-Saturday, 19:27, directly after Greg and Sherlock's text conversation-

Sherlock breathes out slowly, trying to calm all the nervous bubbly feeling floating around inside him. His eyes lower to the bed, almost looking like he were exaiming the garment that lay there.

Greg's - well, Sherlock's now - hoodie.

It was a rather simply thing. Made from a thick, black and stupidly soft polycotton blend. Sherlock has a smile on his face as he lifts the hoodie, loving how heavy it felt in his hands as he looks over the only unique feature of the piece of clothing.

LESTRADE was printed across the back in basic white font - probably Impact - and below that sat the number 11 in an even larger print so it took up most of the back.

It was simply but Sherlock loved it. Sadly, it no longer smelled like Greg but it was still amazing to know that Greg had given him something that was considered special to football players. It was one of the most romantic gestures a lot of them would ever make - giving their hoodie to their chosen sweetheart.

It was a cliché concept but it made Sherlock's cheeks stain a faint pink none the less.

Sherlock quickly pulls the hoodie on over his tee, straightening it and looking down at himself a bit afterwards. The hoodie was big for him, there was no hiding that, but it wasn't ridiculously big - just baggy. From the front, it looked liked every other hoodie.

There were no drawstrings hanging from the hood, Greg had taken them out the moment he got the hoodie (he had a habit of chewing things when he was nervous).

Sherlock smiles to himself once again, loving wearing the hoodie as much as Greg liked to see him wear it. Sherlock supposed that Greg liked it so much because of what giving the hoodie to someone meant.. Because Greg liked him, it was now a proven fact, not just wishful thinking.

Honestly, Sherlock was still struggling with fully accepting it as a fact. He'd seen the proof, yes, and there was no misunderstanding it. Those screenshots had reveled the exact nature of Greg's feeling... and yet Sherlock was struggling immensely in believing Greg truly felt that way.

Tonight, he'd be paying extra attention to Greg. After all, Greg was also aware of Sherlock's feelings thanks to John. He'd see if he was acting odd because he was nervous and still unsure.

Sherlock had questioned why Greg didn't do anything once he had found out but he understood it now. It was harder than simply working up the courage to kiss the other. They'd been friends for so long... What if all that got messed up by them attempting a relationship? Greg had seen Sherlock in nappies, for heavens sake!

With a small sigh, Sherlock exits his room and hops down the stairs. He was nervous, for sure, but also excited. The two emotions were waging war inside him, leaving him jerky and muddled.

Once in the kitchen, Sherlock grabs one of many microwaveable popcorn packets they had in the left cupboard. He doesn't really need to think all that much as he goes about putting the packet in the microwave and punching in the time needed.

He was well practised with microwavable popcorn. Tea was Greg's job, the popcorn was Sherlock's. Occasionally they'd rotate the duties but generally Greg made he tea. He'd always seemed to pride himself on the fact that he was one of just three people able to make tea perfectly for Sherlock (the others being Sherlock's mother and Sherlock himself).

It seems as though the popping of the popcorn had just began to fill the kitchen when the back door opens and in walks Greg.

Sherlock smiles at his friend, his heart doing that fluttering thing it seemed to like doing whenever he saw the older boy. Really, Greg was breathtaking. He was fit from football and had neatly cut brown hair that just flopped over his forehead. He had the warm brown eyes and the friendly face. Currently, he had a bit of stubble but Sherlock thought the rough look was rather handsome on Greg. And even though Sherlock knew that lovely hair was likely to turn grey at some point in Greg's thirties thanks to a genetic condition on his fathers side, Sherlock was sure he'd only get more handsome as they grew.

Smiling back, Greg nods a small greeting before he moves to flick the kettle on. As ever, Sherlock can't help but love their close friendship.

Few words were needed. Greg would just walk in and be as comfortable he was in his own home. The same was said for Sherlock when he went to Greg's.

While the kettle is boiling, Greg crosses the room to where Sherlock is standing and wraps his arms around him. Sherlock was just a tad shorter than Greg and it was clear that he'd likely be taller before another year passes but Sherlock was still the small one. Being as thin as he was just made Sherlock seem tiny when wrapped in Greg's strong arms.

