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John and Sherlock walked down the streets of London, just two colleagues... Yes, but it was more than that. Flatmates? True enough, but that wasn't quite right. Lovers? Never, even if they had been mistaken as such many, many times. Friends? It still felt off, but it would have to do.
John and Sherlock walked down the streets of London. Friends, flatmates, and colleagues, only the latter suddenly seemed to matter. Without notice, Sherlock shoved John down an alley and up against a cold, brick wall.
"W-what are you doing?" John muttered, his breath forming a cloud of mist in the cool night air.
"Shhh!" Sherlock replied quietly. "We're being followed."
"W-w-we are?" John shivered, though whether it was caused by the cold or the idea of being followed was unclear.
Sherlock stepped closer, their bodies touching. "Don't you ever pay attention?" he asked, his breath warm on the doctor's face.
"I... I guess..."
"You're lucky I'm here, John."
John was shocked at the accusation. "No one would be following me if it wasn't for you! If someone is following us, it's your fault."
Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"And, I can handle myself," John continued. "I made it back from Afghanistan alive and well, didn't I?"
"Well, it depends on how you define alive and well, I suppose." Sherlock scoffed, "You got shot and came back with a psychosomatic limp."
"That's a low blow-"
"A psychosomatic limp which I cured. You're welcome, by the way."
John wrap his hand around the loose tail of Sherlock's scarf. "You're absolutely insuffer-"
Sherlock quickly darted in and pressed his lips to John's. As much as John wanted to pull away, his body fought him. He wanted to push Sherlock back, ask what he thought he was doing, maybe even hit him... but he, instead, found himself reciprocating. Something felt right as John bit lightly at those lips he had admired for so long. He had watched brilliance fall from them time and time again, and he always marveled at it. It never got old. Still, that moment... that kiss... it was the best thing John had ever witnessed Sherlock's lips doing.
When they parted, John just stared, Sherlock's gaze giving off more heat than was necessary to counteract the cold surrounding them. Steam rose between them as their respiratory rhythms synced, their breathy puffs of vapor colliding with one another. Suddenly, John realized Sherlock had only kissed him to conceal them from their clandestine pursuers. He felt incredibly stupid for having thought... well... it didn't matter what he thought.
"Are they gone?" John asked, still breathless from their exchange.
"Are who gone?" Sherlock replied.
John had never seen his... friend... look so genuinely confused. "The people following us."
"Oh! Them! Right." He glanced away, pretending to check. "Yeah, they're gone."
John slowly placed his hand on Sherlock's chin and drew the detective's gaze back to his face. "There were people following us, weren't there?"
"J-John... I'm not good at this sort of...."
John slid his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him in and kissing him again, only deeper, more passionately. Sherlock's lack of resistance told him everything he needed to know. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls as their tongues wrestled playfully with one another.
Usually so strong, stoic, Sherlock let slip a soft whimper as John tugged at his dark, mahogany locks. He melted into John, helpless in his arms. Helpless? It was a feeling to which he wasn't yet accustomed, but he thought he could get used to it... on occasion.
John pulled back. "You're brilliant," he whispered, his mouth still millimeter's from Sherlock's.
"How?" Sherlock's face contorted with confusion. "I can't believe I just asked that," he said, thinking out loud.
"I've never been able to work out how to make that happen, but you... You're just brilliant."
"It wasn't so hard. You're an easy mark," Sherlock smirked. "Elementary, my dear Watson."
John sighed. "Home?"
Sherlock's eyes glinted mischievously. "HOME." He grabbed John's wrist and nearly dragged him out of the alley and up the street.
Soon, their pace had slowed to a leisurely walk... Doubts and fears out of the way, they had all the time in the world. Sherlock timidly nudged John's hand with his own, his long, slender fingers interlacing themselves with the doctor's. He looked at John, biting nervously at his bottom lip, unsure of how "normal" human interaction was meant to work.
John bumped Sherlock with his shoulder and smiled, silently answering the unspoken question. He was pleased... very pleased.
John and Sherlock walked down the streets of London... Lovers? Soon, but still more. Soulmates... forever.