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The dark blue of the night sky could have swallowed the 221b Baker Street if there wasn't the soft light of the kitchen, lighting until crossing into the living room. There was standing a detective and the violon he played, strigs letting go out a sweet sorrow, enough to make cry an entiere orchestra, not enough to let a single tear rolling on the cheek of Sherlock Holmes. It could have been long : Sherlock playing faced to the window, John listening as he used to do when his war nightmares woke him up years ago. Until the taller man, after playing a long and heartbreaking last note, putted down his instrument and sat in his own chair, face to his friend. best friend.
- - John ? He started.
- mmh, yes ?
- What is love ?
John instantly replaced his body into a concentrated position. What on Earth was happening to Sherlock – I am an high functionning sociopath without feelings- Holmes ?
- Love ? What do you mean ? You know what love is, it's a chemical reaction occuring when-
- No. I mean, yes I know that. But what is love. How do we feel ? What do we think about ? How do we know we are in love, without obviously taking consideration of the physical details such as pupils getting bigger, heartbeat and obvious signs of stress, or at least uncomfort ?
- Well.. That is a complicated question. We just feel it, I guess.
Sherlock raises an eyebrow, very concentrated. Confused too, but he would never admit it.
John carries on :
- We... hum, we want to be with that special person all the time. Not always intimate touch or anything, just the presence. Just the feeling of seeing them, or being with them and enjoying it. Even if you both don't do a special activity. Maybe- a kiss ? Or cuddles ? And there is this part when you love them-
- Makes sense.
- Please Sherlock, let me finish. I mean by that you don't just appreciate them for stuff they do, you enjoy them because of it but you don't love them for it. You love them because of things you can't even understand yourself. And they make you feel so great, and sometimes so scared, especially when you are not ssure about their own feelings towards you. It seems they are perfect and you can't even see their flaws, and if you may see some, you just pass it on and tell yourself it's absolutely not an important or dominant thing on them because you always focus on what they give you, on what they make you feel and that is good for you. So you can't see their flaws, not as complete and determining flaws, let's say.
- You don't have any flaws. Muttered Sherlock.
- What ?
- Continue. Says Sherlock distinctly.
- I do have flaws. Anyway, you see this is all of these tiny things and the desire to always be there for them, you always care anyway, and yea, thinking about a future with them ? About plans, ideas and just... being witht them all the time. That's what being in love is. Why this question ?
- Mmh, nothing John. General knowledge.
After a sigh, John laughed soflty.
Sherlock opened his mouth, willing to say something. Then closed it again.
John's eyes focused on his lips before coming back to his own knees when he realised. Blushing, hoping his roomate won't realise. Damn, it's been a while he would have loved to kiss those lips.
Sherlock stood up and said.
- Goodnight John, I am going to bed now.
- How can you be tired ? You almost slept the whole day.
He instantly regretted his words. If the detective was in bed, he would have time for himself to think about their earlier conversation. Alone. Without Sherlock's gaze making him fall over heels every time and he has to contain the irrepressible idea of running trough him and kiss him passionatly before-
- John ?
- Yes ?
- You're in your thoughts.
- Sorry.
Sherlock watched John for a moment. No, he was deducing John. Fuck.
But the violionist said the most evident thing, the worst one.
- John. Why are you blushing ?
- I am not.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow again, a bit condescending this time. Even if John knew it wasn't his intention to be.
- You are blushing.
- Sherlock, weren't you supposed to go to bed ?
The worst thing to say. Definitely.
- I slept the whole day, John. I am not tired.
- Why do you wanted to go two minutes ago then ?
Sherlock didn't corrected John on the fact that is what actually 3 minutes and 44 seconds. John was clever, Sherlock didn't wanted to lie to John. Sherlock was trapped. And he would never says “ Oh you know, John. After what you tell me, it seems I realised I am in love with you and I nedeed to go to bed for thinking about it, also crying a bit because you don't love me back, mister NotGay.”. His relationship with him would be ruined, and worst than that : Mycroft would laugh in his face like he never did before until the rest of his days. No, Sherlock was deeply fond of his friend but he still had selflove and pride.
So he said :
- I wanted to go to bed, not to sleep.
And it was true.
- Fine then, go.
- You're blushing. Why are you... oh ! There is someone on your mind !
Sherlock faked joy. Actually,he would have prefered to go back to Reinchenbach and die. Twice.
- There is no one on my mind, Sherlock. Go to bed.
And with all the strengh he had, Sherlock sat face to John, in hiw own chair. At least, he could establish the personnal profil and that one girl who stole his best friend heart from him.
- Who is she ?
- She ? No, its... No one, Sherlock. There is no one. What are you even talking about ?
