Thinking About You

I was sitting in my usual spot, across from him. My eyes secretly peered above my laptop at times to catch glimpses of him tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair, lost in deep thought. I didn't even bother to try and figure out what he was thinking about, I know it would be much too complex for my understanding.

"I can see you staring at me," he said.

"I'm not staring," I said nervously realizing that he'd caught me.

"John, you happen to do that a lot. It's quite odd," Sherlock said.

I pursed my lips and awkwardly looked back at my laptop, pretending to be writing for my blog.

"Don't think that I don't notice," he continued with a smirk, "I notice everything."

"Notice what, Sherlock?" I asked in annoyance, resting my chin on my hand.

"You have a crush on me,” he said simply.

I looked at him with wide eyes. What a completely insane theory! What would even lead Sherlock to believe such a thing? Besides, this wasn't grade school; I couldn't possibly have a crush on him. He's a, well he's a man, I don't even like men. After all we've been through; any liking I've taken to him was of friendship. He's my best friend.

"And now you're trying to rationalize my theory in your mind."

I rolled my eyes at him.

"Oh, John, you're so easy to read."

But how could he gather that I like him if I simply did not?

"I think you're mistaken," I said.

Sherlock chuckled, "have I ever been mistaken?"

I grinned, "I don't know. Why don't you ask my brother?"

He groaned, but he was still smiling, "you're never going to let that one go, are you?"

I laughed, "No."

He stood up and closed my laptop, "but you've got to admit you're still very impressed by me," he said with a wink.

Normally I'd find his small flirtations to be nothing of importance, but today things were different. I felt a hot blush creep across my cheeks after looking into his bright blue eyes staring back at me.

"Let's go out?" Sherlock asked.

"What?"

"For lunch."

“Oh! Oh yeah, of course... Just let me get my coat," I said, rushing into my room and coming back out with one arm in my sleeve when I bumped into Sherlock who was standing at the entrance to my bedroom.

"Come along," he said, helping me into the other half of my coat.

He came down the stairs two at a time. Something about him was different today. Today he seemed presumably, hm, happier.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"I don't know, have you got any ideas?"

"Not at all," I said.

Sherlock put out his arm and stopped me from walking.

"What now?" I asked.

"How about we have lunch in the park," he smiled from the right corner of his mouth.

I cleared my throat. That sounded a tad bit like a date to me. I knew it wasn't, after all. Sherlock made it clear he didn't want any relationship and why would I want to be in one with him? First off he's an asshole...

"John, would you stop staring off like that?"

"Oh. Oh I'm sorry. Uh, yeah a lunch in the park sounds great."

"Good, we'll pick up some fish and chips."

He gestured for me to follow him. This was abnormally normal. Most days with Sherlock were filled with excitement; surprises around every corner. Today just seemed like a normal outing. That's probably why I felt so unnatural.

We walked out of the fish stop over to the nearest park we sat down on a bench underneath a tall tree, blocking us off from the sun, giving us just the right amount of shade. I set out my lunch and took a small bite. I looked at Sherlock curiously when he pulled out his lunch and gathered up a handful of food.

"Are you feeling alright today, Sherlock," I laughed.

"Yeah," he nodded and practically shoved the whole thing in his mouth.

"Bloody hell," I laughed.

"Whapght" he muffled through a mouth full of food. He smiled at me with his cheeks puffed up
like a chipmunk.

"You look ridiculous," I laughed.

His shoulders were shaking with his silent laughter.

When we both calmed from our fit of laughter I leaned back in the bench, looking up at the afternoon sky. It was nice today. I watched the clouds passing by with a smile on my face. I really couldn't ask for a better day. I got to spend this one with my best friend. I don't think I'd need any other good days, not after how happy I was feeling today.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock asked, turning his gaze to face me.

"You, I guess," I admitted.

"What? My charming cheekbones and soft brown curls?" He chuckled.

I nudged him with my elbow, "oh shut up." A small smile crept across my face and suddenly I did find myself thinking about his sharp, yet delicate cheekbones, and the way his hair tussled every which way, yet always suited him so well.

I fidgeted with my fingers, this wasn't the way someone should be thinking of their best friend. Still, I didn't care. I didn't care that sometimes I thought of Sherlock as more than a friend. Maybe he really was. But I'd never tell him that, that's for sure.

I sighed contently.

"So you've finally come to terms with your feelings?" He asked.

I turned to him in confusion, "feelings about what?"

He smiled slyly, "me."

"That doesn't make any sense, Sherlock. How would you know what I'm thinking? I was not thinking about you," I said defensively. How the hell does this guy do it?

“Well, it's quite obvious. When you think I'm not looking, you peer at me from the corner of your eye. There are only two possibilities as to why you would do that. One, you're worried about me. You usually are but right now you have no reason to be. You even told me jut yesterday. You feel more at ease now than you have since, well, years. So the second reason would be that you are working out some sort of emotion in your head about me. Judging by your rosy little cheeks and happy little smile, you've came to some sort of conclusion in your head. You finalized some sort of emotion, causing you to feel content."

I looked away from him. Was I really that obvious? No. I just happened to have feelings for the most intelligent man on the planet.

"Well go on, let's hear it," he smiled brightly.

