So this is literally born from an omegle conversation. As in, the lines go back and forth. I don't really know how this happened, just that it did, and it was fantastic to create. So much love to wholockedlikeaboss on tumblr for writing half of this! (Her blog is lovely... hint hint.) Oh, and warning: this story may contain Johnlock.

No rush getting back to the flat. I spilled your jam. SH


Um, never mind. It was an… autocorrect mistake. SH

What EXACTLY was autocorrected. JW

Well, spilled should've been dropped and broke. SH

I am catching a cab right at this very moment. JW

And shattered across the floor. SH

And did I mention it was the last jar? SH

Whoops. SH

Be there in five minutes. Will assess damage. JW

Take your time. SH

You're going and buying me more. No matter what. JW

Or I'll conveniently forget to, like I did with the milk. SH

Please, Sherlock, don't remind me to be angry with you when I already am. JW

How did you manage to drop the bloody jam, anyways? JW

I was testing a "drop" theory. SH


Yes, your poor jam was assaulted and murdered by one of my most glorious experiments. SH

I'll show you a glorious experiment. JW

I timed its fall. SH

I'll time YOUR fall. JW

But the timer broke… so your jam died in vain. SH

If I manage not to kill you, you owe me. JW

Oh, I'm so scared. SH

You should be. I've killed people. JW

You're a doctor! SH


Careful, John! You may cut your hand on my cheek bones if you try to punch me. SH

I'll cut your cheek bones on the shards of my beautiful jam! JW

Oh what's that smell? Just the scent of burning glass! Can glass burn, John? Time to test the theory… SH


Oh no. The glass melted. SH

But on the good side, at least the flat will smell like strawberry jam for a couple of days. SH


KILL! I meant kill! Damn autocorrect. JW

Hey but the offer's still there. SH

What bloody offer? JW

You offered to kiss me, John. SH

That was autocorrect. JW

Sure it was. SH

Sherlock? JW

But I don't hear you rejecting the idea! SH

Just buy the damn jam. JW

The fifth minute has passed by, John still hasn't rejected the offer to kiss me. SH

How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not gay. JW

Wait, do you… d'you want to kiss me? JW

You offered and neither one of us has rejected the idea. SH

Sherlock? I have a confession. JW

Confess away, John! Confess away. SH

My mobile doesn't have autocorrect. JW

I know. SH

So… any of that jam salvageable? JW

No, John. I threw the jam in the fire, John. It's gone, John. SH

… JW

Shall I plan its funeral? SH

Please. JW

I'll get the ashes. SH

Why? What are you going to put them in? You melted the jar. JW

I'll use the carton of milk. SH

No, you burned that. Remember? You wanted to see how the spoiled milk affected the combustion of the carton? JW

Oh, yes. Thanks for reminding me. SH

Screw the jam. JW

I'll get the screwdriver. SH

Not what I meant, Sherlock. JW

I meant disregard it. JW

Why? SH

John read the text and decided not to respond seeing as he was literally on the doorstop. He sighed and shouldered open the door of the flat. The smell of burnt jam was actually extremely pleasant but did very little to help calm his nerves. His stomach felt odd. Had he really offered to kiss Sherlock? The S and L keys were very far apart.

He climbed the stairs and, upon reaching the top, saw his flatmate standing on his usual chair, focus bent on his phone.

"Because," John swallowed nervously, verbally answering the text. "I have a better idea."

Sherlock spun around to see John standing behind him. His face brightened and he gave a small smile. "And what would that be, John?" he asked.

"You're the consulting detective," John challenged. "Deduce it."

Sherlock stepped towards John, looking at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Your idea has something to do with your previous accidental offer to kiss me," he said in a low voice.

John hadn't blushed so badly since he was a school boy. Sherlock was suddenly very close and those bizarre, hypnotic eyes were impossible to escape.

John cleared his throat. "May- maybe." His voice hitched halfway through the word, coming out an octave higher than usual.

Sherlock smiled lightly, inching closer to John. "Which is it then? Are you going to kill me… or kiss me?" Sherlock asked seductively.

Damn it, John was a soldier. He had invaded Afghanistan! He had run halfway across London with Sherlock! He had been in countless near death situations with his flatmate. Time to be brave once again. He didn't bother to answer Sherlock's question with words. Screwing his face into an expression of determination, he grabbed a handful of that curly hair and pulled Sherlock's face down to his own, pressing his lips to his flatmate's.

He hadn't realized exactly how badly he'd wanted to do that since first meeting the insane detective.

Sherlock smiled into the kiss, many thoughts were running through his head, mainly a burning curiosity to know how long John had wanted to kiss him. His head buzzed.

John pulled out of the kiss, feeling breathless and light head. Those bow shaped lips were even softer than he'd imagined. He gazed at Sherlock for a moment before pulling back his fist and punching him solidly.

Sherlock stumbled back holding his cheek. He looked at John, bewildered. "What was that for?!"

