This gets a wee bit descriptive of kissing? Nothing real bad. Just be prepared to blush if I've written it good enough. Enjoy!

John had felt the shift in his bones. His friendship with Sherlock had been unexpected and fast forming, but it was impossible to deny how deep their bond went. But what had changed was that John had fallen in love with Sherlock.

The remarkable bit, however, was that John had felt it at all- because the change was sudden, swift, and small; it would have been imperceptible to most. He had nearly missed it.
They'd been drinking tea, that John had made of course, and Sherlock had taken a look at John's blog. He had leaned over him; his breath brushing against John's cheek. He had watched and read what John wrote. Sherlock had opened his mouth to make a comment, no doubt it would have been something scathing about the title or the style. But he sucked in a breath, and his head pulled back from John's shoulder.

He had sipped at his tea, and offered no comment. John's brow had furrowed and he had looked up at the detective, waiting for the snappish words that were sure to spoil John's mood. They always did, even if John never said anything and pretended not to care.

"That's it? No objection or remark?" John was lost and waited for the blow to fall.

"Hm? Oh- no. It's... Brilliant, John." Sherlock was initially surprised, but his voice softened as he spoke. He stepped around John's chair and went back to whatever he had been doing.

"Did you just compliment me?" Now John was really confused.

"I should think so," Sherlock said, his baritone voice oddly deeper than normal. And that was when John realized that he was totally and completely in trouble. Because when those green eyes had gazed at him with complete sincerity and more than a touch of approval- John felt the shift. He couldn't deny how he felt, he wouldn't deny it to himself anymore.

SH

"You've got a thing for Molly." The words floated to John from Sherlock's microscope, and he turned to look at the detective. John jerked out of his memories. John's brow pulled down in confusion and he looked around the room briefly before his eyes flicked back to Sherlock.

"What?" John walked closer, stopping in the doorway. His arm was pressed against the frame, bracing himself. He most certainly did not have a thing for Molly. He didn't have a thing for anyone besides the one person that he could never have. He was resigned to it.

He had stopped dating 3 months ago. That had been after he realized how he felt about Sherlock. At first he'd thrown himself at women in hopes to distract his mind from Sherlock. He'd even gone to speed dating with men. He had quickly come to the conclusion that no, he was most definitely not attracted to men in general. John Watson was not gay and he was not bisexual. But, he was most definitely in love with Sherlock Holmes.

John wasn't quite sure how that had happened. But, then, Sherlock was an enigma. He'd never know much when concerning the detective. It was oddly fitting that nowadays John didn't find anyone except for him attractive. Even woman had lost all appeal.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope, and examined him again, his gaze flew about John and probably missed nothing. But obviously Sherlock didn't see everything, because John liked him. And somehow he wasn't seeing that.

"You heard me." Sherlock replied.

John shifted his weight and blinked, "No, Sherlock. I don't." Sherlock looked up again, his face disbelieving.

"You're wearing your best jumper over that grey shirt, it's your favorite. You always wear that when you have something planned for the night. You've already got your shoes laced, clearly you're nervous." Sherlock began. John was not particularly fond of the direction that this conversation was going towards.

"You shaved half an hour ago, and have been pacing the apartment whenever you stand up. You keep combing your hair with your fingers, obviously this is important, you want to look well groomed. You've developed an aversion to checking the time in the past few hours. I could go on, John, but really it's not necessary. It's easy to conclude." Sherlock turned his attention back to his microscope, seeming to think that the conversation was over.

"Yeah but what makes Molly fit into all this?" John asked somewhat weakly. Those were all things he had done in anticipation for the Christmas party tonight, in an effort to try and get Sherlock to notice him. Evidentially he had noticed the changes, but somehow he had assumed that it was for Molly Hooper of all people.

Sherlock sighed deeply, turning rather annoyed eyes on John. "The party tonight. Molly, her date, Lestrade, his date, and Mrs. Hudson. They're the only ones coming over and it should be fairly obvious why she is the only viable candidate for your affections in the bunch."

