John had always fancied that when he first said those three words, it would be over fireworks and shooting stars.

… not a fight past midnight.

Stunned silence had fallen over the room, and Sherlock was still staring at him. It was the first time John had ever seen him truly speechless.

"I. I didn't," John stuttered. What, he didn't mean it? Yes, he meant every word. But Sherlock was not supposed to find out like this, he wasn't really ever meant to.

"You… love me?" Sherlock repeated slowly.

John sighed and sat down on the bed, putting his face in his hands. He couldn't take it back now.

"Yes," John said finally. "I do." Before Sherlock could say anything else John continued, "I know that you hate me, and that you're with Victor, but. I do. I have for a long time."

Sherlock still looked shell-shocked.

So John continued, trying to get it all out. "That's why I did so much stupid shit, I wanted you so badly that I was scared by it," John huffed, "I was skipping out on school to be with you, I didn't care about anything else but you. And... that was terrifying."

"No," Sherlock said, looking up John with so much emotion that John shut his mouth instantly. "You don't get to do that."

"What?" John said.

"You broke my heart," Sherlock bit out. "When I kissed you you ran away from me. What choice did I have?" Sherlock clenched his fists, looking distraught and John just wanted to sweep him into his arms. "I've been trying to get over you," Sherlock muttered. "you can't say this to me now."

John didn't know how to absorb all of this. Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock liked him? He felt a wave of guilt crash over him at the expression on Sherlock's face. Yeah, he was a dumbass.

"I'm so sorry," John said quietly, "I was an idiot, I know that now. Can you ever forgive me?'

Sherlock didn't say anything for a while. John stood and moved hesitantly closer to him, feeling a swell of oh so breakable hope in his chest.

"Please," John murmured, "I've missed you so much."

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to his and oh, they were close and collided and they were kissing. Sherlock's lips were chapped and they weren't quite positioned right, but John was certain that he'd never known anything better.

When they finally pulled away for air, John rested his forehead against Sherlock's and exhaled slowly.

"I haven't forgiven you," Sherlock said.

"I know," John whispered. "I will spend forever trying to make it up to you."

"Wait,' John asked later, the question burning on his mind as they sat and talked about everything and nothing. Like their first night. "So you're not with Victor."

Sherlock shook his head, "No," he said, a hint of laughter in his voice, "he's straight as a pole, and I talked his ear off about you all the time."

John smiled, reaching over to clasp Sherlock's hand. "God, I was so jealous of him. Whenever I saw you and Victor together I just kept wishing that it was me and not him."

"He could've never replaced you."

John leaned and kissed Sherlock again, softly. It was becoming his favorite thing to do.

"So, wanna be roommates again?" John asked, grinning goofily at Sherlock.

Sherlock pretended to think about it. "No you're a terrible roommate."

John hit his shoulder, laughing. "Hush. We can probably convince Mike or Victor to switch."

"Alright," Sherlock conceded. "But only if you kiss me again."

Not a problem.