so he didn't push it. For now, this was enough.

So he sat down on the settee and looked at Sherlock. He, just to get things going, bit his lip, and was pleased when Sherlock shuttered just slightly watching him do it. John just barely smiled, a seductive little smirk.

And then Sherlock had suddenly shot up, and completely out of nowhere, looked angry. "Damn it, John!" he yelled, and he stormed from the flat.

And now, you and I are back to the present. With John sitting in the dark room with the storm outside, marveling at how completely confusing Sherlock Holmes was. Sherlock had started the stupid staring thing in the first place, John only played along! And now Sherlock has the nerve to be mad at him? What the hell did he do? He's so frustrated, he's about ready to call Sherlock and tell him to sleep somewhere else for the night. Or else just go into his room and lock the door and stay there for a day or two.

But just then, Sherlock comes back in the door. He's holding a brown paper bag.

"John," Sherlock says, coming forward, bending down, and kissing his cheek.

John's surprised, enough so that he completely forgets his frustration with him. "What was that for?"

"Don't people normally do that in relationships?"

"Well—erm—yes, yes they do. But this isn't a normal relationship."

Sherlock looks distraught again.

"What did I do?" John sighs. Because what else is he supposed to say?

Sherlock looks over to him desperately. "Why can't you just understand? I don't want to say it! Or ask it, or whatever."

"Erm… I don't understand."

"Of course not!" Sherlock bellows. John doesn't have enough time to be angry that Sherlock's yelling again before Sherlock takes the brown paper bag in his hands and dumps it on John's lap.

And John gapes. And gapes. You probably process what Sherlock's dumped on him faster than he does.

It's a pile of lubes and condoms. Different varieties, flavours, sizes.

"John, I've been trying to tell you I want to sleep with you all this time, but you still haven't jumped on me."

John opens his mouth and closes it again in surprise.

But Sherlock just continues. "All the sexually stimulating staring, it was me trying to tell you what I wanted, but you weren't doing it. Though that was nice too. But I realised when you came home that if you don't have me tonight, I'll die. Really, I will. So do you get it now?"

John spends another moment staring at Sherlock in awe, but then what comes next is just natural. He jumps up and thrusts his whole body against Sherlock, kissing him hard and sending both of them into the wall, where Sherlock's back thuds hollowly. They rut against one another and John can't believe he's kept himself from doing this all this time.

And yes, maybe Sherlock's a madman, but John decides, as you did a long time ago, that their relationship is meant to be, even if it's confusing most of the time. He can figure out everything else later. For now, all he needs is Sherlock.

So, reader, here is the story of how John Watson and Sherlock Holmes really got together. There's a lot more to it than this, I can assure you. Maybe, if you ask really nicely, I'll tell you some more. I'll even tell you about exactly what you want to know about, if you ask for it. Their sex, their first real date. Sexual or romantic, it doesn't matter to me. I only care what the reader wants to hear. So if you want anything in particular, please, say so in a review. You've been great company and I'd be only happy to show you what you want to see.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it as much as John and Sherlock are enjoying each other right now—because we are still standing in the living room with them as they snog heartily. It's okay. They can't see us anyway.