John was in a bit of a predicament.
He had an epiphany, something that he'd been suppressing for so long that when it finally hit him, it came at full force. It all began one morning after he had spent the evening together with Sherlock. Hours upon hours had passed, with nothing but hot breaths against sensitive skin, goosebumps meeting gasps of pleasure.
But strangely enough, the heat and pleasure of it all (no matter how enjoyable John found it) wasn't what brought John to this realization... It was how John had felt as he eased his eyes open and found them resting on Sherlocks delicate face, sound asleep. It was the was the way that Johns hand instinctively reached out to gently brush strands of hair away from Sherlocks eyes, feeling the soft texture of his skin underneath his rough calloused fingertips. It was the painfully beautiful way that his chest had tightened when Sherlocks eyes fluttered open, and when he had focused on John, he leaned his face into his palm and smiled.
Sherlock had always been awake before John, already working on a case or doing god know what before John even had a chance for rouse himself from bed. This was the first morning they had woken up together and something seemed to click in John's mind. That thing that made all other mornings seem off... Like something was missing, finally made sense.
This was his missing piece. Him. Sherlock. And the stirring that John felt within as the dark haired man blinked lazily up at him and in a hoarse voice said "Good morning John" settled it. There was no denying it any longer. He was in love with Sherlock Holmes.
