At length, John shifted again, wrapping a strong arm around Sherlock's waist to keep him close, keep him upright, while his other hand disappeared into the other's dark curls. For a little while, he simply ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, but soon enough his fingers began to massage his scalp, working from the back of his neck to the top of his head and from temple to temple, in one continuous, languid exploration. It wasn't lost on John, how intimate this was, but in the context of that morning, it seemed strangely alright to be doing this, holding Sherlock this close, massaging his head, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and some briefs himself. It certainly didn't feel uncomfortable, or strange. It felt... good. Peaceful. Tranquil. Sherlock certainly didn't seem to be in any hurry of getting up, or even allowing John to get up. The audio file had stopped playing Schubert a while ago, and so it was just them, their breathing, and nothing else.
"Sherlock," John murmured, and said nothing more. There wasn't anything to say, really. Saying his friend's name was almost like a caress in itself, a reassurance, a promise. Yes, you can trust me. Yes, I've got you. Yes, I'll help quiet your mind, I'll try, I'll do my best.
John's arm around him was certainly welcome, Sherlock shifting against him as though to get even closer even though it didn't seem physically possible. There's an audible inhale when John's fingers find his hair, that simple gesture making him shiver slightly at the way John so gently stroked through his mess of curls. He groaned indulgently, hardly even realized he'd vocalized his approval, certain that he wouldn't care even if he was aware in thanks to how far gone he was from this. His eyelids flickered, but didn't open at the soft mutter of his name, humming and flexing his fingers to grip at John's pantlegs to indicate he'd heard him.
"John." he said back, feeling a strange ache in his chest at such a simple exchange, as if it meant so much more than it seemed at face value. It wasn't unpleasant in the slightest, but it made him wonder if a normal person would be seeing something he didn't in this moment. Whatever the subtext behind John saying his name like that, it filled him with warmth, as though nothing could touch him because John was here, which was actually pretty accurate, all things considered. "If this is your way of apologizing for the other day, let me say that you should act like an arse far more often." he muttered, smiling fondly as he idly stroked his fingers over John's thighs.
"Says the man who is an annoying dick more often than not," John replied with quiet fondness. He had settled for simply caressing Sherlock's hair now, the massage done (and, by the sight of Sherlock, John had done a very good job indeed). John felt just as relaxed, simply holding Sherlock close against him, his own body at ease and simply enjoying the moment.
... That was, until those long, nimble fingers began to stroke over his thighs, and a certain part of his body was most decidedly not relaxing anymore, instead taking a definite interest in those idle, slow caresses. Just as suddenly, John became aware of their situation in an entirely different light, and he tensed up slightly, though he very much tried not to. Even in this state, Sherlock could be quick to sense and deduce, and the last thing John wanted was another awkward morning. He inhaled, and willed himself to relax again. It was nothing. Just a reaction to an intimate touch. His hand had stilled in Sherlock's hair, and he quickly picked up the movements again, trying to move past the moment. "So, do you reckon we should order in for tonight, or actually try our hand at something other than take-out, for once?" he asked lightly, trying to distract both himself and Sherlock.
Sherlock smirked at John's reply, his body shaking a bit in barely audible laughter. This relaxed feeling was something he could certainly get used to, having searched his entire life for something that could get him this feeling that wouldn't destroy his body in the process. John had been the solution all along, and it was so obvious he never even considered it, until John took it upon himself to show him.
He certainly did notice John's reaction to his idle movements, pausing the stroking of his fingers so as not to ruin the moment. He hardly had much will to move when John started up running his fingers through his hair again, never guessing in his wildest moments of eccentric thoughts that petting his hair could quiet his frenetic thoughts. Or was it John himself? Were he in a better state to do so, he would certainly deduce to death what could be the cause of this, but he couldn't bring himself to do much of anything just now besides bask in the relaxing attention.
"Whatever doesn't require my leaving this sofa anytime soon." he replied, not ashamed at all to admit that he was enjoying this. He would cling to this feeling as long as he possibly could, as much as he wasn't looking forward to ever having to come down from this blissful high. "Don't stop." he added, just in case John was entertaining the idea of stopping what he was doing.