Now it was John's turn to smirk. "My jam." And he pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

Sherlock shrugged, kissing back happily. But as payback for the punch, he bit John's lip.

John gave a small gasp of surprise. The bite hurt, but in a good way. Suddenly, he realized that Sherlock tasted oddly like… "MY STRAWBERRY JAM!"

Sherlock smirked. "Strawberry jam goes great with toast…" he mused.

"YOU SAID IT WAS AN EXPERIMENT!" John thundered, thoroughly horror-struck.

Sherlock shrugged. "It was, but I also wanted to try some of it before wasting the rest on an experiment. I can assure you, it was delicious." He fought back the urge to laugh at John's expression.

"Y-you ate my jam." John sounded as though he could hardly believe it. He moved to sit on the couch and dropped his head into his hands, staring at the floor without seeing it. "You ate my jam," he repeated.

He glanced up at Sherlock who was still slightly smirking. "You know how I feel about my jam."

Sherlock frowned, he made his way over to John and lifted his chin up with his index finger. Those ethereal blue eyes searched John's face for a moment. "Would you like another taste?"

"Yes," John said, fighting to maintain his irritable tone. He got to his feet and with more will power than he would ever admit it took him, he moved past Sherlock and back towards the door. "I'm going out. To get jam. Because I want jam."

Sherlock reacted quickly, not wanting John to leave. His fingers quickly found the back of John's jacket. He pulled him back, making John stumble right into him, their lips crashed together and he melted into the kiss. Moments later, Sherlock pulled away.


"Why on earth would I leave?" John asked, the smallest bit breathless.

Sherlock frowned. "Because jam is obviously more important to you," he replied.

"You taste like jam," John pointed out, entirely forgetting his planned vendetta for jam from a few moments ago. "And jam doesn't, you know…"

"Kiss back?" Sherlock suggested.

"That too," John acknowledged. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'drive me to within an inch of my sanity' but 'kiss back' works, too."

Sherlock smirked a little, leaning into John again, but stopping just barely an inch or two away. "How can I drive you past your sanity?"

John blinked and took a step back, running into a wall. Sherlock followed him, putting a hand on either side of his head and trapping him there. John began to stammer as Sherlock lined his body up flush with John's.

"That'll- that'll just about do it, I reckon," John gasped. Only half of his words were intelligible.

Sherlock smiled, kissing John again, one arm snaked around his waist, pulling John closer.

John had never thought about kissing Sherlock before, at least that's what he told himself. But at that very moment, he couldn't imagine ever kissing anyone else. Why had he ever asked Sarah out when he had Sherlock? Well, he supposed that would be because he'd never really allowed himself to consider kissing Sherlock before.

Sherlock pulled away and looked at John with those ethereal blue eyes, searching his face. "Do you truly love me, John?" Sherlock whispered, almost scared to ask.

John froze. A thousand images raced through his mind in an instant. Sherlock being excited before a case. Sherlock in a foul mood. Sherlock bored. All the times they had fought. All the times they had worked together. All the little glances that were just starting to make sense now. He knew he admired Sherlock and valued his opinion above anyone else's. He knew that he had once been alone and that now, now he wasn't. Everything his life had become, he owed to his friend. "Of course I do."

"Good… tell me why?" Sherlock replied softly his face very close to John's, only inches apart, he looked at John with a heavy lidded gaze.

"Because," John said simply, "you're Sherlock and I'm John."

"Really?" Sherlock asked, smirked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, really," John snapped. He was an idiot to think Sherlock would understand normal, human emotion. "Why?"

Sherlock shrugged, feeling a little confused, had he said something bad? John's mood had changed quickly like a light switch and Sherlock didn't understand. "Erm…" he trailed off, looking away from John, even backing away from him a little.

Immediately John regretted his outburst. It was obvious Sherlock was hurt, the detective hadn't meant to be difficult. It suddenly occurred to John that Sherlock, being Sherlock, wouldn't really know anything about a relationship. "Remember that time when you thought you were asking me on a date?" John asked. "When we went to the Yellow Dragon Circus? And Sarah was there?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, feeling a small pang of annoyance. Why would he bring up HER? Ugh, is he still dating her? I hope not. Sherlock's thoughts rad and he nodded hesitantly at John.

Cautiously, John placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's face – giving into the temptation to trace one of those ridiculous cheekbones with his thumb. "How about we go on a real date?"

Sherlock leaned into John's palm, slowly closing his eyes. His thoughts became a little fuzzy. "Where do you want to go…?" he mumbled, sighing in content, yet not opening his eyes.

"Well," John said, "it's your first date. Where would you like to go?"

Sherlock thought for a moment and then looked at John, smiling lightly. "What about that little bistro down the street, the one we went to when we had first met?" he inquired.

"Good," John said. "Now grab your coat, Mr. Holmes. We are going on a date."