Disclaimer: I do not own SHERLOCK (BBC), or any of the associated characters or literature...

So I asked people to give me the first line of a story, and I would finish it...

Given Line: 'I'm secretly in love with you...'

It's not brilliant, but here's a THING.

~*Angel In The Night*~

~)0(~

'I'm secretly in love with you...'

Whispered the voice in his sleeping ear, a pale long-fingered hand caressing the well-kept sandy blonde hair.

The sleeper stirred slightly, murmuring and turning his head into the hand instinctively, seeking comfort. A soft, sad sob was choked off as if never there at all in the silence of the darkened bedroom... somewhere a distance clock began to chime the midnight hour.

'Sh...Sherlock...?' murmured the sleeper, forcing the silent intruder to still instinctually and stare in a form of horrified hope, heart hammering thunderously in his long, pale column of a throat.

'Yes John, I'm here...' responded the other.

Tears pooled in the corners of his icy eyes, normally so emotionless and unconcerned with such silly little things. The sleeper seemed to crack open questing eyes for a moment, resting on the figure in concern, before sighing in what appeared to be recognition, and shutting once more; knowing he was safe in the other's presence.

Sherlock held his breath through this brief foray into the final tearing of his heart, waiting for the eyes to shut once more and the breathing to settle back into a slow, deep sleeping pattern.

The tiny watch mycroft had fitted him with chirruped in alarm within his pocket, startling the tall detective.

His time was up, this nocturnal visit had drawn to a close, the eyes would soon be capable of watching him once again... the security that was disabled would trigger back to thrumming, electronic life once again.

Once more the pale lips dipped to the sleeper's ear, and a sonorous voice whispered, 'I have missed you so much, John, but it seems now I must go again...' the voice tried for cheery, and seemed to end in sadness.

The tall, dark-haired man began to carefully pull away, only to have the sleeper jerk violently, instinctually, and grab hold of the departing hand with a rarely shown strength as the desperate cry of, 'Sherlock!' left his lips.

Of all he had seen in this world, gruesome and cruel, nothing had ever touched the detective in such a way before... he found himself unable to do anything as the eyes once again peered open in the confused manner of a partially-awakened slumberer...

'P...lease don't go, not ag-...ain, Sherlock.' John whispered, words stilted and vaguely confused, before dying away. Uncertain how to respond, Sherlock knelt by the bed and gazed directly into those piercing eyes only vaguely registering his existence and smiled as best he was able.

'John, shhhh, I will always be here... but right now I must leave and you need to let me go. I will be able to come back soon, but you must speak to no one about this... no one...'

His hand was released with a slow, almost reluctant care.

Sherlock watched the eyes following his every movement struggle to stay open another moment, and stroked the hair in a repetitive motion that he had read was conducive to soothing distressed persons and children. Certainly enough, John was soon faltering between the waking and slumbering worlds... teetering on the brink, as it were.

The briefest gentle press of lips to forehead became the final catalyst that set the old soldier's eyes shut, and breathing even once more...

Sherlock extricated himself and stood, posture stiff and resolute as he turned away. Walking to the door with purpose, quelling an internal desire to turn and run back to his John, slide in beside the man and make everything as it should be... right once more.

And never let the person lying in that bed, who loved and believed in him so deeply, feel the kind of anguish at his absence as Sherlock had been forced to watch him go through various cameras and surveillance tapes that Mycroft had compiled for him in some kind of twisted brotherly helpfulness...

But he could not do that, not yet; there were many things to be done to keep those he cared most safe from invisible foes they knew not about.

Sherlock found his hand pausing upon the bedroom doorknob, eyes drawn back to the figure on the bed, and he felt his heart -that so many often denied existed- constricted tightly.

In the silence of the bedroom, his voice rent the air once more to state a heartfelt promise to someone who would not hear him, 'I love you, John, more than logic itself. You will not remember my words, but know somewhere in your subconscious, that I promise I will find a way back to you, and we will be together again when it is safe for me to see you again.'

A silent room gave no reply as, with a low creak, the door opened and shut quietly; admitting one weary man into the darkness beyond, and leaving another sleeping on, to wake in the morning with twin feelings of hope and loss kindled within his breast.

~)0(~

The End

Alright, so it isn't my greatest work, but I tried and that counts.

Let me know what you thought.

~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~