The cab pulled up to the restaurant. John tipped the cabbie and climbed out the cab. The wind was sharp against his back, and John tightened his jacket more firmly around himself. The wind was like ice against his skin. He hated the weather sometimes... or no. Always.

He sighed and looked through the restaurant windows. The windows were big, almost replacing the walls. You could almost see the whole restaurant through it. To John's disappointment, he didn't see Sherlock. But he was sure that Mr Holmes was somewhere in the back, screaming at some employees about thinking too loud.

John didn't go inside, because he hadn't the faintest idea what he was going to say. He couldn't just go inside and tell Sherlock about his feeling. What if he rejects him. The whole restaurant would be looking how John's heart would break in pieces. John crossed the street and sat himself down on a wooden bench, having the perfect view from the restaurant.

The sky rumbled ominous, and John could taste the faintly lingering dampness in the air that suggested rain. He grunted. He really wasn't in the mood to be soaked. He was thinking about what he was going to say to Sherlock. He wasn't sure if he was going to have the guts to say anything at all. He had three options. 1. Tell the truth. 2: Let Sherlock deduce him or three telling Sherlock that he randomly wanted to sit there. He knew he'd say the last option. He sighed hopelessly. If John didn't make a move then. Then he might never get the chance to confess his feelings.

Suddenly, John felt something damp on his shoulder, and looking up, he noticed rain falling down out of the night sky. He grumbled in annoyance. Great.

Five minutes later, John's heart jolted as he saw Sherlock approaching a table with three people. John felt his steady heartbeat pick up speed, thumping ever so loudly. After a couple seconds, Sherlock left again, not noticing John sitting in the rain across the street. The rain was slowly but surely quickening, and was now falling to the point where John could feel it seeping through his jeans. Water droplets clung to the tips of his hair, his nose, running down his cheeks. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to warm up.

Forty minutes later, John was still sitting on the bench, waiting patiently to be noticed by Sherlock. John was shivering. His fingers had gone numb and he couldn't feel his toes. His jacket was soaked, clinging to him, just like his jeans were. He thought that his teeth were going to crack from chattering the whole time.

John saw Sherlock a couple times. And every single time it felt like his heart was going to explode. It frustrated him how his body reacted, though it was a good feeling. He had been waiting thirty-two years for a feeling like this. He read books, saw movies, heard stories from friends. He hated himself for not being able to love someone. Until he met Sherlock Holmes. The ridiculous man he recently met.

Robin gave John hope, telling John that Sherlock loves him back. But what if that's not true. What if Sherlock rejects him. What then? It took John million years to find feelings. Not sure if he ever will find it back with someone else.

And then it happened. Sherlock was again ordering a table when suddenly he lifted his head, his piercing blue eyes somehow immediately locked with Johns.
John had well-functioning eyes, but from these distance, he couldn't see Sherlock's expression clearly. He assumed that Sherlock was frowning. The waiter then excused himself from the table and walked to the back of the restaurant, out of John's sight.

John was dying inside, feeling insecure. What if Sherlock thought that he was stalking him. John grumbled, letting his head hang low, holding it with his hands, cold water dripping down the small of his back.

"John?" A too familiar voice said. John snapped his head up, watching as Sherlock crossed the street, not wearing his trench coat but only his work uniform. There was a deep frown plastered on the detective's face. John didn't say anything. "What are you doing here?" Sherlock wondered, stopping in front of John, scanning the small man who was thoroughly soaked and also shivering. John felt like his lips were glued together, he hated himself for not speaking up. "You've been sitting here for more than an hour, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked tenderly. John had the urge to roll with his eyes, after another brilliant deduction.

"It's nothing Sherlock." John informed, sending a warm smile up to him, before gazing back to the floor.

"Where's Robin?" Sherlock asked, both his hands rubbing his arms, trying to warm himself up. It was still raining.

"I left after the movie. I needed some air." John informed quietly, still not looking up.

"I clearly can see that. But why here John?" Sherlock asked confused.

"I don't know." John hesitated, shrugging.

"Did something happen between you two?" Sherlock asked gently.

