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Sherlock has been ranting for at least an hour at an unresponsive John. He doesn’t even have anything specific to rant about, he’s just extremely bored, but John’s been focused on his laptop all day and Sherlock wants his attention back on him. He pouts, annoyed, everytime John simply hums in response. The more he’s ignored, the more he’s determined to keep talking.
Luckily enough, he has a lot of material in terms of complaining. He’s prepared to talk for hours if that’s what’s necessary to make John focus on him and not his blog. He’s already covered the incompetence of the yard and everyone of its members, the total lack of creativity of the most recent criminals they have caught, and soon he starts to rant about Mycroft and the new stupid vigilance system he has set up to monitor him.
“I just don’t see why on earth he needs to be so agonizingly controlling,” he says with a groan, resting his head exasperatedly on the back of his chair. “Why does he even care that much about what I do with my life? He hates me!”
That seems to finally get a reaction out of John, who lets out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, he doesn’t hate you.”
Sherlock huffs sarcastically in response.
“No, really. Of course he doesn’t hate you. He thinks you are,” he searches for a word to finish the sentence, obviously just trying to make him stop blabbering, “... awesome.”
Sherlock turns his head to look at him with a frown. John seems just as weirded out at his own choice of words as Sherlock is.
“He thinks I am awesome ?” Sherlock mocks. “ My brother ?”
“Definitely!” John says, still looking down at his laptop.
Sherlock rolls his eyes. If he was going to make things up he could at least put some effort on the lies, honestly.
“How?” he asks, looking up at the ceiling again, sinking even more on his chair. Even if Mycroft had actually said something about him, he wouldn’t care at all. But the fact that John really thinks he's going to buy such a half-baked story is quite offensive. Now he’s going to give a fight.
“Well…” John starts, much to Sherlock’s surprise. Is he really going to keep it up? “He once said that-…” he stops to think for a second, then completes, “that there’s nothing like your smile. Not your smirks, your actual smile, sort of subtle and perfect and… real .”
Sherlock narrows his eyes, frowning at the ceiling in confusion. He turns his head back to John. “What?”
“He said,” John continues, his eyes fixed on his screen, “that you never knew how wonderful that smile could make someone feel.”
Sherlock’s frown deepens. He opens his mouth to ask what the hell he is talking about, but John keeps going.
“And he knows whenever you get bored you doodle smilies all over the bloody walls.” A tiny smile threatens to appear on the corner of John’s mouth.
Sherlock looks over John’s shoulder at the smiley sprayed over the wallpaper, then he looks back at John. “... Uh-huh?”
“And he noticed,” now John can’t suppress the smile that forms on his lips, “that you still solve the riddles that they put in that Strand Magazine, even though you insist on saying they’re too easy for you.”
Sherlock straightens himself slightly on the chair, about to protest, but he’s stopped again.
“But he keeps it all inside his head, you know… What he sees, he doesn’t say. He can’t.”
Okay , Sherlock thinks, what is this all really about? The joke is only getting more and more strange.
“And even though he really wants to, he just can’t talk to you. He can’t find the way…” John lifts his head slightly in his direction, without actually looking at his face, before he looks back down at his screen. “But I can assure you, he’s always said: If I could just tell him, everything I see… If I could tell him how he’s… everything to me… ”
Sherlock’s brows immediately raise in surprise, his heart skipping a beat. What is John doing? Of course Mycroft wouldn’t say something like that. Not to John, in any case. What is he trying to do? What is happening right now?
“But we're a million worlds apart,” John continues, eyes on his keyboard even though he hasn’t written a word since he started talking, “and… I don't know how I would even start.”
Sherlock feels his heart beating way too hard now. Honestly, what’s all of this? Is John making fun of him? Why would he do this?
“If I could just tell him ,” John repeats, his voice lower, almost a whisper. Sherlock watches him swallow.
