January: Emotions, John, emotions.

A loud bang was John's first signal that it was time to get up, inevitably caused by another of Sherlock's experiments. He turned to his left to face his alarm clock and, after hitting it with his fist, the numbers blinked blue to display the time of 06:14am. He groaned, wasn't it a little early for explosive science experiments? Wasn't it a little early for anything?

He turned back and pulled his duvet up to shield him against the cold morning air. It seemed there was a problem with the heating… again. Last time it was due to Sherlock needing one of the key pipes for another experiment, something to do with the rusting rate of iron in order to test the percentage of water in blood. John had no doubt that this time was no different in the fact that Sherlock had something (everything) to do with it.

Closing his eyes, he started to drift back into a lazy sleep but it was only another five minutes before a loud bang once again interrupted him.

He groaned again and to much protest, managed to drag himself out of bed. There was no point trying to sleep whilst Sherlock was doing something like this. With the same level of grace as a brain-dead zombie, he changed out of his bed clothes into his warmest jumper and a pair of old grey jeans. Stumbling down the stairs, he met the sight of Sherlock in his tight purple shirt and an equally tight pair of black trousers meticulously studying a collection of flasks and bottles. His eyes glanced over the detective, and he found himself once again pondering exactly the emotion he felt towards the man.

Of course, they were friends, but was there something more. That tingle in the back of his throat, could that be developed into something beyond just best-friendship? He closed off the subject. Going on all he knew of Sherlock, it seemed he was asexual and so there was no point thinking over distracting thoughts like that. It could only ever taint their current relationship and so he pushed it aside.

"The heating Sherlock?"

"Hmm.."

Sherlock glanced up, apparently only just noticing John's presence. He quickly delved back into his work only muttering;

"Broken."

"Yes, Sherlock. How?"

"I required the tap cap."

John shifted his gaze to the flasks and bottles sat on the table in front of Sherlock and noticed that sticking on one of them was a familiar looking metal object. Shaped like an enlarged thimble, the tap cap was sitting over the neck of a bottle filled halfway with a fizzing, green solution. He sighed.

"For God's sake Sherlock. Couldn't you have used something else?"

"It had to be metal. I was unable to find anything else which fitted and had that key property."

John sighed, there was no point trying to counter him and even less point removing the cap, that would only encourage more disruption of the house in a search for something similar. He moved past Sherlock to the single, clean counter and started to prepare some tea. Retrieving a spoon, a cup and a saucer from the cupboards and turned towards the fridge when-

Sherlock stood plain-out staring at him from over the table.

"Errr… Sherlock."

"Yes John?"

His gaze was somewhat unsettling and just plain un-moving. Time stretched on as the eye contact seemed to overwhelm John, eventually causing him to stare at the floor and speak into the silence.

"What are you doing?"

"Staring."

"Right, right, of course…"

John shuffled his feet but still stayed where he was whilst Sherlock's eyes did not waver.

"Any particular reason why?"

"I… err… I don't know." Sherlock mumbled, his gaze dropping with the unfamiliar uncertainty in his own voice.

John noticed it too, the gloating confidence for a second seemed removed from Sherlock, an incredibly rare occurrence. He watched the dark-haired man as the eyes which shimmered with a million colours skimmed lazily over the equipment set up in front of him, unfocused, disconnected. He looked the man up and down and noticed his hand was shaking on the table, just like John's used to. Concerned, John walked round the table past the fridge so he was just in front of Sherlock.

Gently, he placed his hand on top of Sherlock's. The hand beneath his immediately stopped shaking and Sherlock's face shot up to look at John's.

"Sherlock, why were you staring at me?"

"Emotions, John, emotions."

"Emotions? What emotions?"

"It's all far too confusing, distracting and quite frankly infuriating."

"Sherlock what are you talking about?"

Sherlock violently leapt up and started to pace his way to the living room, moving his hands to his head. John was worried, this was strange, very strange. What was he talking about – emotions? The only emotions Sherlock normally talked about were emotions which could contribute to a suspect's motive in a case. He walked up to his friend's pacing form and used both of his hands to hold Sherlock's arms and therefore make him stay still.

"Sherlock, tell me. What are you talking about?"

Sherlock struggled against the soldier's grip but to little result and so was forced to look up into his face. The face which had been sculpted with years of aging, violence and emotion, the face which stared at him this minute. That face which he had become so accustomed to seeing every morning, every day, every night. For a full year now, the face which had constantly been at the forefront of his mind but now… for different reasons. For emotional reasons. Surely the worst kind?

Instinctively, the detective leaned forward quickly, almost knocking John's nose. It was in a flash of sparks that their lips connected in a simple but passionate kiss. Their lips fitted deliciously well together, with both of them offering equal pressure to the kiss.

John almost jumped out of his skin, out of everything, he did not expect that, could never have expected that. That didn't mean he didn't want it though. Didn't mean he hadn't wanted it for a long time.

On Sherlock's side, he was even more surprised by his own action than John was. Never in his life had he willingly participated in a romantic or sexual act until now. But he had initiated it, so that must mean he wanted it. He scanned over his thoughts, over the feeling of John's lips against his own, yes, he definitely wanted it and everything that came with it.

Sherlock was the first to back slowly away from the kiss and as he looked into John's eyes, he was so overwhelmed with that alien emotion that he had apparently been blocking for a long time, he was forced to look down.

"I'm sorry John, that wasn't appropriate. I should not have done that without consulting you first."

"Sherlock"

John took one of Sherlock's hands in his and used the other to push up Sherlock's chin so he could look at him.

"I'm glad you did it. But, perhaps we should talk about it seeing as I had assumed were asexual."

Sherlock smiled very slightly, but even that expression was slightly odd to him.

"Well so had I until now."

"But you do want this?"

"Yes."

John smiled and pressed another calmer and more gentle kiss to Sherlock's mouth.

"So do I."

Authors Note: This FanFiction is a belated birthday present for kandyblood who is a brilliant writer and doesn't even know it!

I hope you're enjoying it (more chapters to come!) and any reviews really are greatly appreciated!