Sherlock stood surrounded by his parent's guests, listening to some ridiculous story that was filled with implausibility and holes, though he couldn't bring himself to comment or correct. He just stood there watching the man's lips move but not really listening to the babble that came forth.

His hands were set deep in the pockets of his smart black trousers as his mind wondered. It had been twenty minutes since John had driven away and Sherlock asked himself for the billionth time if he should have asked him to stay because he was already suffering under the immense feeling of loss. Which he knew was ridiculous as John had merely returned home to their flat. He would see him in a few days. But it seemed that Sherlock had become dependent on John presence in his life. - And not just as a replacement for his skull. - They hadn't been apart for more than a few hours.

John had given Sherlock something he hadn't even known he'd wanted - or needed - companionship, friendship and trust. - The only thing John Watson couldn't and wouldn't give him was love.

Sherlock had known that even before he knew that he'd wanted it. Before he'd far the truth of his own feelings. John was out of his league in the only way that truly counted to Holmes. John wasn't gay, he'd made that clear from the day they'd met and Holmes had accepted it. Never questioned it. Because if Sherlock was honest, he'd never been very good at reading people in that sense. John wasn't the first guy he'd thought was interest only to discover they weren't playing for his team.

Sherlock fiddled with the phone in his pocket fighting the need to text the man but he knew he wouldn't. He'd leave the man to his peace. Then go home and carry on as if nothing had happened. He was sure that was a possibility, after all, John and he could move past anything, they'd proven that.

And Sherlock could live with the knowledge that his feelings would never be requited as long as he could have John's friendship. Right. People did it all the time.

He saw people laughing and knew a joke had been told, but he didn't join in. He lifted a flute of a passing tray and threw it back in one. So what if John thought he was back with Jacob? So what if he'd seen that slight dimming in the respect the doctor had for him? It was his life. Maybe he would allow John to believe it, show the man that he was allowed a life, without having to answer to his roommate or his family.

Except he needed that respect back from John. It hurt to think the man was angry at him. Once again he had that cold shiver as the memory of their last big fight flooded his memory. He heard Moriarty's taunting voice again. The man had known John was his weakness. - Hell, everyone knew that. Sherlock was hit by a sudden panic. Moriarty was still out there. What if he tried to take John again while he was alone? His logical mind said it was as stupid and implausible as the man's tale, after all Mycroft's driver was with him, but that didn't stop the panic.

He pulled out his phone to call. - Yes, to actually call. - It was engaged. Who could John be talking to? He told himself to calm down and stop over reacting. John was a grown man with a military record in the back of a car driven by a man with equally impressive credentials. Nothing was going to happen to him. He'd ring the phone back in a few minutes, he told himself, returning the phone to his pocket and grabbing another glass as it passed.


Another thirty minutes later and Sherlock was fumbling with his phone as yet another dull person talking him about his dull life. He'd already gone though four glasses of champagne and was enjoying the wonderful buzz. A few more and maybe a couple of scotch's and he'd be so far gone he wouldn't care that he was in love with his best friend. - Or that said friend had abandoned him.

He actually chuckled at a joke told by a banker with a terrible goatee and a bad taste in cheap suits. It didn't matter than he'd told it wrong, or that it wasn't funny in the first place. The alcohol was making things just that little bit more pleasant.

Sherlock turned his gaze towards the tree and caught Anna staring at him with concern. He gave her a wink as he snatched yet another drink.

With his back to the entrance he was unaware of the figure that had confidently strolled through the front door and started towards him. It wasn't until he paused behind him and the banker and other fell silent that he turned to acknowledge the interruption. He stared wide eyed as John just stood there looking up at him. They just stared at each other for a few seconds before John lifted himself up on his toes and pressed his lips to an incredibly surprised Sherlock Holmes.

John pulled back, mirroring the shocked expression on Sherlock's face. He hadn't intended to do that. He'd come back because he needed to know just what had happened between him and Harry. But the moment he'd walked thought the doors once more and seen Sherlock stood there, his lanky figure looking wonderful in a tuxedo something had just clicked. - Ridiculous as it sounded.

He watched movies, read books, heard tons about that foolish idea of a realisation striking you like you'd been hit by lightening but never believed it possible. At least until that moment. So he'd acted on instinct, an instinct he wouldn't have believed possible.

"John?" Sherlock murmured.

The doctor shook his head and pulled Sherlock into another far more passionate kiss that made it clear to both of them just what was going on.

