Let me begin by first saying that I am so incredibly sorry.
I've had way too much going on in my personal life for the past month, and I just haven't had the time or energy to complete this story.
However, bit by bit, I finally squeezed this out, and I feel it's a good note to end on.
Things in my life have gotten a little easier the past week, though, and it looks like they're going to continue getting better, so be on the look out for more fanfics in the future!
I hope everyone enjoyed this, 'cause I sure did.
Let me know what you thought, lovelies.

Co-authored with the wonderful, amazing, absolutely perfect Goosie-Boosie on DA.

Sherlock had wandered into the bedroom to change clothes, since he had only been wearing underwear and his housecoat. He thought of what would happen if John brought home romantic flowers and he admitted his feelings to the doctor in nothing but his underwear, laughing quietly. That would have been interesting. Ignoring the small desperate flips that his stomach was making, the detective changed into his normal attire: black slacks and a button-up shirt, a royal blue color that went well with his skin tone.

Sherlock stared into the mirror a few moments before unbuttoning his wrist cuffs and rolling the sleeves up to his elbow neatly. Casual, but handsome. Surely there was nothing telling about the way he had dressed just for John to come home. From the other room came his text tone, and he smiled slightly, tight-lipped. It was only a matter of time before he found out how the doctor felt, one way or the other, and the thought was somewhat comforting. Sherlock walked into the living room and read the message, snorting at John's idle threat.

Good. -SH

The detective wandered into the kitchen after he sent his message, suddenly thirsty.

Nerves.

John took a deep breath as he stepped out of the cab, looking down at the bouquet in his hand as he shut the door behind him. The nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach had grown, and his heart seemed to be stuttering its beats. This was surely just another favor for Sherlock, just another piece of an experiment, and nothing was meant by it. Pulling the key out of his pocket to 221B, he opened the door and couldn't help but hope that there was no emotion flitting across his face. Steeling himself, the doctor climbed the stairs, determined to just get it over with so that he could go back to trying to ignore his ever-growing feelings for the asexual detective.

"Sherlock! I've got your bloody flowers."

Sherlock's heart skipped when he heard the door open to their flat, nearly choking on his water. He hadn't expected the doctor to be here that quickly, or perhaps it was just his nerves interfering with time perception. Clearing his throat as quietly as possible, he set the glass of half-finished water on the counter before poking his head around the corner of the kitchen wall.

Bouquet. Purple. White. Lavender flowers, then. The most common popular culture meaning of giving a lavender flower is love and devotion. Devotion, certainly, John proved that the first case we went on together when he shot the cabbie. But love? Does John... love me?

Swallowing nervously, Sherlock decided to just go with his instincts. His brain and body alike were screaming advice at him as he strolled, as casually as possible, into the living room. Reaching John, he gently took the bouquet of flowers out of the man's hands, observing them.

"A bouquet."

The detective smelled them appreciatively, transferring them to his left hand. Heart thudding like mad, he reached forward with his right hand and pulled John to his body by the shoulder and leaning down, pressed his lips gently against the doctor's all in a matter of seconds.

"Thank you, John."

It was a whisper, certainly a scared one, as Sherlock turned on his heel to try and escape to his bedroom. John needed time to process what had just happened. Sherlock would be the type to show his affection and then immediately want to disappear, wouldn't he? John didn't know what to think. Was this still for an experiment? Was this a thank you for getting the correct kind?

"Sherlock. Wait."

The 'asexual' detective just kissed me. Sherlock kissed me. Sherlock Holmes. What?

Sherlock had frozen, hand already extended to open his bedroom door. He turned back to John and raised his eyebrows, swallowing nervously as he took in every aspect of the doctor's appearance.

"Yes, John?"

The detective's thoughts were whirling once more in a far too confused fashion, trying to deduce John's feelings and reactions and what he was going to say next. No wonder the detective never fooled with feelings, they made him feel far too anxious for his liking.

"What… What was that?"

John began, taking a step toward the brunette as he licked his lips subtly, trying to capture the flavor of Sherlock's own lips.

"I am very, very… confused. What was that? The kiss, I… I don't know what to expect from you. Was that a thank you? Or was that part of your experiment?"

Everything was logical with Sherlock. The natural thought pattern for anyone else would be that the other was romantically interested, but the doctor knew that couldn't be the case. Sherlock had said on many occasions that things like that weren't his area, so there had to be something else. Staring blankly up at the detective, John couldn't help but wish that this beautiful man meant something by the kiss, and it wasn't just an experiment, but a real display of affection.

God, I really am attracted to him, aren't I? John "I'm-not-gay" Watson just got kissed by a man… And enjoyed it.

Sherlock waited for John to stop forming half-sentences patiently, eyebrows still raised as he observed the doctor. After John had finished, he smirked slightly before launching into his explanation.

"The flowers were an experiment to see if you brought me something platonic, like in a pot or that could be grown on its own, or romantic, like a bouquet."

He gestured to the flowers still in his hand before continuing.

"You chose romantic. This indicates a romantic interest, regardless of subtlety. If you were a woman, this part would be more difficult, but since you're a man, the probability of you choosing romantic flowers is high for someone you are interested in. Not to mention the dilated pupils, wide gaze, tense stature, the licking of your lips, and the fact that you didn't get angry and hit me."

The detective moved the few steps between them to stand right in front of John once more.

"Therefore, John, I conclude that you are indeed not only attracted to me, but you are also romantically interested, whether or not you have admitted it to yourself. So, I'll show you again, since you keep asking 'what was that.'"

