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I looked across at his dark tousled hair, his head bent over another of his experiments. Sherlock Holmes. Detective. Sociopath. I wasn't not sure what to make of him anymore. His deductions took my breath away. Now, I was positive I was not gay. But I couldn't help noticing his beautifully angular face, his perfectly symmetrical body. His impeccable dress. He seemed to notice I was staring at him, and looked up.

" Yes John? " he sounded rather exasperated. I stared at him like a blind man who could see again. " John?"

" Mm? Sherlock? Oh, nothing." his head went back over his work. He seemed rather stomach rumbled. I got up, disturbing our silence. Sherlock's head flew up again.

" lunch. You need lunch to function properly." I said, half expecting him to stay where he was. To my surprise, he got up and walked past me into the kitchen. As he passed me, his hand brushed mine, our fingertips almost holding together. Then the moment passed, and we went to eat. That was one of the few times I had seen him eat properly. It was only a sandwich, but that was better than nothing.

" John!" called Sherlock. He sounded so cute when he was impatient. " Case. Now." I got up, throwing on my usual trousers and jumper. I came down the stairs, feeling underdressed as normal beside his spotless suit.

" Murder. There is a lady on the train tracks. We've got to investigate, and if Donovan and Anderson are there , it's no wonder they need us." We hailed a taxi, and as we sat in silence, I felt the strange impulse to hold his hand. He noticed me looking at his hand, and pulled it sharply back to his lap. I was confused by myself. I was sure I wasn't gay, but here I was wanting to hold his hand. There was a lot of traffic, and Sherlock inevitably disappeared off into his mind palace. I took a sideways glance at him. I began a silent mantra ' I am not gay I am not gay'

" sure, keep telling yourself that" the taxi driver smiled. I could feel myself going red. I must've said that out loud.

" Sherlock. We're here. Sherlock. SHERLOCK!" I yelled. He opened his eyes, looked at me calmly and said

" Well then. Let's have a look."

" Simple. Can't see why they needed me. Not worth my time" Sherlock said grumpily, making my heart skip as he pouted. He looked adorable.

" Ok then. Shall we leave?"

" Yes. Now." We jumped in a cab and he sulked all the way home.

" Stupid small minded people. I don't know how you cope." He grumbled to himself. As he grumbled and muttered, his hand began to slide over the seat to mine, and our hands sat next to each other in the middle. I stretched out a tentative finger, aware of the tension in his entire body. Our fingers touched, and I felt a frisson of energy as his fingers intertwined with mine. We sat in the soft, blanketing silence, neither saying a word, scared of breaking the fragile new bond we had made. When we arrived at the door of 221b, his hand left mine quickly as he jumped out, not meeting my eye as he began to talk at me.

" We have another case, a drowning by a lake. Get a bite to eat, you people seem to need it, and then we're leaving again." He stared straight ahead, clearly thinking about something sensitive. I pulled him lightly inside by the fingertips, and he pulled sharply away from my touch. I grabbed a hunk of bread, and we left again.

We stood side by side, looking at the lake, the early morning mist rolling over the surface of the lake. We had been there for hours, and I was exhausted. Suddenly, without warning, Sherlock spotted something and pitched himself into the lake. He went under, and stayed there for some time. My heart began to flutter, and I began to worry. He resurfaced, clutching a body. I rushed forward to him, only to be pushed aside by Mycroft. Sherlock was hauled out the lake, gasping, by Mycroft. I grabbed his arm, and said firmly " We are going home now. You will get freezing cold, and maybe even contract hypothermia. Just trust me on this . I'm a doctor. "

" No. I'm staying here until it's solved" Sherlock protested. We argued like this for several minutes, until I concluded I would never win an argument against this man. Even when Sherlock began to shiver uncontrollably, he would not admit to being cold. Finally, Mycroft decided to intervene.

" Sherlock, you have to go home now. I don't care if you don't want to, just go. " I smirked, and walked beside a dripping Sherlock who still refused to get on a train. We caught another cab, and Sherlock was beginning to look blue. My leg began to shake, and I drummed my fingers. We had to get home- and fast.

I practically ran up the stairs, dragging Sherlock behind me. I went into full doctor mode, lying him on the sofa and asking him question after question. He looked blue, and I stacked blanket upon blanket on him, giving him tea and lighting the fire. He began to look warmer, and I sat by him, rubbing his hand between mine as he began to drift into a light sleep, his hands moving to hold mine. I didn't move incase I woke him up, besides, he looked so cute sleeping. He was up and down all night, but by the morning he was getting better, and out of the danger zone. I decided to take a nap, but ended up blogging. As I typed, I thought about Sherlock. I was so sure I wasn't gay, yet I felt something when he held my hand. I fell into a fitful sleep, one filled with nightmares and visions. I dreamed we were in a lake, and I was trying to pull Sherlock up but I couldn't, and I was losing strength, and that turned into a firing range. The soldiers were aiming at... at... at Sherlock. As they clicked the bullet in place, I screamed his name.

" John. John. What is it? Are you ok?" Sherlock burst in the room, wearing nothing but his boxers. He sounded genuinely concerned. I blushed deeply.

" Nightmares. Just nightmares" I mumbled.

" Your nightmares involve me?" Sherlock said, surprised. I couldn't help but stare at his muscly chest, slim but prominent. It was as well defined and beautiful as his face. He coughed lightly to remind me of his question.

" Oh um.. Sorta kinda yes." I mumbled quickly. He raised his eyebrows, and then stored the information away. I hustled him back to rest, on the promise that he could have his violin in bed. I watched him sleep. He was constantly shifting around, moving. He found my hand, and I felt my body tense as he held it in his sleep, clutching it to his chest with his violin. I tried to move away, but in doing so jolted him awake.

" John?" he asked " What is the meaning of this?"

" I am not gay" was all I managed to mumble as I ran from the room.