Work Text:
1.
"Fantastic. Amazing. How did you do that?"
Sherlock Holmes looked in disbelief at the comment from "teamadeeverythingbetter" that appeared in his askbox. He had never received comments beyond the usual threats on his life. This was unprecedented. The detective has recently decided to move The Science of Deduction to Tumblr. Greg had mentioned it in passing, about it being the service that youths use, even adults. Therefore, logically, Sherlock Holmes started a Tumblr blog and began getting requests to "deduce me" by complete strangers and several cases of missing items that were too trivial for the local police force. This comment was left underneath a short point-formed description of the case of the missing jade bangle by a Madam Wang next door.
2.
"Hello! You must be Sherlock, then. I'm John." Sherlock stared at the boy in front of him, he looked like he was eighteen, two years older than Sherlock was. This jumper-clad, stocky, blonde boy was the owner of those comments that left Sherlock Holmes a bit breathless at the unadulterated amazement that seeped through every letter. After months of exchanging Tumblr messages, John Watson had decided to meet him at the Starbucks near Sherlock's school. There was too much data for Sherlock to concentrate when he missed John's outstretched hand and it was too late when Sherlock took his own out from inside his pocket. John looked mildly amused, instead of insulted like most of the people Sherlock met for the first time. They always looked at Sherlock like he was some sort of an alien, unused to the ways of this world. John didn't, John looked like he was trying very hard not to smile in a disbelieving way. Sherlock is going to find that he will get very familiar with this look of John's, and he will miss it very much when he would have to go without it a decade later.
3.
Sherlock swung and arm and pressed John against the wall beside him, hiding both of them from view as he whispered almost inaudibly. "There are three of them, John, we wouldn't be able to fight them even with your rugby moves." Collectively, they held their breaths as the footsteps of their assailants came closer to their hiding place. The footsteps stopped and there was some pacing before it headed in the opposite direction. Both boys allowed their deprived lungs to take in air again and as their chests rose and fell John began to realise that Sherlock's arm was still around his chest. He began feeling oddly warm and dismissively attributed it to the exertion from their narrow escape from their three drug dealing suspects. Three years on and John still look at his dangerous life as Sherlock's unofficial partner-in-crime with some trepidation.
4.
"WHAT the bloody hell were you playing at, Sherlock?!" John's face was red as he raised his voice. "You could have been killed or at the very least, seriously wounded. Why couldn't you have waited for me to give you the signal?" John interjected his words with a well-timed pound of his fist on the wooden tabletop of their shared flat. Sherlock looked resolutely silent, his lips were pressed so tightly together, as if physically restraining the words that were sure to flow if he allows it. This silence was viewed as John with further enragement. "SAY SOMETHING, YOU SOD!"
"FINE, John, what did you want me to say, John? Did you want me to say that yes, logically I should have waited for you but I found myself incapable of logic when you had a knife to your throat?" the dam had broken and there was no stopping the torrent of words currently being declared at the ground. Sherlock was looking firmly at everything but John. His next sentence was addressed to his hands. Softly, he added "I couldn't think, John, his knife was freshly-sharpened and at that moment all I could see was its proximity to your throat, might I add, the most vulnerable part of your body and yes, I behaved illogically but I will not apologise for reacting the only way I thought I could."
By this point, John's justified rage (the best kind) had been replace by a shock that left him silent and staring at his flatmate for the next five minutes.
5.
John was awoken by a loud explosion-like noise. He leaped from bed and ran down the stairs to see if Sherlock had killed himself in his latest experiment yet. Instead, he found his nose overwhelmed by a combination of scents that smelled like lavender, pine and strangely, strawberries.
"It's nothing, John. I am uninjured. You can return to bed." came a disembodied voice through the smoke.
Letting out a sigh that was both relief and resignation, John daringly asked "What was it that cause it this time, you mad wanker?" His words were punctuated with the affection that came unbidden. He had to struggle to hear the reply as it was muttered like he wasn't meant to hear it. Sherlock had been acting stranger than usual the past few days, secretively purchasing milk and six jars of John's favourite jam.
"The PH balance...wrong....added pine extracts....sugar reacted badly...infusing it is harder than I thought." Being well-versed in Sherlock after the years they have known each other since their youths, John deduced (Sherlock would be proud) that his flatmate was trying to make some pine-infused strawberry jam for his birthday.
"Listen, Sherlock, while I appreciate the effort, you really need to be more careful. I don't want to wake up one night and find your head in pieces on the kitchen floor. Bloodstains are really hard to get out of the wood." Shaking his head, John waved his hand around his front of his face in an effort to dispel the fruit-flavoured smoke. Failing to make any difference, John felt his way forward with his outstretched right hand. He stumbled two steps forward and his palm came in contact with what was presumably Sherlock's dressing gown-covered chest. He slid his palm up and jerked back when his palm swept past a distinctly male cloth-covered nipple. John fled, tripping over his own feet in his hurry to get away from Sherlock and his rapidly reddening face.
6.
John had thought about Sherlock, kissing and touching many times over the course of their friendship (not necessarily in that order). But when it finally happened, it was unlike anything his imagination had conjured up. It had happened after one of John's disastrous dates with women. (John, convinced that he was straight and definitely not attracted to his very male flatmate and best friend, decided that the best course of action was to get laid as quickly as possible.)
Frustrated that once again, his date was ended prematurely by Sherlock showing up at the restaurant and deducing John's female companion so ruthlessly that she was in tears. John fumed the entire taxi ride home and when the door of their flat was finally shut behind them, John opened his mouth to repeat his usual speech about Sherlock's inconsiderate behaviour but found himself pressed the wood by said flatmate and becoming aroused in a split-second.
"Wh-wh-at do you think you're doing." John was saved from having to pretend that he was anything by embarrassingly hard by Sherlock's lips covering his own and his body pressed against the door. The detective's combined scent of tobacco and shampoo was both familiar and exhilarating. John's body evidently caught on quicker than his mind for his hands came up on their own accord, his fingers tangling in the curls of the flatmate that he was kissing(!). Hips pressed together, John decided to thrust his hips, hard. Sherlock gave a growl at John's acquiesce and everything went a bit blurry after that.
7.
Lying in Sherlock's bed, John was blissfully counting the number of lines in the ceiling after one of the most powerful orgasms he has had in his life.
Straight? He thought. I am definitely not.