Dealing with the Unexpected

Hey everyone, this is my first story so please let me know what you think! It would make me happy ^.^

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Chapter 1



BOOM!

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!" John screamed as he ran up the stairs. Honestly, he couldn't pop out for ten minutes without something blowing up or getting broken.

He entered the flat and began searching for the consulting detective, even though he was finding it extremely difficult to see and/or breathe with the thick smoke consuming the flat. Finally he saw the tall silhouette just standing there unmoving in the kitchen.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?!" John yelled through the smoke, grabbing a tea towel and attempting to fan the room.

"Cooking, John."

"What?"

"I am cooking you dinner," he replied casually.

"Wh...?" John stammered. "Sherlock, you've practically burnt the whole damn kitchen, let alone the food!"

"I am quite aware John," he murmured, hands on his hips and glaring down at the oven.

"Why were you making me dinner, you never venture near the kitchen unless it's to make a cup of tea or to do an experiment?"

"You've seemed quite stressed lately, so I thought it was best if you had the evening off." He said quietly. John softened when he heard this. Ever since Sherlock's return after the fall, he has acted differently. He seems to care more about the little things in life and John didn't want to ruin this new side of him, so he decided to let this one slip. It was a good excuse to get a takeaway anyway.

John ran to the windows and opened them as far as they would go and proceeded back to the kitchen to sort out the mess his flat mate had made (again).

"Look, Sherlock, I am flattered by the fact you want to make me dinner and I'm sorry that it didn't turn out, um....edible." They both grinned as they looked at the catastrophe around them.

"Why don't you go and order us a takeaway and I'll clean up," John offered. Sherlock simply nodded and left for the living room.



After the kitchen had been saved and both men had eaten, they sat quietly in the living room; John watching pointless rubbish on TV and Sherlock curled up with his back to John on the sofa. John watched him silently. 'What had gotten into him?' he thought. 'Why is he trying so hard to impress me?'

When Sherlock had returned, John was a mess. He hadn't known what to do with himself after he witnessed Sherlock falling off of St Bart's, so he had stayed away from 221B and moved back into his old flat. He just couldn't cope with the fact that he was surrounded by things that reminded him of the one man he had grown to care about. Of course he denied the fact that he cared about him; he always had done. He never understood his feelings towards Sherlock, but the day he returned and showed John that in fact he wasn't dead, he knew from that point on that the reason he has mourned his death so much was because he cared. Sherlock had watched him cry that day and John noticed something break in him. Sherlock had noticed how much pain he had caused his good doctor. Now he was trying to fix it.

John could tell that Sherlock was pretending to be asleep on the sofa. He stood and walked over to him, carefully sitting down at the other end, not once taking his eyes off the man.

"Sherlock, I can tell that something is on your mind." John whispered.

"Why would you possibly think that?" Came Sherlock's muffled reply from where his face was buried in the cushion.

"You've been acting differently. You're starting to show signs of emotion, which I can tell isn't like you at all." John laughed.

Sherlock didn't reply.

"Sherlock?" John tried.

Sherlock sighed irritably and sat up, bringing his knees to his chest.

"It's true John, I am starting to feel emotions." He said matter-of-factly. "Ever since, well....you know" he paused as he noticed the look of pain on John's face, "ever since then I've felt this overwhelming feeling of guilt for what I put you through." He stopped and closed his eyes. John could tell he was finding it hard to go on.

"Sherlock, you've apologised enough and I've told you a million times that you are forgiven." He whispered.

"Yes but John, that's not the point." Sherlock looked down at the floor. "I've always found it easy to hide my emotions, and it's gotten to the point where people wonder whether I'm actually capable of feeling anything. But I can, John." John watched in shock as a small tear fell down Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock...it's ok...you..." John stuttered.

"No John, I need you to listen," Sherlock interrupted. "I cannot apologise enough for everything that I put you through. It kills me to know that I hurt you and I want to make it up to you somehow. I want people to know that I do feel and I can be happy and I can feel hurt and I can grieve and..." He swallowed, "love." He froze as he felt his face heat up.

John put a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Just let people know how you feel and they will realise that you are just another human being." 'A bloody exceptional human being' he thought to himself. Sherlock looked up at John, a look of understanding on his face. John felt his face burn and prayed that Sherlock hadn't read him like a book.

"And you don't have to make it up to me. Your fantastic attempt of a dinner was enough," John joked, breaking the awkward silence. Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. He was genuinely laughing and John couldn't be happier. Soon enough, both men were in hysterics about Sherlock's lack of cooking abilities.

After what felt like ages of just laughing, Sherlock looked over at his blogger with a smile etched on his face.

"What is it?" John asked.

"I'm going to buy you something, John! What would you like, I'll get you anything?" He rushed, obviously excited about seeing John's reaction.

"You don't have to buy me anything!" John laughed.

"Ugh John, there is no point trying to persuade me not to buy you anything because you know I will anyway, now what would you like?" Sherlock said exasperatedly.

'You' John thought, feeling his face get warm from the thought of it. "Uh, I guess you could just get me some chocolate or something?" He offered.

"Dull. Boring. I want to get you something you can keep, John. It doesn't matter how expensive; I have access to Mycroft's bank account."

John laughed. What had he always wanted? John sat there thinking while Sherlock watched him.

"Sherlock, I actually have no idea whatsoever. If you really feel the need to get me something then I will let you know if I think of anything, okay?"

"Alright."



"But I would love a cup of tea."



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What do you think so far? Chapter 2 will be up soon if you liked the first one so let me know xx