Several hours later, using the cover of darkness, John found himself staring at the back of Sherlock's coat as they weaved in and out of London's alleyways. Turn after turn, John felt himself growing more and more lost to the point where he couldn't tell you which way pointed north. However, he knew Sherlock's knowledge of London was profound and where Sherlock went, he would follow. About ninety minutes into their walk from Mycroft's home, Sherlock came to a sudden halt. If John wasn't paying attention, he would have knocked both of them over. After he gathered his bearings, he went to look up at his companion to snap at him but John's face was suddenly full of wool. His breath was knocked out of him and had he not known whom it was that was almost suffocating him, he would've started kicking. When he calmed down, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's narrow hips.


He received a grunt in return.

"Sherlock..." John sighed. He wanted to pull away too look at his lover but he suddenly thought better. Smiling, he buried his face further into the itchy coat.

"I'm fine, Sherlock."

"Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?" Sherlock scoffed but his hold didn't relent.

John shook his head. "Sherlock...I'm fine...We will be fine..."

Sherlock remained quiet for a moment before he loosened his grip. He stared down at John for a moment before grazing a gently, chaste kiss across his lips. "I know."

John swallowed as soft lips left his. "Is it wrong that I'm terrified? Me, a trained soldier."

"No," Sherlock mumbled, "it's not. I'd be concerned if you weren't, even just a bit. Come, we're a block over from Molly's."

The dynamic duo made the rest of their walk to Molly's flat with little to no fuss. They settled in and made a cuppa for themselves but the tension in the room was thick and almost suffocating. John, in an attempt to make conversation, cleared his throat and said, "Molly's going to be home late. She's got several autopsies to perform and she's behind on all of her paperwork."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Did she tell you that?"

"When she texted me earlier about where her hidden key was."

"Hidden," Sherlock scoffed, "would indicate that it wouldn't be easily found."

John rolled his eyes. "It would be to anyone who isn't you, Sherlock."


Sighing, John changed the subject. "There's a single twin bed in the guest room. I'll stay out here for the first shift and I'll come wake you in a couple of hours."

"No, you're staying close so I can keep an eye on you. Besides, you know I don't sleep on a mere whim."

"We don't have to stay in the same room and you really need to sleep, Sherlock." John shot back with a frown. Why did Sherlock have to be so difficult?

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "My body and mind require less sleep than the average human, John. I will sleep, eventually. Why don't you take a shower and I'll order the take out."

"...You're going to order the take-away...?"

"Yes, is that so strange?"

"Yes, for you it is."

"No need to be testy, John."

John stood with a shake of his head. "Fine, whatever. I'm going to take a shower. You know what I like."

"You know that I do."

John stopped to look at his companion and balked. Sherlock was...leering at him. Leering! Sherlock doesn't throw saucy looks at anyone! He cleared his throat, feeling heat creep into his cheeks. "I'm off, then."

Sherlock grinned to himself as soon as John left the room. It was amusing to get such rises out of his doctor. What could he do to make him blush? Fidget? Loosen his shirt collar as he felt warmer? He thoroughly enjoyed categorizing each and every one of these new developments as his and John's relationship progressed. Oh yes, he felt himself growing closer and closer to taking that next step. The big step. The "more human contact than he'll ever be used to" step.

With sudden inspiration, he stood and walked through the living room and burst through the unlock door of the loo. John wouldn't lock the door in a time like this, just in case they had an intruder. He completely ignored the fact that John had just taken his shirt off, his trousers hanging low on his hips without the aid of his belt. He only glanced briefly, knowing John wouldn't mind his presence but would be unsure of his intentions, before sitting down on the toilet. "Should we order for Molly?

John paused but continued undressing. He was comfortable enough with himself and he knew Sherlock had seen enough naked, dead, bodies to be unaffected to a degree. "You said she wouldn't be back til after midnight. You can text her and ask if you'd like. I'm surprised you thought of it."

Sherlock merely shrugged and pulled out his phone to text the Medical Examiner while John stepped into the shower. After getting a vague response from her, he looked through the shower doors where he knew John's head and eyes would be through the fogged, distorted glass. "Did she mention why she would be late?"

"She said she'd had an overflow. Nasty car accident and she's stuck without an assistant. Six autopsies, I think." John lathered his hair with shampoo and sighed under the hot water.

