My strange addiction

A Christmas Miracle

"I haven't done that dance since my wife died..."
"Oh, come on, its Christmas, John"
"I know you don't like Christmas"
"Hey, come on. This is your only present to me"
John didn't even blink, of course Sherlock knew.

"Ugh, fine"

They danced and it felt... Weird. To be holding the man he had pined over for a long time, someone he still had feeling s for, feelings that came back even stronger after his wife died. He missed Mary, but she had known. It was obvious, if he thought about it. But he was never sure if Sherlock himself knew. But it sounded like it. And goddamn, to be held by Sherlock Holmes was such a fucking good feeling.

The little grin on the detective's face made his heart beat faster. Fast, so fast, he could feel it. And Sherlock could. A bit of blush on his face, deadly fever, betraying him faster than any strand of hair in a DNA test ever could.

"Why are you still here, John? You've got a daughter. You can't deal with the danger, not anymore. You've got enough trouble in your life. And the presence of me, this dange in your life, that can't be good for you. I know, you're addicted to it, but ...."

"Sherlock, I'm not addicted"

"Course you are. All we've been through, all the things we did together. You msut be addicted to follow me on my crazy murder deductions"

"It's not the danger. It's the detective"
The blush on Sherlock's way too dangerously handsome face intensified.
"Um, you must be lying. And even if... I don't even like you, John"
"I'm talking about you, about the lying detective"

"Why? What? There is nothing about me that should be appealing to a normal human being Watson, you know that yourself. You follow me into dangerous situations, to be with me? John Watson that is romantic bullshit and you damn know how much I think of romantic bullshit"

"More than you'd care to admit. Remember your speech."

John could see him hold his breath for a moment, and the memories of that one day still haunted him, night to night. And that Sherlock, his best friend, had left early. And it was a bit too late then. To go back and tell him everything that had been. That his feelings were still there, but that he had tried to get over them, buried them deep where he thought they would never be found again. But he did find them again, and they came back.

Silence always stood in between them. It felt like a barrier that neither of them could ever cross. So many things they wanted to say, but especially John never got to it. And it ended in this weird silence and these longing glances that were nothing but eyes staring at each other in panic and this weird feeling that couldn't be love, could it?

Sherlock took a deep breath. His words echoed in John's ears.

"I don't like thinking about what I said. It was stupid, foolish more like, of me to say that. Emotions make us all weak, sentiment is deadly-"

"Sherlock, what do you feel?"
"I never feel, John"
"Again, Liar"
"I'm not lying, John, why would I, logically, lie to you? You wouldn't know if I did"

"You're right, to know that I would have to know one other thing to prove my theory"

And then. He. John. Just. He didn't know where it came from, what part of his body gave the impulse to do this. But. He kissed him. Sherlock Holmes. And that man, that wonderful devilish handsome man, just had the audacity to kiss him back.What a real Christmas miracle.