Chapter Eighteen

Oh no...

Sherlock was looking at me with that Sad/Apologetic/I'm Gonna Confess More face.

"John?"

I looked into his eyes and wondered what other secrets he had stored behind them.  "What, Sherlock?" I asked.

"Tell Scottie to go to bed."

Scottie, who was sitting in my lap with Murder, instantly scowled and complained.  "Scottie, it's bedtime," I told him.

"No no no no no!" Scottie crossed his arms, still holding his bear.  "Not tired. No."

"Scottie." I spoke with this heavy parent voice that I never knew I had, nor did I know how I used it at all.  It came and went as I needed it.

Scottie looked sad and raged at the same time, but got off of my knee and started walking towards the stairs.  "That's it," I said.  I took a sip of Cola. "Now got up." He climbed one stair.  "More that.  Please climb all twelve, Scottie."  Scottie sighed and made a "Humph!" noise, and climbed until he disappeared at the top.

Before I could think, Sherlock jabbed forward and grabbed my arm, causing me to spit out all of what I had just drank all over Sherlock's front.  "Good God, Sherlock!" I wheezed as I caught my breath.

Sherlock momentarily stared down at his Cola-stained shirt, but moved back to me.  "Come here!" He yelled, pulling me to our bedroom.

"Why..." But I was already in the room and on the bed before I could say anymore.

"I want to show you something." Sherlock crouched down low, and reached his hand under his bed.  I held my breath. 

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit shit shit shit!

His arm moved around.

He's bringing out the book.  He's doing it.  Bringing it out...

He turned around to face me, and I tried my hardest not to look guilty.  Not that I did anything to the book, but I had looked in it before.  I had the most horrible conscience.

Sherlock sat back on the bed next to me, and sat a red-leather journal in between us.

"What is it?" I croaked.

"Just look in it."

I didn't want to look in it! Was it punishment? As I put the pieces together, I realized that he had written about loving me.  I couldn't look.

"You should introduce me to it," I said slowly. 

Sherlock nodded and said, "This is a book that I write in everyday."  I felt shivers.  "Since we're together, I'm going to be honest with you.  It's my journal, but I don't write entries.  I write letters."

Why does he find it so easy to just come out and say these things? "Here, look at this one I wrote yesterday." Sherlock shoved the book under my nose, and I tried hard not to flinch.  Instead I blinked every two seconds.

"Um...letters about what?" I asked.

Sherlock's face turned slightly confused.  "Just read it," he said.

I couldn't keep it up; he'd suspect.  I had to read the words myself.  I took the journal from him.  I clear my throat as my eyes focused their vision on the scrawly handwriting that spidered across the page.  Here we go.

Dear John Watson,I did kiss you, and It was so good.  I didn't know how to do it.  I was so scared.I'm so thankful that you didn't get mad.  I spent a whole second thinking of what might happen if you got mad.Also, i can't help thinking about how absolutly beautiful you are.

I'm pretty sure I coughed around this part.

I am so glad that you're my boyfriend.  I was so lost, but you gave me hope.Love,Sherlock HolmesP.S. You're the only one who didn't call me Freak.

Sherlock's eyes were scanning me as I read.  They were glossy, with lovely coloured bulbs in the middle. 

"I. Love. You." Sherlock said as I slowly closed the book.  "You can read some more if you like."

My arms twitched, and I ached for him.  I did love him too, but I wasn't too sure if I should say it, yet.  Instead, I kissed his cheek and gave him his book.  "I'll leave them your secrets." I began to walk away from the room for a drink, and it became like a scene from a movie, how actually beautiful it was.  I looked back at him, and he wasn't fully smiling.  He just had this deep look of admiration.

I couldn't get over how glossy and shiny his eyes were.

I think he may have had tears.