Sherlock grunted and stood, leaving John to finish his shower. When he left, however, John grinned at the fact that he left the door wide open. Cheeky bastard. He took his time in his routine, knowing that even though they still had amenities at their disposal, that could easily be taken away at the drop of a hat. When he finished, he toweled off and dressed before making an appearance in the living room where he knew his detective would be.

The tellie was on but the volume was lowered to the point where John questioned if it was muted or not. That was when he realized that Sherlock was thinking. When he approached him, though, he When Sherlock went to his "Mind Palace", he usually took on a faraway look or even had his eyes closed but he looked as if he was thinking too much. That he was getting, dare he say it, emotional? John frowned. "I thought you were ordering take-away."

Sherlock seemed to snap out of his reverie with a jolt. He didn't look at John and rubbed his eyes, instead. "Hm? You never said what you wanted."

That was when he took on a scowl. "You know what I like, Sherlock. I never have to tell you what I want, you usually know exactly what I want. Are you all right? You seem out of sorts."

"I'm fine." An elegant hand held out a phone to John. "The number for the nearest Italian bistro is up. You call."

John stared at Sherlock as he took the phone but turned and walked a few paces as he placed their order. When he finished and turned back around Sherlock's face was in his hands, sitting very still. Concerned, John stepped over to him to kneel before him. "Sherlock?"

"Yes John?" He hadn't moved.

John hesitated for a brief moment but eventually rested his hands on strong knees. He was unsure of what to say and apparently took too long to think of something as he heard Sherlock speaking before he could.

"Stop staring and talk, John. It's quite irritating."

Sandy blond hair shook in disbelief. John stood and with a frustrated sigh. "Forget it. I'm going to go get our take-away." He strode over to the door to grab his jacket and make sure he had his wallet.

Sherlock jerked to a stand. "John, you can't go out alone!"

"I'll be fine!" And with that the door slammed behind him,

John walked down the street completely frustrated and irritated. Honestly! Was it so wrong for him to express his concern to Sherlock? Yes, he knew that Sherlock could be a prat and anything to do with anything other than basic emotion wasn't exactly his strong point. But, really! John knew he had to be more understanding towards Sherlock's lack of social graces but for a moment he thought that he was the exception. Wasn't he?

"Oh, who am I kidding?" He kicked a stray rock like it had offended him. Gritting his teeth he checked his phone for the directions to the restaurant.

Why would a simpleton like John Watson be an exception for the exceptional Sherlock Holmes? Sure, he was a fine marksman. A more than fair surgeon on a good day. more of a consultant, no thanks to his injured shoulder. Blasted thing! He also knew he was a more than decent doctor when it came down to it. But other than that? He was an average-looking man with an average intelligence when it came to anything outside of the human box. He sighed.

He checked his phone once more before turning the corner. That was when he heard a familiar voice call out to him.


Oh for the love of all things holy...

John kept walking, ignoring the running footsteps behind him. So now Sherlock wanted to talk?! Absolutely not! John quickened his pace slightly. He knew it was childish but at the moment he didn't care. Sherlock was being a right prat!

He ignored the man when he caught up to him at a crosswalk as he waited for the go-ahead. "John?"


"John, what are you not saying?"

Prick. "Nothing, Sherlock." He began walking again.

"You're lying to me. Why are you lying?" Sherlock grabbed his arm and stopped him mid-stride. "John, you've never had an issue expressing your agitation with me before. Why now?"

John sighed. "Fine, but I refuse to argue with you in public."

They continued walking again for another half mile or so until they came to the restaurant. John left Sherlock outside to pace while he waited for their order. He almost smiled fondly as he watched the tall man walk back and force in front of the store window. It would have been cute if he wasn't so annoyed. Soon, he paid, grabbed their bags, and walked back outside. He didn't stop and he didn't have to look behind him to know his companion was following closely in thought.

He barely took his coat off when Sherlock attempting to gain his attention again. "John..."

John hung his coat and took the bags to the kitchen table to sort their food.


He sat down and began to eat, still ignoring the petulant man standing in the doorway.


If the doctor didn't know any better, he would have missed the slight purse of his lovers lips forming a pout. He only looked up from his food with a raised eyebrow. There was a beat before Sherlock moved across the room to sit down in front of him. Oh yes, Sherlock was getting anxious by his silence. Good to know.

