Johnlock Fanfic

One of them doesn't know if the other likes them, and the other is sure that the other is just shy and afraid to admit their feelings. But in the end, everyone's happy.


1. Chapter 1

In the flat of 221B Bakerstreet, things remained quiet as they had for the past couple of days. It was an odd thing, the silence. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson still occupied the flat, yes, but they hadn't received any cases that exceeded Sherlock's expectations. They were all simply boring. A missing dog, a treasure that wasn't marked by an X, and others that didn't catch even the slightest of his attention. It wasn't a very good week for them.


Sherlock sat curled in his comfy grey chair, his blue house coat pulled snug around him. He watched as John typed away on his computer, probably working on the blog that had somehow gained the attention of many. Sherlock couldn't understand how people read it, Lestrade out of all people. It seemed, however, that John enjoyed it. And for that he was grateful. Sherlock had this feeling sometimes, a weird feeling. It was like his heart ached, but in a good way. It didn't make any sense to him, and this fairly new feeling scared him. Was it happiness? He didn't know. Part of him felt bored without any work to occupy him, but another part was content to be here, at home, with his friend. His best friend.


"Sherlock?" John asked, taking Sherlock out of his trance.


"Hm?" he replied, squirming a bit in his seat to keep comfortable. He looked up at John.


"I said, do you want a cup of tea?"


Said? He had asked before?


"Oh. Yeah, I suppose that would be nice."


He lifted his head and fluffed his pillow, then rested his head down again, staring at John as he turned to the kitchen. He should be calling Lestrade, should be putting eyeballs in the microwave for an experiment, but something about looking at John kept him where he was, doing what he was.


Sherlock's eyes trailed up and down John's backside. He recently got a trim, Sherlock observed, and had been itching the back of his neck due to a tag on his shirt, a red spot visible. That meant that the shirt he wore was new. John always cut the tags off of his shirt. Letting his eyes travel further down, he found himself staring at his...behind. He pulled his legs closer to his chest, heart pounding. Bad Sherlock! he cursed himself. You don't look at your friend that way and jeopardize your friendship by thinking nasty thoughts. Sherlock scanned over John's legs, battling with that other side of him that was thinking thoughts that shouldn't be thought, and then all the way to the floor. That's what he stared at for a while to let himself cool down. He still couldn't figure it out, but he was positive he was going insane over something.


Sherlock was forced to sit up as he drank his tea, but that didn't stop him from taking up as much of the chair as he could. He brought his knees up so they rested right to his chest, his heels digging into the cushion. Sherlock held the mug with both hands, balancing it with his knees. It was warm and made him feel nice. John sat opposite him, absently sipping his drink as he stared off into space. Sherlock wondered what was on his mind. Was it Mary? No, no. John had decided to forget about her. Or at least store that part of his life into the way back of his mind, where it can lay in the cobwebs of unimportant issues. He didn't look sad, just distracted. Was he thinking about Sherlock? No, Sherlock thought. He wouldn't. Well maybe, but just as his friend. John probably didn't have that weird butterfly feeling he did. He was afraid that John might never feel that for him.


Sherlock was too concerned with what John was thinking about to worry about the term he had used. 'Butterfly feeling'? Since when was that in his vocabulary? It didn't seem as though Sherlock minded in the slight change. Maybe his usual technical terms couldn't quite place what he was feeling. Yes, that was it, he decided. He took little sips of his tea, and waited for John to say something. If he didn't, Sherlock would.


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