Author's Note: I would first like to make it perfectly clear that I do not ship or approve of Johnlock. These stories are not meant to be slash in any way, shape or form. But I do like stories where people assume they're gay or it looks like they are. It makes me giggle.

An Impromptu Experiment

"Honestly, John, our lips didn't even touch! You are being childish!" Sherlock's voice came from outside the bathroom door.

John slammed open the door and faced Sherlock. "Me?" John spluttered, spewing toothpaste. "You-you kissed me! You kissed me, Sherlock!"

"It wasn't a kiss, it was a stage kiss. You don't need to get so worked up about it."

"I. Don't. Care! It was close enough!" He yelled, and then slammed the door shut once again. John spat the toothpaste into the basin and rinsed. Immediately he squeezed some more toothpaste onto his toothbrush and started brushing his lips almost viciously, as if doing so would scrub away the memory.

"It was an experiment!" Sherlock protested.

"An experiment you chose to test in front of all of Scotland Yard and a suspect! If you had to do it at all, why did you have to do it in public?" John shuddered at the memory, heat rising in his cheeks. He had never been more embarrassed in all his life! He spat and rinsed again.

"I had to see if it could be done under pressure in front of many people; also to see if I could do it at all. You never know if it could be useful on a case." Sherlock said with maddening superiority.

"So why didn't you bloody practice on Lestrade or Anderson, or anyone else!" John shouted.

"It had to be you, John, because you are the one that comes with me on cases. Besides, Lestrade would have probably arrested me if I tried it on him. Come to think of it," he said sarcastically, "you didn't handle it very well yourself."

"Well, you should consider yourself lucky a punch is the only thing you got." John hissed.

Sherlock humphed, and John smiled in spite of himself, seeing in his mind's eye the bruise that was already forming on his flatmate's eye. "Where is the mouthwash?" He demanded to know. He said this mostly to inform Sherlock just how horrified, and frankly, disgusted he was (never in his life had he ever wanted to be that close to kissing a man, and the fact that it was Sherlock made it worse. It was rather like almost kissing a brother).

"Really, you're being ridiculous. Get out of there!"

"No. I might punch you again." John replied grumpily. He didn't know how long it would be before he could look at Sherlock again. John would never live this down. He had trouble enough convincing people he was straight at the best of times, and it would be nearly impossible.

He should have seen it coming.

The moment he had seen that Look on Sherlock's face, that one he always had before doing something crazy or humiliating (to John), he had known something bad was going to happen, but he didn't move because he did not imagine the crazy, humiliating thing Sherlock was going to perform was going to be on him.

By the time he did realize it, though, it was far too late to run.

All in all, John knew it could have been much worse, but standing there with Sherlock's lips dangerously close to his, he had wished that somebody, anybody, would have shot him dead.

He didn't know if anyone was able to tell it was a stage kiss, he had been too angry and shocked to think about anything else but giving his insufferable flatmate a piece of his mind. He had punched Sherlock and stalked off, everyone wolf whistling and cat calling after him. It didn't help matters that Sherlock had chased after him, resulting in more laughter and jeers from the crowd of officers.

"Oh, John, wait for me!"

"Kiss me again you fool!"

"I looove you, John!"

"Take me now!"

It had been a very awkward ride home. John had tried to take a separate taxi, but Sherlock, never knowing when to stop, had followed him into the car.


"Shut up."


"Shut. Up."

Sherlock had wisely shut his mouth, and the rest of the ride was spent in silence. The driver had given him a sort of sympathetic look when John had paid him, making John want to punch him as well, and he had stomped up to their flat and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Nope. John was never going out into public again. Not with Sherlock, anyways.

Sherlock grew bored of trying to coax John out, and went off to work on who knows what. Maybe he was going to go try kissing the neighbors next. After awhile though, John became tired of sulking in the bathroom like a 14 year old girl, and he emerged somewhat warily.

Sherlock was gone.

John couldn't lie and say he wasn't a bit relieved. He went into the kitchen and set about making some tea. He even made some for Sherlock, that tosser, and only moments after he finished, the front door opened, and Sherlock bustled in.

"Milk," he said shortly, setting the gallon on the counter.

John was flabbergasted. "Well-I-thanks, Sherlock!" John said, hardly able to keep the amazement out of his voice.

"Mm," Sherlock responded, waving it away. He plopped onto the couch, muttering something about "stupid people" and "grocery".

John would have left it at that, though he was actually touched by Sherlock trying in his own way to apologize, he was still a little sore about the "experiment", and apologies and other human things like this did make the detective quite uncomfortable.

"Are you trying to apologize, Sherlock?"

"Yes. No. No, I am not apologizing for the experiment. But-"

"But?" John prompted.

"I suppose I-I suppose I am trying to-" Sherlock grimaced- "apologize for not explaining-"


"Fine! For somehow embarrassing you by performing a simple experiment," He finished in a rush. He sighed in relief and turned away from John.

"Apology accepted," John said with a little too much glee. He moved to pick up his and Sherlock's teacups.

"Though I am rather offended you don't want to kiss me, John."

John whirled around, eyes wide, to see Sherlock grinning up at him, the way he did when he knew he had told a good joke.

"Well. I was going to give you this tea, but I believe I have changed my mind," John said calmly, turning around.


"Nope. No tea for you."

John dodged the pillow Sherlock threw at him, laughing. "I think we both know who wants to kiss who. I mean, you are the one who made the first move-" John sidestepped another pillow. "-and you did seem especially eager-" A third- "really, Sherlock, I am just making a deduction based on my observations."

Sherlock, now out of pillows, huffed and sat back down. "Well, at least I've taught you something."

John chuckled to himself and walked over to Sherlock. "Here," he said, handing the teacup to Sherlock.

"Thank you," Sherlock said stiffly.

John settled into his armchair with his tea, taking his laptop from the table and opening it up. They sat in silence for a minute, then looked at each other. Suddenly, they both burst into peals of laughter, but neither of them quite knew at what exactly, perhaps just the absurdity of the entire situation or at the release of the awkwardness that it had created, but it didn't really matter.

As their boisterous laughter eventually turned into breathless chuckles, Sherlock's phone went off.

"Text," John said. He reached for the phone.

Need you two here now.
And please, no more snogging at my crime scene. If you can't control the PDA, don't come.

John groaned.

"Text for you." He threw the phone a bit harder than necessary at Sherlock.

Sherlock read the text message, and smirked. "Think you can control your 'public displays of affection'?"

"Only if you can."