John shuckled softly, at the same time feeling a wave of relief and gratitude (and slight embarrasment) coming over him when Sherlock stopped the movement of his fingers. It would have become very awkward, very fast, and John was enjoying this just as much as Sherlock. Possibly more; yes, Sherlock had been searching for this peace and quiet inside his mind for a long time, but John had been craving forms of physical affection from his best friend without quite realizing it.
He knew Sherlock appreciated him, knew what signs to look for, knew he was treated differently than anyone else in Sherlock's life... but John was only human, at the end of the day. He could know all these things, and a part of him would still wish for something he would do and give to someone he loved. The smallest touch would do. And John did love Sherlock, there was no questioning that. The lengths he would go to for this man frightened him, sometimes. Very loyal, very quickly. He had denied it back then, not feeling that was the case. Now, looking back, it was everything. For some reason, he had decided to trust Sherlock Holmes, as much as he could ever hope to trust another person.
"So demanding," he murmured, a wry smile touching his lips. Lost in the blissful warmth and ease of the moment once more, John barely realised he had turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's temple. It seemed the most natural thing to do, showing his own sense of appreciation at the other man's closeness, and this moment they shared.
Sherlock sighed contentedly at the relaxing atmosphere, the fact that John was happy and amused right along with him oddly adding to his own complacency. He had never had someone else's mood affect him in such a way, but he found he certainly didn't mind when it felt this good.
"Of course." he replied teasingly, knowing full well what a handful he was and how out of control he got when denied something he wanted. It would be like the fit with the cigarettes all over again if John stopped this, and Sherlock found himself willing to do practically anything to get him to stay here and keep doing this.
He hummed softly when John's lips touched his temple, the affection unprecedented but certainly not unwelcome. It felt right, like they were always supposed to end up here, just like this. He lifted a hand to reach back around John's head, stroking his scalp and holding him in place at the same time. None of this felt strange at all, being held and touched by John like this feeling completely normal and natural, leaving him to wonder why they hadn't started sleeping together long ago if this was the result.
John made a soft sound of pleasure when those clever fingers found the back of his head and began to stroke, and he lowered his head, hiding it in the shadows of Sherlock's neck. This close, he could smell the heady mixture of Sherlock's own cologone together with something that was so undeniably him... And alright, it was definitely time to get up and do something, before he bloody well nuzzled into his flatmate's neck to try and catch more of that intoxicating smell.
They had gotten tangled up pretty effectively, John found when he tried to move out of their embrace. John's arm around Sherlock's waist, his hand in Sherlock's hair, Sherlock's arm around his neck, their legs tangled together, Sherlock's hand on his leg... "Sherlock," he murmured again, though this time it was more a warning before the inevitable. "I'm gonna go get dressed," he continued, still only dressed in his dressing gown and briefs. Gods, his hair was nearly dry, too. How long had they been sitting like this?
Sherlock smirked to himself at how John was very obvious about how he liked what he was doing, reveling in the praise all too happily. He exhaled contentedly when John pressed his face into his neck, his fingers tightening a bit in his hair as though to encourage him.
John's warm breath against his skin was so indecently appealing, and he wasn't willing to let it go just yet. He tightened his grip on John's leg and neck when he tried to move, unwilling to let John budge from this spot. His limbs snaked insistently around John's, keeping him in place even as he said he was trying to get up.
"Stay." he said, wondering if it would work a second time in getting John to stay with him a while longer. He didn't understand what had come over him, only able to define it as a compulsion. He couldn't help wanting to chase the good, albeit confusing feelings he'd come to associate with being close to John. Sure, he felt good when he solved a case, played the violin or finished a rewarding experiment, but this was different. While those other feelings were so fleeting in their satisfaction, this seemed to seep into his very skin and leave him feeling somehow lighter for the rest of the day. He knew, objectively, that it would be impossible to stay like this forever, rationalizing that they'd have to get up for something eventually, but he wasn't quite ready just yet.
"Sherlock..." John huffed out a breath of amusement and frustration all at once. With Sherlock's iron grip, John was practically speaking into the side of his flatmate's neck, lips brushing across skin. "I can't. Go on, let me up." It would be relatively easy to just force himself out of the situation; he had the strength and determination, but that seemed an extreme measure to resort to. Petulant and stubborn as Sherlock could get sometimes. The man was a mystery, and John was going to have to accept that he also would be. Just when he thought he had him figured out... From as little contact and closeness as possible, to this.
