Live In Love

How Long?

Sherlock looked at the man sitting across from him. And for the thousandth time, he examined every inch of him. The dark brown eyes usually filled with wonder were now filled with confusion. The smile that usually played on his lips was replaced with a set line. His hair, usually well combed and kempt, now stuck up in odd places. His strong hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly, as if they were the only things keeping him from flying away. John Watson, the bravest man he had ever known, was afraid.

"How long?" Sherlock asked, startling the doctor. They had been sitting silently for about five minutes after their brief break from the awkwardness, and Sherlock was getting anxious.

"I'm sorry?" John replied, and Sherlock gave a small half-smile.

"How long have you had feelings for me?" he elaborated.

"Oh, um...I would say about a month," John answered, nodding his head.

Sherlock smirked and crossed his legs. "Nope."

John covered his face and sighed. "Sherlock, please," he begged. "I'm hungover and don't want to discuss this."

"John, if I do not get a proper answer, I swear I will shoot another hole in that wall," he threatened, reaching for his handgun.

John looked at the 5 holes blown in the wallpaper design. He knew Sherlock wasn't bluffing, so he raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay. It was the day I moved in. I didn't know what I was feeling. I just knew that when you were around, my life seemed...better. I felt happy. When I figured out my feelings weren't, well, platonic, I decided it best to keep it to myself. I feared what would happen if you found out," John confessed, seeming confused at the words coming out of his mouth. "I had just never felt that way for another man. Hell, I had never felt that way about a woman," he said with exasperation.

Sherlock looked at John and tilted his head slightly.

"What did you fear would happen if I found out?" he asked, his curiosity peaked.

"I thought you would hate me. I thought you would leave. I would lose my best friend in the world because I had feelings for him," he said, keeping his composure surprisingly well.

Sherlock smiled and leaned closer.

"And now you see you had nothing to be afraid of. Because now I know. And I'm still here," he said, patting John's hand. He stood quickly and stretched.

"You are rather dense, though," Sherlock stated, earning a scoff from John.

"Oh, I'm dense?"

"John, you couldn't figure out I had feelings for you until I slipped it during my drunken state. Even Lestrade figured it out months ago, and that's saying something."

John stared at Sherlock in shock. "Months?!"

"Yes, I believe that is what I just said. Is your drunkeness affecting your hearing?"

John leaned back in his chair and started to laugh, but not in a cheerful way. It was more of a "what-the-hell-is-going-on?" sort of laugh. Sherlock chose to ignore it and stepped over to the window to look outside. The sun, though bright earlier that morning, had since hidden itself behind a mass of gray clouds.

"You have to understand, this situation is odd for me, too," he said, stepping back from the window.

Sherlock looked at John and started to think. I should have told him earlier. Not in the back of a cab while I was drunk. It would have been so much easier. Maybe...maybe I can redo this. Yea, that's the ticket. I'll just do it how I wanted to before.

Sherlock smiled, ever so pleased with his thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the ring of his phone. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

"Lestrade," he muttered. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, his finger hovering over the accept button. John turned and looked at Sherlock.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" he asked. Sherlock looked up at John, and much to his surprise, Sherlock put the phone back in to his pocket.

"Whoever it's about, they'll still be dead later," he said with his usual deadpan expression. John busted out laughing and covered his mouth.

"Sherlock, that is awful, you know that," John snickered. Sherlock smiled and shrugged.

"It's kind of what I do," he joked.

Now or never. Get him now while he is happy, he thought.

"Hey, John, I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me at Angelo's," he suggested, watching John's reaction. He looked up at Sherlock, and he could see the sense of wonder refilling his eyes.

"Yea, I could go for some dinner. I think my hangover has disappated enough." John looked down at himself then over at Sherlock.

"We may want to wash up, though," he said, motioning to the both of them who looked as though they crawled out of the street gutters.

"You can have the shower first, I want to work on a piece," Sherlock told him, walking over to his violin. John was surprised at Sherlock's selflessness; usually he always claimed the shower. John went upstairs and quickly grabbed his clothes. He heard the soft sound of two notes, then scribbling on paper. He loved when Sherlock composed new music, it was always beautiful. He smiled and walked downstairs. He started towards the bathroom, but quickly stole a glance at his flatmate.

He was standing in the window, the violin tucked tightly under his chin, his body swaying ever so slightly as he pulled the bow softly across the strings. John felt his heart flutter lke it had so many times before, but this time he didn't try to fight it. Because he knew he had feelings for Sherlock Holmes. Thank God, Sherlock Holmes had feelings for him, too. John smiled and walked to the bathroom. I think I'm going to have to make a new mantra, he thought, chuckling to himself.