Sherlock's tone was soft when he spoke. Not apologetic by any means. No, Sherlock hardly ever thought he was wrong. But John knew that the dark-haired man was at least a little bit contrite. "Talk, John?"

He supposed he could take pity on him. If there was one thing that he knew Sherlock hated, it was not knowing. He swallowed and licked his lips, gently putting his cutlery down.

"You need to be more patient with me, Sherlock. Especially, when it comes to reading your moods."

"I don't do 'moods'," Sherlock sneered, "John. Not really my area, you know that. Yes, I've gotten...better at it all thanks to you."

John sighed. "Earlier, I didn't know what to do or what to say. I just needed to do something. And when I got frustrated because I felt useless I decided to leave you to your own devices so you could sort yourself out."

"I see."

"I hate feeling useless." He pushed his food away, no longer hungry.

Feeling as if he was in safe territory again, Sherlock stood and changed his seat so he was sitting next to John. "Then figure out what to do. You've been doing this longer than anyone in existence."

"Doing what?" John asked with a frown.

Sherlock waved his hand in his own general direction. "Dealing with me."

Chuckling, he responded. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Dark curls tilted towards the side for a moment before Sherlock pushed John's food towards him again wordlessly.

"I'm not hungry." John said with a shake of his head.

Sherlock scraped his chair closer to him. "Because of me? That's not a healthy habit."

"Hello, Pot! My name is Kettle. You're black."

Steely eyes just stared.

John sighed. "I'll eat the rest later. I'm fine."

Still stared.

"I'm the one who is supposed to get you to eat. And staring at me isn't going to get the job done." John glared.

More staring.

"Fine! But only if you eat too."

Sherlock grunted but picked up a fork and stabbed at his food before bringing it up to his mouth and began eating. "Better?"

John grinned and made a show of picking up his food and eating. The man next to him rolled his eyes and ate slowly. When John finished, he tossed his empty container in the bin and took the time to watch Sherlock eat. The long jawline moved up and down slowly, muscles contracting and retracting, a tongue peeking out every so often to lap up a stray blot of sauce. John almost lost himself in watching him until he heard Sherlock clear his throat. John merely grinned and stood to put Molly's share in her ice box. Sherlock spoke up as he stood to bin the rest of his food. "You're much today."

John stopped. "Am I?"

"Yes. You're worried about me."

"I'm always worried about you." John crossed his arms. "You tend to get yourself into dangerous situations."

They returned to the living room. John sat while Sherlock paced.

"I'm capable." Sherlock insisted.

"You're very capable. That doesn't mean you're infallible or invincible."

"I know."

John watched him closely. "What are you thinking?"

"You worrying. I'm trying to understand why you do it."

"Because I love you."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. John said it was such...simplicity. As if it were the most finite answer one man could give. It was almost...mind-blowing...

John looked him square in the eye. "I had to learn to survive without you after 'the fall', Sherlock. I worry because I want to look out for you, I want to see you healthy, and I want to see you breathing. I don't want to go through that again. Literally."

Sherlock's heart was beating fiercely in his chest. When he had 'come back' after all that time and had first shown himself to John, they hadn't talked about it much. It surprised him, honestly. Yes, John had thrown a tantrum, cried, hit him (which hurt like the dickens), patched him up, stopped speaking to him for a weak, and then moved on as if nothing had ever happened. At first, Sherlock thought it a blessing that John hadn't wanted to sit down and talked about his feelings on the matter. Really, he was back, how did it matter? But now he knew how John felt about him. He knew John loved him. Hearing the heartbreak in his love's was maddening.

"There's no 'if I die' anymore, Sherlock. I won't exist in this world without you."

Sherlock walked over to him and stood right in front of his blogger, his shins nearly touching John's knees. "I understand."

Rough hands reached up to rest on Sherlock's hips. Fingers squeezed slightly, not enough to hurt, but just hard enough to reassure him that they were both there. "John..."

"I can't even think about it. I get nightmares, seeing it over and over and over again. Watching you jump. Seeing your broken body on the sidewalk..." John felt his eyes misting. He rubbed at his eyes furiously.

Sherlock knelt down so he was eye to eye with him before pulling the older man into an embrace. John took advantage and buried his face into a finely tailored neck. "This is how I know I'm not dreaming."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"I can feel you." John brought a hand to touch Sherlock's arm.

