Another day, another case. Though John Watson wasn't invited to this one, even though he had managed to hear details from Mycroft, who had managed to get him during a break from surgery. After getting off work and finding his tiring roommate out, John worried for a brief moment, checked his phone for any messages, and then absentmindedly went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
Rather than even get started, he jumped back upon opening the fridge and found a plate of bones in an otherwise empty refrigerator.
"Sherlock bloody Holmes!" John shouted, slamming the door shut and kicking it a bit.
It had been a rather long day for John Watson.
"What is it now, John?" came the voice of the man in question.
"Bones! In the fridge! Where would you find bones in cold weather around here? We don't live in bloody Russia!" John shouted just as his roommate stepped into the kitchen with his age-old 'Problem?' look on his face.
"You're angry…" Sherlock pointed out.
"No shit, Sherlock! I've had a long day and you've been out and Mycroft called and wouldn't tell me any details and… and…"
"You were worried?" Sherlock prompted.
John's face fell into his hand as he gathered his erratic emotions up again. Once he was sure he was calm, he dropped his hand at his side and stared at his friend and colleague. "Yes. Yes I was. You could have contacted me in some way…"
"I couldn't. This Charles Milverton is blackmailing our client, so I had to gain access to his house. I was busy wooing his house keeper."
"Oh that's just—hang on. You've been 'wooing' this young lady?" John asked.
"Flirting. Whatever. Whatever I've been doing, I've managed to get secrets out of her about the layouts of the house. I'll terminate the liaison when I'm sure Mrs. Blackwell is well out of Milverton's twisted grasp."
"That's not fair," John stated.
Sherlock looked at him, in the middle of hanging up his scarf on the back of the door. "What's not fair?"
"Toying with this girl's affections. Allegedly."
Sherlock's eyebrow raised, ignoring the first thing John had said to him: "You don't believe I can flirt. Really, John. I'm just as human as you are. You remember the case of the Blind Banker when I—"
"Yes. Yes, Sherlock. I remember," John replied. "But that wasn't… that wasn't exactly flirting…" John said. "I'm sorry… without proof, I can't believe you flirted secrets out of this poor woman…"
Sherlock stared at his flatmate for a time, a fire in his eyes that John knew was only reserved for his work: brainwork, games, challenges.
"You're on," was Sherlock's sharp reply.
"I'm sorry, what is?" John asked, suddenly confused.
"I will show you how I did it with Ms. Davis…" Sherlock explained.
"What? How? Short of calling the girl over, I mean," John said, moving from the kitchen into the living room. He turned around to face Sherlock again, just standing in between the two armchairs near the fireplace. "That would make me feel a bit… dirty, watching you two."
"No… don't want that," Sherlock replied, smirking. "No. I think you're just perfect…"
John's eyebrows shot up, "M-Me?"
Sherlock advanced slowly, his hands going into his pockets, "Yes…" he purred. "Here's my wager. If I don't flirt your biggest secret out of you, then I'll throw out all experiments in the kitchen. The bones in the fridge. The liver soaking in alcohol on the counter in the corner… all of it."
"All of it?" John asked, taking the bait.
"All… of it," Sherlock replied, his voice still deep and rumbling, like a cat's purr.
John gulped, "You always deduce things about me, though…"
"Oh, but there is so much that I can't tell about John Watson because you hide parts of him so well," Sherlock replied.
John shuddered, "I… I do?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied, his eyebrows going up a little in surprise. "I'm fascinated by what you've hidden from me. I know your military history and your alcoholic sister, of course. I figured those out when we met. But there are some things about you..."
John gulped, "Huhm… like… like what?"
"You're preference for women, but your uncanny… obsession? With chronicling my works. Embellishing them, more like, but its still flattery at its best."
"You're a girl when it comes to flattery for your deductions, Sherlock," John shot back, feeling pleased with himself.
Sherlock blinked, taken aback for only a second before he chuckled lowly, "Touché."
"So I'm good at keeping certain things away from you," John said, taking a step backward when he realized how close Sherlock was to him. Sherlock only took a step forward at this.
"You're brilliant at it. What is it? Some guilty pleasure, perhaps?" Sherlock asked, studying the other male by flicking his eyes down and then back up into John's dark eyes.
John gulped, "Guilty? Yes. Pleasure? Only by myself, sadly."
"Sadly?" Sherlock asked, the purr returning to the all ready low voice. "I'm a… guilty pleasure for you, then?"
John had seemingly forgotten what they were discussing and blushed deeply, "Hang on… we were still on the…" he gulped, "I mean, on my blogging of our exploits?"
Sherlock smirked again, his mouth twitching a little as he answered, "Obviously."
John took another step backward and felt the armchair brush against his leg. He was trapped, unless he sat down, and then he was really trapped. "You think I'm… I'm obsessed with you?"
"It can't be deep admiration, John," Sherlock replied, eyes searching John's face and making the latter fidget at how close the self-proclaimed sociopath was to him. "Well… it can't be just that. There's something more. The way you drop everything for me. You'd kill for me. You'd sacrifice yourself for me. I'm not a good person, John. I've heard what the people down at Scotland Yard say about me. So why do you do these things?"
"How is that obsession?" John asked, a challenging look in his eyes. His heart was pounding. Sherlock really was good at flirting big secret out of people…
"You've been with men," Sherlock suddenly purred. "At least in high school and college when you were experimenting. You won't come out as bisexual, however, because none of the men you formed attachments with back then held your interest."
John blinked, "How… how do you know?"
Sherlock grinned this time, like he was about to laugh, "Harry told me."
John stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, "You're kidding."
"Yes and no," Sherlock replied. "You think I've gone this long without meeting your infamous sister? I called her, introduced myself. We went out for coffee. At least she was sober when I met her. She would only talk about you… warning me, I guess. But she hinted heavily at me that you had had bisexual tendencies in your earlier years. I deduced high school or college, because that's mainly when people experiment like that…"
"At least she… she told the truth about me. For the most part," John replied. "I haven't been with a man since. Haven't even been attracted to or have cared about one as much as I…" he stopped himself. "No."
"No, what?" Sherlock purred, now having the gall to put his hand on John's hip.
John shuddered, "I don't lose well."
"No, I know you don't," Sherlock replied, a chuckle behind his words.
"Sherlock, I…" John began, feeling Sherlock's breath near his lips, "I think I'm in love with you…"
Sherlock nodded, his smile fading as he leaned in to kiss the shorter male. As their lips touched, John threw his arms around Sherlock's neck, bringing them closer. All too soon, however, Sherlock felt his pocket vibrate and he broke away, giving John a meaningful look before checking.
When he looked up, he gave a pained look at his flatmate before he threw John's coat to him, "Lestrade. Milverton's been shot."