Chapter Text
It developed slowly, unnoticed by John. Like the growth of hair. Or the thawing of snow. Natural, time-powered processes.
Once--
he was content in his skin, nursing cups of tea milky white and typing blog updates with an air of inexorability. Life was expanding around him. Sherlock had catalyzed his existence. Things happened again.
Then--
he was breaking Sherlock’s gaze. Following his jaw line. Feeling almost dizzy with affection.
It wasn’t that he felt like doing anything about it. [Yet.] He was content to admire.
Admittedly, John spent half his time positively mad with annoyance. In disbelief of Sherlock's dissonance. But he knew that this was a game of give-and-take.
Take: John loved Sherlock’s deductions. His grace. Quickfire elocution. (His hair.)
Give: John absolutely loathed Sherlock's tendency to scorn and abstain from all traces of sentiment. His insistence on stoniness. Arrogance. Self-abuse.
John supposed his overall happiness came from the reemergence of his own emotions. But it was clear that these positive emotions had negative parts within them. And so he came to view this struggle as a part of his rejuvenated life.
Yes, things had started to happen again. Yes, he had feelings for a man who was more likely to eat his own hat than engage in acts of affection. It was fine.
John could cope.
+
Perhaps Sherlock could’ve developed his own feelings for John, in time. If he were freer. But such a natural thing couldn’t happen because Sherlock didn’t allow for things to simply happen.
Others, they interacted with their environment. Conversed with people. Feelings developed gradually, without notice, until they reached a critical concentration that precipitated a reaction. Normal people realized the presence of emotion with a rush of clarity, and either acted upon it or let it fall to the wayside.
Sherlock lived in a vacuum, where his mind had certain points of contact with the outside world, metallic conduits that processed valuable information and nothing more. No frivolous daydreams, no imaginings, and absolutely no romantic inclinations.
Though he was a catalyst himself, Sherlock remained startlingly inert.
*