Curls bounced as Sherlock nodded. "What else?"

He felt John inhale deeply before he spoke. "I can smell you. You smell like chemicals and your cologne that probably costs more than my annual salary." That made Sherlock smirk and chuckle.

"I can change that if it bothers you."

The growl that form in John's throat made Sherlock shiver slightly. God that was sexy.

"Don't you dare change a thing! It's you and that's how you'll stay."

Sherlock liked this. It was usually he that observed other people but now, John was using his senses and forming conjecture on his own. Oh John. His John. "What else do you observe?"

"Your taste." John tilted his head towards Sherlock's neck and kissed it, swiping his tongue across alabaster skin. "Right now you taste of sweat and your soap. It appeals to all of the taste sensories. You're salty yet sweet from your sweat, but tart because you showered with your brand of soap this morning."

Sherlock licked his lips when he felt John's tongue swipe over his jugular. It was thrilling. He nodded and continued to listen.

"And then I see you." John pulled back and reached up to finger a curly lock of hair. "Have I ever told you how much I love your hair? I bet no one could ever replicate how it looks right now; curly and wind-swept, yet debonair. So full of contradictions, like you. And your eyes. They're such a unique shade of stormy blue that reminds me of a clear London sky in the spring."

Pale skin began to pinken from a blush. He never knew that John thought of him that way. He knew he was attractive by society's standards but John...John was was being purely poetic. He never liked poetry but he could listen to it if it came from John.

"And your lips." John paused briefly to press a chaste kiss to them. "They're full and lush and soft and if I could, I'd kiss them all day long. I never want to kiss any other lips ever again."

Sherlock was momentarily speechless until John went on. "There's no other place I'd rather be right now than with you."

That was when Sherlock agreed. "I concur. Everyone else is too stupid."

John's eyes widened in shock briefly before he burst into laughter. When he calmed down, he leaned in to kiss Sherlock's lips again. He hummed happily when he felt his kneeling lover respond instantly. John tilted his head at a better angle to deepen the kiss as he wrapped his arms around lithe shoulders and tangling his hands in thick curls. He felt Sherlock shift closer and he swiped his tongue across the lips he described not moments before. Tentatively, he slipped his tongue inside to flick against Sherlock's.

The stimulation too much, the younger of the two broke away, gasping for breath. "Air..."

John nodded and rested his forehead against Sherlock's. When said man regained most of his breath, he asked. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" John frowned.

"Make me forget how to breathe?"

John blushed heavily and looked away. He loosened his grip and cleared his throat, unsure of how to answer the question. Sherlock broke the silence first. "Is that really how you see me?"

"Mhm. And that's just your physical appearance."

Sherlock smirked. "Oh? There's more?"

"Your mind." John nodded. "It's vast and full of knowledge. Your intellect is greater than those who work at NASA and who have won the Nobel Peace Prize. It's beautiful."

There was that elegant wave again. "The Nobel is trivial."

"You would say that about the most prestigious award that one could ever receive in their life time." He scoffed.

Sherlock smirked. "Knew you enjoyed my intellect." He received a mock glare for his efforts.

"Don't let it get to your head. Your ego is just as big as your intellect.."

"Now now, John. Size isn't everything."

John grinned as his eyes narrowed. "It's how you use it. Believe me, I know."

"Oh really? That's what you dreamt about in my bed, then? My intellect."

The good doctor threw his head back and laughed. Sometimes he really enjoyed his banter with Sherlock. Especially, since he wasn't insulting him. "Oh yes, and we all know how well you use it."

"Not all, but you do. I had to clean my pillow after you had your way with it." Sherlock smirked as John blushed heavily and looked away, remembering the night he'd had an erotic dream about him.

Oh no... Sherlock wasn't having any of that. He turned John's head to look into his eyes, completely ignoring the redness spreading across his doctor's cheeks. "What did you dream about, John?"


"That's what? Personal? Crossing the line? Too much information?" Sherlock leaned in close as John cleared his throat again. Ah...he was nervous.

"Embarrassing was the word I was looking for."

"Thoughts of shagging your best mate? Why? How so?"

"They've never been that...vivid. Intense."

Sherlock scowled. "And the issue is what? You're making this more complicated than it is, John."

"I really don't talked about these things. Openly."

From his kneeling position, Sherlock abruptly stood. "I need a shower. Talk with me while I bathe?"

