(A/N) So hello, I decided to try my hand at writing a cute little Johnlock fanfic even though I normally write my OC story. I'm kind of testing the waters here as I contemplate writing a much longer Johnlock in the future because I totally ship the pairing. This first part is John's POV and the second is Sherlock's. Hope I didn't write Sherlock too OOC. I wrote this late at night when I couldn't sleep. Maybe review to let me know what you liked and what you didn't? Sorry for any grammatical errors. -KattieWatsonHolmes


It had been a rough day down at the A&E for John. A case of the flu had been moving through and John had gotten thrown up on more times than he would like to admit that day. He was tired, hungry, and just miserable. He trudged up to the flat, and walked into the living room, finding his flat mate sprawled out on the couch dressed in his bed clothes and blue dressing gown. The lanky git had probably been lying there for hours. He didn't even look up as John walked in, of course not. He probably hadn't even realized John wasn't even there.

"Got anything in? I'm starving?" John asked him, not exactly expecting a response as he moved towards the kitchen and pulled open the door to the fridge, crying out in surprise as he was met with the sight of a severed head. "A severed head," John said pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just tea for me thanks," Sherlock called lazily from the living room. John stood back, slamming the refrigerator door closed again. He didn't need this, not now and not today.

"Another bloody head! Sherlock!" John called as he stomped back into the living room. "Why is there a head in our refrigerator again?!" John all but yelled at him as he tried to remain calm.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock said as if this was supposed to be an obvious fact.

"Oh, yeah, an experiment. I should have thought of that, my apologies," John bit out sarcastically before he left Sherlock and went upstairs to his room. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt out of his drawers before he went downstairs for a hot shower. He turned on the shower before shedding his clothes and steeping into the scalding water. John sighed in relief as the hot water worked itself into his tired limbs. His shoulder was a bit stiff, it would probably be worse by morning. The weather was starting to get colder and that always made it act up a bit. John stood in the spray, letting the water wash over him for a long moment before he reached for the shampoo and squirted some out onto his palm, scrubbing it roughly through his short blonde hair.

John tried not think about having to go back into the living room and put up with Sherlock for the evening. He wanted to relax with some tea in his chair and then get some sleep before he had to go back to the A&E. He felt run down from how much he was working lately and then running around to help Sherlock with cases too. Food, he needed food. He was always in a worse mood when he was hungry. Chinese sounded nice. With any luck, Sherlock would continue sulking on the couch because he didn't have any new cases and John could just ignore him for a bit. John had recently been getting into more fights with the detective over little things. John was tired of the fighting, the sulking, and well, Sherlock being Sherlock. Sure, he loved the annoying git, but after a while he got to be too much to handle. John jumped in surprise as his thoughts registered with him. Did he honestly think that, he loved Sherlock?! John shut of the shower, physically shaking his head as he got out as if that could shake the thoughts from his head. He quickly dressed in his bed clothes, pulling his dressing gown on before he dumped his clothes in the laundry basket and padded into the living room still not sure what was wrong with him.

Involuntarily his gaze flickered over to the detective who was sprawled out on the couch like a cat. He shook his head again and moved into the kitchen. He went on autopilot as he ordered the Chinese, making sure to get what Sherlock normally would eat. He probably hadn't eaten all day. No, he had to stop thinking about Sherlock. John tiredly made himself a mug of tea, making one for Sherlock too even if he didn't think Sherlock would even touch it. He made his way back in the living room to find Sherlock in his typical prayer pose that he only adopted when he was in his "Mind Palace." John shook his head at Sherlock before setting his tea down on the coffee table next to the man. He made his way back over to his chair and sat down heavily in it, surprised when he looked back across to Sherlock and found the younger man sitting upright, reaching for his tea.

"Thank you John," Sherlock told him as he picked up his tea mug and blew on it before taking a small sip. John's mouth dropped open a little bit, doing an impression of a goldfish before he snapped it shut. When did Sherlock ever thank him for bringing him tea or drank it for that matter? Was Sherlock sick? God he hoped not. He would end up murdering him and then the man would probably come back to life to solve his own death.

"Um, yeah, sure," John stammered as he squirmed in his chair and then picked up the paper he hadn't been able to read that morning. He hid behind the pages, not really reading the words in front of him. What was wrong with Sherlock? What had suddenly made the man seem…nicer. Not that John was complaining. It was nice to be thanked for once, but that wasn't Sherlock.

