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Sherlock wasn’t sure when it had happened. All he knew was that the little inkling of whatever this was had grown tremendously over the past year and was threatening to swallow him whole. He didn’t like that idea. He hadn’t just woken up one morning and felt this way. It had started slow, his thoughts straying every so often. Soon he found himself thinking about him nonstop. He had gotten into the habit of studying his flatmate out of the corner of his eye when he was “pondering about a case”. Now, it was unbearable. John was becoming a distraction. He had to do something about it.
“John?” Sherlock’s voice echoed in the empty sitting room. He was aware of the silence in the flat and hoped that John hadn’t gone out. He would surely lose his confidence after thinking on this idea for a while. He had to do this now. Thankfully, John came traipsing down the stairs wearing his bathrobe, rubbing at his head with a towel and looking rather cross.
“What is it, Sherlock? I’ve got a date tonight and I’m already running late. Make it quick.” John’s statement caught Sherlock off guard. A date. Wonderful.
“Oh, what is this one like, then?” Sherlock asked under his breath, rolling his eyes, “The fact that you’re running late suggest you’re not all that interested.”
“Don’t start,” John warned, crossing his arms over his chest, “Look, I didn’t come down here to be deduced so unless you’ve got something important to say, I’m going back upstairs.” Sherlock was silent for a few seconds, cuing John’s departure. He was halfway up the stairs before Sherlock called him back.
“It is important. Very important, actually,” Sherlock muttered in an almost nervous tone. John shuffled back into the sitting room and sat down in his chair, eyebrow quirked. He didn’t say anything, simply waiting for Sherlock to continue as he looked on him curiously.
“John, we’ve been partners for a while now and I’ve been thinking…” Sherlock trailed off, a small bout of anxiety washing over him. What if John got upset? He couldn’t stand the thought of John moving out and never talking to him again. How absurd. “What I mean to say is…”
“Get on with it, Sherlock.”
Sherlock tented his fingers under his chin and thought for a moment. John was starting to look impatient.
”Sherlock,” John said sternly, licking his lips. That was the moment that Sherlock realised what he should do. He stood from his chair and crossed over to John. He leaned over him, his tall frame completely enveloping John in shadow.
“W-What… are you…” John tried, but was abruptly cut off. Sherlock leaned down and kissed John on the lips gently. When Sherlock broke away, his face was a bit flushed, pupils dilated, the pulse in his neck pounding rapidly. John knew those signs anywhere. He didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that.
“I love you, John,” Sherlock whispered, still so close, “Cancel your date.”