Author's note: This is a Johnlock fanfiction.

No, I didn't jump on the band wagon. And I don't ship them... well, at least not seriously "I couldn't stand it if they weren't together" kind of ship. But I enjoy their interactions.

And, now and then, I enjoy a good slash fanfiction.

What I want to say is: Yes, I see Sherlock as an asexual and John as a heterosexual, and I love their bromance. But I am not one of those fans who start complaining as soon as they see someone ship them as a homosexual couple. Because let's be honest – to be able to ship them, openly, is wonderful. And I respect both opinions, even if I am part of the more "canon" view of their relationship. If you interpret it in a different way, even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dropped more than enough hints...

Okay, I'll admit it. This is an experiment. I wanted to try my hand at a Johnlock story that was somewhat realistic. And I wanted to watch the reactions I got. So, yes, I might be a bit... different. But I enjoy it. I don't think I'll write more Johnlock fanfictions though, so don't worry, all my followers.

I don't own anything, and please review.

It happens so gradually that John isn't even aware of it, for a long time.

He'd never have thought about it, not even when Sherlock died and he was desperate and lonely and felt like everything he'd ever wanted was gone...

Not even then.

There has always been something in the connection he and Sherlock share, he won't deny it; but he's always thought of himself as heterosexual, and, concerning Sherlock...

Well, he wasn't sure. Of something different than the fact that he and Sherlock shared this... bond, that is.

That special bond that compelled him, years ago, to visit 221B Baker Street with the consulting detective, even though he should probably have run for cover as soon as the riding crop was mentioned.

That special bond that made him shoot the cabbie, Jeff Hope, when he'd known Sherlock for just over a day.

That special bond that, despite everything, made him move back to Baker Street after Sherlock had returned.

Of course, he had married and divorced Mary in the interim. Somehow, it had felt right.

But, another part of him... another, far bigger part of him... declared it "wrong".

He'd always wanted a wife, he'd always wanted children.

And yet, Mary was not enough. And he still feels bad for it. She was lovely, patient, wonderful. But she was not enough.

She didn't fill the gap in his heart that had appeared the day Sherlock apparently committed suicide. She didn't give him the excitement he craved, even needed.

Only Sherlock had done that, but Sherlock was dead.

Or so he thought.

Until the detective decided to show up in the middle of the night in his flat, that is. In typical Sherlock fashion, he of course didn't respect John's privacy and picked the lock, and John found him sitting on his excuse for a sofa when he returned, limping, from just another visit to his therapist (he'd started going back there, once a week, after he'd divorced Mary – it may not help much, but now and then, he needed to talk to someone other than Greg or Mike or Mrs. Hudson or Molly).

So he came back, turned the light on, and there he sat –

Like nothing had happened. Like John had never seen him – or not him apparently or – did it really matter? – jump off of a building.

Like John hadn't cried or suffered or married and got a divorce in the three years that had passed since then.

And, yes – he hit him, he made his nose bleed, he turned him out of that crampy little flat that he'd moved into shortly after his... supposed death.

But, then, he ran after him, asked him to stay, hugged him. Begged him to allow him to return.

And so here they were.

They had just solved another case – one Sherlock declared as "dull", after realizing the woman had committed suicide after a mere two minutes – and were spending the evening at 221B.

And then, Sherlock stood up – he'd worked on his website, using John's laptop, of course ("Really John, my birth date. Didn't take me very long to deduce this.) and said "Time to go to bed" – which didn't really surprise him, seeing as the consulting detective hadn't slept for four days – but when he passed John, he touched his shoulder.

Just briefly.

But he did.

Which is one of the reasons why John is still sitting here, hours after Sherlock went to his room, feeling lost.

Because Sherlock touching anyone – really, anyone – is strange enough.

Him touching John is slightly less strange, but still –

He's grabbed his arm (the Baskerville case, he tried to apologize, how could he forget).

He's grabbed his face (he was trying to make him remember, again, how could he forget).

He's held his hand (because they had to move fast, so it was easier to hold hands).

But he's never touched him out of the blue, not like this.

Then, John decides he shouldn't pay attention to something like this, so he goes to bed and tries to fall asleep.

But from then on, it happens regularly. Sherlock will just clasp his shoulder or his forearm or, on one occasion – though he immediately shakes it free – and look like it's the most normal thing that could happen.