"I won't be gone long," he tried to reassure, wondering if the morning he left still weighed heavily on Sherlock's mind. "I would just like to get dressed, maybe make some lunch." Not to mention use the loo. "I'll come back. I promise."
Sherlock frowned, resolutely keeping his eyes shut as though that would aid in John's agreeing to stay. He smiled to himself at the soft warmth of John's lips ghosting over his neck, though he wasn't so fond of what he was actually saying. He wanted to cling to this as long as he could, both because he wasn't sure how his or John's feelings would change once they finally broke apart. He had no reason to doubt, not really, because his longing for this was always an insistent tug at the back of his mind, and John appeared to have settled in to their arrangement quite nicely.
He huffed irritably when John remained persistent, reluctantly loosening his grip and leaning forward so John could slip off the sofa. "Fine." he said petulantly, the other day still nagging at his mind and making him wonder every time John let go that he might end up leaving again. Why did that even matter, anyway? He frowned in confusion as he tried to work it out, having never been so affected by John's leaving before. What was happening to him? He flopped back on the sofa listlessly when John left, trying to stop himself from trying to deduce what was happening between them and enjoy the lingering warm happiness from when John was being so very good to him.
John took his time in getting dressed; he needed the time to think, to reflect on the past morning, and last night. He had slept comparatively well to how his nights usually went. Even waking from a nightmare that had shaken him badly, Sherlock had been able to calm him down and get him to fall back asleep with such ease. It was both comforting and distressing, reassuring and confusing. Perhaps he should not think too much into it, but how could he not? Two nights of sleeping together, and they had barely parted from each other. Even now, here, in his room, a handful of minutes later, John could feel the persistent ache of not being near Sherlock anymore. It was awful.
"Oh, hell," he murmured, running a hand down his face. Right, nothing to be done about it now. He would make them lunch, maybe boil some more water for tea, and their experiment could continue tonight. He could get through the rest of the day without touching Sherlock, yes, he could. He could. Heading out into the kitchen, John puttered about aimlessly for a few moments, sorely tempted to look into the sitting room. He refrained; if he did, his resolve might well crumble, and the experiment was all about the evenings, wasn't it? Their sleeping patterns. None of this... this. Whatever it was. "Sandwich alright?" John asked as he opened the fridge, resolutely ignoring a variety of body parts and questionable liquids in jars. God, he could still taste the salt from Sherlock's skin on his lips. Jesus. "I can heat up some soup, too, if you like." That was soup, wasn't it...?
Sherlock stared at the ceiling in thought, turning over everything in his head. Since this experiment started, he'd asked John to stay with him, twice now, when before he hardly noticed when he was gone. It wasn't that he didn't care that John wasn't there, he just always pretty much assumed he was there no matter what, and would continue to talk to him even when he was gone. Now, though, he felt like he would notice immediately and question whatever it was that would be taking John away from him. What he still didn't understand was why it mattered all of a sudden. He would need more time to think about it.
A soft hum of assent was given at John's question, sure that he wouldn't be eating much anyway considering he was technically working at the moment. He picked up his mobile and tapped away at it for a few minutes, frowning at it when it still wasn't giving him the answers he needed. He tossed his phone aside and moved to join John in the kitchen, taking John's hand and pressing it to his forehead. "Are you certain I'm not ill? I can't find any other explanation." he said urgently, needing to understand just what this was that was affecting him so.
Sherlock was distressed. That realization hit John like walking into a brick wall would, as he gazed up at the other, taller man, his hand pressed to his forehead. Sherlock did not feel hot to the touch, not even warm; he did not look unwell, or sound like he was coming down with something. John's free hand wrapped around Sherlock's wrist, fingertips checking his pulse. No, all was in order there, as well. He smiled, kindly, keeping his hands where they were. Perhaps it would help.
