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It was a stormy night as John lie awake, flat on his back. He watched the ceiling as if it had answers, full to the brim with questions he wasn't sure just how to phrase. Sherlock was on his mind constantly, a whirlwind of thoughts and repressed feelings fighting to be known. It was too much, yet not enough; John had been holding all of this back for far too long, and he couldn't bear to wait.
Just as he had made up his mind to go and - he didn't really know, but do something - thunder cracked, the biggest one yet, and light emanated from his window, silhouetting the figure in the doorway. John sat up, a bit panicked, before the light returned to normal and he regonised the curly haired figure that was his detective. "Christ, Sherlock, you scared me," John muttered, sitting up onto his forearms. The detective ambled just through the doorway, not meeting John's eyes and fidgeting with his hands. "What's wrong, Sherlock?" he asked, worry seeping into his voice.
"This is stupid," Sherlock began, and John shook his head.
"It's never stupid. What do you need?"
Sherlock bit his lip, from what John could make out in the dim light, still not meeting the other's gaze. "It's the, um. The storm." John couldn't help but smile as the words came out of his flatmate's mouth, the childlike plea underneath the embarrassed adult.
But he could see how anxious Sherlock was, so he did his best to set his concerns to rest. "Hey, it's not stupid. Storms suck." He paused, not sure exactly what it was Sherlock wanted from him. "Do you want me to sit on the couch with you? We can -"
"No, I don't want you to have to get out of bed," Sherlock replied quickly, turning to leave though he'd barely made it through the door. "It was silly, I'm sorry. Goodnight, John."
"Hey, no, c'mere," John called in response before he really registered what it was he was saying. Sherlock looked at him in confusion, evidently wanting to know where 'here' was. John sat up all the way, patting the bed beside him. Sherlock's eyes widened, and John swore he saw his cheeks go red.
"Ah, no, thank you," Sherlock replied, tripping over his words a bit. "Your bed is hardly big enough as is -"
"Oh, come on, Sherlock, just get your arse over here." John smiled a bit when Sherlock snapped to at the commanding tone in John's voice, slowly climbing onto John's bed and crawling beneath the covers as John held them up. He took the side that was against the wall and he proceeded to press himself as far against it as was humanly possible, letting no part of his body touch John.
The doctor chuckled, adjusting so he was laying back down on his back so as to not be facing Sherlock; the nervous bundle beside him likely wouldn't appreciate it. "You can relax, Sherlock. This isn't the first time we've done this."
Sherlock scoffed, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. "I hardly think the two of us huddling under a blanket to try and keep from freezing to death really counts."
John shrugged, folding his hands over his abdomen. "Well, in that case, welcome to my bed." He hadn't meant for it to sound so teasing, but Sherlock groaned, burying his face in the blanket.
"Don't say it like that, John!" The other grinned, his heart jumping a little as Sherlock seemed to return his teasing manner.
John was quiet for a bit, trying to decide if he should attempt to comfort the detective. He seemed calmer now that he wasn't alone, but his whole body still went rigid when thunder clapped. Deciding to play into Sherlock's apologetic manner, he said, "We'll have to do this in your bed next time, I'm about to fall off the edge here." Sherlock made a small choking noise, and John had to keep from grinning, face strangely hot.
"Pardon?" Sherlock asked, voice coming out almost in a squeak, and John used one arm to gesture to the limited space.
"See? Like this, we're both at the very edge, and it's not working too well."
Sherlock nodded, John saw from the corner of his eye, before shyly speaking. "You can.. that is, you don't have to be that far away." John was definitely blushing now at the suggestion, although he'd orchestrated it.
"Would that help?" he asked sincerely, not sure if close physical proximity would be worse for Sherlock's nerves. A particularly nasty thunder strike boomed outside, and Sherlock nodded emphatically, reaching out to tug John's sleeve.
"Yes, please, get over here." John didn't have to be told twice, and shifted so he was much closer to Sherlock, close enough to feel Sherlock's breath on his neck. John was still lying on his back, Sherlock on his right side, facing him, and John doubted the inches he'd moved closer were doing much.
"Sherlock?" he asked gently, and the detective hummed. "Do you want me to hold you?"
