Ten minutes later, we took the final sips of our drinks and stood. I began to walk out the door, but almost immediately, John stopped me.

"Sherlock? Where are we going next?"

I looked back at him over my shoulder, grinning confidently. "Your house."

The blonde looked surprised and a bit uncomfortable (which I can't say was a bad look for him). "And why would we do that?"

With some difficulty, I pulled my eyes away from him and walked out the door, knowing that he would follow. "A new boy comes to town. Just a week or so later, there's a murder. I hate to say it, John, but you're a suspect here."

As predicted, he had followed me out, and now walked on my left side. "You don't really think I killed Molly, do you?"

"Not really, I'll admit. But for the sake of the case, I've got to check. Plus," I smiled at him, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about you."

The slightest of blushes crept onto John's face as he held my gaze. After a few seconds, he looked to his feet, and then back to the street in front of him. "So, do you know my address as well?"

I crinkled my nose. "No, I can't say that I do. You'll have to help me there."

"Alright. Baker Street. 221B Baker Street."

I raised my eyebrows. "That has a ring to it."

"I can't say we bought it only for the address, but, yes, I guess it sounds nice."

Upon entering the flat, I was immediately impressed by the interior. Things were relatively clean, but in some unexplainable way, the place housed an essence of homey eeriness. It seemed almost unwelcoming- a characteristic that I admired and related well to (if it is at all possible to relate to a location).

John stepped back once we had entered completely, allowing me to wander. He crossed his arms over his chest self-consciously. "So, um, anything you need?"

I gave him a small smile, briefly looking away from the bookshelves I was cautiously examining. "I'm alright for now. Might have a few questions later, but for the time being, just... Do whatever you do, I guess."

John slowly sunk into an overstuffed red armchair and pulled out a laptop, looking up from whatever he was typing every few moments to see what I was doing.

I caught his eye when he glanced up, and I raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing, there?"

He blushed very slightly. "It's just this... Hobby. Nothing really."

I gave him what I could only hope was a somewhat flirtatious smile. "John Watson, I'll have you know that as an investigator on this case, I have the right to search anything having to do with a suspect."

John's blush deepened to a painfully adorable point. "It's really not a big deal."

I took a few steps and leaned over the side of the chair to see the screen of his laptop. He quickly slammed it shut. I reached my arm around his shoulder to open it again, but he quickly put his hand over mine, stopping me in the motion. We had become completely tangled.

Suddenly, together and all at once, we stopped moving completely. John turned his head towards me, and I realized that his face was only inches from mine. Before I could begin to estimate the precise distance between his lips and my own, before I was able to even begin calculating the effects any sudden movements could have on our relationship, John leaned in further, tilting his head.

And right there, in the living room of 221B Baker Street, John Watson kissed me.

I had never been kissed before that day. In fact, I hadn't even considered it. Human emotions, including my own, had always seemed unnecessary. For quite some time, emotions were something I figured I plainly didn't have. However, all of my former opinions on the matter were proven completely wrong that afternoon. I had what some might consider an epiphany.

However, while I was busy re-evaluating my stance on relationships, John must have been having his own regrets over his actions. He quickly pulled away, standing and placing his laptop on his seat. His face was a redder shade than I ever could have imagined on a human face. "I'm going to go make tea... Or something."

I stood, frozen, over the chair for a few moments while he left to make tea before finally collecting myself and standing up straight. With my unfamiliarity with friendships of any sort, this was a very confusing concept. Was it normal in your average friendship to kiss a boy you've only met a few days prior? Humanity was fascinating.

John didn't return with tea for quite some time, and I had the sneaking suspicion (which actually wasn't so much a suspicion as it was an obvious fact) that he was avoiding me, at least for the time being. I tried to take this lightly, and did my best to focus on the task at hand: searching this flat.

Pushing all thoughts of kissing out of my mind, I looked around. Bookshelves nearly overflowing: someone here is a big reader. No suspicious titles, all of these are fictional. Fireplace hasn't been lit in years, but is still functional. No photographs or memorabilia anywhere in the room: either the Watsons haven't finished moving in, or they simply aren't the emotionally attached type. Knowing John, it's probably the latter. Tables and desks are all clear, except for... There was a single piece of paper under the table. It was hardly visible, but for a small corner that happened to catch my eye. I pulled it out and had a look.

It was a medical report with the John's name printed across the top of it. Now this was a find.

I took a closer look and quickly noticed that it was several years old, dated back when John was just nine years old. I guessed (correctly!) that it was from John's hospital stay after the car wreck when he injured his leg.

The medical report told me that John had actually been very near losing his leg, as the bone was shattered almost completely beyond repair. Still, the doctors had managed to fix him up (well, almost fix him up, there was still that limp to be concerned with) after an impressive week-long stay in the North Hampshire Hospital.

It would have had to be a terrible car accident to be so near losing a limb and I quickly began running the possibilities through my mind. Sure, it could have been just a regular accident, drunk driving or something along those lines, but something felt odd about this. A creative murder, just after John moved here... Him having a near-death experience years ago... Could Molly's murder really have been a warning- possibly for John?