There’s a moment of silence in which Sherlock fears his heartbeat could be heard. John has not looked at him at all during his little speech, which honestly only makes Sherlock more uncomfortable. He’s not sure what to say now, but before he can think of something, he hears himself asking, “... Did he say anything else?”
John suddenly looks up at him. “A-about you?”
Sherlock finds himself quickly looking away. He can’t believe he just tried to go along with this ridiculous charade. “Never mind, I don't really care-”
“No, no- just- he’s said so many things, I'm just trying to remember the best ones…”
Sherlock has to suppress a snort. Sure , he thinks.
“So, um- He thinks that, uh-… you look really pretty-”
He immediately looks back at John, who clears his throat.
“That it looks pretty cool ,” he corrects himself, “the way you style your hair.”
Again, John grimaces, embarrassed by his own choice of words. Sherlock lowers his head, trying to hide the sudden, uncontrollable smirk on his face. “Does he, now?”
John lets out an awkward chuckle before continuing, “And well… he wonders,” he lets out a small, fond laugh, “how you learnt to dance like all the rest of the world isn’t there…”
Something inside Sherlock’s chest melts, hearing that, and the smile on his face starts to fade.
“But yeah... he keeps it all inside his head. What he sees, he just doesn’t say,” John repeats.
Sherlock looks down at his hands, his heart pounding in his ears. This has to stop. John is taking the joke too far. If this keeps going on, Sherlock’s heart might just break. This has to stop now.
“If I could just tell him,” John repeats, unaware of the growing fear building in Sherlock’s stomach, “tell him everything I see… If I could tell him how he's everything to me…”
Sherlock looks at him, seeing how visibly nervous he is. Seeing John like that, he can’t bring himself to stop it after all. Instead, he completes, “ But we’re a million worlds apart …?”
John flinches slightly, hearing him say it, before standing up and turning to the window, his back to Sherlock. “And I don't know how I would even start…” he continues. “If I could tell him…”
Sherlock stands up too before even realizing it. He shouldn’t encourage this, he really shouldn’t, he knows he’s going to get hurt. But he can’t help it. He wants John to keep talking, he wants to believe what he’s saying is real, just for a moment longer.
“But what do you do when there’s this great divide?” John asks with a weary chuckle. Sherlock’s not sure if he’s even pretending to quote Mycroft anymore.
He steps just a bit closer to John, feeling his whole body shaking slightly. “He always seemed so far away…” he whispers, more to himself than anything, but he guesses John believes he’s talking about his brother too, because he nods.
“And what do you do when the distance is just too wide?” John sounds so wrecked now. It’s such a strange and awful sensation hearing his voice break like that.
Sherlock bites his lip slightly. Maybe this is real, maybe he had misinterpreted John’s signals completely. Stepping even closer, he murmurs, “It's like I don't know anything…”
“And how do you say…” John stops himself, taking a few breaths before whispering, “... I love you?”
Sherlock freezes, just a step away from him.
John’s voice, which was so unsure just a second ago, gains a just bit of strength. “... I love you,” he repeats.
He sounds surprised at himself, lifting his head slightly. Sherlock’s heart beats so hard in his chest that he’s almost distracted by it. He starts to feel dizzy.
“I love you,” John says once more, a disbelieving smile on his voice.
Sherlock feels unable to breathe.
“I love…” He turns around, suddenly finding himself face to face with Sherlock. The surprise makes him whisper the last word, “…you.”
They stare at each other for a few moments, both of them completely stunned.
“… John,” Sherlock manages to say, his throat feeling too tight.
The sound of his name makes John blink, looking slightly away from Sherlock’s eyes. He swallows.
“… But we're a million worlds apart and-... I don't know how I would even-…” he says weakly. “If I could tell y-…” he trails off as he looks back into Sherlock’s eyes, “If I-…”
Sherlock tries to fight the tears forming in his eyes as he smiles shakily at John. He can’t believe how stupid they both had been all this time. He takes John’s face in his hands, drawing him closer.
“I love you too,” he whispers.
John lets out an amazed sigh before leaning forward to kiss him.