John blinked as he watched the svelte body of Sherlock Holmes disappear into the loo. He quickly stood and followed, grinning as he went. "Can't promise I won't look."

"It won't bother me, I have nothing to hide. Not to mention, I'm sure that you've seen far worse than the naked male anatomy." Long fingers swiftly unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it to the floor as he untucked the tails from his trousers. He looked up to see John staring. Raising an eyebrow, he waiting for John's eyes to meet his. "What? You've already seen me naked at Buckingham Palace."

John shook his head. "It's different."

Sherlock made a face. "How?" He unbuckled his belt and unzipped and unbuttoned his trousers, letting those fall as well."

"This is just you and me. In the loo. Not with your brother and his colleague. Not to mention you're about to be dripping wet with water and soap. Very different from Buckingham Palace."

Sherlock merely smirked and dropped his pants as well. John couldn't help but stare as the pale body turned and stepped into the shower. He would imprint Sherlock's adorable, yet sexy, buttocks in his mind until he died. No doubt about it. He wanted to bite it. John sat on the toilet as his best mate bathed.

"So, tell me about this dream you had."

John cleared his throat and sat down on the lid of the toilet. "It actually started out similar to this."

"Oh? I was in the shower?"


Interesting. "I see. Continue."

John rolled his eyes. "I had come in to grab my razor and you'd opened the shower curtain. You were hard. You didn't say anything but you looked at me and I just...knew..." He paused to see Sherlock reaching for something, conditioner probably as he reached up to rub his head. Seeing no telltale reaction, he continued. "You looked at me as if I could appease any hunger you might have. Like you wanted to consume me. All of me; mind, body, and soul. You told me to strip slowly, so you could take your time to observe everything."

He saw Sherlock nod. "You're creative. I'll keep this in mind, seeing as I've never analyzed this kind of situation before. What else? For once, you have more knowledge in this particular subject matter than I do."

John took a deep breath and swallowed. "You started touching yourself. Not a lot, just enough to tease. Once I finished stripping, you had me under the spray. You kissed me hard but not for long. I dropped to my knees to take you in my mouth. I couldn't wait any longer to taste you."

Sherlock's breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat. Oh god...he could feel himself getting hard. He tried to distract himself by rinsing his hair and applying body wash on his skin.

"I'd never been with a man like that before." John continued. "I mean, yeah there were quick ruts after lights out, maybe a few touches. But this was completely different. Did you know I have no gag reflex? I tried to make myself vomit once. Couldn't do it. Nearly stuck my entire fist down my throat to attempt it."

"You had this planned..." Sherlock accused, his voice cracking.

John licked his lips. "Not at all, but why look a gift horse in the mouth?"

"I...I'm not entirely sure what you're implying, John. And a gift horse?"

John grinned. "Anyway, I took you all the way down...Sherlock." His voice deepened to a rough growl, enjoying the shudder that ran through the body in the shower. "It was oddly erotic, you were so hot and heavy in my mouth. You moaned. You sounded magnificent."

Sherlock almost squirmed. His doctor was a naughty thing. If he didn't have any sort of control over his body, he would be raging hard. But this was purely for gathering information on sex and John's thoughts. But dear god, he wanted to let the blood flow down to his cock and wank until his legs felt like jelly. He removed himself from the shower and pretended to ignore the fact that John had a very obvious bulge in his trousers.

"You didn't let me stay on my knees too long." John continued, watching him as he walked by. "You yanked me up by my hair and kissed me quite thoroughly. After that you turned me around so that I braced myself against the wall. And then you took me. Good thing it was just a dream. Otherwise that would have hurt." John chuckled at his last statement.

"I find it interesting that you'd been with other men but never that far. And hiding your obvious erection will do...what exactly?"

Shaking his head, John sighed. "Nothing. I just didn't want to overwhelm you."

"I honestly wouldn't know what was going on besides the basic mechanics of it. For once," Sherlock smirked, "you could show off."

John ignored the fact that Sherlock was using his towel and replied softly. "Sherlock...I would never take advantage of you like that."

Sherlock stopped and stared at him. "You honestly think that you could?"

Standing with another sigh, John ran a hand through his hair. "Never mind, I'm going to watch telly."

"John." Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him close. "Don't keep doing this."

John huffed. "You keep challenging my patience. I don't want to just... attack you and overwhelm you with sensations that you're not used to. Honestly, right now, I could ravage you right here."