I took a deep breath, overwhelmed, and sat in the grey leather chair across from John's. I read through the file multiple times, but was unable to think of any further possibilities. If the accident had been less of an accident and more of an attack... Could John be in some serious danger? My heart leapt suddenly with worry. I seriously had to get over this crush.

I looked up to find my crush himself standing in the entry to the kitchen, clutching a tea tray awkwardly. Upon making eye contact with me, he blushed uncomfortably and looked down at the floor. Silently, he gave me a cup of tea and took his own, sitting in the plush armchair.

I held up the medical file. "So, I found this."

He looked up quickly before turning his eyes back to his tea. "Oh, that old thing."

"Who did you lose in the accident, John?"

I definitely caught my friend by surprise, as he finally looked up at me and held my stare. "My mum. How did you...?"

"Crashes this bad are usually fatal to someone, at least. Just not you, in this case."

"And you still think it was a crash? Like you said on the first day we met?"

I gave a small wave of my hand. "It's obvious. Not many other things could damage someone so badly, especially not at such a young age. You really don't see a lot of nine-year-olds jumping off of buildings or dropping pianos on their legs. Nothing that could do this much damage. Which," I shrugged, "I suppose is a good thing."

John said nothing, but took a few moments to drink. Unsure of whether he was thinking of a response or simply ignoring me, I gave him a few moments, until it was obvious that he didn't plan on giving any form of reply.

I set my tea down. "So, am I right?"

"Hate to say it, but yes, you are."

I smiled at him, but he didn't grin back, instead turning to look at the ground once more. What was up with him? I didn't know whether it was the medical report or the kiss, but something was definitely wrong with John Watson, and we both knew it.

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the tension. "John, if all this is about the-"

"Sherlock, stop. I don't know what I was thinking or doing and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just don't want to talk about it, alright? I'm not even gay!"

As much as I hated to admit it, his words stung. "I'm not uncomfor-"

"Just- just leave it."

There was nothing more to say on the matter, despite my feelings of being overwhelmed by too many words to share at once. Neither John nor I spoke until both of our mugs were empty. 

At this point, John rose from his seat. "I'll go rinse these out," he muttered. "I guess you can keep looking around- or whatever." He tore the mug from my hand and swiftly walked to the kitchen.

I was a bit taken aback by his cold actions, but decided to continue investigating anyways. Now that I knew John could be in danger, now that I had a few ideas to look into... This case was becoming more worthwhile, and I had to look everywhere possible- including John's flat.

I looked through the rest of the living room, but found no more details. By the time John had returned from the kitchen, there was only one place left to look in the room: his laptop.

I ran a hand through my hair, uncomfortable. "So, John, look... I really need to have a look on your laptop. I have this idea that-"

He interrupted me for the umpteenth time that afternoon as he shoved the laptop into my arms. "Fine. Whatever."

That was easier than I had imagined it being. I took a seat in the grey armchair again and opened up the laptop. Upon opening it, John's browser session resumed. Before we had kissed, he was on a blogging site. Hm.

I began scrolling down his blog, finding it to be filled with detailed, personal posts by John, and a few reasonably entertaining gifs here and there. There was also a lot of material about some nonsense, Homestuck. About half of the information on the blog was completely irrelevant- the other half, however, was filled with John's personal posts.

I read through a few of them and found that John was even more charismatic, charming, and irresistible in writing. Feeling ridiculously attracted to him and somewhat frustrated because of this, I ceased my scrolling and instead, clicked a button, "Notifications."

I was shocked to find that John's blog was actually insanely popular. Now that my emotional censors seemed to be up and running at incredibly inconveniencing levels, I was hit with a wave of protectiveness over John. He was my friend, my blogger. Surely none of these people cared about him as much as I did.

There was one named that continued to pop up along his notifications: xcatxcrazyx. This was very peculiar, and sent me into interior fits of jealousy. He seemed to be adding every single one of John's posts, personal or not, to his favorites, but when I clicked the link to go to his blog, I found it to be completely blank and void of any clues.

Feeling that I was stepping out of the investigation boundaries and beginning to snoop, I closed John's laptop and gave it back to him. He took it, holding a fairly strong poker face.

He stood up, as I had done moments before. "You done, then?"

I nodded. "Think so."

John shook his head. "Good."

It was still incredibly awkward, and he seemed to be growing colder towards me by the second. It was time to fix this. "John, look-"

"Sherlock, it's okay. I just don't want to talk about it. I get it, alright?"

"I really don't think you do."

"I just don't want to talk about it, okay? Can't you just understand that? I don't need to be rejected by you!"

"I think we should both just-"

"No. Okay? No. I messed up, and I'm sorry, but-"

Before he could finish, I swept him into my arms and kissed him. This time, it wasn't at all uncomfortable- at least, not until we broke apart.

John stared at me, bewildered. I was terrified, and after taking a shaky breath, I quickly walked out of the flat and back onto the bustling streets of London.

What was happening to me?