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It was opening night, and Sherlock stood behind the closed curtain, waiting. He held his starting position and patiently posed, lost in his own head while he waited for the curtain to rise. There was no reason for his thoughts to turn to one John Watson, but they did anyway. John had been in his thoughts often lately, and Sherlock was afraid he knew why. The two had struck up an unlikely friendship in the past year, one Sherlock had not foreseen, but was grateful for all the same. It had begun simply, with John asking Sherlock for help in their shared chemistry class. Sherlock was intrigued by the other boy, enough to agree to tutor him. What he found out was completely unexpected.
John Watson was absolutely fascinating. His bland, rugby-star, perfect student exterior hid a wicked sense of humor and a taste for adventure, both of which Sherlock greatly appreciated. In addition, John was kind. Such a simple trait, but one Sherlock had rarely experienced in his peers, especially in relation to himself. John was an unknown quantity, and Sherlock genuinely enjoyed being in his presence, which was more than he could say about everyone else that he attended school with. John began hanging around after his practice was over, waiting for Sherlock outside the practice studios. They would walk home together, sometimes stopping on the way to get dinner or a cup of coffee.
They lived in a similar part of the city, and ever since he found out they lived near each other, John had walked home with Sherlock every day. Sherlock sometimes brought John to the few crime scenes PC Lestrade called him about, and they poured over case files together for hours. The fact that Sherlock was a ballet dancer never bothered John, and none of his other team members gave him any trouble for it, at least not after Anderson started talking shit and the next day arrived at practice with a black eye that John said he knew nothing about.
He only asked Sherlock about dancing once.
"What's it like?"
"What?" Sherlock looked over to where John was sitting on his bed, both of them previously engrossed in a cold case file.
"Dancing. What's it like? You always seem looser after you dance, less tense. Is it just the exercise? Or is it more than that?"
"Dancing..." Sherlock paused, uncertain as to whether to give the answer he always volunteered, the one for people who asked out of politeness, not out of genuine interest. One look at John's face made the decision for him. "For me, dancing is like flying. Nothing else matters when I dance. I'm in complete control, and nothing else can touch me. There's nothing unexpected, nothing unplanned. Everything I do has a purpose, nothing is extraneous or irrelevant. Dancing is like kinetic art, and I am both the sculptor and the installation at once. It's complete, and it quiets my brain."
John stared at him, his face a mix of emotions. Sherlock thought he saw something that looked like awe, and quieted, unsure of how to respond in the face of John's silence. The quiet spread between them, tense and charged.
"Of course, it also helps that I'm the best dancer in the company."
John snorted and dissolved into giggles, the tension shattered and Sherlock smirking along with him.
Yes, John was intelligent, funny, and sweet, everything that made him a great and loyal friend.
All of which made him incredibly dangerous.
Sherlock realized too late that he was getting attached to John Hamish Watson. One day, the two of them stopped in their usual cafe on their way home, Sherlock ordering black coffee and John getting a hot chocolate with whipped cream. Sherlock had made an observation about the barista and their fascination with rubber ducks, and John had almost choked on his hot chocolate laughing. When John had come up for air, he had a smudge of whipped cream on the end of his nose. He appeared not to notice as he beamed at Sherlock with a grin as bright as the sun. Sherlock's chest tightened and he felt a soft smile cross his face as he watched John scramble to rub off the cream once Sherlock pointed it out to him. The premier thought going through his mind at that moment was "Adorable".
Once he actually registered the thought, he froze. Adorable? No, absolutely not. That was not how this was supposed to go. They were supposed to be friends, that was all. That's all that John wanted, that must be all that Sherlock wanted, he didn't want to mess this up and lose John-
"Sherlock? You alright?"
"Yes John," Sherlock forced a smile, "I'm just fine."
The rest of their walk home was fairly quiet, but the next day Sherlock was determined to make everything normal again. He forced himself not to act any differently toward John, any feelings he may or may not have aside. They continued together as the days and weeks went by, but despite Sherlock's efforts, he knew that something had changed. They were still very close, but sometimes when they were alone there was a tension between them, almost like a string being wound tighter, pulling the two together. Sherlock resolved to ignore it and continued acting normally, spending most of his time with John, even going to a few of his rugby games at his request. They were doing just fine as they were, there was no need for Sherlock to introduce his ridiculous feelings into it.
At least, until a week before the show.
The issue was, Sherlock desperately wanted to invite John to see him dance. He was proud of the show he was in, the other dancers had managed to be moderately competent for once. Sherlock wanted John to see what he had worked on for months, wanted him to see Sherlock be perfect, truly be brilliant, like John always claimed he was.
At the same time, he wanted John a hundred miles away from the production. Because if John watched him dance, it would mean that John would see him when he was most vulnerable. He would see Sherlock as he really was, absolutely certain only about his dancing. Most of all, Sherlock was afraid John would see him dance and in the aftermath, when Sherlock was not as in control of himself, immediately deduce the feelings Sherlock had been hiding from him for weeks. And then, John would leave. Because he couldn't want Sherlock like that, it was unthinkable. Not when John was lovely and kind and Sherlock was...not. In the end, the fear had won out, and Sherlock had been sure not to mention the show to John.
Which is why it made no sense for him to be standing, waiting for the show to begin, and have his thoughts drift to John, who was probably miles away.
However, these thoughts only lasted for a minute. Then the lights went up, and the curtain rose.
Then, Sherlock danced.
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When the show was over(flawlessly danced by all involved, what a miracle), the dancers stood on stage and took their bows. After he bowed, and while waiting for the company bow, Sherlock scanned the audience for a familiar face, even if he knew it was fruitless. The bright lights made it impossible for him to see anyone in the audience, but he tried anyway.
