Where do we go from here

John entered 221B and stood for a moment taking a breath. He knew Sherlock had been left alone all day with no cases on. The last one had been two days before. He prepared himself for what he would find when he entered the flat. Taking a deep breath he slowly made his way up the stairs, paused at the door of the flat, took another breath, and pushed the door open and stepped in. He was surprised to find the flat clean and neat as he had left it that morning. Sherlock was not in the sitting room. John took off his jacket and hung it by the door and saw that Sherlock's coat was gone. So he was out. Well he would have some peace for awhile until the whirlwind that is Sherlock exploded into the flat. John went to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. He put a teabag in his cup and stood at the kitchen window looking out at the bright, cool day as he waited for the kettle to boil. He let his mind wander back to that first day he met Sherlock and smiled. Sherlock is his best friend. The closest friend he's ever had.

"He's so beautiful," he thought.

Wait - what? John frowned. Where did that come from! He shook his head. He must be far more tired than he thought.

The kettle started whistling shaking him from his thoughts. He sighed and made his tea. Paused before opening the fridge afraid of what he would find in there. Yes there was milk, and no body parts. He opened the milk and sniffed. It was good. Smiling he poured some in his tea, and put it away. He carried his tea into the sitting room and set it on the table by his chair and sat. He picked up his laptop from the coffee table, opened it, logged onto his blog, and lost himself writing up the last case, and checking his email.

Two hours later, there was still no Sherlock, John's tea was cold, and his eyes were tired. He closed his laptop, set it on the coffee table, got up, and stretched. He grabbed his cold tea, took it to the kitchen, poured it in the sink, and set the cup in the sink for washing later.

"Bedtime, I think," he announced to the empty flat.

He ascended the stairs to his room and closed the door, undressed and put on his pyjama pants and t-shirt, and crawled into bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Sherlock slipped in the door of 221B and quietly ascended the stairs making sure to avoid the squeaky step. He didn't want to wake John. He was always grumpy when he woke him before he had his full 8 hours of sleep. He had certainly run him ragged with the last case.

Sherlock stepped quietly into the sitting room, removed his coat, and hung it by the door. He was looking forward to some time with his experiments. One in particular interested him. He moved quickly to the fridge, opening it, he looked at the milk.

Yes! John had made himself tea. Then he saw the teacup in the sink, the stains telling him that John had let it go cold, and poured it down the drain. He noted the laptop on the coffee table. John must have let it go cold while working on his blog. Blast, he was foiled again. He'd have to get John to drink some of the milk in his tea tomorrow. A calculating look crossed Sherlock's face. Yes he would make tea for John tomorrow morning. No, make him breakfast. Yes John would like that. Smiling, Sherlock made his way to the couch and flopped down, and steepled his fingers as he went to his mind palace.

John slowly opened his eyes and blinked at the bright sunlight streaming through the window. He stretched, smiling to himself. He had heard Sherlock come home trying to be quiet. He appreciated the times when Sherlock let him catch up on his sleep. The last case took more than a week to solve and he was bone tired trying to keep up with him. He got up, and showered and dressed, and started down the stairs. He stopped, sniffing the air. Was Sherlock cooking? What was he cooking? It smelled delicious. He quickly jogged down the remaining stairs and entered the sitting room. Sherlock was in the kitchen, and he was indeed making breakfast. John entered the kitchen, smiling.

"What's all this then?", he addressed Sherlock.

"I was hungry and thought I'd make breakfast for both of us", Sherlock replied, turning with a smile.

Sherlock hungry! This was indeed a good day. He wouldn't complain if Sherlock was eating. He ate far too little for John's liking.

John sat at the table as Sherlock brought two plates of bacon, eggs, and toast to the table. He grabbed two cups of tea and placed one in front of John and sat. John nodded his thanks and dug into his breakfast. It was delicious. The tea was hot and strong. The eggs were over easy. The bacon was crisp. Everything was perfect. Just the way he liked it. When he finished he sat back, pleased to see that Sherlock had eaten all his breakfast as well.

"So, what's on for the day?", John asked.