Sherlock was car chases and gun fights and being brilliant all the time. He was the most amazing person John had ever met. What had changed though? Why did John now suddenly realize that he loved him? When did he start loving him? It had to have been before the Woman, John thought grimacing as he remembered their faithful adventure with Irene Adler. He was glad that that woman was gone. He had been jealous when he saw Irene with Sherlock, at the time he couldn't understand why, but now he could. It was the way she stared at him like he was a piece of meat. Then there was when Moriarty had kidnapped him. He had seen the hurt in Sherlock's eyes when he walked out, revealing himself and then the pain as he saw the bomb strapped to John's chest. That had been the hardest thing he had ever done, having to walk out there and make Sherlock think he had betrayed him.

No, it had been before that. It had been that night, the night of their first case together. His veins had felt icy, his heart growing cold as he figured out that the reason the phone was no longer in the flat was because Sherlock had left in a cab with the murder. He had figure it out after that. He thought he was going to be too late, that he was going to find Sherlock dead. He had felt his stomach drop out of him, his heart clench painfully when he had watched Sherlock through the window about to take the pill. He had shot upon instinct, protecting Sherlock without even a second thought. Sherlock had been on his mind since the very first day. There was no stopping him either. Sherlock was a force all on his own. If Sherlock wanted entry, he got it, forcing his way in until he had taken over everything. John jumped as he heard the doorbell downstairs, alerting him to the fact that the takeout had arrived. He cleared his throat and set down his paper as he got to his feet, finding Sherlock looking towards the window suspiciously.

"I'll go and get that, shall I," John said as he grabbed his wallet from him jacket and headed off down the stairs.

Had Sherlock been staring at him? God, he hoped not. That would be embarrassing. Wait, what was he going to do? Sherlock would no doubt be able to deduce John's feelings. The man had already told him he was married to his work. If he found out John loved him, he might feel too uncomfortable having John living with him anymore and then John would have to find a new flat. He would just have to be careful. He could do that right? He could act like everything was fine. Living with this discovery wouldn't be easy. Sherlock never seemed to understand personal space, but he could do it. John quickly paid the delivery boy and thanked him before taking the bag of food back up to the flat. He froze in the door way as he caught Sherlock lying out plates and flatware. Who was he and what had he done with Sherlock Holmes?

"Are you just going to stand there?" Sherlock snapped at him, pulling John out of his thoughts. John shook his head before padding over to the coffee table and started unloading the food from the bag. He pulled one of the kitchen chairs up to the coffee table so he could use the surface before sitting down. He started piling his plate with food, surprised when Sherlock started to do the same. Something was definitely wrong with the man. It was then that their hands brushed against each other as they both reached for one of the take out containers. Both men pulled their hands back quickly. John blushed with embarrassment and looked away from the detective as he felt his hand tingling where Sherlock's skin had touched his own.

"Sorry, mate," John apologized quickly knowing Sherlock didn't like being touched, afraid to even look up at him.

"No, no it's fine," Sherlock told John, whose gaze immediately snapped to Sherlock's. He stared into the grey blue eyes of the consulting detective, noting that his pupils were slightly dilated.

"You feeling alright Sherlock? You look a little pale. Well, paler than normal," John asked him in concern. Sherlock looked off and if John had to guess, ill. Maybe he really was sick. "Maybe you should go lay down for a bit," John suggested internally cringing as he waited for Sherlock to snap some retort back to him.

"No, I'm fine," Sherlock told John a little weakly before repeating himself, his voice a little firmer as if he was confirming this fact for himself. "I'm fine."

The rest of the meal passed in silence. John stole glances at Sherlock whenever he was sure he wasn't watching him. He tried to be subtle about it as he watched the detective eating for once which surprised him. Sherlock never ate unless John really nagged him about it, but here he was doing so willingly. When both of them had finished eating, John was surprised to find that Sherlock had eaten everything on his plate. He cleared up the leftovers and their dishes as Sherlock laid back on the couch and sat in his prayer position. John finished the washing up and decided to head up to bed. He would have another long day tomorrow morning and he had to get his mind off of Sherlock.

"I'm going to bed. Night Sherlock," John called to Sherlock as he headed for the stairs. Just as he was about to enter the hallway, Sherlock's voice rang through the quiet flat.

"John, wait," Sherlock called after him weakly. John froze in the door at the sound of Sherlock's voice. He sounded whiny, as if he was pleading with John. John turned around to face the detective not sure if he really wanted to.