"I'm not challenging. I have been trying to understand various sensations and feelings. It started that night that you spent in my bed. Try thinking a bit slower, John."

"Trust me, right now, I'd rather not think at all."

Sherlock frowned. "Why?"

"I'll only have one thing on my mind and I'll need to take a cold shower."

The man in the towel, shrugged, unwrapping himself and handing John the only protection he had against the chill of the flat. "No self-control?" He almost smirked when he heard John follow.

"When it comes to you? No. None."

"And do you see me right now, John? I'm oblivious. And in this case this isn't a grand thing. This dream you've had, how you feel. I know little to no terminology. Barely any information. Before the other day, I've never been kissed."

John frowned. "And do you want more than that? All you have to do is ask. I know you're new to this, Sherlock, but I need you to tell me what's okay and what's not. What you want. What's too much. Etcetera."

"Nothing has been too much. I learn rather instantaneously. You have to show me. When things get back on a more regular schedule I can be a little less edgy. If you want, go slow, John." Sherlock walked over to his knapsack and gathered his clothes.

Taking a chance, John walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around his narrow waist. "It'll be very...hard."

"I won't ask, then. If you want, go slow." Sherlock stopped moving. John couldn't see his eyes but he could tell something What was Sherlock up to?

John shook his head before kissing Sherlock's long neck. "I'm just saying...we should take this one day at a time. All right?"

Sherlock shuffled around in his bag. "That has been one of my plans, John." He sat down on the bed, setting down his clothes next to him. "I can see the enthusiasm. the eagerness. It's a decent coping mechanism for all that's happening right now. Remember where you are, though. We're not a Baker Street, we're at Molly's."

John nodded slowly. "I know. I'm restraining myself." He bent down to nibble at an ear. "But once this is all over, I'll have you in my bed."

That was when Sherlock's eyes took on an odd glint. Full of mischief. "Oh, I don't know, John. Doing something new, in a new place, somewhere you know you shouldn't be doing certain things. Think it through, John." Sherlock pulled John towards him to stand in between his legs with a smirk.

Growling, John climbed on top of Sherlock, straddling his hips. He ground his erection against Sherlock's unclothed semi-hard cock, groaning. "Stop contradicting yourself to confuse me!" He cut off any response the man beneath his could come up with by kissing him fiercely. John felt hands grip his hips encouragingly as he slipped his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth. They rutted against each other frantically, moaning and panting into each other hotly. Smaller hands flew into curly, dark locks, tugging slightly. John broke their kiss to nip and suck on the neck below him, groaning when Sherlock's chest rumbled in a deep moan. Fuck if that wasn't the sexiest noises he ever heard in his life. It made him shiver, goosebumps traveling up his spine and spreading throughout his limbs. He brought a hand down to caress the inside of a pale thigh but was stopped when Sherlock broke the kiss with a gasp.


His hand still and slowly retracted. His sweaty forehead met Sherlocks apologetically, bringing up the offending hand to cup an angular cheek bone.

Sherlock licked his lips. "Thank you."

"Anything." John smiled softly, his thumb stroking over his jaw.

"Is this better than that dream?"

John grinned and kissed his other cheek. "Without question."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around broad shoulders and pulled John close to him, each other laying flush together. "I imagined you weighed slightly heavier."

John frowned. "Don't I?"

"You look to be about eighty kilograms, but right now you feel to be about sixty-five." Sherlock shook his head.

Laughing, John replied. "Are you saying I look fat?"

"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock scoffed, "I'm merely pointing out that your normal weight ratio is misleading."

"I lost a lot of weight while you were gone." John shook his head with a smile. "You should probably put some clothes on before Molly comes home. You'll give her a heart attack."

Sherlock frowned at his fully-clothed lover. "While I was gone?"

John said nothing but nodded. He sighed when lips met his own in a gentle kiss. It was chaste, just their mouths moving in sync with each other, but John felt the emotions that he knew Sherlock couldn't express in words in the action; love, remorse, affection. John pulled away with a hum. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are."

Sherlock smirked. "Not one of the adjectives I'd describe to a very nude consulting detective with a very large ego."

John chuckled. "Can't help it. You're absolutely beautiful."

"I'm a man, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I hope you would have noticed that very acute fact."

