221B Baker street

“Is it true, then?” Mycroft asks as he sits in Sherlock’s chair. Sherlock sat in John’s. Mycroft had stopped by Baker Street while John was out, to talk to Sherlock. “Is what true?” Sherlock snaps. “That you’re in love with your precious doctor.” Sherlock looked away from Mycroft and down at his violin, which sat in his lap. “That … I …” He didn’t know what to say. Yes, of course he was in love with John. But if he confirmed it, then Mycroft would only hold it above his head, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want his feelings to be used against him. He couldn’t handle that. “Oh, Sherlock…” “Don’t. Just … don’t.” “You must tell him. He has to know - he has the right to know.” “And then what? Have him walk out and leave me because I’m gay and, as he plainly says on a daily basis, he is not? No. I can’t … I won’t lose him. Not to my own feelings - especially if he does not return them. It would kill me, Mycroft.” Sherlock’s voice cracks as he finishes that last sentence. The floorboard creaks, alerting the two brothers of someone behind the door. “Do come in,” Sherlock says, thinking it’s a client, but regrets it immediately as John steps into the room. Sherlock’s throat clenches. “How, um - how much did you hear?” John looked at Sherlock, then Mycroft, then back at Sherlock. “Everything.” Sherlock couldn’t look at him. He stood and made to go to his room, but stopped half way in the hallway. He turned to face John, but did not look at him. “It was nice having you here while it lasted, then.” “What?” John asks, confused. “I won’t bother you, if that’s what you wish of me. I’ll - I’ll just be going to bed.” “Wha- hold on! Sherlock, do you think I’m leaving?” Sherlock shrugged. “You obviously feel no-” John stepped forward and grabbed Sherlock by his coat, pulling him close until their noses touched and their mouths were a few breaths apart. “You, Sherlock Holmes, are an idiot.” “But - you said you’re not-” “Gay, yes. But I am bisexual, meaning I like both.” “So - I mean - do you?” “Do I what?” “Return my feelings?” John leaned in and kissed him. Sherlock memorized just how the kiss felt. Soft. Warm. Safe. Loved. “Does that answer your question?” “Yes, but answer it again.” John shook his head, grinning fondly.