A/N: I am so sorry that I haven't updated. I've been busy with the new semester! Thank you for your reviews, and I think this one will be coming to a close, soon. I started a new fic, Flowers for Deduction (A Flowers for Algernon/Sherlock crossover), which will be the new focus for me. I am super excited for you to read it!
The Game Is Afoot!
Shut Up, John
Sherlock was anything but prepared to answer John's question. Instead of answering, he put his cold hand on John's, sighing exasperatedly. It was true, but Sherlock wasn't ready to admit that. He had hidden it so well—for so damn long that he had convinced some people (John, at least) that he was not, and would never be in love. Honestly, he didn't really feel that in any way John would reciprocate. John had a way of denying that he had ever felt anything for Sherlock. So, of course Sherlock had doubts. He doubted John's feelings for him like the proverbial blind man doubts the world in front of him.
Despite his doubts, Sherlock began weaving his reply; slowly at first, then his pace quickened as he became sure of himself. "John, you have been my companion for a long time. So if you ask me if I truly love you, the only possible answer could be yes. I do. I know that you do not love me, and I have accepted this fact. You do not have to reciprocate, and you can leave, if you want, but I care about you. That is what you should know. I cannot stop having feelings for you—I know this because I have tried so hard to forget this feeling. I also know that I cannot make you love me. This is a painful, yet inevitable thing. I am sorry that I have put this on you."
When Sherlock finished, he felt John's eyes on him. He knew then why they call it eye contact.
"Please say something," Sherlock whispered after a while.
John closed his fingers around Sherlock's hand, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it again and pursing his lips.
John thought about everything Sherlock had done for him—putting his limp to rest, quieting his nightmares, and putting him back into the battlefield that is life. Without him, he certainly wouldn't be the person that he was. He did love Sherlock, because of everything that he had ever done for him. He loved Sherlock because he played his violin when he was frustrated; he loved Sherlock because he would sulk for days. He loved Sherlock despite the body parts in the fridge.
So instead of replying, John took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him. He kissed the Detective for a long time before pulling back to breathe. Before Sherlock could say anything, John mumbled four words.
"I love you, idiot."
I'm sorry this was short. Like I said above, I have other fics that I am REALLY EXCITED ABOUT. PM me if you want more background on what's up-and-coming!-Lily