John couldn't breathe. It felt like his lungs were filled with heavy sawdust and yet...John couldn't stop the smile that broke from his lips like a rainbow from behind a curtain of clouds. Nor could he stop the blush from entering his cheeks like a slow trickle of honey, covering his face and ears in slow warmth. John couldn't stop the hand that moved forwards and clasped Sherlock's trembling fist, couldn't help the happy sigh he gave when he realized that their palms fit together like they were shaped for each other.

John couldn't help feeling so full of love and joy and sorrow and hope and so many other things that he thought he might burst.

It almost seemed like the passage of time had slowed, like the universe was letting this moment prolong so that John could just...feel. Feel the love that he knew was for his flatmate, this brave and beautiful man, this wondrous Sherlock Holmes. Feel the joy that filled his heart when he knew that this was it, this was the thing to wait for, the thing that fueled poets and artists, the thing that so many people never even find. Feel the sorrow that, even now, burst through his happiness like tiny pinpricks, showing him all the times he could have done better, been kinder. So John smiled, and blinked, and held his flatmate's hand a little tighter.

And he hoped with all his heart that what he would do next wouldn't send Sherlock running as fast as he could out of 221B.

He leant in,

And he closed his eyes,

And in that moment, when time had stopped entirely, and not even the faintest whisper could be heard,

John kissed him.

-----------------------------------

John awoke the next morning, slumped up against the wall, with a sore back, and a happy heart. A tuft of curly, brown hair was currently nestled in the crook of his neck, and long, gentle fingers were twined around his own. He re-played the events of last night in his head, grinning as he remembered the hesitant way in which Sherlock had returned his kiss, the feeling that shot through his body when soft palms had cupped his cheeks carefully. 

Even through this bliss, however, came the flood of doubts. The shouts of "Not Gay" rang through his skull like hail, the toxic whispers that said "Too fast, too soon" like bullets through his euphoria. His smile faded slightly, and as he looked down at the sleeping form in his arms, he knew that there was much to be discussed.

But for now, he thought, at least there is this. And I wouldn't lose this for the world.