JohnLocked.

The sound of the violin danced through the hallways of 221B. The sorrow poured out romantically and flawlessly, similar to Sherlock himself. He needed to think. And the violin was his assistant. I though, his assistant in our field of work, was not nearly as loved as the orchestral masterpeice. I just paced, and worried, and gave simplistic mindless solutions to the problems sherlock could unwrap in seconds, without a second glance. With my medical knowledge, i could get a job.A real job. With a field I actually knew properly. But there was something there, I was sure of it. The reason I stayed, and fought and helped; and it was all for him. As it forever would be. The word tension was almost too, no pun intended, tense to describe what I felt was there between us. That heavy air, thicker than usual, making breathing and thinking harder for at least me.For Sherlock would never have such problems, especially with thinking, and if he did, he came to his violin.
"May I get you anything, Sherlock?" i stepped into the living area, cluttered with evidence of everything from everywhere. It seemingly never connected and made no sense to any of us but him. But amazingly enough, Sherlock, with his dashing looks (making me blush) and clever self could figure out nearly anything. Except for how I felt about him, or at least we pretended like there was nothing between us.
The music stopped rather abruptly and he looked at me with those eyes full of beautiful microbursts of color. Truly breathtaking, making me stop rather abruptly as well.
"The correct word is heterochromic." He said with his usual confidence and intelligence outshining the sun.
"e-excuse me?" I stammered, taken back that he knew. How did he know? But then again, how did he ever know?
" My eyes, John. Its runs in my family. They are heterochromic. That is what you were observing." a statement, never a question, because he knew he was right.
"Well. Yes. They are very...nice." I was able to finally say. He walked towards me, eyes locked on mine. And there it was. Just like a swift gust of air came into our nifty little apartment, heavy and harder to breathe. I wonder if he felt it too.
"You were playing your violin. What's on your mind?" I asked in the most casual voice one could obtain with an angel walking towards them.
This is the moment Sherlock did something I'll never forget. And the let the record show that it haunted my dreams still, even today, and probably until the day I day.
Still striding towards me, and stopped barely 2 inches away from me.
He looked down with those eyes that made my heart stop, then run away with a rhythm 10x faster. Slowly looking up at me, he speaks so softly, "I can't stop thinking about you, John."