John felt his heart stop as he quietly gasped at Sherlock's deductions of his feelings. His face grew redder by the second, unsure if Sherlock just interested in this information or if he was actually interested in him as well. Bending down, slowly this time, Sherlock brushed his lips against John's rough ones. Pulling away, he smirked.

"I kissed you. That is what."

The doctor was, quite frankly, more shocked and embarrassed than anything else. It must have been very obvious with his behavior the past few weeks, and now the flowers. Clearing his throat quietly, stepping closer, the blonde looked up at Sherlock.

"So… What about you, then? Are you… interested?"

Sherlock stared down at the shorter man in slight awe.

"What is it like in your mind? Are you hearing nothing but silence as you wait for me to spell it out?"

He shook his head, half turning away from the doctor once more. Obviously John was still in the denial stage of being attracted to him. Sherlock decided he would allow John to approach him next, when he was ready, but felt the need to make it crystal clear for the man in front of him.

"I return your physical and mental interest, John."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head once more before taking a few steps toward the kitchen.

"Obviously."

John didn't know what to do with this information, and was almost sure he had to be dreaming. Pinching himself on the inner elbow discreetly, the doctor followed Sherlock to the kitchen, still hoping this wasn't some elaborate ruse. Content with the fact that he was awake, John reached out a hand and grabbed onto some loose fabric of the detective's shirt to keep him from going anywhere else.

"I just never thought you were, you know, interested in that bit of human nature."

The detective turned in to face John when the shorter man had grabbed his shirt. Staring down at the doctor, eyebrows slightly raised, he laughed quietly, shaking his head.

"I don't think you understand. I was never interested in anyone before you, so when I told you that I was married to my work, I meant it."

Sherlock shrugged, laying the bouquet down on the counter before leaning against the lower cabinets, still observing the man in front of him.

"Things change, although not often with myself."

John folded his arms, looking up at the detective with a bemused expression as his own thoughts rushed through his head. There was no sense denying the attraction between the two any longer, as it was heart-stoppingly obvious, now that the doctor thought about it. Smirking slightly as he stepped forward, John reached out hesitantly and brushed the detective's forearms with his fingertips.

"Were the flowers really that romantic?"

Sherlock had watched John come closer, looking down into those grey-blue eyes before John spoke. Snorting at the doctor's question, he rolled his eyes.

"Lavender, John? It's a sign of love and devotion. Obviously they were meant to be very romantic to any person who knows such symbolism in popular culture. I knew you had devotion, because for Gods' sakes you shot a cabbie on the first case we ever went on together. But love was the curious part, of course. Platonic love and romantic love are very much the same and yet very different."

Sherlock shrugged before looking down at John's fingertips grazing his skin. Sherlock hesitantly reached up and entwined one hand's fingers with the doctor's before letting their hands fall back in between the two of them. Chewing his bottom lip, Sherlock suddenly laughed quietly, shaking his head once more.

"You'll forgive me. I've no experience in the area of romance."

John gave a small nod, smiling in faint amusement.

"Well, I think I might be able to help in that area a little bit, if you wanted."

John gazed up at the brunette, feeling exposed and free all at the same time. His heart seemed to stutter quietly as Sherlock's eyes met his own in a somewhat heated gaze. Sherlock stared down at the man for a moment, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No, John, I don't want your romantic assistance. I only just admitted that you're the only person I've ever been romantically attracted to, ever."

The detective looked down at their hands entwined, slightly uncomfortable with the new sensations, but fascinated at the same time. He had never wanted to be close to anyone, let alone holding one's hand or kissing another person's lips. It was all very strange and new, but after a fleeting second of thought, welcome. He was willing to change for the man in front of him, to discover what it meant to show another that he loved them. With a small sigh, he raised his gaze slightly to meet John's own.

"I am willing to learn if you will show me, however... I do not think that I will be capable of expounding affection all of the time. It's just not... How I am. I would show you affection in my own way, not necessarily... This."

Sherlock gestured toward their entwined hands, hoping that John understood. It was just that Sherlock felt showing his love was spending time together and having long discussions, or sitting in the kitchen having tea in silence while John read the paper. He did not feel that he would be good at remembering to kiss John every day, or tell him that he loved him on a regular basis. Instead, he felt he would be much better at just showing the doctor through his every day actions.

"You speak as though this is news to me, Sherlock. I didn't want to have you in a relationship because I wanted to change who you are. I wanted you because you are this way, which probably sounds a bit mental."

The doctor grinned up at the other man playfully. Sherlock laughed quietly, nodding in agreement that John did sound mental. Who wanted to fall in love with a sociopath? Apparently John didn't mind too much, however, so he didn't comment.

"I'm going to come out and ask, though. Can I kiss you?"

The detective sighed quietly as John proposed a kiss, before smirking.

"You don't have to ask, you know. But if you can reach up here on your tiptoes, I suppose I can allow a kiss or two."

John scowled in response, tugging on Sherlock's collar to bring him down to his level and pressed their lips together firmly. His hands moved from his collar to rest on his chest, fingers hanging onto the fabric so he wouldn't separate from the detective even for an instant. As the doctor's lips had met his own, Sherlock smiled slightly, sliding his arms around John's waist and bringing him closer. He couldn't help but revel in the flavors and textures of John's lips: slightly rough, tasting faintly of tap water with a just-barely-there sweetness that was just John. When the doctor pulled away, Sherlock's eyes opened in surprise.

"Sorry. I've been holding that in for a bit."

Gazing down at the smaller man, Sherlock smirked and leaned down to let his own lips just barely brush John's as he whispered against them.

"I know the feeling."