It was just John's luck that Sherlock's new experiment involved him prancing around the apartment.

Prancing around the apartment naked, that is.

Git.

Sherlock, the bastard, had decided that his cognitive capabilities were furthered when "unhindered by items of clothing". After an awkward situation, in which Ms. Hudson blushed considerably and a copious amount of tea was spilled, John had decided that, for the duration of the experiment, the door to 221B would remain closed and locked.

He didn't anticipate that Sherlock would take that as an invitation to settle himself in the living room, spread out on their sofa. He also didn't anticipate how hard it would be to not stare. Sherlock isn't completely unattractive, thought John contemplatively. In a completely platonic way, of course. He wasn't gay. That would be silly. Wishful thinking.

Wishful thinking? John shook his head and went to make tea. Trust Sherlock to mess up his brain.

John didn't know exactly when Sherlock crept up on him. He also didn't know that when the git decided that it would be ok to grab some tea by reaching around John's arm, which, coincidentally, pressed Sherlock's body to John's. John froze. He exhaled heavily. It's ok, he thought. Sherlock's so unsentimental that he probably doesn't realize what he's doing.

It would have been a reasonable hypothesis, had Sherlock moved after grabbing the tea. Instead, he just started to blow slowly at the mug, leaning over John's shoulder to do so.

Shit.

John looked down at his trousers, now undeniably revealing a certain issue.

Sherlock looked too. He smiled. Putting the tea down, he went and sat down on the couch. Still starkers.

Shitshitshitshitshit

John cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Um, Sherlock. Would you mind putting on some pants? Or your dressing gown?"

Sherlock said nothing. His smile widened.

"Sherlock, it's really not proper."

Sherlock was smiling ear to ear, now.

"And how would you know, John?"

John started. He stared curiously at the detective. His curly hair was rumpled, and his eyes were twinkling. John's breath hitched in his chest.

"It's..it's not...you know. Not something you do around....mates."

"Really now, John. Are you really expecting me to believe that never once in your Army career you saw your fellow soldiers in similar attire?"

John snorted.

"Lack of attire, really."

Sherlock was positively grinning.

"So, why would my...absence of clothing bother you so?"

"'Cause you're Sherlock, it's not...it's different."

"And why...John, is it...different?"

John flushed. Sherlock's tone had changed entirely now. It wasn't light and laughing anymore. It was filled with something darker, like how he sounded when he was about to solve a case. Joyful, arrogant, and...something else...new.

"I...don't...know."

"Really now John, you see, but you do not observe. Unable to stop staring, inability to control thinking, tinged neck and cheeks, controlled breathing....need I go on?"

John felt confused, like how he felt when Sherlock was trying to explain something that John couldn't understand.

"I'm not sure what you're saying, Sherlock."

Sherlock grunted frustratedly. He rose, suddenly, and marched over to John and planted a firm kiss on his lips.

"If that doesn't tell you, nothing will." He was about to stalk away again when a thought struck John that made him reach out a hand and stop Sherlock.

"Maybe...it means that...i'm not entirely....straight?"

Sherlock smiled proudly

"It's taken you a while."

He bent down and kissed John again. This time, John gave back as good as he got. Which was very good.

"You know, if you wanted to kiss me, you didn't need to do this silly experiment."

"I am sure, without a doubt, that had I made advances then, you would have fallen over, quite unconscious. And then I'd have to revive you."

John laughed. He kissed Sherlock again, chastely, gently.

"You're a right git, know that?"

Sherlock hummed contentedly.