Sherlock was quiet for a while, almost too long. John began to worry he'd overstepped just as he felt Sherlock nuzzle into his side. He inhaled sharply, heart beating out of his chest as he rolled so he was facing Sherlock, letting the man tuck himself into John's chest. His arm instinctively encircled the man's back, his other hand reaching to play with the curls at the back of Sherlock's head like he'd done it a thousand times before. He wished he had when he saw how this action immediately seemed to calm the detective, his shoulders relaxing more and a soft sigh escaping his lips.
"Better?" he asked quietly, and Sherlock nodded, nose pressing into the material of John's jumper. John's heart somehow beat even faster when he felt Sherlock's left hand take a fistful of the material, grounding himself to John. "Is there something you're not telling me?" John asked suddenly, realising this wasn't exactly typical behaviour for his flatmate. "About the rain, I mean."
Sherlock cleared his throat, somehow tucking himself closer, his leg almost between John's and his head tucked neatly beneath the doctor's chin. "It rained, in the place they.. kept me," he began, and John tensed a bit.
"When they hurt you?" He tried to keep the hostility out of his voice but didn't quite succeed, unconsciously pulling Sherlock closer at the thought.
"Yes," Sherlock replied softly. "It must have rained every day. It was the only thing I heard, for so long.." He trailed off, and John found himself blinking back tears. "It was almost comforting, then, the noise. Better than shouting or -" He didn't go on, but John knew, and his touches in Sherlock's hair slowed.
"But then, my sister, she -" He inhaled, clutching John's shirt tighter. "You, when she tried to.." he trailed off softly, and John's brows knit in confusion.
"That's why you don't like the rain?" John asked, trying to make sense of it. "Don't get me wrong, you don't need a good reason to be afraid of something. It's just, well." He shrugged. "It was just me."
Sherlock pulled back from John's chest, then, and the doctor's confusion grew. Sherlock only drew back enough to look John in the eye, a serious expression covering his delicate features. "John." The doctor nodded, listening. Some of Sherlock's courage seemed to drain, but he continued. "You are the most important person to me."
John blinked, shocked. Sure, it was how he felt about Sherlock, but he didn't expect..
"Sherlock?" John began, because suddenly it was too much to hold back. "I think I'm in love with you."
The words were out before he could stop them, before he could decide if there was a better time, place, or never at all. All he could do now was watch Sherlock.
The detective seemed to be frozen, not even blinking as he stared resolutely just over John's shoulder. It must have been a full minute before he blinked, once, and looked back at John with misty eyes.
Something in his gaze was enough to tell John, because the next instant, he was leaning forward just enough to kiss Sherlock's forehead. It was quick, simple, but John felt like it was something he was supposed to be doing all along. He leaned back, trying to gauge Sherlock's reaction, but the detective was already burying himself in John's chest, hugging him so tightly.
"John," he whined. "My face is all hot now." The doctor chuckled, resting his chin on top of Sherlock's head as the detective wrapped his arm around John's waist. After a moment of quiet, just when John began to suspect Sherlock was asleep, the man spoke again. "I think I love you, too, if that counts for anything." John's heart swelled, face breaking into a grin.
"It does, Sherlock. It counts for a lot." He felt Sherlock nod, huffing a little.
"This was not how I planned on telling you," he muttered, sounding slightly annoyed. John's brows furrowed.
"You - had a plan?" he asked, a bit incredulous.
"Obvious. I may be a sociopath but I'm not dull, and I knew I had feelings for you a long time ago," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "I just didn't know what to.. do about it."
"Well," John replied, smiling a bit. "You certainly never let on. I spent almost every night like this, wondering if I was going mad."
"Yes, John, I know. I could practically hear your brain working a mile a minute," Sherlock replied in his usual drawl, but with no real bite. "And, if it's any consolation, I'll go with you if you do go mad."
John smiled, mussing Sherlock's curls. "Mad together, then?"
Sherlock nodded, letting out a deep breath and settling further into the pillow. "Mad together."
They fell into silence, somehow not uncomfortably despite this being a night of so many firsts. John still had a million questions, and million things he needed to ask Sherlock, tell Sherlock, comfort Sherlock with. But he let them all rest for the night, content to hold his detective in his arms.
Mad together they may be, but together was good enough for John.