"I am certain you are not ill," he said, slowly, reassuringly, "Though I have a few theories on what it may be that is troubling you. The obvious one is your inexperience with... feelings. In this case, feelings of intimacy, closeness, affection. Trust. Would I be correct in assuming you've never been this close with someone before? We did sleep in each other's arms last night, Sherlock. For most people, it does not get more intimate than that. It might be as simple as your senses being overloaded. For which I am sorry; I never meant for you to feel overwhelmed."
Sherlock watched John intently as he checked his temperature and took his pulse, waiting for him to say there was something medical wrong with him that would explain this away. He frowned, looking almost disappointed when he didn't find anything wrong with him. It would be so easy if it was a simple illness, he could attribute his strange behavior to that and look forward to getting back to normal as soon as he was well again. He had been counting on that, but when that wasn't the case, he found himself at somewhat of a loss.
He met John's eyes when he spoke, making a face at the word 'feelings' wanting to recoil from this kind of discussion but still, frustratingly, finding himself unwilling to leave John's presence yet again. "Of course. The mere thought of being that close to anyone else may actually make me ill." he replied distastefully, searching John's face as though he could somehow find the answers there.
"You don't have to apologize. I don't...dislike it." he managed, still struggling to put the pieces together and make sense of this. "I just want to understand it. What is it that's different about you?" He glanced at their hands, still taken aback by the fact that he didn't mind John's hands on him in the sightest. Quite the contrary, in fact, he wanted them to stay there. He wanted them to stay on the couch all day like they were earlier, maybe watch some terrible telly and make fun of it all while staying wrapped up in each other. Something must be seriously wrong with him, because that thought would never appealed to him in a million years before John came along.
This was starting to become worrisome, and impossibly endearing at the same time. John couldn't help but smile when Sherlock questioned why he was different than anyone else. While he was certainly not an arrogant man, John couldn't help but enjoy the fact that he was, in fact, different. He had Sherlock Holmes' trust. "Well," he said, removing his hands and returning to making their sandwiches. "I am your friend. Your flatmate. Your colleague. We spend nearly every waking hour together. It makes sense that you have grown accustomed to my presence. Doesn't it?"
He looked up at Sherlock with an easy smile, trying to reassure him, though he wasn't certain that would work all that well. The man still looked thoroughly confused. "It's perfectly normal, Sherlock; people who like each other want to be near them. And while I know you abhor the idea of normalcy, apparently, even you can't escape wanting that." And, if he continued to be entirely honest with himself, John felt more than a little flattered that Sherlock wanted to be close to him. It was a nice feeling, he wasn't going to deny that.
Sherlock dropped his hands when John let go, his brow furrowing as he took in everything John was saying in the hopes of making some sort of sense of this.
"I am accustomed to it, yes, but that still doesn't explain anything." he huffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. He stilled for a moment when John smiled at him like that, that gesture alone somehow inserting the thought 'it's all fine' in his head and taking a bit of the edge off. How did he do that, anyway? He would have to think about that later, when he finally figured out what could be wrong with him.
He was, if anything, more confused by John's words, tapping his fingers on his lips compulsively as he stared into space trying to work this through. "That doesn't make sense either. You told me already that it's not a normal thing to want to sleep in the same bed as your best friend and want to be near them constantly in a physical manner." He frowned in confusion, looking back up at John and feeling more lost than ever. "There has to be something else to it. What else could it be?"
"Sherlock," John murmured, and said nothing more. There wasn't anything to say, really. Saying his friend's name was almost like a caress in itself, a reassurance, a promise. Yes, you can trust me. Yes, I've got you. Yes, I'll help quiet your mind, I'll try, I'll do my best.
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"John." he said back, feeling a strange ache in his chest at such a simple exchange, as if it meant so much more than it seemed at face value. It wasn't unpleasant in the slightest, but it made him wonder if a normal person would be seeing something he didn't in this moment. Whatever the subtext behind John saying his name like that, it filled him with warmth, as though nothing could touch him because John was here, which was actually pretty accurate, all things considered. "If this is your way of apologizing for the other day, let me say that you should act like an arse far more often." he muttered, smiling fondly as he idly stroked his fingers over John's thighs.
