John's POV

Perhaps it could be I'm over thinking things, it sure seems I am, but I think Sherlock has and emotion he's never committed to.

I know what it's like when someone is in love, and I know he sure is. I just don't know whom though. He likes someone. Maybe Molly, no, no, not Molly. He doesn't like girls.

ANDERSON???!!!

NO! I won't let my mind wander... He hates Anderson, right?

Lestrade! Do you think Lestrade is a possibility? I don't know... He's with Mycroft...

Do you think Sebastian? No, not Sebastian, surely not him. He's perfect with Moriarty I can't take them apart...

Who do you think he's with?.... Oh who am I kidding, I already answered myself. And it's not like I am talking to anyone.

"John. Perhaps you can go out and buy some milk?" Sherlock's voice interups my thinking.

"Milk? Did we run out again?"

"Yes."

"We don't even use the stuff!"

"It seems to evaporate every time it enters this flat." Sherlock makes some sorta gesture and sinks into his chair.

"Very well then." I get up and amble over to the door. I put on my jacket and exit the flat.

Why can't he do this for once!? It's so incredibly annoying that I have to keep going out to buy something that both of us never use. Is he incapable of being productive? Sherlock is so damn lazy. His excuse would probably be "Shopping interups my thinking."

And so I walk to the store, buy some milk, and walk back to the flat.

I open the door and put the milk into the fridge, Sherlock has moved over to the couch and he was lying with closed eyes and steepled hands.

I stop in my tracks and turn to Sherlock. I stare at Sherlock without even a twitch of my fingers.

He's so incredibly perfect. I wish I was the man he loved but I know that I do not reach his 'standards'-- what am I saying?! I'm not gay and I'm not going to fall for his unique blue eyes, or pale skin... Or pretty posture, or his tall, skinny structure... And his extraordinary deductions no other man could do...

"Stop staring at me. I am trying to think!" Says the consulting detective.

"O-Oh, sorry!" I rush into my bedroom and shut the door with a big thud. I collapse on my bed, face-first. I groan and don't fix my posture, soon I was fast asleep.

I wake up again in the morning and quickly get changed into a jumper and trousers. I walk out of my room and frown. "Sherlock you've been there all night?"

Sherlock waved me off dismissively. I scoff, he lets his arm fall so it was dangling off the couch.

"Do you have a problem with this?" Sherlock mumbles.

"Actually, yes. You never go to sleep, Sherlock. You have to sleep!"

"I refuse."

"You have to sleep! It hurts your health!!"

"Stop yelling."

"I'll stop yelling at you when you fall asleep."

"Then I am going to be living with a yelling freak for the rest of my life." Sherlock sighs and sits up.

"Well I hope you enjoy that!"

He rubs his eyes, they have bags under them. When was the last time Sherlock slept? I fold my arms and watch him stand up and walk over to me.

He puts his arms around me in a gentle embrace and lays his chin on my head.

"You're absolutely annoying sometimes, Watson."

"I know. Why are you hugging me?"

"I'm not hugging you."

"Yes you are." He steps away from me and jumps like a three year old onto his armchair. He curls up into a ball and pulls his robe over him

Oh my gosh.

OH MY GOSH-- AM I WHO HE LIKES? Di-- He hugged me, he HUGGED me, oh my, oh my, oh my.....

My face turns a dark shade of red.

I feel so dizzy...

I cover my face with my hands and stumble my way to my chair. I fall down onto it. I involuntarily pass out.

I wake up with Sherlock desperately shaking my side and yelling my name, but in a haze it sounded more like whispers. I blink a few times then focus on Sherlock's face. "Hey." I whisper.

"John! What the fuck happened!?" He asks, yelling it but in soft whispers.

I yawn and burry my face in my elbows. "Five more minutes." Sherlock starts laughing.

"John, you were not sleeping! You cannot have five more minutes!"

I groan and sit up. I put my arms around Sherlock's neck and nuzzle into his shoulder.

"John?"

"I know."

"Know what?"

"I just know." I give him a peck on his cheek, he turns red. I sit back into my chair.

"You're right. You do know."