And here's my new one shot collection. I'll be updating the tags along with every new chapter, and specify any warnings, if any, at the beginning of them.

Warnings: Mentions of drug use.

Sherlock had never understood the human need for partnership, the need to bond with other people and, in some cases, establish a romantic relationship.

As a child, he had opted for spending his time surrounded by books to acquire more knowledge, instead of socializing with his fellow classmates, which was probably why everyone at school -including most of the teachers- found him strange and avoided him as much as possible.

High school had been worst. Instead of avoiding him, people preferred to harass him and call him names, 'freak' being their favourite insult. He didn't care, except for when these instances interfered with his studies.

He witnessed people starting romantic relationships, but most ended up breaking up in the span of two or three weeks. Absolutely pointless.

University was slightly better, if only because spending his spare time acquiring more knowledge wasn't looked down upon. Still, people became more involved with each other at this stage, so Sherlock, being the loner that he was, hadn't exactly fit in either.

Romantic relationships were more common now, and after deducing that half of them would break up in between one or two months -either because of infidelity or boredom-, he deleted all facts about the subject out of his mind. He had more important things to think about, after all.

A good thing -or bad, he would come to accept in later years- had been the drugs. It had began as an experiment, but feeling that rush curse through his veins, his thoughts sharp and more focused than ever, had been an incredible experience. And of course, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to expand his knowledge about them -which is how he progressed from cocaine to heroine.

Years later, after overdosing twice and being sent to rehab by a furious Mycroft, he met Lestrade.

He had been his first real relationship -'friendship', he had to remind himself in order not to forget the term-, not including his family, which hardly mattered, as far as he was concerned.

While they had merely began as acquaintances, mostly Sherlock helping Lestrade out when the Inspector was out of his depth in an unusual case, they had slowly progressed to something akin to friends, Sherlock had come to conclude.

They weren't particularly close, but Sherlock trusted him, to some extent, and he knew Lestrade trusted him, too, so he decided that having one relationship wouldn't be so atrocious, as long as certain limitations stayed in place.

His second relationship was a bit more unexpected.

After meeting Martha Hudson, a woman who had been abused by his husband, and ensured he was sent to prison, the woman had been... strangely grateful.

That is, it wasn't strange for a victim to be grateful, but she was... odd.

She had been the first person, even before wrapping up the case, to treat him with respect. Not even Lestrade respected him- not much, at least-, but he didn't mind. She had been sweet, offering him tea and biscuits, muttering about how skinny he was and how he should take better care of himself. He had even thought of her as 'warm', which was a ridiculous description, but still very much fitting.

After her husband was sent to prison, she invited him to dinner at her house, offering to cook him something as a thank you, and he reluctantly accepted. Afterwards, she told him that if he ever needed a place to live he could go to her, and she would be happy to help him out. He was stunned that she had remembered his passing comment -'My landlord could use with a bit of your patience, he has no appreciation for experimentation'-, and barely managed to mumble a 'Thank you' before leaving.

He hadn't been sure if he could classify her as a friend. A small part of him, deep down, wondered for a second if that's how it felt to have a present mother, a caring one. Someone warm who smelled like cinnamon and talcum powder.

An absurd thought.

He finally decided to put her in the 'acquaintance' category, thinking that he probably wouldn't hear of her again.

He had been wrong.

A few months later, his landlord reached the end of his rope and told him to find himself another place to live. He went to Mrs. Hudson's, who seemed delighted to see him, and ushered him inside, instantly putting the kettle to boil and giving him a few biscuits.

She had no qualms about him renting 221B, and assured him that she wasn't easily disturbed, but advised him to take in a flat mate, since paying the rent wouldn't be easy otherwise.

Which was easier said than done, obviously.

Or not.

John Watson had been... a surprise. Unexpected.

Interesting.

The second he thought he had the man all figured out, something else, something new came up, and put everything upside down.

And that was before he saved his life and shot the cabbie.

No one had ever done something like that for him before. They hardly knew each other, and John Watson didn't even think twice about taking the life of Jeff Hope to save him. Him.

