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The duo were facing a rough night at the Yard after a particularly messy case.
"Sherlock, if you'd just admit that following that bartender down the alley-" John began.
"Shut up, John."
"Oh, it'd just kill you to admit that I am, in fact, right? Just, every once in a while?"
"All right, boys. Let's calm down," Lestrade cut in. "I just need the facts, and then you two can go sort this little feud when you get back home."
"Greg, we were both leaving the book store, tracking this bartender that Sherlock claimed-"
"I did not claim anything. I stated, John, I stated that he stole the keycard, that the man was our culprit."
"Whatever," John grumbled bitterly. "And then Sherlock decided it'd be wise to just trespass-"
"Oh, for- John, that alleyway was no one's property. We weren't arrested."
"Really? That's all that matters in the end, is it? I give up, Greg. I'm staying out of this one," John said, stealing a desk chair and busying himself with his phone, trying not to hear what Sherlock was saying.
"Does John always relay such misinformation to you when I'm not around?" Oh, Sherlock was being particularly venomous tonight. "I am perfectly capable of stating the facts- the correct facts... he insists on portraying me as an utter twat, even in his blog."
"Sherlock," Lestrade scolded.
"He's become obstructive and detrimental to my work." This comment was clearly sent with a purposeful glance in the direction of John, who was trying hard to ignore their conversation while sitting ten feet away.
"Oh, come on, you know you love him," Lestrade grumbled.
"Obviously."
On his word, Sherlock could hear every breath at the Yard stop short. He froze, not daring to look anywhere but at Lestrade, who had whipped around to gape at Sherlock.
Sherlock's mind whirled. How to fix this?
Unnecessary.
He didn't look at anyone, especially not at John, as he strode out of Scotland Yard.
"Sherlock," John breathed, watching him go. "Sherlock!"
He didn't care about what he looked like to the others at the Yard as he ran after his flatmate. John reached the lobby by the time Sherlock's coat tails made it out the doors.
And by the time John reached the sidewalk, Sherlock's cab had pulled away.
"Fuck," John grabbed his own cab. "221b Baker Street, please."
Then Sherlock's cab was lost in the midst of cars and John couldn't tell... would Sherlock go back to Baker Street? Where would he go, if not to the flat?
Even so, John got out of the cab at 221b and ran up to the flat. As he shoved the door open, he was fully prepared to turn around and run back the way he came to continue his search for Sherlock.
But there he was, lying on the sofa. His eyes were closed, hands steepled beneath his chin.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John demanded, assuming the stance of a soldier.
"Deleting. Obv-" Sherlock cringed. "Obvious."
"Stop that. Now," John commanded. Sherlock opened his eyes. Closed. Opened.
"Useless information, John." He closed his eyes again.
"Not useless to me."
Sherlock let out a long breath. John sat down opposite his flatmate. "You don't care what Lestrade and the others think, do you?"
"Of course not."
Pause.
"John, I cannot delete the incident whilst you are distracting me. Go away."
"'The incident.' Oh, that's good. Sherlock, it's fine. Would it really hurt you so much to have feelings?"
"Inconvenient. John, please leave." Oh, Sherlock was actually begging now.
"Ha, no. Definitely not. If I leave, you'll delete the memory."
Sherlock opened his eyes in surprise. "You want me to remember it?"
"Of course I do."
"John, you can't stay here forever."
"Who says?" John challenged.
Sherlock huffed. "I am sure you are well aware that I say."
"Sherlock, let's talk about this."
Sherlock cocked his eyebrow. "What we've been doing for the past minute and twenty-four seconds does not constitute talking?"
"All right. Let me help you," John prompted, "When you said you love me-"
"I never spoke those words, John." Eyes closed again.
"-you meant you... what, care for me, right?"
"Obviously."
"And I care about you, Sherlock. All right?"
"Caring is not the same as love."
"Sherlock, I'm a grade-A moron, remember? You're going to have to tell me what you mean."
"I mean my disposition towards you far surpassed mere care for a dear friend long ago. You have protected me, assisted me, killed for me, and you haven't left me."
Sherlock's eyes finally opened again and found John's. "Even now, you haven't left me. Most importantly, I have never grown tired of you, and I don't believe I ever will." Eyes fluttered closed once more.
"You don't believe you ever-" John let out a short laugh. "Sherlock, you just don't want to remember that you told me. Is that it?"
No response.
"Sherlock, am I right?" John prompted. "Your feelings for me won't change-"
"They might," Sherlock cut in. They might grow stronger, deeper. There was always that possibility.
"-but you don't want to recall... what, exactly? The humiliation? Everyone at the Yard thinks we've been shagging for months now anyway."
"Not humiliation."
John's face contorted into confusion. "Ah. Ah. You're trying to delete the memory of letting people know that you actually have feelings."
"Brilliant deduction, although once again, John, you continue to look at things with the most simplistic view possible."
"Sherlock, I've always known you have feelings. You saved my whole life, and not by accident."
"You're only making it worse, John. Let me be."
John frowned. Something about all of this had to change. Better to do this now, before Sherlock really did delete that memory.
John stood slowly. Took a step towards where Sherlock was lying. Leaned over. Kissed him.
Sherlock's eyes flew wide open and he breathed in sharply, but he did not pull away.
Ten minutes ago, the two of them were at the Yard, wrapping up a case like any other day, and now...
They were kissing. It was by far the strangest thing they'd ever done, yet it seemed to come so naturally. It was push and pull. It was awkward and clumsy. It was oh my god what are we doing how did we get here why haven't we done this before oh our friendship has just been sufficiently decimated, hasn't it?
"What do you deduce now, Sherlock Holmes?" John asked quietly against his flatmate's lip, gazing at a pair of closed eyes. Heartbeat. Sherlock opened his eyes, staring straight back into John's.
"You... love me."
John grinned. "Obviously." And then he kissed him again, really well, enjoying the feeling of this clever maniac's lips against his.
After a few silent moments of nothing but kissing, Sherlock stopped abruptly. "Why do you?"
"Because you're an idiot."
And this time, Sherlock kissed him. Really well. They just continued like this for a bit, very much enjoying the feel of lips meeting and meshing and moving. John's lips made their way down Sherlock's neck, while his rough hands rubbed maddening circles over Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock grabbed the back of John's neck, pulling the doctor's lips back up to his, forcing John all the way on top of Sherlock lying on the couch, pulling their bodies tighter.
Finally John pulled away to breathe, looking down at where Sherlock lay, eyes closed, peaceful smile on his face.
"Don't delete that," John ordered sternly.
Blindly, Sherlock reached for John, bringing him back into a kiss, a single muttered word escaping his lips, "Never."