FLAMENCO SKETCHES, ALTERNATE TAKE

In which certain things come to light, and everything turns out better than expected in the end.

Hurriedly he scrambled to rise from the sofa, his longs legs almost tangling themselves together and making him fall over, and stalked after John into the kitchen. He stopped by the table and held on to a chair, knuckles going white, inwardly debating what exactly he needed to say. Nothing seemed to be efficient and specific enough, and he had no idea where to begin.

"John," he croaked, without having sufficiently prepared a query, and turned to face the man. "I need you to define 'good'."

He was met with a concerned stare. John seemed almost surprised, like he had not expected them to continue the conversation. Maybe he thought that even Sherlock would have the wits to stay away from such an infected topic. Sherlock watched him anxiously over his shoulder while he thought things over.

"When I said 'good' I meant that I think that I understand what you want with all of this. You want me all to yourself, don't you? You're not used to sharing, friends least of all. I guess it's silly of me not to have realized that earlier," John said carefully, weighing each word before saying it. And then, because he obviously saw something odd in Sherlock's face: "Unless there is another reason for all of this? You know, apart from me having a taste for women you find really annoying?"

Sherlock stood frozen by the table, and went over the conversation in his mind, analysing it from every angle he could find. What could he possibly be driving at? Should he respond honestly, explain why exactly he wanted John for himself, and that he needed him close to function optimally? Sherlock had previous experience, if not first hand, with that sort of confessions, and normally they ended in disaster. When those experiences related to him, they often involved him awkwardly declining offers or just denying their existence. Sometimes he could bully the person around which could be very useful, like poor Molly Hooper at the mortuary. But being on the opposite side of this was frustrating! Too much was at stake for him to be entirely comfortable with it. While he had some ideas on how John might react, there was no way for him to be sure. And real life was not like those overly romantic TV shows that Mrs Hudson liked, where such declarations were always accepted so easily. Whatever he did, there was a grim outlook.

"I might have developed a certain partiality to you," he said simply and then resolutely stared back at John, decided on literally facing whatever reaction he would have. If Sherlock wanted, he could make use of small words and give them a lot of meaning. Simplicity was always the best method of communication, after all. He knew that John would understand what he meant. Suddenly he was very aware of how close they were standing. While the kitchen wasn't too small, it seemed as if the walls were closing in on them, threatening to fall over and crush them. The only thing he found he could focus on was John, and the rest faded away, became blurry and unimportant. The first reaction that crossed Johns face was expected and easy to read: puzzlement.

He seemed to be in deep thought for a moment, but then things changed quicker than Sherlock had anticipated. To his surprise, John screwed up his face in a weird manner, and his expression became more complicated and unreadable. Sherlock prided himself on having observed and catalogued a majority of John's different expressions, but this was entirely new. All of the anger and tired disappointment from before washed away. John smiled a true smile, and Sherlock was hoping that he was right in detecting some deeper sentiment.

"Oh Sherlock, sometimes I wonder if you might be more human than you think," John chuckled nervously, but obviously relieved over something. He continued to make his tea, getting his mug and teabags out of the cupboard. "You could have told me earlier, you know."

"Oh."

Sherlock was dumbfounded. Was it really going to be that easy? Surely there had to be a catch somewhere. John couldn't have understood what he was saying. He was even continuing brewing his stupid tea without a hesitation or a pause for consideration of what had been said. Good old John, always thinking the best of people. That must've been it. Now came the excruciating part of explaining it to him again with even plainer words. As a confession he knew it was rushed and stupid, but he hated not knowing. He just had to be sure of this.

"Do you want some tea? There's enough water for another cup," John said, with the kettle in one hand and his beloved St Barts mug in the other.

"You do realize that I just said that I…" Sherlock stumbled angrily over the words, having not ever had said anything of the sort and meant it before. "That I think I love you? That I might be in love with you?"

John set down the kettle on the table and stood in front of him. He let his hand slowly wander up to Sherlock's. The first warm touch of stubby fingers against the back of his hand made Sherlock tense up and sent shivers down his spine. Of course they had touched each other before, but never so intentionally and so purposefully. A thumb traced his wrist, and to Sherlock it felt like it was the only important thing happening in the entire world at that precise moment.

"Yes, Sherlock, I do understand that. I'm not that stupid," John said with a low tone and edged closer.

"So?" He could barely contain himself at that point and had to struggle to keep his composure. Having John standing so close and holding his hand was not helping either. Sherlock was hyperaware of his presence, and was oh so close to some sort of sensory overload. He could practically hear his heartbeat, smell his infuriating scent, and taste his breath. And he could definitely not bear to look up at his face.

"This is all very sudden," John said and furrowed his brow as he thought, but the wonderful smile did not leave his face entirely.

"Yes," was all Sherlock could utter, and he stopped breathing momentarily.

"It is very flattering. But, truth to be told, I shouldn't be that surprised. It's not really a big step, considering that we've been living together for a while and catches criminals like we're in a bloody film or something."

"Yes."

"You know, I don't think I' have any problems with this."

"This?"

"This. You and me. Us."

"Are you certain?" Sherlock asked in disbelief, his voice a lot smaller and shakier than he had intended. He felt his ears turn a bright red shade.

"Yes, well, do I have any choice? I've gotten used to you and your nutty ways, I don't think that I could make it without you. Anyways, I don't seem to be able to hold on to any girlfriends for some reason, so I figure I might as well settle for you."

Sherlock was not entirely sure whether to be happy or to be irritated from being made fun of. He was not even sure of if this was John accepting his feelings, or if it was a humorous and sadistic way of shrugging it off. In fact, he had no idea on how to proceed from there. He could see on John's face that he saw his uncertainty. He tried to make his retreat and pried his hand away from John's, even though it almost hurt him physically to do so. But John would not have any of it.

"Damnit, Sherlock! How many times do I have to tell you?" he said and took a firm grip on his head with both hands and pulled him down. As they kissed fireworks went off in Sherlock's mind.

THE END

"So yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and strangely easy to mistake for loathing."

Stardust, by Neil Gaiman (the film, not the book)

(So, that's the end of my first series. Thanks for the support from all reviewers, couldn't have finished without you cheering on!)