"What is it Sherlock?" John asked him tiredly as he sighed and padded a little bit back into the living room.

"I think I am sick," Sherlock told him. This was what John was afraid of. Sherlock didn't look good either. Well, this was bloody perfect. Now he was going to have to take care of the sick detective which would probably be a nightmare.

"Symptoms?" John asked him slipping into his doctor mode as he walked over to Sherlock and pressed his cold hand to Sherlock's forehead.

"Um, my stomach hurts and my head and my chest," Sherlock told him and John mentally nodded to himself. Yup, he had the flu. Great, just bloody perfect. This is exactly what he needed today.

"Sounds like you have the flue," John told him tiredly. Sherlock shook his head quickly like a petulant child.

"No, that's not it. This is different. It hurts here," Sherlock told John as he held his hand over his heart. His heart? That wasn't the flu. John started to get a little worried. Was it possible for Sherlock to have a heart attack at his age? Of course it was, he might not be a cardiac doctor, but he knew that much.

"You heart?' John asked him raising his eyebrow. Okay what was he going to do? Don't panic soldier, he mentally chided himself. Best thing to do was stay calm and get Sherlock to the hospital. "I don't think I can do anything for that. We might have to go to the hospital," John told him and Sherlock huffed. Great now he was going to put up a fight over going to the hospital like always.

"John, I think I'm in love," Sherlock finally said. John felt himself go numb at those words. Sherlock, in love? John couldn't help the jealousy that coursed through him. He tried to sound normal when he spoke again.

"Umm, how did you figure that?" John asked him as Sherlock sat up, getting closer to John who was sitting on the edge of the couch. John held his breath at Sherlock's sudden closeness before mentally chiding himself.

"Every time I see them I feel happy. I feel sad when their gone. I liked it when they take care of me and I feel as if my heart hurts whenever I look at them. Is this what love is supposed to feel like?" Sherlock asked John pulling a confused expression. Wow, Sherlock really was in love. John's heart clenched painfully at this revelation.

"Generally, yeah," John told him breaking out in a tight smile as he tried to play the role of supportive friend. "So, who's the lucky lady?" John asked him suddenly, not actually wanting to know. Sherlock laid back down on the couch, curling in on himself leaving John very confused. "Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked him quickly as Sherlock curled into himself tighter. Oh no, one of his moods. He was probably feeling embarrassed about having admitted his feelings to John that he loved someone. Maybe it was Molly? Yeah, it was probably Molly.

Sherlock mumbled something into the couch cushions and John frowned, not having caught what h said. "What was that?" John asked him and Sherlock sat up, looking back at John, staring him right in the eyes.

"You," Sherlock told him louder than before. John stared back at him for a long moment, completely frozen and not sure if he had heard him right. When Sherlock word's finally registered with him he initially felt shock, and then happiness, and then confusion.

"Sherlock…," John said as he stared back at Sherlock. Suddenly, Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to John's. He pulled away just as John realized that Sherlock was kissing him, actually properly kissing him. Sherlock looked anywhere but at John. He looked like he was waiting for John to yell at him or tell him off. He looked so hurt, so much like a child. John reached out and gently grabbed his chin, turning Sherlock to face him before he leaned in and planted a kiss of his own to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock reacted a second later, moving his lips with John's trying to fill the kiss with every unspoken emotion, trying to show John just how much he cared for him as John tried to do the same. When they finally broke apart, breathing heavily as their forehead were pressed together, John chuckled his laughter mixing with Sherlock's deep baritone laughter that made John's heart swell with elation.

"John?' Sherlock asked hesitantly. Where did they go from here? Was Sherlock going to regret kissing him? John didn't know if they could go back to the way things were before now. He knew it had been hard for Sherlock to admit what he had, to kiss him like he had.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked him after what felt like the longest second of his life.

"I'm experiencing an increase in Oxytocin right now," Sherlock told him and the army doctor chuckled as he brought his hand up to Sherlock's face and rubbed the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's cheek bone.

"I love you too you idiot," John told him with a laugh before pressing another kiss to Sherlock's lips.

With those three words, Sherlock's whole life changed and for once he realized that Mycroft was wrong. Caring was an advantage. That night, the resident's off 221B fell asleep cuddled together on the couch and were not awoken until morning by the shriek of a very delighted Mrs. Hudson. Things would be changing at Baker Street soon, but what would never change is the love the blogger had for his detective.