The red on John's cheeks intensified.
- Oh come on, John. Even Graham could see that you are in love.
- It's Greg, Sherlock.
Sherlock squinted.
- What ? John asked.
- Nothing, your voice tone hasn't changed from usual, no physical signs either. So, your love interest is not Lestrade.
- What ? Almost shout John, shocked. No, I don't have a love interest in Lestrade.
John haven't pointed out the fact that he wasn't attracted to men. John always points it out. Interesting.
- Good, he is my brothers anyway.
- What ?
- Haven't you noticed ?
- I can't believe it.
- You should. So, John, what about you ?
- Sherlock,please...
The doctor now seems exhausted. Did Sherlock went too far ?
- Okay, I won't talk about it anymore. Good night John.
- Good night, Sherlock.
Can't you love me ? The raven said in silence.
I love you so much The dove said without a word.
Sherlock went to bed, John stayed in his chair. It was dark, the kitchen light has been turned off. It was silent, but no soul was sleeping. Neither Sherlock, neither John, neither their heart.
And then John thought : “How could he loves me ?”
And then “ I tought we could kiss tonight.”
It could've go further, he could have remember that Sherlock accidentaly let hear that he didn't had flaws, that he loved him. But this is at this moment that the owner of the doctor's heart decided to break into the living room and sit on his chair.
- You don't sleep. He said to John.
- Well observed.
- John, look... I didn't wanted to put you in embarassment earlier.
John first wanted to tell him it was okay and he could go back to bed if it's what avoided him to sleep, but he realised a point.
- Sherlock ?
- Mmh, yes ?
- Since when do you care about my love interests ?
Since you became mine, John.
- I simply realised that, maybe, I didn't cared enough about your interests and I was hoping that, maybe if I act normal, for once... You would like it.
- Oh no, Sherlock !
- What ? He said, opening his eyes bigger.
- Don't you even try to act normal. His roomate laughs.
And Sherlock laughed. And Sherlock stop laughing an instant to capture John's laugh, his face, his eyes... even if he truly wasn't helped by the lack of brightness in the room.
- You were right. Earlier. Said Holmes.
- About what ?
- The question wasn't just general knowledge.
- Wait... what ? You mean you may have a romantic interest ?
- I may be fond of someone, indeed. And it's very disturbing to admit it.
- Sorry for you, said John with a smile. But it's an incredible thing to be in love, you know ? Don't try to repress it, this person is lucky, trust me. You should tell them.
And his own words broke his heart.
- I doubt he loves me that way.
- So, it's someone who loves you, in a friend way ? A man who loves you in a friend way ?
- Yes. Admitted Sherlock. Unsure of where this little “guess who” game will lead him.
- So... a man close to you, who loves you in a friend way...
Then John's face turned into the representation of a shoking emotion.
- LESTRADE ?
- Oh my- John, no ! Not mine anyway.
- Yes, I expected it. It, your face, was fun tought.
- John... look closer.
- I am trying Sherlock. There is not a lot of people you considere as friend. Two, I believe actually. So, it's not Greg, and the other one is...
And at John's expression, Sherlock knew. He was fucked. Completely fucked.
- … me. Whispered the doctor in a breathe.
And Sherlock stayed silent. And John knew. Because Sherlock was never silent.
But what John knew wasn't that he was fucked. John knew he was, at this moment, the luckiest man on Earth.
- Sherlock...
- Please, don't make it worst. I know.
- No, no you don't know anything.
The violonist was puzzled, puzzled and scared. The only man who could bring him so much fear was certainly the man who could bring him the most comfort. Comfort. Great. Fear. Scary. Love .
- Sherlock, since how many time ? John asked.
- A while.
- Don't you think it's enough ?
- Enough for what?
- For letting me love you back for free.
And slowly, John leaned towards Sherlock, grabbing his left knee. Sherlock places his hand on John's wrist.
The Raven's gaze fond into the Dove's one. Ready ? Seemed to say their eyes.
Then the faces get closer, the eyes get closed, the mouths embracing the distance.
Lips pressed against each other, them against the rest of the world.
To Sherlock, it felt careful, shy and tender. As the first time you approache a bird, scared he runs away so you stay quiet and move slowly. It was his John.
To John, it felt good, safe and delicate. As when you finally can touch the bird, it gives you his trust. You stay soft, keeping it calm so it doesn't get afraid. It was his Sherlock.
When they separe, sweet smile and pale pink cheeks. John asks :
- So, you think you are “fond of someone” ?
- According to your explainations, it actually seems I am in love.
- I am in love, Sherlock Holmes.
- I know.
- Really ? And how would you knew know that ?
- Because I took your pulse.