Author's note [Rachel]: Okay, so I know I updated yesterday for the first time in a few months, and this is just barely almost 900 words, but I needed to write something. So here. Yeah.

Chapter Five

John was lying on their black leather couch, breathing shakily and turning bright red as Sherlock silently painted him from head to toe.

"John, your involuntary twitching is making this rather difficult."

"Right, well I wouldn't want to complicate anything for you."

Sherlock sighed. "Are you mocking me?"

"I don't know, Mr. all-seeing eye of perfection. Am I? Why don't you deduce the tone of my voice?"

"You are," Sherlock said quietly.

"No shit, Sherlock." John rolled his eyes. However, he saw Sherlock's eyes begin to water and apologized. "Sherlock, you know I don't mean it. You are painting me while I'm naked. I can't exactly say I'm comfortable."

"Do I, though? Do I know you don't mean it? John, everyone mocks me, and everyone means what they say about me being a psychopath—even though they're wrong, they clearly mean sociopath—and I don't want to have to deal with it coming from you."

"You do realize you call me an idiot all the time?"

"I call Lestrade an idiot, too. It's a term of endearment. You'll notice I tend to call Anderson 'filth.' Obviously there's a difference."

"Obviously," John laughed, but then he got confused. "Why me and Lestrade?"

"Well, Lestrade is a close friend."

"And me?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "You are as well."

"So why didn't you move in with him?"

"He's married—Or he was."

"He got a divorce—no, nevermind. Later." John cracked his neck, sending a shiver up Sherlock's spine. John chuckled to himself. "Well, I must be something special, then, for you to put up with a boring, average guy like me by your side 24/7."

"You are."

John blinked. "I am?"

"You are special." Sherlock's eyes flicked toward John's and then back at the painting. He rested his brush on his easel and redirected his attention to the floor. "You are not average, and you are not boring. You are my friend, but you are much more than that. You are… for lack of a better word, my anchor."

"Your what?" John let out with a laugh.

"Shut up. You are the one who keeps me grounded when I begin to drift away from reality, the one who makes sure I eat, sleep, and breathe as much as I paint, and the one who makes sure I'm alive even when I feel like there is no point in continuing."

John stared at him, shocked. "Is there any particular reason you're telling me this now?"

"I feel as though my emotions may be compromised. I'm not sure why."

"Well, you're painting your naked anchor of a best friend in the flat you share together. For starters." What am I saying… What am I saying?

"But what does that have to do with my emotions? And since when do I have a heart in the first place?"

John's mind was racing. Could Sherlock actually have feelings for him? The idea seemed impossible, and yet… "Sherlock, have you ever been in love?"

"What?" Sherlock's head snapped up. "No, no, of course not."

"Well, then you obviously don't know what it would feel like if you were in love."

"No, I suppose not. Are you suggesting-"

"Yes."

"Oh. Do you have any evidence to back up your hypothesis?"

"No."

"Do you need any?"

"It might… help." John was becoming breathless.

"Right." And in one single, fluid movement, Sherlock was on the other side of the room, kissing John. He pulled away. "Is that sufficient enough to prove your hypothesis true, John?"

"I think we may need to run a few tests." John tugged on Sherlock's scarf, pulling him closer and closing the gap again between their lips.

They sat there together for a moment, completely still, simply exploring the way the other's lips felt. John slowly opened his mouth to continue kissing Sherlock, and Sherlock followed suit. "John, you do realize…" Sherlock said between kisses. "You're naked…"

John laughed. "Shit. Do you need me to go put some clothes on?"

"No, it's fine. I'm not bothered by it-"

"That's reassuring-"

"But I figured you might be."

"You're worried I might be bothered by kissing my flat mate while not wearing any clothes, but you didn't care about it when you were painting me?"

"Emotion, John, emotion. I wanted to portray your nervousness about the situation."

"Right…" And with that, John rolled on top of Sherlock and continued kissing him.