Pulling back once more, John glanced around the room with a scolding crimson blush. Everyone's eyes were on them. Anna looked like the cat that had got the cream as she settled into the embrace of her adoring husband, who dropped a kiss to her head. Mary had that blissed out happy face and she clasped her hands over her chest in that old lady kind of way. Percival stared at John with an air of 'I told you so.'

Susan rolled her eyes and marched from the room clearly not caring about any of it, while Mycroft just gave a self-satisfied huff of approval and returned to his brandy and conversation.

Feeling uncomfortable with the audience, John gripped Sherlock's hand, pulled him away and the detective followed without a word of complaint. They left the reception room and heading up the stairs still amazingly hand in hand. Once in their room. John dropped the detectives hand and turned to face him. His face still red. Sherlock just stood silently staring at his flatmate/friend. Trying to deduce what was going on, only to find for the first time in his life, he couldn't think straight.


Watson swallowed hard and shuffled on his feet with embracement. "Sherlock I…. Thank you."

Holmes frowned and straightened. "It was nothing. - Certainly not worthy of you coming all the way back her and carrying on this charade." he felt a little hurt. "…it's just a book John."

John sighed. "Not the… not for the book you idiot. - Though that was wonderful. - For Harry."

Sherlock suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Its nothing." he shrugged. "I just told her a few home truths." he told the doctor causally.

"Well, whatever you told her it worked. Clara called; apparently Harry's going to get sober. - So she says."

"You don't believe it?"

"Not till I see it, no."

"Then why are you thanking me?" Sherlock asked confused.

John took a step closer to Sherlock. "Because you cared enough to try."

Sherlock blushed. "It's what any friend would do."

"Yeah, it is." John remarked. "But you're not just any friend Sherlock. – You're you."

"And what's that meant to mean?" Sherlock snapped, folding his arms.

"It means genius, that I was wrong about you, you do care, probably more than any of us realise."

Sherlock lifted his chin. "Well, if you'd pay more attention you'd have seen that months ago."

John laughed. "Yeah well there's a lot of things I didn't see and have been wrong about."

"Like?" Sherlock pressed, intrigued.

"Myself. - I've spent so long ignoring what I feel to fit in that I couldn't see the truth for what it was." John said seriously.

"Such as?"

"Such as… I think I kinda fancy you Sherlock… actually, it might even be more than that."

"Huh..." Sherlock smirked. "…So I was right?"

John frowned. "What?"

"When I assumed you were hitting on me that night in Angelo's…. I was right?"

John stared at him for a long few moments. Leave it to Sherlock to make it about being right. Bloody consulting detectives. John thought to himself. "Oh, shut up Sherlock." John snapped, pulling the infuriating detective into another kiss as it seemed the only way to silence him and his arrogance.


A/N: Ok... well that's it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I kinda don't want it to end, but I've told the story I wanted to tell. I'm sorry there wasn't any smutty slashness but I just can't right that stuff. I'm a romance writer at heart and tend to focus on that side. :)

Anyway I'd like to think my Beta Magpieintheshadow once more, you've been a great help. I'd also like to thank all of you for reading, review (getting your messages really kept me on the straight and narrow and made my day) and for faving, I'm truly honoured by that.

Anyway before I go there are a couple of things I'd like to say about what I was thinking when I wrote certain parts of this story.

1) In my head the portrait that John and Percival were talking in front of was Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes, who prior to Benedict was my favourite Sherlock. - And kinda still is, in his own way.

2) The moment where John walks back into Sherlock's life and kisses him is a homage to The Office (UK) Christmas Special where Dawn walked up to Tim and kisses him. Tim was played by Martin Freeman. ;) for those who haven't seen it, here's the link .com/watch?v=RHol7bDi61E it's a beautiful moment and I just couldn't resist using it.

3) and finally I have to apologize, I screwed up the time line. (unintentionally) I said this took place six months after The Study In Pink which I'm sure you know is impossible as that episode was set in Oct/Nov so if its Christmas, it either has to be a month after or a year after. Sorry about that. :(

Though in my defence the series screwed up first with that episode. Cause if John and Sherlock were meeting at 7:00 at Baker Street in Nov it really should have been very dark, instead of early evening light. But hey, we'll forgive them because the series is just too brilliant not too.

Anyho, Thanks again.

Maybe I'll see you again soon.

All my love