To be perfectly honest, I'm not entirely sure what happened.

I came home late that night. I was exhausted. You didn't have to be the world's only consulting detective to figure that one out. I don't know how bad I looked, but my hair was probably mussed from me tussling it so much to try to wake myself up. I don't think I was to the black-eye look yet, but I was getting there.

I had just walked into the flat. I was already pulling off my coat, muttering a greeting to Sherlock. I could swear he'd been sitting down in his armchair when I'd walked in, but suddenly he was right in front of me. I still had my coat half on as he shoved me up against the wall.

I wasn't exhausted anymore.

Well, I mean, I was. But I was suddenly a lot more alert with his body pressed up against mine, sandwiching me between him and the wall. I stared up at him with wide eyes and stuttered some confused question. He had this strange gleam in his eyes. Mischief, almost. But also aggravation. Determination. He looked so fed up with... something.

"I'm sick of dancing around like this," he growled.

I guess part of me understood right away. I just didn't want to believe it. Or be wrong, maybe. I don't know. I'd long accepted I lived with a man who was way too beautiful to be real. I'd also long stopped correcting people when they assumed we were a couple. But that was mainly because I was tired of correcting them. Let them think what they want. Doesn't change the facts. But I'd never actually thought of him that way.

At least. I wasn't willing to admit it.

"Wh... What do you mean?" I gasped. Yeah. I actually gasped. But, I mean, what was I supposed to do when there was a very prominent... something... pressed right up against my hip? I was not awake enough to deal with this properly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, but he didn't reply. Well, not with words anyway. Instead, he craned his head down and pressed a hot, burning kiss on my lips.

I really didn't know what to do for a moment. My brain went into overdrive. It was like there was a blaring siren going off, screaming "Wait no what how Sherlock lips oh what why warm hot body Sherlock lips lips lips Sherlock why Sherlock". And then the sirens stopped and I was kissing him back, wrapping my hands around to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair.

I have absolutely no idea how long we were standing there, making out like it was the end of the world. After however long it was, we pulled apart and I could only stare into Sherlock's wildly sparkling eyes. He grinned. It was a mischievous grin, granted, but it was still the most sincere and largest grin I have ever seen from him. I couldn't help but chuckle.

I never did ask what brought that on. I have since learned Sherlock seems to have a particular kink for me being absolutely exhausted so maybe that was it. Or maybe he really just had had enough. Or something else entirely. A combination? Really, it doesn't matter.

All that matters is I'm the happiest (and luckiest) man on the face of the planet.

A/N: Uh. Random urge to write this particular scene just sort of popped up... So. Yeah. o.O

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