Undiscovered

Chapter 1

John shuffled downstairs and squinted into the morning light flooding through 221B. It was Saturday morning, so John had the pleasure of sleeping late - well, as late as he could. He looked around the apartment.
A sleeping Sherlock lay on the couch. His brown curls covered his eyes as he slept. John shook his head.
Sherlock had a bad habit of not going to bed. He would stay up until the early hours of the morning, either playing melancholic tunes on his violin or obsessing over a case, then inevitably falling asleep wherever his body decided to drop. One time John had found the detective slumped over the kitchen table.

John walked towards the kitchen and boiled the kettle. After he made his tea, he sat down on his favourite chair and picked up the newspaper. The room was silent. The only noise was coming from the traffic outside.
It was a peaceful day. The light that streamed through the window was a dull grey - the sun stayed hidden behind London clouds.
John's time in Afghanistan got him used to the sun, alongside it's heat. Sometimes he missed the warmth of a hot day. Sunny days in London were not like that  of other places and he often found that the dull weather, although comforted him, made him rather gloomy. It would be nice to go someplace sunny. Him and Sherlock. It would do no harm for his pale friend to get a bit of a tan. John just wanted to go somewhere else, anywhere else with Sherlock. He wanted some adventure outside of London. As long as it was with his best friend.

Sherlock stirred awake and opened a single eye. The eye quizically stared at John. John stared back, unsure of why Sherlock seemed so confused.
He lifted his head and opened both eyes. John sipped his tea as Sherlock stretched out his tall limbs.
"Good morning," said John, who still had his morning voice, despite being awake before his friend  - that made Sherlock smile.
"Morning," he replied in his deep voice.
"Would you like some coffee?" John knew Sherlock barely functioned without some sort of energy source in the morning - specifically caffeine. Or nicotine. Either would do.
"Please," he answered in a plain manner whilst padding away to his room. John got up and washed out his own cup after re-boiling the kettle.
  Black, two sugars, he though to himself.
Once the coffee was made, he walked over to Sherlock's room. Coffee in hand, he walked in.
John should've knocked.
There Sherlock stood, his body as bare as a tree in winter. The light glowed on his cream skin and the muscles in his back shifted.
For a reason unbeknown to even himself, John stared.
"John," Sherlock turned around to face his now-awkward flatmate. He eyed the short blond suspiciously. John cleared his throat and apologised, his words fumbling out of his mouth like word vomit, embarrassed to have been caught staring.
"S-sorry. Jeez. So sorry. Uh, here's your coffee. Sorry. I'll uh.. I'll put it in the kitchen. Sorry."
He practically ran out of the room and back into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and put his face in his hands - he'd never felt more ridiculous before in his life. Footsteps padded lightly towards him. The coffe mug was retrieved from the table and a sip was taken. A sigh.
"Lovely coffee, John" John looked up and Sherlock smiled at him.
He managed to give a small smile back before turning around and heading upstairs. He needed a nice, hot shower.

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John made both him and Sherlock some breakfast, which both of them ate in silence. Sherlock looked at John. He looked up at the same time and their eyes met, instantly flooding John's stomach with butterflies. He cleared his throat and shifted akwardly. The scrambled egg on his plate suddenly seemed to capture all of his attention.
"You're nervous," Sherlock looked at John.
"What? Why would I be nervous?"
"You tell me. You just cleared your throat and shifted uncomfortably. You suddenly looked down at your food, avoiding eye contact and your ears turned a slight shade of pink."
"Well..okay, yes. But that doesn't mean I'm nervous." The brunette raised an eyebrow, but questioned no further.
He stabbed a piece of toast and placed in his mouth, chewing slowly. He put his fork down and just sat.
John sighed. "What?" He looked at Sherlock, also putting his utensils down.
"You're bothered," his low voice stated.
John looked down and sighed, then looked up again. In an attempt to avoid talking about his awkward moment earlier, he dug deeper to his thoughts far earlier that morning
"I feel like doing something different." John's blue eyes glimmered slightly in the morning light. He and Sherlock had not done much this past month. Sure, they had solved several crimes together although neither were all that exciting. The best it got was when Sherlock bumped an old lady during a chase and she mercilessly tried hammering the life out of him with her purse.
He wanted something more... adventurous.

"Different how?" He looked at the doctor. His face was pulled up in weird places and John smiled a little.
John explained his desire to do something that took them out of the confines of 221B and, well... London. All he got in return from Sherlock was a mysterious look. He got up and took both their plates.
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Let's find something different to do on a case."
"Okay."
"Okay."