Once the curtain fell for the final time, he raced back to the changing room, and switched to street clothes quickly in order to beat the crowds out of the theater. While he was changing, his cell chimed with a new message.
Waiting for you outside - JW
Sherlock felt as though a weight had been lifted off his chest, and he felt an enormous smile break across his face.
He took the back way out of the building, through a maintenance door, not wanting to be swamped by the patrons waiting by the dancers' exit. As he rounded the corner of the block, he spotted John standing by the door to the theater, rugby jacket on over his nice shirt and tie, his left hand clenching and unclenching by his side. Sherlock couldn't contain his excitement and nervousness, and sprinted over to him, shouting, "John!"
John started at the sound of his voice, and turned just in time to see Sherlock skid to a stop in front of him. John gazed at him in adoration, both of them silent, before throwing his arms around Sherlock's neck and pulling him down for a tight hug. Sherlock froze for a second before returning the hug fiercely, the two of them standing in the street, completely disregarding the pedestrians around them. When the hug finally broke, John stepped back and demanded,
"When were you planning on telling me about your show?"
"Well, I...wait," Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "How did you find out? You don't follow ballet."
John stood straighter and scowled right back, "Since you wouldn't tell me, thanks for that by the way, I asked Mycroft why you were practicing more at the studio. He told me about the show, and he got me a ticket. Now, don't dodge the question. When were you planning on telling me? Or did you just not plan on telling me at all?"
"I didn't...I didn't think you'd want to come."
"What?" Now John looked offended. This was going terribly. "Why didn't you think I would want to go? It's something you love, and I love you, so of course I'd want to be there, you idiot."
"Well it's- wait, what?" Sherlock stopped, replaying John's statement in his head, uncomprehending.
John's face was stricken and pale, obviously regretting his word choice, "Well, shit."
"You love me?"
"Yeah, I-" John rubbed the back of his head, shuffling awkwardly, "I've been in love with you for...wow, must be months now. I thought you knew, and you were ignoring it. You didn't know?"
"No. I certainly didn't know."
"Oh well, now you do," John tried to smile again, but it was dim. "It's okay, if you don't feel the same way, I mean. We can still be friends, I don't want to make you feel awkward or anything. Whatever you're comfortable with-"
"John?" Sherlock stepped into John's personal space, forcing him to look up to meet his eyes. From this vantage point, Sherlock could see John swallow before he spoke again, as well as watch his pupils dilate.
"Yeah?"
"Shut up." With that, Sherlock took John's face gently between his hands, lowered his head, and pressed their lips together lightly. It was just a brush, barely a press, but it was as sweet as honey and pure as snow. For his first kiss, Sherlock thought it was going pretty well. Well, until John gasped and pressed back into the kiss, keeping it sweet but adding his own passion. Sherlock felt John's fingers wind their way into his hair, and moaned, opening his mouth for John, which added a whole new dimension to their kissing.
Whoa.
When they finally broke apart, John's mouth was red and his eyes were deep blue and shining. John coughed and said, "Well. That was certainly something. I take it you're not upset that I told you I love you?"
"Upset is not the word I'd use." Sherlock's voice was hoarse and deep unintentionally, but he would certainly use it if it kept bringing that hungry look to John's eyes. "Have I mentioned that I love you too?"
John laughed and pulled him in for another kiss, making Sherlock see stars. When they broke apart, John touched their foreheads together, keeping them close.
"Watching you dance was absolutely breathtaking. I'm...completely in awe of you. You beautiful, awkward, lovely creature. I'm so proud of you. You were wonderful."
Sherlock felt his face burn with a blush, but that was minor compared to the amount of love that swelled within his chest, and he nudged John's mouth into another kiss, as sweet as their first.
When they broke apart, Sherlock took a deep breath and said, "I didn't tell you about the show because I didn't think you felt the same way about me. And I was afraid that you'd be...bored, or just not like the show, or- or not like me after and I didn't think I could take rejection from you."
"Oh Sherlock." John pulled Sherlock down into another hug, tucking his face into the crook of where Sherlock's shoulder met his neck, and Sherlock buried his face in John's hair. "Sherlock, I could never be bored of you. Ever. You're the most amazing person I've ever met. That's why I love you."
They stood like that for while before moving apart, John slipping his hand into Sherlock's as they walked down the street, and Sherlock felt a blush rise to his cheeks again.
"So do you want to get something to eat? You probably didn't eat before the show, and it was hours ago."
"Yes, that's fine." Sherlock shivered, the night air was cool, and he wasn't wearing much, having left his jacket at home in his rush to get to the theater.
"Oh, here," John took off his rugby jacket and handed it to Sherlock with an expectant look on his face. Sherlock just stared at him, confused.
"Why would you give me your jacket?"
"Because you're cold, and I'm not. It's what good boyfriends do; you give your sweetheart your jacket when it's cold. It's basically rule number one."
Sherlock would forever deny that he squeaked when John mentioned 'boyfriend' and 'sweetheart'. "Are you sure you want people knowing that we're together?"
Now John was the one who looked confused, "Of course. Why wouldn't I? I love you, I'm not ashamed of it."
Sherlock couldn't contain his smile, and looked down at the ground. Not only did John love him back, but he wanted everyone to know he and Sherlock were together. He put on the jacket and brought the collar up to his face, trying to hide his giddy smile. It also helped that the jacket smelled like John.
"Hey, beautiful," John tugged on his sleeve and took Sherlock's hand again, "You okay?"
"Yes, John." Sherlock squeezed his hand back and started walking in the direction of the cafe, "I think I'm just...happy."
"Good," John reached up to kiss Sherlock's cheek, causing him to blush again, "I mean to keep it that way."