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... That was, until those long, nimble fingers began to stroke over his thighs, and a certain part of his body was most decidedly not relaxing anymore, instead taking a definite interest in those idle, slow caresses. Just as suddenly, John became aware of their situation in an entirely different light, and he tensed up slightly, though he very much tried not to. Even in this state, Sherlock could be quick to sense and deduce, and the last thing John wanted was another awkward morning. He inhaled, and willed himself to relax again. It was nothing. Just a reaction to an intimate touch. His hand had stilled in Sherlock's hair, and he quickly picked up the movements again, trying to move past the moment. "So, do you reckon we should order in for tonight, or actually try our hand at something other than take-out, for once?" he asked lightly, trying to distract both himself and Sherlock.
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He certainly did notice John's reaction to his idle movements, pausing the stroking of his fingers so as not to ruin the moment. He hardly had much will to move when John started up running his fingers through his hair again, never guessing in his wildest moments of eccentric thoughts that petting his hair could quiet his frenetic thoughts. Or was it John himself? Were he in a better state to do so, he would certainly deduce to death what could be the cause of this, but he couldn't bring himself to do much of anything just now besides bask in the relaxing attention.
"Whatever doesn't require my leaving this sofa anytime soon." he replied, not ashamed at all to admit that he was enjoying this. He would cling to this feeling as long as he possibly could, as much as he wasn't looking forward to ever having to come down from this blissful high. "Don't stop." he added, just in case John was entertaining the idea of stopping what he was doing.
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He knew Sherlock appreciated him, knew what signs to look for, knew he was treated differently than anyone else in Sherlock's life... but John was only human, at the end of the day. He could know all these things, and a part of him would still wish for something he would do and give to someone he loved. The smallest touch would do. And John did love Sherlock, there was no questioning that. The lengths he would go to for this man frightened him, sometimes. Very loyal, very quickly. He had denied it back then, not feeling that was the case. Now, looking back, it was everything. For some reason, he had decided to trust Sherlock Holmes, as much as he could ever hope to trust another person.
"So demanding," he murmured, a wry smile touching his lips. Lost in the blissful warmth and ease of the moment once more, John barely realised he had turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's temple. It seemed the most natural thing to do, showing his own sense of appreciation at the other man's closeness, and this moment they shared.
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"Of course." he replied teasingly, knowing full well what a handful he was and how out of control he got when denied something he wanted. It would be like the fit with the cigarettes all over again if John stopped this, and Sherlock found himself willing to do practically anything to get him to stay here and keep doing this.
He hummed softly when John's lips touched his temple, the affection unprecedented but certainly not unwelcome. It felt right, like they were always supposed to end up here, just like this. He lifted a hand to reach back around John's head, stroking his scalp and holding him in place at the same time. None of this felt strange at all, being held and touched by John like this feeling completely normal and natural, leaving him to wonder why they hadn't started sleeping together long ago if this was the result.
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They had gotten tangled up pretty effectively, John found when he tried to move out of their embrace. John's arm around Sherlock's waist, his hand in Sherlock's hair, Sherlock's arm around his neck, their legs tangled together, Sherlock's hand on his leg... "Sherlock," he murmured again, though this time it was more a warning before the inevitable. "I'm gonna go get dressed," he continued, still only dressed in his dressing gown and briefs. Gods, his hair was nearly dry, too. How long had they been sitting like this?
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John's warm breath against his skin was so indecently appealing, and he wasn't willing to let it go just yet. He tightened his grip on John's leg and neck when he tried to move, unwilling to let John budge from this spot. His limbs snaked insistently around John's, keeping him in place even as he said he was trying to get up.
"Stay." he said, wondering if it would work a second time in getting John to stay with him a while longer. He didn't understand what had come over him, only able to define it as a compulsion. He couldn't help wanting to chase the good, albeit confusing feelings he'd come to associate with being close to John. Sure, he felt good when he solved a case, played the violin or finished a rewarding experiment, but this was different. While those other feelings were so fleeting in their satisfaction, this seemed to seep into his very skin and leave him feeling somehow lighter for the rest of the day. He knew, objectively, that it would be impossible to stay like this forever, rationalizing that they'd have to get up for something eventually, but he wasn't quite ready just yet.
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"I won't be gone long," he tried to reassure, wondering if the morning he left still weighed heavily on Sherlock's mind. "I would just like to get dressed, maybe make some lunch." Not to mention use the loo. "I'll come back. I promise."
