Father, Not A Detective

Chapter Six: Content Togetherness

Before the first kiss, John felt something melt inside of himself that hurt in an exquisite way. All of his longings, all of his dreams and sweet anguish, all the secrets that slept deep within him came awake, Everything was transformed and enchanted, everything made sense. He'd noticed a new speck of brown in the bright spectrum of color in Sherlock's prepossessing eyes. He'd become aware of the scent of Sherlock's breath and the texture of his soft skin. The way that one curl in particular, curled under his left ear from behind, almost caressing it benevolently. John noticed that Sherlock had freckles that spread out; looking much like an artist flicked a paintbrush against his skin.

John brought his hand to the back of Sherlock's head, gently twirling and nestling his fingers into Sherlock's soft curls. He heard Sherlock's breathing catch in his throat.

"This is silly." Sherlock whispered, just centimeters from John's face.

"No... No, I don't think it is." John murmured,

"It's just, I'm not used to this. This... Whatever this is."

"Me neither... I mean, I was married to a woman for Christ's sake." John chuckled softly and earned a nervous laugh from Sherlock. Sherlock looked away from John's lips and up to his eyes, with more innocence in his expression in the way he held his face then a young child's.

John cupped Sherlock's cheek, suddenly feeling a surge of confidence, but still not fully understanding where this situation would end. And John whispered something to Sherlock that, not only made his heart flutter against the inside of his chest, but gave him such a sense of hope, that he could carry it with him for many years.

"But I like it; whatever this is.."

After hearing that, Sherlock had wondered to himself how many times John had managed to take his breath away. It had been a whole three times since he'd walked into the bedroom. Twice the day that they'd chased after the "Wooden Man", four times when they'd sat in Helena's nursery and joked about the time they got drunk off of cheap wine and ended up putting things in the microwave to see what would happen because they thought it would be "interesting", and an entire eight times, when John fell asleep in his armchair, with Helena asleep in his arms, in the middle of watching their sixth episode of Doctor Who.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock snapped out of his trance, once he'd noticed how close he was to entering his mind palace and the concerned, yet interested, look on John's face.

"How long was I gone?"

"Not long..." John flashed Sherlock a gut wrenchingly, beautiful smile.

And there goes another breath, that's, what, four now?

Sherlock let out another nervous chuckle.

Before the first kiss, Sherlock felt frightened. Like every wall that he'd spent his entire life building and building, was missing a block and would eventually crumble to nothing, and he'd finally let somebody in. And that frightened him to no end. His heart was stuck on a permanent clench, his body left him feeling unresponsive and betrayed, his mind was smoked over with anxiety and excitement and something... Something else was there, something that was the positive to the negative, the A to the B, the missing stroke of the brush to the most beautiful painting - love.

Love. It was love, plain as day, right in front of him, he found love. In the deepest depth of his mind, the darkest chasm of his heart, the thinnest vein in his body, there was love and it was so alive. So present and strong and unforgettable. Sherlock found it. The missing puzzle piece, the blue to the sky, the proton to the neuron, the honey to the hive - John.