John, in turn, rolled his eyes as well. "Your point? And stop changing the subject. You need to get dressed."

Sighing, Sherlock sat up as John rolled off of him, leaning over to the pile of clothes he left out before and began dressing. Meanwhile, John layed on his back, trying to picture his sister in a bikini in order to deflate the grown "snake" in his pants. Sherlock grunted, "She did have to fake an autopsy with me, so Molly has seen me naked if you're that worried about it."

"Not worried, but it is a bit rude to be caught fooling around in her flat. A bit not good."

"You're more worried than I am."

"Of course," John sat up with a huff, "I am. I actually pay attention to social etiquette."

Their conversation was interrupted when they heard the front door open and shut, Molly calling out to the both of them. John stood, glancing over his shoulder to see Sherlock get settled into bed, and made his way to greet their friend. He returned shortly after, Molly not in any position to hold a lengthy conversation. She skipped her dinner in favor of going right to bed. When he walked back into their shared bedroom, John smiled fondly at Sherlock's half-awake form underneath the covers. He couldn't resist the urge to kiss his forehead affectionately. "I'll wake you in a couple of hours."

"What will you do while I'm sleeping?" Sherlock yawned.

"Well," John thought, "can't watch telly, too suspicious. I suppose I'll be underneath a blanket with my mobile."

Sherlock shifted deeper under the blankets. "I remembered to grab my laptop, it's in my bag. You can sit next to me while you do whatever it is that you do besides blog and watch porn."

Rolling his eyes, John grabbed his laptop and turned off the light, climbed into bed, and sat against the headboard as his computer whirred to life. He didn't bother wishing Sherlock a good night. He was already asleep.

Several hours later, John shook Sherlock awake. Stormy blue eyes cracked open blearily. He yawned as he listened to John's update.

"Mycroft's e-mailed me. Polite way of telling me that he's angry, it looks like. Passive aggressive bastard." John muttered.

Sherlock merely waved his hand dismissively.

"He wants you to text him tomorrow." John commented and then grinned. "I told him, politely, to stuff it."

The two grinned at each other and burst into a fit of quiet giggles. Sherlock spoke first when they sobered. "If he wants to talk to me that badly, he can text me."

"You know how he is."

Sherlock whined. "I don't want to."

John threw him a warning look. "Sherlock..."

"John..." Sherlock crossed his arms defiantly. John tried to glare but his stare was broken by a jaw-cracking yawn. He himself turned off the PC in his lap and stripped down to his pants and socks, sliding underneath the covers.

Sherlock stretched and yawned, sitting up and standing out of bed. He disappeared into the kitchen to make a cup of tea before returning, looking wide awake. Settling in, he picked up his mobile, glancing briefly at John's drowsy form. His lips twitched in a short smile and watched as his blogger drifted off to the land of "Nod". When he was satisfied that John was completely asleep, his face formed into a scowl as he opened his texts on his phone and typed a message quickly to his brother.

What makes you so deserving to receive an "update", Myrcoft? -SH

He hit send and crossed his arms. His reply came a few moments later.

One would think, with all of the chaos, that you would at least let me know that you're not dead. Imagine my surprise upon seeing that you and John had disappeared. -MH

You didn't give a second thought the first time. Why start now? -SH

Of course I did. Mummy never let me forget it. No, it was the fact that you didn't show up on any of the CCTV cameras. Anywhere. -MH

I made sure of it. -SH

Which is how I knew that you and our dear doctor had "made a run for it". Ingenious, but obvious. -MH

Sherlock rolled his eyes, already tired of his conversation with his brother.

You would think so. Not that you would pay attention to something so obvious. -SH

Of course not. Moriarty would have picked you off. I would have let him if you made it so easy for him. You would have deserved it. -MH

He glared at his phone, his lips forming into a sneer at the audacity of the elder Holmes.

Nice to see that you wouldn't disappoint the second time around. Waiting to lead me to my death. -SH

Don't be so melodramatic, little brother. -MH
Surprising that you would call me that after you sold me out to a psychopath. How does it feel to be a total bastard? -SH

Don't be obtuse. Not to mention vulgar. How crass. -MH

You would know all about that. -SH

With that I bid you adieu, little brother. At least have our good doctor send me a message once in a while to let me know that you're not dead. Mummy would be ever so sore if you died again. -MH

He didn't hear from Mycroft again.