Work Text:
Sherlock realized he had a massive crush on John in a decidedly un-romantic way. John was working overtime at the surgery and Sherlock had been pacing the flat, counting the minutes until John returned. There wasn't a case on; he could have worked on experiments or watched crap telly, but he couldn't get his mind off John and it was awfully distracting. If he started an experiment, he thought of how John would react to the probable mess. If he watched crap telly, he thought of how didn't John like this show and should he record it but it wasn't that good an episode, really, and it was all quite frustrating. His mind was a war zone. Sherlock dug his hands through his hair and groaned audibly. What was this feeling? He had never experienced it before, it was all-consuming and--
Oh.
Was this. . ?
It was certainly very possible. Before his judgement could stop him (it seemed to have left with his ability to focus) and he tapped out a text to John.
What does love feel like?
SH
And a moment later:
John, please reply. This is urgent.
SH
Hold on. It's hard to describe.
Sherlock nearly threw his phone at the wall. He needed an answer now. His phone buzzed.
It's like an all-consuming feeling, like you can't keep your mind off them. It kinda drives you crazy if the other person doesn't know. Why?
I may be experiencing it.
SH
John opened the text and was immediately thrown off guard. Sherlock? In love? With whom? Not him, certainly. That was too much to hope for. Molly, maybe? Unlikely.
With who?
Sherlock recieved the text and brushed the question off. How was he supposed to deduce over text?
When will you be home?
SH
About ten minutes, why?
Sherlock didn't respond.
-
Ten agonizing minutes later, John burst through the door.
"Sherlock? Why didn't you respond?" He peered into the kitchen, where Sherlock was conducting some kind of experiment.
"Can't deduce over text," he replied. He had only set up the "experiment" to make it look like he hadn't been all but ripping his hair out all day.
"Why would you need to-- oh." John went slightly lax.
"What 'oh,' John?" Sherlock stood up, nearly knocking over the chair. When John didn't respond, Sherlock repeated himself. "What 'oh'?" He stared at John, but he couldn't deduce. He saw John's bright eyes, old jumper, blond hair that looked very soft-- but he couldn't deduce. It scared him, but at the same time he relished what it must feel like to be normal.
"I'm not totally thick, you know," John said. And then he was across the room, pressing into Sherlock's personal space. "Sherlock," he said very seriously, "Am. I. Wrong?" Sherlock shook his head, just minutely, and John's hands were curled into the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to John's height. John's thin, chapped lips pressed against his firmly, and he flailed a bit, not quite knowing what to do. Eventually, his hands found their way to John's hips and John's had cupped his face. Against his will, he moaned a bit into the kiss. Unfortunately, John's lips left his dangling in space.
"Good?" John asked, gazing into Sherlock's dilated eyes.
"Don't be thick, John," Sherlock replied, pressing his mouth back to John's.