"Good day?" Greg asks, smiling once again as he looks down at Sherlock.

Neither of them cared that Greg had his arms wrapped around Sherlock in a way one would typically hold a lover - this was normal for them. They'd always been close. Sherlock often wondered how Greg didn't realise Sherlock was completely smitten, he rather let other so much as give him a quick hug and yet he was happily letting Greg hold him like this.

"Better now" Sherlock replies with a small laugh just as the kettle whistles for attention.

"Flirt" Greg accuses before moving to see to the kettle.

Sherlock laughs again but doesn't reply, his eyes finding the clock on the microwave. The flashing red numbers counted down the seconds. They display 00:00 not long after Sherlock had looked to them.

He doesn't waste time in opening the door to the machine and silencing the retched noise it makes when the timer hits zero.

Using two fingers to pinch the corner of the bag, Sherlock quickly transfers the bag from the microwave and to a large glass bowl that they kept close to the microwave specially for popcorn (Greg and Sherlock had a lot of movie nights).

By the time he's peeled the bag open and poured the delicious, salty contents into the bowl, Greg had finished fixing the tea and they head into the living room together.

Most of the time, they'd watch movies in Sherlock's room but not Saturday nights. Sherlock had the house to himself on nine out of ten Saturdays. Saturday evening was line dancing evening for his parents and Mycroft was rarely home now, far too busy climbing ranks in the government despite being a young twenty two.

They fact they are alone hits Sherlock as he gingerly sits on the edge of the large sofa sat across from their TV. He'd been alone with Greg before, many times, but now he knew Greg returned his feelings, he felt all sweaty and wanted to fidget to try and get rid of some of the building nervousness.

"All right?" Greg asks, sitting beside Sherlock after placing the tea beside the bowl Sherlock had set down. His arms slides on the back of the sofa, where Sherlock's shoulders will be when he sits back.

Nodding to the question, Sherlock grabs the remote and the bowl before sitting back so Greg's arm lined up perfectly with his shoulders. Greg doesn't hesitate to rest his arm on Sherlock's shoulder now he was sat back.

Sherlock doesn't pay any attention to the selection of film beyond going on that app Sherlock always forgets the name of that allows them to view many movies. Sherlock just clicks on of the films that Greg had said looked good.

Sherlock wasn't overly surprised when he glanced to the screen and discovered it was an animated movie. Something about Rapunzel. Typical Greg.

Smiling to himself, Sherlock snuggles up against Greg and lays with his head on the other boy's shoulder. This is much better than yesterday. So much better. He hated when they didn't sit curled together.

Greg's hand that previously rested on Sherlock's shoulder, playing with the short curls at the nape of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock turns his head to look at Greg, planning on it being just a small glance but he gets frozen in place.

Greg is looking straight back at him, all the feelings written plainly on his face. His wasn't hiding any of the emotions he had, not a single one. It was all there. Desire. Love. Worry. Even more love, somehow.

Sherlock's breath catches as he stares back at those deep brown eyes that could melt butter. God, he looks perfect like this - with the light of the TV just reflecting off his face.

A small smile slides on Greg's lips as Sherlock's breathing catches. Without taking his eyes away off Sherlock, he reaches down to pick up a piece of popcorn. He holds it out for Sherlock.

Sherlock doesn't need to think. He just acts. He leans forward and eats the popcorn, eyes staying on Greg's.

It weird. It's a basic thing. Something they'd done before but this eye contact seemed to add a few hundred layers of intimacy to the situation.

Sherlock chews and swallows. Only then do Greg's eyes leave his. They flicker down to Sherlock's lips, tracing the space of them. It's clear what Greg is thinking.

Sherlock's lips part slightly, waiting.

Kiss me. Please.

The staring continues and just when Sherlock is about to speak up and say the words, Greg clears his throat and looks back to the TV just as a man who'd apparently been climbing the tower gets hit with a frying pan. Greg laughs and Sherlock looks to the TV too, disappointed but understanding it was a hard step to just take.

He'd just need to be patient.