Rudyard Kipling, The Light That Failed
it probably seems like i cry over stupid shit but tbh i usually end up crying because i’ve stored up all of my upset feelings from multiple things rather than express them and then the littlest thing sets me off like spilling my drink may not be that big of a deal but when i’ve stored up that many negative emotions it feels like i busted a hole in the hoover dam
- I’m not a hero, I’m not strong enough.
It had started out innocently enough. John had been sitting around, watching crap telly when one of those dancing programs had started up. Sherlock had immediately started up a running commentary on the various mistakes each contestant was making, becoming more and more critical as the program went on.
"You know, this is only a tryout episode,” John commented with a chuckle at Sherlock’s latest critique.
"Well I don’t even know why half of them even bothered to enter, the one before couldn’t count to save his life and this one has absolutely no sense of balance at all,” Sherlock replied scathingly as the current girl proceeded to fall on her arse.
"Since when did you become a dance expert anyways?" John asked with a quirk of his brow.
"I happened to take various lessons when I was younger," Sherlock replied nonchalantly as he leaned back in his seat.
"Any good then?"
"Of course I am."
John simply chuckled at the man’s arrogant tone, to which Sherlock raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Let’s see it then," John said instead as he turned off the telly and gave his full attention to the consulting detective.
"You want me to dance for you?" Sherlock drawled, as though he had a number of better things to do.
"Problem?" John asked back.
Sherlock contemplated the doctor for a few seconds before springing from his chair, quickly and efficiently moving the furniture around so as to make space in the center of the room. John figured Sherlock would start some sort of dance at this point when suddenly the man was standing in front of him, a hand out in clear invitation.
"Sherlock?" John asked, rather confused at this turn of events.
"Problem?" he quipped back, a teasing glint in his eyes.
John simply sighed in amused resignation as he took the hand and helped himself up. “You realize I have no idea what I’m doing?” he asked as he waited for some sort of instruction.
"Just follow my lead," Sherlock replied as he placed John right hand on his shoulder and clasped his left with his own right, Sherlock’s left hand resting lightly near John’s hip.
It was rather awkward at first since John really had little experience dancing and kept accidentally trodding on Sherlock’s feet. Thankfully neither were wearing shoes so the missteps caused very little damage. Eventually though, the two fell into a comfortable rhythm of slowly spinning around the created space.
"Huh, it’s not so bad," John noted as he continued to watch his feet, desperately trying to avoid stepping on Sherlock’s toes again.
"You know you’re supposed to look at your partner as you dance?" Sherlock chided teasingly causing John to look up to offer him a sheepish grin.
Only to find himself practically nose-to-nose with his flatmate.
"Hi," John absolutely did not squeak as the two came to a rather sudden standstill.
"Hello," Sherlock replied in what sounded suspiciously very much like a purr. This close, John could clearly see the flush that adorned the taller man’s cheeks. Though whether that was from exertion or… something else, John wasn’t entirely certain as he licked his lower lip nervously, an action Sherlock avidly watched before quickly returning his gaze to John’s eyes and leaning forward.
Panicking slightly, John did the only thing he could think of and screwed his eyes shut, standing absolutely still as he waited for the inevitable. Which, apparently, turned out to be a quick peck on the cheek.
Eyes flying wide open again, John felt… disappointed? Had he actually wanted to kiss Sherlock? Something on his face must have given him away because after a quick scan, Sherlock was leaning closer again.
Not quite as panicked this time, John let his eyes flutter shut as he waited for Sherlock to kiss him. On the corner of the mouth. The army doctor emphatically did not whine at being once again denied something he hadn’t even realized he wanted. Growing impatient, John simply grabbed the man’s collar and dragged him down so as to kiss him himself, something Sherlock seemed to have no problem with whatsoever as he brought up a hand to rest at John’s nape.
As far as first kisses went, it started off rather awkwardly with some teeth clacking and nose bumping. Eventually though, just like in their dancing, the two of them found a comfortable rhythm that lasted until they broke apart for some much needed air.
"Problem?" John asked once he’d finally regained his breath, only to find Sherlock was staring at him rather attentively. The man in question simply continued to search John’s face for… something or another until he apparently found was he was looking for and broke into a wide grin.
"No," he replied, placing a soft peck on John’s forehead, "no problem at all."