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He huffed irritably when John remained persistent, reluctantly loosening his grip and leaning forward so John could slip off the sofa. "Fine." he said petulantly, the other day still nagging at his mind and making him wonder every time John let go that he might end up leaving again. Why did that even matter, anyway? He frowned in confusion as he tried to work it out, having never been so affected by John's leaving before. What was happening to him? He flopped back on the sofa listlessly when John left, trying to stop himself from trying to deduce what was happening between them and enjoy the lingering warm happiness from when John was being so very good to him.
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"Oh, hell," he murmured, running a hand down his face. Right, nothing to be done about it now. He would make them lunch, maybe boil some more water for tea, and their experiment could continue tonight. He could get through the rest of the day without touching Sherlock, yes, he could. He could. Heading out into the kitchen, John puttered about aimlessly for a few moments, sorely tempted to look into the sitting room. He refrained; if he did, his resolve might well crumble, and the experiment was all about the evenings, wasn't it? Their sleeping patterns. None of this... this. Whatever it was. "Sandwich alright?" John asked as he opened the fridge, resolutely ignoring a variety of body parts and questionable liquids in jars. God, he could still taste the salt from Sherlock's skin on his lips. Jesus. "I can heat up some soup, too, if you like." That was soup, wasn't it...?
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A soft hum of assent was given at John's question, sure that he wouldn't be eating much anyway considering he was technically working at the moment. He picked up his mobile and tapped away at it for a few minutes, frowning at it when it still wasn't giving him the answers he needed. He tossed his phone aside and moved to join John in the kitchen, taking John's hand and pressing it to his forehead. "Are you certain I'm not ill? I can't find any other explanation." he said urgently, needing to understand just what this was that was affecting him so.
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"I am certain you are not ill," he said, slowly, reassuringly, "Though I have a few theories on what it may be that is troubling you. The obvious one is your inexperience with... feelings. In this case, feelings of intimacy, closeness, affection. Trust. Would I be correct in assuming you've never been this close with someone before? We did sleep in each other's arms last night, Sherlock. For most people, it does not get more intimate than that. It might be as simple as your senses being overloaded. For which I am sorry; I never meant for you to feel overwhelmed."
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He met John's eyes when he spoke, making a face at the word 'feelings' wanting to recoil from this kind of discussion but still, frustratingly, finding himself unwilling to leave John's presence yet again. "Of course. The mere thought of being that close to anyone else may actually make me ill." he replied distastefully, searching John's face as though he could somehow find the answers there.
"You don't have to apologize. I don't...dislike it." he managed, still struggling to put the pieces together and make sense of this. "I just want to understand it. What is it that's different about you?" He glanced at their hands, still taken aback by the fact that he didn't mind John's hands on him in the sightest. Quite the contrary, in fact, he wanted them to stay there. He wanted them to stay on the couch all day like they were earlier, maybe watch some terrible telly and make fun of it all while staying wrapped up in each other. Something must be seriously wrong with him, because that thought would never appealed to him in a million years before John came along.
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He looked up at Sherlock with an easy smile, trying to reassure him, though he wasn't certain that would work all that well. The man still looked thoroughly confused. "It's perfectly normal, Sherlock; people who like each other want to be near them. And while I know you abhor the idea of normalcy, apparently, even you can't escape wanting that." And, if he continued to be entirely honest with himself, John felt more than a little flattered that Sherlock wanted to be close to him. It was a nice feeling, he wasn't going to deny that.
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"I am accustomed to it, yes, but that still doesn't explain anything." he huffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. He stilled for a moment when John smiled at him like that, that gesture alone somehow inserting the thought 'it's all fine' in his head and taking a bit of the edge off. How did he do that, anyway? He would have to think about that later, when he finally figured out what could be wrong with him.
He was, if anything, more confused by John's words, tapping his fingers on his lips compulsively as he stared into space trying to work this through. "That doesn't make sense either. You told me already that it's not a normal thing to want to sleep in the same bed as your best friend and want to be near them constantly in a physical manner." He frowned in confusion, looking back up at John and feeling more lost than ever. "There has to be something else to it. What else could it be?"
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