John looked down at the ground, his thoughts swirling. What should he say? He couldn't just deny it because Sherlock wouldn't believe him. What would be the point of hiding the real truth anyways? Why did John bother waiting for Sherlock to make a move or give a sign or somehow tell John how he felt. Why didn't John just go for it and pray that he did not end up royally screwed?

John thought for a moment. Why not play Sherlock's game? What could he deduce? He looked at his shoes in silence, but his thoughts were running a thousand kilometers a second. To start with, why did Sherlock care that he 'fancied' Molly? What had made him bring it up? What made Sherlock sulk and whine and be downright rude to every girl that John had ever brought to meet him? Why did he care that John went out on dates? What was with his opposition? And then it hit John. Sherlock was jealous. The bastard who had claimed to be married to his work spent half his time moping when John tried to have a single aspect of his life separate from Sherlock. He was jealous that John wasn't paying those attentions to him.

John looked up at Sherlock, but he had moved from his microscope. He had relocated to his chair, his hands steepled underneath his chin. John felt a smirk cross his lips. Maybe this wasn't a complete shot in the dark.

"You're wrong. You've missed one person."

"My calculations are never wrong, John." Sherlock said somewhat bitterly. Sherlock must be jealous of even Molly, now. John's smirk grew. John just tried to shake the smile off of his face.

He crossed the room. Sherlock didn't make any indication to his knowledge of John's movement. John didn't care. He'd know soon enough. He casually slipped off his shoes, walking straight up to the consulting detective. In a move that surprisingly worked out extremely well he leaned over Sherlock and braced his hands on either side of Sherlock's raven curls. John smiled at finally being this close to the man that he craved.

"John, what are you doing mphf-" John pressed his lips to Sherlock's somewhat roughly, merely finding where they were relative to his own. He pulled back a millimeter and went at it again, finding that Sherlock's lips were receptive this time. He had forgotten that Sherlock was a fast learner.

John didn't let their lips disconnect as Sherlock's mouth moved with his own, and he climbed onto the chair to straddle Sherlock's hips. For once they felt the same height. John's weight pushed against Sherlock and he kissed John more receptively, his hands clutching at John's sides. John kissed him with force, now cradling his face in his hands.

Their lips crashed together and John's tongue prowled along Sherlock's upper lip, demanding entrance. Sherlock's did the same, and they delved into tasting each other at the same time.
John's fingers moved to Sherlock's raven curls, pulling and tugging as Sherlock's lips and teeth slid down to bite at the space where John's neck met his shoulder. His face pushed the collar of John's shirt down far enough to satisfy the detective.

John let out a light moan, which only made Sherlock suck on his skin harder. John's fingers knit even thicker into Sherlock's curls as he tilted his head back to give Sherlock more access. He loved how readily Sherlock was taking control. Usually John liked to be the aggressive partner, but he always seemed to change in ways he wasn't aware that he could around Sherlock.

John couldn't ignore the tension in the coils of his stomach no matter how hard he tried. He could feel Sherlock's body shifting under his own as he, too, suffered the effects of their passionate kiss. Perhaps straddling Sherlock's waist, where their centers were packed against each other had not been wise. However, John didn't really care. Although the pressure of Sherlock's growing erection against his own only made the fire in his stomach hotter, it felt wonderfully fulfilling.

John couldn't stop himself from recapturing Sherlock's lips and their hot breath mingling did nothing to help cool him off. To his surprise, Sherlock's hips bucked against his as his hands gripped John's sweater tighter.

"Your calculations were wrong, you bloody idiot," John rumbled against Sherlock's lips, gasping in a breath while he had the chance.

"And what-" Sherlock kissed him, "Makes you-" He pressed his lips to John's jawline, "Say that?"

"Deduce this," John murmured, continuing to move with Sherlock as they casually explored each other.

