John sat on the couch, looking as though bothered at something. Something not being the case, he was ferrous. He had always tried to get Sherlock to see what he meant. Every "brilliant" he muttered, every "bloody, that's fantastic" he whispered in his breath, every gaze he shot him; they all meant something more then just a job-well-done.
Sherlock always seemed like a hard person to reach, going off on his own path, doing things his way, being the lazy ass he was. But John never would have guessed that Sherlock could be so... -blind-! The great Sherlock freaking Holmes, blind.
Blind to feelings, adornment, caring and sometimes even loving actions. John sometimes made it so painfully obvious that he was sure Sherlock was going to blow up and yell at him any moment now.
"John..?" John snapped his attention to the tall figure towering over him on his perch on the couch.
"Y-yes?" John shook his head back to Sherlock.
"Can I play something for you? I need opinions." Sherlock said, retreating to his violin on the other side of the room, displaying it to John.
"Of course!" John sat up a little more against the sofa. Sherlock came back to where the coffee table was, staying across from John. He placed the violin under his chin and positioned the bow.
Softly, he started the melody. A paced tempo, mysterious, upbeat notes. John closed his eyes, picturing a chase through a Japanese garden, the one you see in the movies with the fluttering pink pedals. It was a strangely relaxing tune.
It changed, the capture, a upbeat happy tune, slightly higher then the mysterious tune. He heard some of the mysterious noted thrown in there... Suspense.
John opened his eyes as Sherlock played through the capture. Sherlock caught them with his, holding them captive. His blue/gray eyes were coated in lust. Something was lingering there, in his eyes. Something John has never seen before in his friend's mysterious eyes. Something John couldn't pin-point.
The melody slowed a little, turning darker. Sherlock's eyes flashed as the tune did. John found himself standing. He glided around the coffee table and stood inches in front of Sherlock.
The tune changed again. Happy notes danced from the strings. It was upbeat and somehow romantic. A tune you would hear as background to candles and a dinner.
John got closer to Sherlock, carefully landing his lips on his. The tune came to an end (the real end or the loss-of-concentration-from-the-kiss end, John didn't know) and the instrument fell to the ground, giving Sherlock free hands to take John's waist gently.
John pulled back to look in those blue/gray eyes. Lust, shock, wanting, loving. All this coated Sherlock's normally-mysterious beautiful eyes.
"Comments?" Sherlock whispered slowly, sounding (for once) at a struggle for words.
"Kiss me." John whispered back, almost in a breath.