Irene Adler and her insane, dominatrix ways that seemed to lower the normally "married-to-his-work" Sherlock Holmes on his knees started it all. As if seeing her naked in front of Sherlock wasn't enough, "The Woman" had to go and put the world's only Consulting Detective in a six month depression. Those, John could take, even keeping his jealousy under wraps every single bloody time his flatmate's phone moaned. But this, the unmistakable closeness of Irene's lips to Sherlock's cheek, then the smack that seemed to reverberate in John's head... it was too much. The mug landed with a dull thunk! as he placed it with vigor and pushed his chair back. There was no reason why he had to witness such heart-breaking displays of affection, and there was no doubt his presence would be needed any time soon. He was right – Sherlock didn't even acknowledge his departure.

Irene raised a brow at John's hasty escape, before taking the seat he had vacated. "Really, Sherlock," she told him in an amused voice, "Can't you see how bad he's taking it?" The detective slid the phone towards her. "What does John have to do with anything?" he replied, frowning. "Well, for one, you could stop being so thick and actually notice how he's attracted to you. Second, don't deny it, Mr. Holmes, but I know you feel the same way toward him. I'm not blind, you know, but I'd say that you are," Irene stated, slipping her phone into her coat pocket. "Anyway, I'll leave you to your musings, love. Good bye!" She disappeared with a laugh, her footsteps echoing as she descended. Sherlock looked out the window as her car disappeared around the corner.

Days after that small incident, John passed by a Tesco from work and decided to buy some food. God knows the only things in the fridge were different body parts from the morgue.

I'm at Tesco's. Do you want anything? –JW

Receiving no response, he tossed a jar of jam, a loaf of bread and a few others for dinner before going on his way to 221B. What he witnessed upon his arrival, however, was certainly not what he had in mind. Irene Adler was leaning toward Sherlock, her face only inches away from his. Their hands were interlocked, he could see, and apparently, his flatmate wasn't at all rejecting the advances of The Woman. Assuming an air of what he hoped was indifference, he pushed the door open and went straight to the kitchen. "There's jam and bread if you two want anything to eat. I'll be in my room," and with that, he rushed off to avoid scarring his eyes. When he went down to make dinner, Irene was gone, and Sherlock never brought up the incident.

The following day, Sherlock noticed the Real Estate section missing from the paper. He pushed the thought away and continued as he had always spent his boring days, composing a piece and trying to decode the lock in Irene's phone. In fact, he never even thought about it again until he found John lugging a suitcase down to the parlor a week after. The look on his face was one of surprise that John found himself forcing down a smile. Who knew the great Sherlock Holmes still had a few cells in him that wasn't spent deducing every single action in the world?

"John? Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, frowning. He was sure that the doctor didn't have anything planned with his family. Harry never called him, either. It was all very curious. "I'm leaving 221B, Sherlock," was the response, "I already gave Mrs. Hudson my payment for this month." Here, John broke off to scuff his shoe against the carpet. "I had a great stay, and I thank you for everything."

"But why are you leaving?" was Sherlock's petulant whine, his face looking oddly vulnerable that John wanted to touch it so much. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

"These past few days, Sherlock, haven't actually been great for me. I can't do this anymore, pretend to be okay with whatever is going on. I do have my own dignity to protect, you know, and it's too much. I can't compete with Irene Adler, and I don't want to wallow in my own misery by staying here and watching you two," he took a deep breath and finished, "Basically, I'm saying that I love you, Mr. Holmes, and I can't stay in the same flat as you do because I can't stand the fact that I can't be with you."

Oh. OH! Sherlock's eyes snapped to John's beet red face, noting how uncomfortable the man looked after such an admission. He felt his face flush with glee, but John misunderstood it all and took it as a sign of disgust. He pushed through Sherlock, his facial expressions clearly portraying hurt.

"John, wait, please," Sherlock begged, and the doctor sighed, turning to look at him. "Please don't leave me," the man continued.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John answered. Left with no other choice, the consulting detective strode to where John was standing and pulled the man in for a kiss. Oh, how perfect it was! Sherlock's heart-shaped lips fit perfectly against the good doctor's, and when he pressed his body against John's, he could practically feel the warmth radiating off the older man. It was all going perfectly well before Sherlock was pushed away by two strong hands. "What do you think you're doing!" John spat out, livid. The expression on Sherlock's face was one of utter confusion. "I was kissing you, John, and you liked it," he answered, "That's what two people who love each other do, isn't it?"

"You… lo-love me?" John asked, his eyes growing wide. Finally understanding, Sherlock pulled him into a hug and answered with a huff. "Of course I do. Irene was very insistent about my confession, but I always brushed her off. I never knew it would come to this, John." Against his will, John broke out into giggles, burying his head in Sherlock's neck. "Oh, God, Sherlock. What stubborn fools we are."

"Now enough of this leaving nonsense. I am nothing without you, John. I don't think I can take it if you left," Sherlock pleaded, pressing a chaste kiss to the man's temple. His fingers clenched tightly around Sherlock's dressing gown, John looked up at him and answered, "I won't leave you, I promise. Not now, not ever."

Apparently, this was enough for Sherlock Holmes, as he hauled his partner into his bedroom and proceeded to do very very naughty things to him.

And it was the day after this, that Irene Adler received a text that made her both sad and happy.

Thank you, Miss Adler. Sherlock can be a very blind bat. -JW