"I'm afraid more thorough research will need to be conducted." Sherlock almost growled the words, his deep baritone voice even richer than usual.

"We can't just stop this experiment, we'll have to continue." John agreed. Sherlock showed his assent by standing suddenly, but not letting John fall away from him. John wrapped his arms around his neck as they stumbled back into Sherlock's room. Sherlock kicked the door shut behind them.

SH

The Christmas Eve Party was awkward to say the least. Most of the time John and Sherlock were making eye contact or fleeting touches to each other as they passed by. They decided that maybe now was not the time to reveal their sudden relationship. However, it wasn't like their much too long looks at one another were fooling anyone. When, finally, their guests filed out into the hall, Mrs. Hudson last of all, Sherlock slammed the door with vehemence.

He turned to John, who had been approaching him, and their hands were on each other the moment that no one else was in sight. They hardly left the flat for a week, too busy with each other to care about any cases, even 9 or under. Neither cared much about anything out of their room because they were finally living the fantasies that they had been picturing for months.

The one time that John left for the grocery he returned to find Sherlock surrounded by countless napkins folded into birds. He had claimed that it had all just... happened.
Needless to say John made love to him on top of the offending tissues in an effort to make up for leaving him to the mercy of his anxiety and (non-existent)attention span. After that they started to show up to crime scenes. At first they were decent at not showing too much attention to each other in front of everyone. However, it all went out the window when Sherlock had solved a particularly interesting case. He had swept John into his arms, dipped him low, and kissed him deeply. Right next to a freshly dead corpse and all their friends.

They gave up on subtlety after that.

Sherlock had kept John on his toes so far. Apparently Sherlock thought that giving him hickeys on his thighs while he drank his morning coffee was good fun. Every day Sherlock was doing something sentimental in his own way. John loved him for it, even if he missed brushing his teeth without Sherlock pressing kisses at the base of his back to distract him. Sherlock had gone so far as to attempt to cook for John, though he only ended up waking John up with fire alarm in bed.

They shared a bed. They had since Christmas Eve. John's old room became a storage/experiment room. Sometimes John had to trudge groggily up the stairs in nothing but his pants and drag Sherlock to bed in the middle of the night. But he loved him enough not to care that Sherlock slept eagle spread and he usually would up with his face being smushed into the pillows. John was just glad that Sherlock was his.

He hadn't expected him to change at all, because he loved Sherlock for all of his quirks. The only thing that had changed, was that Sherlock was more openly dependent on John. Rather than hide how much he needed a kiss after fearing that John was dead he just took it. Rather than pretend that his nightmares were non-existent, Sherlock would simply snuggle close to John and listen to his heart beat to reassure himself.

John was hopelessly in love with the detective. Ever since he had put a ring on Sherlock's finger, it seemed that he had fallen even deeper. From that moment John had noticed how, when he looked at Sherlock, all he could think was mine.

From the second that those eyes lit up so bright and he breathed out yes, John had realized that while he would have done anything for Sherlock, now he wanted to do everything for him. Till death do they part.

The wedding turned out better than anyone could've hoped for. Sherlock, of course, was the wedding planner, because 'he wasn't leaving any simpleton to mess it up'. John practiced his vows for ages, and Sherlock stumbled over his words nervously. They kissed maybe a bit too long at the altar and their hands never left the other's. But it was perfect because it was theirs.

Christmas Eve rolled around yet again, and while neither were particularly religious, they had a rather large celebration because that was the day that 2 years ago they had finally gotten together. When their guests left they wasted little time before doing some things that were sure to get them on the naughty list. When the fun was over they continued on with their nighttime routine. They showered, together obviously, and dressed for the evening.

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." John said, walking over in his fuzzy pjs. He kissed Sherlock's cheek on the way to get himself a cup of cocoa. Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement, looking up from his book and spot on the bed.

"Merry Christmas, John." He said, smiling slightly at his husband. He liked that.