“There's nothing to say," I said as if I had no idea what he was talking about. Sure, he might have figured me out, but I'd never admit it. Not ever.

"You're such a schoolboy, John."

"What? What makes you say that?"

"I know you're not any good with admitting how you feel, but don't you think it's a bit childish not to admit it when I already know?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Sherlock. Would you shut up?"
"Arsehole..." I muttered to myself.

"Are you feeling a bit flustered about it now? Come on John I want to hear you say the words."

"Stop this Sherlock. Right now." I said and crossed my arms over my chest.

"But I'm just beginning to get to you," he pouted.

"Seriously John," he said and shifted his whole body to face me, "look here," he said and had me turn to him.

“Maybe it's important that you go out and say this. What's the harm it can do? What are you feeling? I can't do much worse to you than I've already done before, can I?"

I sighed and looked down at my hands. I rubbed my knees before I stood up, "well it's about time we went back to our flat, right?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "okay John, just know that I am going to get this out of you."

"No you won't," I said while walking ahead of him.

He walked faster to catch up to me, "please John. Please I'd love to know. I mean, I already know. So you should say it. Please I want to hear you say it first," he begged.

"Oh, you've resulted to begging," I grinned, "and what do you mean by first?"

"You know, like before I tell you what you're going to say..."

"Well I'm not going to tell you," I said.

We were at the entrance to our flat after a few short minutes of him following behind me and begging me to tell him what I was feeling. I don't understand why he was even making such a big deal about it anyway if he was already claiming to know what I was thinking.

"You're a cock, you know that right Sherlock?"

He smirked. Stupid Sherlock smirk. It was that smirk that every once and a while would make my heart skip a beat. I couldn't stand his stupid face. Why did this man make me feel so happy when all he does is torment me?

We entered our room and I threw my coat back into my room.

"Do you want tea?" I called while walking out of my room but I bumped right into Sherlock.

"Stop doing that!"

"Are you going to tell me?" He asked.

I looked up at him; he had a devious smile plastered across his mischievous face. It was only then that I noticed how close we were. His chest was right against mine and his face was merely seven inches from mine. Would have been one if he weren't a half a foot taller than I was.
I cleared my throat and walked around him but he grabbed my wrist and stopped me.

"Please, John," he pleaded.

"Uhg, you are so frustrating!" I ran my free hand through my hair. He hadn't let go of the other arm yet. He would even break eye contact. He kept staring at me. He was just waiting for me to break.

"God damn it Sherlock."

His eyes crinkled at the corner along with his wide grin of victory. I can't believe he got me to do this.

"Okay. Okay I'll admit it I like you!" I yelled.

"You-you just have this way of being the only thing on my mind when you're preset. Actually, no. Even when you're not around, all I find myself thinking about is you! Damn how could you do this to me? Why do you make me feel this way? It's so frustrating, Sherlock! One of the first days we were together, do you remember? You specifically told me you did not want a relationship. Maybe that's what had been holding me back! Maybe I knew this would never work! Then again there's always the fact that: I'm. Not. Gay. But somehow that doesn't matter with you, because with you nothing matters. Nothing matters except you. I love you Sherlock. God damn I fucking love you."

He looked bewildered. I knew he would. I knew that if he ever got me to talk, he wouldn't be able to handle it. I felt so sad and uncomfortable. I had probably just ruined our friendship, the best thing I had. It wasn't even my fault! He forced it out of me. I could've lived my whole life never admitting that. Now I've ruined everything.

"I love you too."

He just had to come along and make me go and say things that would never matter. I don't want to lose my best friend!

"John!" He said and shook my shoulders. "Did you hear me?"

"Huh?"

His hands slid down my shoulders and he held onto my upper arms.

"I love you too, John."

Every thought in my head suddenly dropped. It felt like my whole world was crashing down on me. I know, that would usually mean a bad thing, right? But that's the only way I could describe it. I felt the weight of every detail of my thoughts fall on top of me. My knees failed me and I was falling to the ground but Sherlock caught me before I could hit it. Time felt like it was going in slow motion. Sherlock helped me stand up straight in front of him. He smiled at me. That's the last thing I saw before my eyes closed and I felt his warm lips crash against my quivering ones. His right hand rested on the back of my neck. I kissed him back and slung my arms over his shoulders. He deepened the kiss but all too quickly, he pulled away from me to look me in the eyes.

"Now, was that so hard, John?"

"I-I-I uh... No. I mean yes. I just. I don't know," I said and melted into his grip with a warm hug.
He rubbed my back affectionately. It was strange, but comforting. I never really took him to be the affectionate type. Maybe it just took the right person to reveal that side of him. That was me. I couldn't believe it was me. I couldn't believe out of all of the people in the world, he chose me. I felt like such a fool. I hid my face in his chest as streams of tears rolled down my cheeks.

"John," he said, "John why are you crying?"

I looked up at him with teary eyes.

"Because you're the best man I've ever known, Sherlock. And you love me back."

He smiled and allowed me back into his arms. It was the safest place I'd ever felt. He kissed me one last time before he said, "I love you. Now let's get to bed." And with that, he and I went into his bedroom and spent our first of many, many nights together.