Either there was something seriously wrong with John Watson, or...

No. Delete. Impossible.

After the case was done and they went to get Chinese, John Watson had officially become his third relationship -flat mate.

They not-so-easily started to get used to each other and, even if John complained about his experiments and the mess around the flat, he never seemed truly bothered by it. There was almost a fond edge on his tone when he reprimanded him, which felt strangely like acceptance.

The thought sat oddly with him, probably because no one had ever accepted him. No one had ever liked him. And yet, John did.

And as much as he tried to convince himself that he did not particularly care for John, finding out he had been kidnapped had been like a blow to the gut. And he couldn't fool himself anymore after that.

He had been scared. Him, Sherlock Holmes, scared; scared for the safety of someone else, for the safety of his flat mate and colleague and-

Afraid that his friend had been hurt because of him.

John had thankfully been mostly unharmed, except for a light concussion. Everything went back to normal afterwards, except for his newly found relationship status -friendship.

He was not entirely sure how to feel about it.

Seeing John at the pool had been such a shock that his brain had short-circuited. He couldn't think, but he could feel. Shock being the most recognizable emotion, but there was also hurt and... betrayal.

Betrayal that his only friend, the one human being that he had allowed to get close had been lying to him all along.

But then he saw the explosives attached to him, and his brain went back into gear, a thousand thoughts shooting through his mind.

Most of all, though, he was relieved. Scared to death, though he would never admit it, but relieved.

And John; stupid, brave, wonderful John, tried to save Sherlock again, but this time he offered his life in exchange.

Unacceptable.

Seemingly against all odds, they survived.

And while he should be glad about that, about John being all right, about John actually not being Moriarty, there was something more pressing on his mind, something that, inexplicably, everyone, including Moriarty, had seen before he did.

John was his heart.

He had accepted how much John meant to him, he had even accepted having a connection with someone else, having a friend, no matter how useless he had found the concept a few years back.

But he realized that John was more than that. What he felt for John, whatever it was, was beyond friendship. While he was aware that his experience and knowledge in that area was insufficient, he knew himself thoroughly. He was sure about how he truly felt now, even if it still confused him, and he needed to do something about it.

But more important, he needed to know how John felt.

While kissing John out of the blue had probably not been the best way to find his answer, he figured it would be easier than asking, knowing that expressing his feelings was not exactly an easy task for him.

Ironically enough, it worked.

John stilled, having been taken out of guard, but then kissed him back with passion, a hand coming up to curl at the nape of his neck, the other one going around his back.

And it was fine, it was more than fine actually, but then John's hand started moving downwards.

Ah. It appeared he had forgotten about something.

"Stop."

John's hand immediately stilled, and he drew back, searching Sherlock's face for something. Then, his shoulders dropped and he... smiled?

Surely smiling wasn't an appropriate reaction. He was missing something.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed..." John shocked his head, his smile softening. "Asexual?" He simply asked.

Sherlock blinked, unsure. "I'm not entirely sure," he answered honestly. "I've never been interested in anyone, but I don't think I would be comfortable with-" he cleared his throat, "that."

John nodded, his thumb drawing small circles on the side of his neck. "I presume kissing is fine, seeing that you instigated it?"

"It is."

"Anything else I should be aware of?"

He sounded thoughtful instead of annoyed or mocking, which confused Sherlock even further.

"Not as of now, I think. This isn't exactly my area, as you well now."

"That's fine." He pecked him on the lips, and Sherlock unconsciously leaned into him.

"You're not... I mean, you enjoy sex." He said, somewhat awkwardly. "Are you sure this-"

"This is fine. More than fine, actually." John tightened his hold for a moment, his face turning serious. "I don't think there's anyone else for me, Sherlock. Not anymore."

Nor for him.

It appeared his relationship status would have to be upgraded once again.

Author's notes:

I have no idea when I'll be updating this, but it should be twice a week, or so, depending on how busy I am.
Please, let me know if you see any mistakes. I'm slightly unsure about the tenses, so feel free to hit me over the head if I screwed up too much.

Hope you enjoy x