Live In Love

Heat of the Moment

John stared at his reflection in his mirror and tried to calm his breathing. It had been over a week since Sherlock had told him how he felt, and he could see it bothered Sherlock not knowing if John was going to give him a chance. But he wouldn't have to wait any longer. John was ready. He had been practicing what he was going to say for the last hour. He was going to tell Sherlock that he, John Watson, wanted to pursue a relationship. An actual, romantic relationship. And frankly, he was scared as hell.

He looked at himself one last time. He smoothed his hair and retucked his plaid shirt. Well, I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. John took a deep breath, turned from the mirror and headed out the door and down the stairs.

As he reached the living room, he saw Sherlock pacing the floor, his phone to his ear.

"Yes, we will be there as soon as we can," Sherlock said, then hung up. He turned to John and smiled. "Grab you coat, we have a case." Sherlock ran to the closet and grabbed his coat and scarf. He looked at John who was standing awkwardly by the stairs. "Didn't you hear me? Grab your coat!" he shouted, digging back in the closet.

"Sherlock, I have to tell you something," John said, trying to remain calm.

"John, can't it wait?" Sherlock asked, his voice filled with irritation.

"Sherlock, it's kind of important."

"I highly doubt that," Sherlock said dryly, taking John aback. Sherlock turned and looked at John and smirked, completely unaware that he had hurt John.

"Come, John," Sherlock said, throwing John his coat as he headed out the door. "The game is on!"

John and Sherlock climbed in a cab and headed to the crime scene. John sat as far from Sherlock as he could and stared out the window. He could vaguely hear Sherlock talking; he assumed it was about the case. He totally brushed me off. He didn't even give me a chance to talk. Everything has to go his way. He's so...selfish. John felt himself getting madder and more upset by the second.

By the time they reached the crime scene five minutes later, John was more than ready to go home and go to bed. He climbed out of the cab and looked around. They were in a pretty slummy part of town; it looked fitting for a murder. The alley in front of them had been roped off, and Sherlock was already halfway there. John ran to catch up, his anger slowly being replaced with adrenaline. Inspector Lestrade met the two with smiles.

"Hello, boys!" he shouted, lifting the tape for them to walk under. Sherlock went through and headed straight to the body lying on the ground. John ducked under and pat Lestrade on the back.

"Afternoon, Greg," he said, then followed Sherlock to the victim. It was a young woman, she looked to only be about 23 or 24. Her bright red hair was splayed out around her. She would have been very pretty if her face hadn't been slashed completely open. John had seen some rather disturbing things in his life, but this one really bothered him for some reason. Sherlock pulled out his gloves and offered John a pair.

"I think I'll pass on this one," he said, declining the offer. Sherlock looked at him with disappointment. He crouched down and began to examine the body.

John watched as Sherlock inspected every square inch of the dead woman. John felt his anger subsiding at the sight of the brilliant detective absorbed in his work. Look at how focused he is, John thought with a smile. He's so cute when he's working. He gets so sucked in, it's like nothing else exists. John stopped.

"Ohhh," he whispered. "That makes sense." Sherlock stopped and looked up from the body.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" he asked.

"Uh, no. Sorry about that," he said. Sherlock nodded at him then went back to examining.
----------------------------------------------
Sherlock finished talking to the police and walked over to John.

"Drug deal gone very, very wrong. Traces of cocaine in the cilia show she had used recently, probably came to get her next fix. One thing led to another and well, you see how it ended," he said, glancing at the now tarped victim. He looked back at John and smiled. "So now what do we do? It's only two o'clock." John thought for a minute then shrugged.

"We could go back to the flat and order takeaway," he suggested. Sherlock nodded in agreement and the two walked down the alley to the main road. Once there, Sherlock hailed a cab and they climbed inside. They rode in comfortable silence for a minute, then John felt his body twitching. I need to touch him, he thought. I just need to feel his skin under mine. He looked to his left and saw Sherlock's hand on the seat beside him. John shakily reached over and placed his hand on top of Sherlock's. His skin is so warm, John noticed. Suddenly, he only felt cool leather under his hand. Sherlock had pulled his hand away and was now busy texting. John felt his ears burning red. This is ridiculous. I feel so stupid.

They pulled up in front of the flat and Sherlock jumped out, leaving John to pay. Typical. John handed the cabbie the cash then climbed out of the cab. He walked through the door and up the stairs to the flat. Once inside, he took off his coat and threw it on the chair hostily. Sherlock, who was putting his own coat in the closet, looked at him with concern.

"Something wrong, John?"
John turned and glared at Sherlock.

"Is something wrong? Is something wrong? Yes, Sherlock, something is wrong!"

"Why are you shouting?"

"Because it's what I do when I'm frustrated!"

"You know, it's rather unbecoming-"

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

Sherlock stared back at John with surprise. John continued to glare, his anger flaring.

"You know, for someone so brilliant, you are a complete idiot," he spat.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, quietly.

He could feel John's heavy breaths on his chin, their faces were so close their noses almost touched. Sherlock couldn't help but stare at John's lips. They were swollen from the screaming, and they had turned a deep shade of pink. They looked absolutely perfect.

"Sherlock, what are you staring at?" John asked gruffly, looking at Sherlock with confusion.

Before he even knew what he was doing, Sherlock had pulled John's face to his. He pressed his lips to John's, feeling their softness and warmth on his own lips. It was the most incredible feeling he'd ever felt. He pulled away, realizing he had just ambushed John. Shit.

Sherlock looked at John, who looked as though he had gone in to shock. Sherlock felt his face burning and knew it must have been bright red.

Sherlock looked down at his feet "It was an experiment," he said, his voice only a mumble. John nodded slightly. "I um..." He didn't know what to say. Sherlock looked more than embarrassed. "I should...go and let you gather your thoughts." Before John could react, Sherlock was already down the hall and in his room, the door slamming behind him.