-First attempt at Johnlock!-
"Why did you want to know?"
John frowned, confused, watching Sherlock's back and wondering if this was some other game. Who plays two simultaneously?
"Know what?" He said, taking the bait, still following behind him as he sped down the street.
"Whether I had a boyfriend or not," he said simply, still not looking at him as he spoke, stepping briskly down the cool street.
"I, um, I wasn't trying to imply that you were—"
"I was just curious, I suppose," he said quietly. "I already told you, I'm not—" Suddenly Sherlock turned, stopping in his tracks and causing the doctor to skid to a halt.
"Don't you think labeling sexuality is absolutely pointless?" He challenged.
"I, uh, I don't know. Never thought about it, I suppose," he said calmly. Sherlock stared at him, eyes glowing but his expression was otherwise unreadable.
"You should," he said softly. John looked back for a moment, not bothering to try and understand what he was thinking.
"Why?" He said, challenging him, testing. The detective smirked.
"Because you might be surprised at what you find."
He continued walking, not mentioning the subject again for some time.
"John, come here," Sherlock said stoically, lying on the couch, eyes closed. John sighed from behind his laptop.
"Never mind why, just come here!" He barked irritably. John rolled his eyes and stood, trudging to him, trying to walk with purpose.
"What?" Sherlock sat up, standing so quickly he almost toppled him over. John winced, bracing himself for a fall, eyes wide when it didn't come. Instead he found himself being steadied by Sherlock's hand holding the small of his back, looking at him.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" He whispered.
"An experiment," he said, equally as quiet.
"Don't speak," he commanded, "you shouldn't need to for this." Slowly, very slowly, the detective leaned forward, studying the doctor's lips for a moment, knowing John was still confused as to what was about to happen.
"I said don't speak." He was so incredibly close to his face John could feel his eyelashes on his cheek.
He wasn't sure why he was surprised when their lips met. He knew it was coming. Maybe he didn't expect the lips of someone so cold and distant to have lips so warm and soft. It was different than kissing a woman, much harder and controlling, like the embrace they were caught in. One hand cradled his cheek, pale, slender fingers calloused from violin strings, the other fisted in his jumper.
He kissed back after a moment, his hands desperate to clutch something other than the flesh of his own fists. His fingers snaked into Sherlock's hair, feeling the thick locks meld so easily, their lips still touching like they were meant to be.
He was gentle, unbearably so. That's what surprised him the most, that and how much he never wanted to be apart from those soft, sweet lips he'd never dreamed of touching.
Sherlock's mind was reeling, trying to rationalize what was happening not to his mouth, but to his heart. New emotions were bombarding him, ones that had been dormant for some time that he was being forced to address now. He'd never felt this before, not for anyone and certainly not for a doctor he'd known less than a year. However for some reason kissing him felt...right. He wanted this, in fact he never wanted to be away from him again. He smelled like detergent and aftershave, tasted like something much sweeter than any candy he'd ever sampled. And here was John. Sweet, gentle quiet Dr. John Watson.
And all the while they were still kissing, still tangled together without any resolve as to when they were letting go. It deepened, twisting and needling itself into their chests. Becoming something much more than a simple kiss.
"Wait," John breathed, forcing them apart. "Wait, what, why? Why now?" He looked confused, bracing himself for any sort of answer. Sherlock stared at him, searching for the words, knowing they would all flush out at once regardless of what he did.
"Every time I try to focus on my work I find my mind wandering to you. Your face, or mouth, or voice; something to do with you and I can't control it. And that never happens, John, never, do you understand that?" He continued speaking without pausing for John to answer. "You're invading every part of my mind and the only way for me to surpass that is to act on it, to be close to you. Then and only then can I solve this case, don't you understand?"
John looked at him, moving slightly further away, brow furrowed. "So you're doing this so you can think, not because you want to."
"I didn't say that."
"That's exactly what you said!" He twisted out of his arms. "Did you ever think I…do you know what just happened when—"
"John, I know you're intelligence is average but don't be an idiot," he said, pulling him close again. "I'm not kissing you because you're interrupting the case, I'm kissing you because the case is interrupting my thoughts about you," he sighed, looking skeptical. "Do you really think some stupid serial killer is more important to me than you?"
"You always said you were married to your work," John said softly.
"John," he said, smirking. "You're boring me."
The doctor sighed, grabbing his collar and crushing their mouths together again. Sherlock held him fast, letting the bodies and the murders and nagging Lestrade and Anderson's stupid face out of his mind to surround his mind in what it really wanted. Sweet, gentle, quiet Dr. John Watson.
"Sherlock?" John whispered, mouth just a breath away. "Have you ever kissed anyone before?"
Something changed in the consultant's eyes, something that made him look younger and even, though it seemed impossible, vulnerable.
"No," he said, never blinking, swallowing. "I haven't, actually."
John was cynical, the realization hitting him. "So I…I was your first kiss?"
"Yes," he said simply. "I thought that was obvious…" John touched his face.
"You really are a virgin." It wasn't a question. Sherlock nodded, that same eerie vulnerability present. John kissed him again, softer, gentler than their mouths' prior encounters. "There's nothing wrong with that. You know that, right?"
"Culturally speaking it seems to be a bit…pathetic," he mumbled. John shook his head.
"Stop listening to Mycroft," he smiled a bit. Sherlock frowned, a spark of anger as he spoke.
"Listen to Mycroft? I would never listen to that id—" Another kiss.
"Sherlock," he said steadily, giving his own smirk. "You're boring me."
The genius succumbed again, deciding to lose himself and stay lost in this little world that consisted of only him and John.
I rather like it here, he thought happily. Much more appealing than that overcrowded palace.
They didn't hear the door open, or Mrs. Hudson's little gasp followed by a giggle as she promptly left. "I knew it."
-Tell me what you think!-