And, though John doesn't want to admit it –

In a way, it is.

He's never thought much about the difference between physical and psychological attraction before, and now –

Now he isn't sure there is any.

He needs Sherlock.

Sherlock needs him.

And, after his divorce, he's sure he could never leave Sherlock and start a normal life.

A normal life with a wife and children and a house and –

No crime scenes.

No violin concerts at four o' clock in the morning.

No explosions from the kitchen because an experiment has gone wrong.

No near death experiences.

No –

No Sherlock.

The thought was bearable, but just barely, because it had to be, when Sherlock was dead.

But now – He couldn't live without him.

Sometimes, he imagines that Sherlock couldn't live without him, either.

Then, again, the consulting detective did live without him – for thirty-five years of his life, and three years after that –

That certain day.

Though John understands, now, why –

It still hurts.

Maybe it'll never stop hurting.

But if it has shown him something –

Without Sherlock Holmes, there's something missing in his life.

Something important.

Somehow, it feels like they belong together, and –

Once you've got to this point, sexual attraction isn't one of your first concerns anymore.

Though Sherlock Holmes is a rather attractive man.

And he keeps touching him.

And, John has no doubt, he will continue to interfere with his dates –

Wait. Wait. He hasn't had a date ever since Sherlock returned.

Though he had a few dates after he and Mary divorced, but since Sherlock showed up –

Nothing.

Nothing he wanted.

Nothing he needed.

Sherlock was back, and that was enough.

And, once he realizes that –

Needing Sherlock in another way is just a matter of time.

And he knows he shouldn't, and he knows it's wrong, and he knows –

But nothing of that seems to matter.

Because Sherlock is here, and he's alive, and maybe, just maybe, John needs more than friendship, but he'd never admit it.

He's happy about what they have.

And then, one day –

Sherlock asks a question.

"John?" he inquires, while he is once again looking through his microscope.

"Yes?" he responds, putting his book away – he suspects he's going to be asked to fetch Sherlock's pen, or his laptop, or maybe even something he can experiment with, that John doesn't even want to know about, but will get nonetheless.

And then –

Sherlock just looks at him, for a heartbeat, with this deducing glare of his, and John swallows and fears that the consulting detective realized what he's been thinking about, ever since he returned from the dead –

"Nothing. Forget it". And he looks at his experiment once again.

And John tells himself he isn't disappointed. He's perfectly happy just being friends with Sherlock – and, when he continues with his introspection, he realizes he truly would be. Just him and Sherlock, friends forever.

Until their relationship changes, once again.

It's not great; it's not awful; it just is.

Their first kiss just happens, just like that.

Sherlock just tells him, one day, that they're going to get a bit to eat at Angelo's, and then he kisses him.

Just like that.

And Sherlock's clearly inexperienced, but John doesn't mind, because, when you have such a strong bond, when your lives depend on each other, when you're happy in each other's company –

It is enough.

It is enough, even when they become... intimate, and Sherlock doesn't know what to do and John doesn't know what to do, either, because he's just as inexperienced as his best friend, as far as –

Well, as far as having sex with a man goes, that is, but still –

He wouldn't have it any other way.

And the morning after, when he tries to force Sherlock to eat, and gets dragged off to another crime scene instead –

He decides that it's fine, it's all fine.

Because they are together, and that is all that counts.

Maybe they'll die in pursuit of a suspect.

Maybe they won't and will one day end up in retirement.

Anyway, they will be together.

And it's fine. It's all fine.

Author's note: Please don't forsake me, or lose your respect for me, my regular followers. I just wanted to show my respect for the whole Johnlock movement – like I said, I think it's wonderful. And a legitimate interpretation. Really, so you like man on man action. So what? Life has many sides, and most of them (though, sadly, not all of them) are good. And if you're dealing with BBC'S Sherlock – let's just say, you can't ignore Johnlock forever.

And, if you happen to be a Johnlock shipper and this is the only reason you even read this (let's face it, we both know you did): Please – and I know this is selfish – give my other stories a chance. Just like Johnlock doesn't automatically mean "it sucks" so not Johnlock doesn't automatically mean "against bromance and everything that goes with it".

I'm so sorry for the long author's notes; I just wanted to explain that there a different points of view in the world – which is awesome.

I hope you liked it, please review.