"No we had fun. But as friends, nothing more."

"Hmm okay." Sherlock muttered and sat himself down at John's side, not caring about the bench being wet. "You're freezing." Sherlock stated. John turned his head to finally look at the man he loved. His heart ached. He would be lost without Sherlock, to never see that beautiful face again. John could see the curls on Sherlock's head trembling with the shuddering of his body.

"You're freezing too Sherlock."

"Yes, but I'm just here."

"I have a jacket." John shot back.

"It's soaked." Sherlock pointed out as his eyebrows were raised before a grin grew on his face. John rolled with his eyes as he smiled widely before looking away again. His smile then dropped.

"Sherlock can I ask you something?" John muttered. The detective hummed in reply. "Why did you think that I didn't care about you at all?" John wondered. He ordered his blood to stay far away from his cheeks, because he felt it burning already. Sherlock frowned as he opened his mouth to reply on what John had said. But nothing came. His mouth opened again;

"I'm not good with emotions... sentimental..." Sherlock stated. "People usually don't talk to me. Somehow you're an exception. I don't know why you care about me John. I'm just me..." He said as he looked away, taking a deep breath. "Sorry for early today." He added.

"You're everything I need." John sort of blurted out on a soft tone.

"Why?" Sherlock asked looking down at falling water droplets splashing in a puddle.

"Because you're you." John pointed out with a weak chuckle. There was a soft smile on Sherlock's cupid bow lips. He cleared his throat.

"Did you sit here for more than an hour in the rain to ask me that?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows furrowed as he was trying to deduce John. The doctor sighed, gazing to the ground again. He wanted to tell Sherlock about his feelings but he can't. He didn't want to be left here rejected with a broken heart and go back to his apartment alone, watching some crap telly. He had tears in the back of his eyes at the thoughts of it.

"Is that wrong?" John asked, his voice croaking.

"No." Sherlock blurted out. "It's... nice." He added shyly. John nodded stiffly. Sherlock ruffled his hair, his arms clearly trembling.

"You should go back inside." John said. "You'll get sick and you're case is waiting." John said gently.

"I once heard that friends are more important than work." Sherlock replied timidly. John flickered his eyes to Sherlocks, the corner of his lips turning upwards.

"You're doing a good job so far Mr Holmes."

"Well you're definitely worth it." Sherlock said quietly, averting his gaze slightly. John's heart was beating against his ribs and he was sure Sherlock could hear it.

"You're worth it as well Sherlock." John assured as both were staring deeply into each other's eyes. Sherlock nodded slowly, not tearing his eyes away from John's hazel ones. "Don't ever doubt that." He added as he unconsciously placed his cold hand on Sherlock's hand. Sherlock didn't pull away. Instead he intertwined their fingers.

John glanced down at their intertwined hands before looking up and being met with Sherlock's intense stare, causing him to blush furiously. he licked his bottom lip, unsure about what to do. Does this means that Sherlock was returning the feelings?

Butterflies were fluttering in his stomach and Sherlock didn't stop staring at him. Sherlock then frowned and cupped John's face and lifted his chin so his face tilted up to face his. John could feel the heat rush to his face as the blue eyes gazed at him.

"Sherlock..." John breathed, as Sherlock trailed a finger over his cheek. Sherlock sent John a warm smile before moving closer and their lips brushing against each other's. John closed his eyes feeling a heated tingly sensation in his stomach. Sherlock pulled back, lips still touching as he spoke.

"Am I right?" Sherlock asked softly. John smiled against his lips before he kissed him back eagerly, surprised by how good of a kisser Sherlock was. Sherlock's lips were warm and soft. John felt the tip of Sherlock's tongue against his lips, gently parting them, then slowly moving inside John's mouth to meet his tongue passionately.

After a while Sherlock released his mouth, pulling away just enough to look into John's eyes and smile.

"I knew it." Sherlock said as he was catching his breath.

"Knew what?" John asked as he was playing with Sherlock's fingers, his face flushed.

"That you were gay." Sherlock smirked.

"Idiot." John grumbled before slamming his lips back on his hopefully future husband.