Sherlock took a sip of his tea and replied, "I have several experiments I'd like to work on."

John nodded. "Well, I'll leave you to it then", and getting up with his tea, he moved into the sitting room. He sat his tea on the desk, and grabbed his laptop from the coffee table. He decided to work on his story for the blog for awhile. Behind him Sherlock smirked, checked his watch, and engrossed himself in his experiments. He would give John about an hour. That should give the chemical time to take effect.

Sherlock sighed, and stretched, and stood. He looked at John again, and smirked. Time for a test. He walked nonchalantly over to the couch and flopped down. He looked at John and said, "So how was work yesterday?"

John looked up and replied, "Alright, I guess." Sherlock didn't reply but continued to look at him. He was expecting him to say more apparently. He felt a sudden compulsion to tell Sherlock more. "There was mostly flu cases. I had a hypochondriac who was convinced that he had an obscure disease. I had to set the arm of a 6 year old who fell out of a tree. Sarah was angry with me for some reason….." He felt like he couldn't stop talking, like he needed to tell Sherlock everything. John glared at Sherlock, "What have you given me this time, Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced at John. He was angry. He was getting better and quicker at deducing Sherlock's actions. "I am trying to make my own truth serum. It might come in handy on one of our cases, but I needed to test it first."

John stood abruptly, and left the room, heading up to his room. Sherlock followed quickly, not wanting to waste the dosage he had given John. He caught the door before John could get it closed, and eased himself inside. John turned in the center of the room and glared at Sherlock. "I told you before I am not one of your experiments," he growled angrily. "Do I have to tell you every bloody time?"

"John, I couldn't test it on just anyone. I had to test it on someone I know. I have to know how effective it is. I couldn't very well test it on Lestrade or Molly."

Although it might have been fun to give some to Anderson and Donovan. That would be entertaining. Hmm he'd have to try that some time.

"I don't care who you use for an experiment, but you don't get to use me."

"It had to be you, John. It had to be someone I knew was telling the truth. That's the only way I could be sure the drug was working. Really we're friends and flatmates. What is there about you that I don't know already?"

John froze, his eyes wide. He could feel all those things he didn't want Sherlock to know about him bubbling up wanting to get out. He fought it valiantly, and then, as if in a surreal dream, he heard himself telling Sherlock, "You don't know quite a lot of things about me. You don't know that I dream about Afghanistan. You don't know that I dream about you a lot. You don't know that I'm bisexual. You don't know that I watch you when you're not looking. I like the way you move, the way you smile. It's all so catlike. So graceful. So sexy."

John's stomach lurched as he heard himself continue, "That first day we met I thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen. I wanted you from the very first moment."

John stopped, horrified. Oh god what has he done. What will Sherlock think. He'll have to move out. He sat on the edge of his bed, and dropped his face in his hands. His face was red, he could feel the heat.

Sherlock stood shocked at John's admissions. He swallowed, unsure what to say, not wanting to make things worse. Sentiment was not his area. He slowly backed towards the door. John turned and looked at him. "So that's it then. You're just going to run away."

Sherlock stopped, afraid to say anything. He looked around the room for distraction.

He swallowed, "I'm sorry, John…." He wasn't sure what else to say.

John was shocked. Sherlock actually apologized? He never apologizes. John got up and walked towards him slowly, afraid to startle him, as if he was skittish.

Sherlock watched John warily, unsure what was happening. He felt the sudden, subtle shift in the room. He was confused. John didn't look angry anymore. There was something else in his eyes now. He couldn't place it.

John was close to Sherlock now. He reached out and touched Sherlock on the shoulder and saw him blink, confused. Then he saw his pupils dilate, his breath quickened, his cheeks turned pink. "Interesting!", John thought. He knew the signs of attraction, and arousal. He was a doctor after all. He wouldn't have thought Sherlock would feel emotions. He obviously kept them well hidden behind that cool, abrasive manner.

John looked up into Sherlock's confused eyes for a moment, then slid his fingers up into those silky, dark curls and pulled his head down, and pressed his lips to Sherlock's.