The Inevitable: Johnlock Fanfiction

It's all Ruined

POV: Watson

Expecting the detective to be inexperienced, I hesitantly and slowly move my mouth against his stiff lips. Doubt surges through my mind, noticing how ridiculous this is. How am I supposed to explain this to Sherlock without telling him that it's for Moriarty. The only reasonable explanation I can tell him for this is that I'm in love with him. Not an option.

So wrapped up in my own thoughts, I don't notice when he starts kissing me back. My thoughts are cloud, and only one word remains in my shattered mind, Sherlock. His lips are impossibly soft and warm against the cold January wind. I reach up and grab a handful of his curls, trying to bring him closer to me.

"Boys?" A giggling voice cuts in behind me, trying to muffle their laughter.

Sherlock and I jump back as if electrocuted, I look over to the gleeful face of Ms. Hudson.

"I knew it!." She shouts triumphantly, making it clear to anyone nearby. I thank silently that the reporters were finally getting of Sherlock's tracks. If there were any nearby, this would be all over the news tomorrow.

I start, about to defend myself. Then I look at Sherlock's debauched expression and our disheveled appearances. His lips are red and swollen, with his hair tangled and messy from when I ran my fingers through them. I'm still panting slightly, and I can still feel Sherlock's lips, sinned with expertise.

I sigh in defeat, letting Ms. Hudson drink in her glory. There is no point in trying to pretend I wasn't just making out with my flat-mate.

Sherlock clears his throat, before confronting our laughing landlady.

"It's an experiment," he says flatly to her.

"Right, well it sure seemed like were enjoying it." She retorts, giggling again.

I blush violently, before opening the door to the flat and running inside, not bothering to see if Sherlock is behind me. I walk briskly to the bathroom, wanting to collect my thoughts before facing him.

I dig my nails into the flesh of my palm, cursing myself silently for what I just did impulsively. True, Mycroft asked me to put up a show, but what I did was simply stupid. There is no delicate solution to what I did, and I'm going to pay for that dearly. I cannot tell Sherlock the truth; our safety would be threatened if he ever found out about Moriarty. I wince slightly, imagining him dying again.

I bite my lip, realizing with a sinking feeling, that I do feel affection for the detective. Out of all the people in the world, Sherlock Holmes is the one I choose to love? I blink away the slight grimace at the word love. He could never love anyone.

________________________________

Sherlock is perched with his legs crossed elegantly. His face is blank and he appears to be thinking again. I walk over to the kitchen to make some tea. I'm waiting for the kettle to boil, and an awkward silence fills the apartment.

"So... How was your day?" I ask awkwardly, and before the words were even out of my mouth, I knew this would get me a smart-arse retort.

"You were there for most of that, Are you really reduced to asking such trivial and stupid questions?" He responds gruffly.

I sigh, I knew it. I suppose there's no point in trying to go around the block, so I take a deep breath.

"When I kissed you earlier, I just really..."My voice falters as he walks over, with a piercing gaze at me.

"I know what you're going to say. And I hope that my reaction to your sudden kiss was satisfying enough for now. I know that you miss Mary and that it was just a mistake. You needed someone to let out the sexual frustration, and I simply happened to be the nearest person."