Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. DAMN YOU MOFFAT AND GATISS.

John kicked the door shut behind him, and shuffled his way through the thin hall, the bags of shopping weighing him down. Suddenly he stopped, and his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. It was quiet. Too quiet.

He assumed Sherlock had just gone into one of his obscure, pondering silences that lasted for hours, and continued to struggle up the stairs. He contemplated trying to once again convince Sherlock to do some shopping, but he knew it was useless. It was too mundane, too ordinary for the great Sherlock Holmes.

Opening the door to the living room, John very nearly dropped all the shopping in surprise, when he saw the extraordinary sight before him.

Sherlock was sat in his very usual Sherlock-position (on the couch, wrapped in his blue gown with his eyes closed) but the rest of the room was, well, very un-Sherlock.

It was tidy!

John could only reach one conclusion.

"Has Mrs Hudson finally decided to be our Housekeeper after all?" He mumbled to himself, knowing Sherlock would pay no attention to him. He began to shift the shopping into the kitchen.

"No." Said Sherlock in a deep, distracted voice.

"Oh." John looked confused. "Then, um, how did it get so tidy?"

"I tidied it." He exhaled and opened his eyes, before turning his haze towards a rather baffled looking John Watson.

"You? Tidied? Isn't that a bit um, boring for you?" He asked, amused. "Not that I'm complaining." He quickly said, looking incredulously at the transformation. It wasn't exactly spotless-the walls were obscured by piles and piles of books, and strange specimens were still visible in various places, but you could move around, and there was actually space to put down a mug of coffee by the armchair.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, wrapping his gown defensively round himself. "I was bored. You weren't replying to me when I spoke-"

"I wasn't here-"

"-and I had nothing else to do."

"Oh, well, good. It's a big improvement from shooting the wall." He smiled. "I'm sure Mrs Hudson would approve."

"Yes." Sherlock glanced longingly over to a set of drawers which obviously contained the gun that he usually used to pass the time on days like this.

"Don't you dare get that thing out Sherlock!" John warned, taking the shopping into the kitchen and heaving it onto the table. He wasn't as fit as he used to be, he thought.

He pulled out a bottle of milk and braced himself for whatever horror could be in the fridge-he had encountered all sorts in this kitchen, from heads to eyeballs-and sure enough, he was not to be disappointed.

Sat in a small jar was what looked worryingly like a pickled toe. A human toe. He sighed.

"Another experiment?" John asked, turning to see Sherlock leant nonchalantly against the door frame, spinning the gun around his finger absent-mindedly. He had taken off his dressing gown and stood with his shirt not fully buttoned, revealing some of his chest.

"Yes. Well, it was, then it went wrong." He sighed, disappointed.

"Then why is it still in the fridge?" He asked, exasperated by Sherlock's ridiculous habit.

"I was thinking of doing something to annoy Anderson. I've not come up with a plan yet, I'm biding my time." He grinned maliciously to himself, still staring at the gun in his hand.

"Right." John nodded. He rolled his eyes, but secretly laughed. He actually looked forward to seeing the outcome of this particular experiment, so he pretended to ignore it.

John continued to put the shopping in to fridge, but stopped when he felt Sherlock's gaze on his back.

"Sherlock?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"Um, what do you want?" He asked, uneasy as he turned to see Sherlock's intense gaze staring down at him. The sun was quickly setting and the dim light from the window was blocked by his tall silhouette.

"I'm still bored." He said, his expression barely wavering from his terrifying glare.

"Well, um, I've got a lot of shopping to put away..." John joked half-heartedly, bravely staring back at Sherlock, but admittedly not quite as scarily as he did.

Sherlock stepped closer to John, and John could see something in his eyes that he had only seen once before.

Usually, Sherlock Holmes blocked himself off from human feelings. He showed no sign of anything other than determination and deep thinking. But one time, just one time, John saw something that, after getting to know Sherlock, surprised him more than any of the ridiculous things like heads in fridges, or reading someone's life in the way they walked or spoke.

He saw emotion.

The only time he had ever seen emotion was during one particular case. In this case, Sherlock had met a woman. The Woman. Irene Adler. John had seen some spark in his eyes when they were together. Love? And after he had lost her he saw something else. Regret? Grief?

Whatever these emotions were, Sherlock had quickly smothered them and hidden them away. And John was pretty sure he was the only one who had truly seen them.

The strange thing was, John thought, the way that Sherlock's show of emotion had affected him. He knew how unfeeling Sherlock was. He had told John already-he was married to his work. But When Sherlock briefly showed his feelings for Irene, John had felt something. Annoyance? Betrayal? Jealousy?

No, don't be ridiculous. Why would John be jealous? Of Irene Adler? How stupid! He was constantly having to tell everyone that they weren't a couple. He couldn't be doubting it himself, could he?

Definitely no doubts. It's not likes he found Sherlock attractive. Sherlock's hair...Sherlock's eyes...Sherlock's lips... Kissing Sherlock's lips...

No, John! No, no, no! Don't be stupid. You're straight anyway, since when have you been interested in men? Think straight thoughts.

But Sherlock...

No.

During the time in which John had got a little...lost, in his own imagination, he hadn't realised that Sherlock was slowly but surely edging his way towards John. John saw in his eyes a whole lot of confusion-he looked like he was carefully calculating how a murderer had killed a particular victim, or what a complete stranger had eaten for dinner the night before. Whatever he was thinking about, he was thinking about it very carefully.

And there was some caution there too-like the caution he had before saying or doing something in a situation which could result in the death of an innocent person if the wrong move was made.

"John." He said, his eyes focusing in on his.

"Sherlock." John coughed awkwardly.

Sherlock slowly leaned down towards him and whispered, "I'm really, really bored." Before closing the space between them and-

"Oh, am I interrupting, boys?" Came the flustered voice of Mrs Hudson from the doorway. She blushed a little at her badly timed entrance, but Sherlock span round and reassured her.

"Not at all, Mrs Hudson, John was just putting away the shopping." He said, before quickly swanning past her and throwing himself onto the couch with an audible thud.

"My, It's looking very tidy in here..." She muttered to herself, before tottering out of the kitchen and down the stairs.

John shook his head and quickly resumed putting the shopping away, taking deep breaths. Did that really just happen?

Did Sherlock Holmes nearly kiss John Watson?

Right, this is my first shot at any Sherlock writing, nevermind Johnlock. It's be great to hear some reviews! Should I continue or...?