Chapter one:The begining

about:How sherlock and John' relationship grows as they deal with their past's.

Pairing: John Waton/Sherlock Holmes (BBC)

Warnings: mentions of abuse, sex, mentions of rape, swearing and sex toys (in future chapters)

Authors note: if there are spelling mistakes or anything I would just like to clarify, I'm lazy and haven't got a bata reader yet, but I'll try make sure there isn't many. I hope you enjoy ~The Badly Drawn Cat.


John yawned as he woke up getting dressed quickly walking downstairs and into the bathroom brushing his teeth, he had broken up with Sarah last night and was still a little upset, he walked into the kitchen

Sherlock Holmes put on the front that he was a cold, unfeeling sociopath. Of course there was really no such thing as a 'high functioning sociopath' but no one bothered to argue it. Human error they would believe what they wanted to believe.

It was much better to have people hate him and fear him then have them learn the truth and pity him. No one but Mycroft knew that rather than being a sociopath he was on the autistic spectrum explaining his horrible social cues.

Aspergers or some such was what it was called, he had deleted it a long time ago.

Then of course Doctor John Watson had limped into his life and thrown a wrench into everything and Sherlock couldn't bring himself to care.

Without his permission sentiment welled in him when it came to his blogger. He had spent many hours in his mind palace trying to figure out what his feelings were.

With no luck because Sherlock Holmes didn't DO emotion he had learned long ago it just got you hurt.

The thump of John rising from bed pulled the consulting detective from his thoughts and he listened closely as he stood and moved from his microscope to the cupboard. John had returned early the previous night and went right to bed.

Sherlock knew that he and his girlfriend had broken up, and a horrible feeling of hope had curled in his belly. He had tamped it down of course and left his flat mate be.

Now he listened to see what mood the man was in while he made him some tea. Sherlock couldn't pretend he was heartless around the man so he didn't really try.

Tea bag in cup, water to boil he sat back at his microscope. He had found an interesting mold growing in the back of the fridge and had been trying to study it, now his focus was elsewhere.

Steps were slow but steady, so he was a bit upset about the breakup but didn't regret it. His movement in the bathroom suggested he was thinking of the break up but it wasn't detrimental to his emotional state.

Curious. When the pot whistled he stood and poured two cups, setting one at Johns usual place on the kitchen table before sitting with his own.

John walked in sitting down looking at sherlock "morning" he mumbled taking a sip of the tea "thank you by the way, for the tea" he smiled softly at him

"Mmm." Sherlock responded keeping his gaze on the mold. He didn't act interested because that was the way he was, but every other sense was focused on his flat mate deducing and cataloging.

He wondered briefly what Mycroft would think if he ever found out how much Sherlock's mind palace had changed since meeting John. Before there had only been four spots for people in his life. Mycroft, Lestrade and each had small rooms that could almost be considered broom closets.

Then the dungeon he kept all the memories locked away that he didn't seem to have the ability to delete but were painful. Memories of his...parents although he used the term loosely, and all the bullies in his life including Donovan and Anderson.

When John came into the picture things had shuffled around. All his bad memories were still stored in the dungeon, but the rest had morphed. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudsons rooms had grown and broadened, even Mycrofts was a bit bigger.

John helped Sherlock focus and let people in a little. He found he quite liked the DI and his landlady. Even now calling Greg wrong names was for amusement and not because he couldn't remember.

Of course John outdid everyone, he always did. His room was in fact a wing of the palace. Sherlock refused to delete even the smallest tidbit about his flat mate. It was part of why he spent so much time pondering the man.

He didn't understand why he felt it necessary to keep everything. But it he did and it was.

The consulting detective shook his head minutely and focused back on his flat mate. He supposed he should say something.

"Single again, shall I expect another annoying female flouncing in here soon?" He surprised himself with how bitter that sounded although he schooled his features. If he didn't know better he would almost think he was jealous. But he wasn't!...was he?

"Sherlock not yet" he mumbled "I just woke" he sighed putting this hand through his hair "why do you care anyway? It doesn't effect you if I date, so why are you acting so...so...so jealous!"

Sherlock felt the sharpness of hurt for a brief moment before his mind engineered it quickly to anger. Anger he could deal with, anger was familiar. Looking at John with blankness he stood slowly and leaned towards the man.

"I don't know John." Sherlock spat enunciating each word as if the man before him was a child unable to understand.

"Perhaps I'm the one that lives with you and I get the joy of seeing you flop about the flat as if the world is done each time a relationship ends. I thought frie- flat mates cared about such things. My mistake."

Straightening he turned and strode from the room and down the stairs. At the door he grabbed his coat and scarf before letting him out into the chilly fall morning. As he walked down the street he threw on his coat and tied his scarf.

Pulling out his phone he shot a text to Lestrade warning him he was coming to look at some cold cases and they had better be at least a six or so help him!

Then the consulting detective decided to walk part way to the station. He could kill for a cigarette. He moved quickly down the street dodging people and ignoring the gasps of the ones that recognized him from the news.

As if they didn't have anything better to do than gaga over him.

A couple blocks from the flat he slipped into a convenience store for a moment before reappearing with a pack and a lighter. He took a moment to pull one out and light it. Taking a long drag he held the smoke in his lungs and felt himself relax as the first shot of nicotine coursed through him.

Finally releasing the smoke he watched it curl gracefully up into the atmosphere. Satisfied he continued his walk as he smoked.

Jealousy then. John would know better than him and clinically he knew what the emotion was he had just never thought it would be one he would feel personally. The man snapping at him had hurt, if nothing else Sherlock had thought they were friends.

But then again he's never had one before so he could be wrong. If he was honest with himself and if he understood the feeling correctly he supposed he was in love with the doctor. Certainly his stomach would jump when the man was in his presence, he would feel warm and lightheaded when he touched him.

The big kicker was that Sherlock even allowed him to touch him, normally the consulting detective flinched, stiffened and moved away as fast as he could if a person dared move into his bubble. He had learned that lesson the hard way.

His emotions did not matter though and he had to tamp them down. John had made it clear he was decidedly NOT gay and even if he was, there is no way he would fall for his crazy freak of a flatmate. Sherlock felt that life would become completely unbearable if John was no longer around so he would have to work harder to ignore his emotions.

Before the doctor he would have said that was easy. Now not so much.

Sighing he flicked his butt into the road before hailing a cab. At least for the moment he could lose himself in a case or two.

John sighed getting up from his seat "bloody hell John you can't keep anyone in your life can you?" He growled at himself, he knew he had upset sherlock and really was the last thing he wanted to do. He got his phone texting sherlock quickly

/I'm sorry, please come home/

He frowned knowing his text would either be ignored or pushed aside he moped about the flat before wandering into sherlocks room, he threw caution to the wind curling up in sherlocks bed, the smell of the detective putting him into a calm sleep

Sherlock smirked as he swept down the steps from the Yard to the street. He had spent a glorious morning solving cases and snarking at any officer that came within distance of him. He had even gotten Donovan to wander off sputtering.

The morning was at an end and Lestrade had pointedly suggested the consulting detective find something else to do after one to many complaints. Sherlock had simply smirked, handed over seven solved cases enjoying the wide eyed look before taking his leave.

He hailed a cab and slid in debating where to go. Pulling out his phone he considered texting Molly to see if she had any body parts to spare. He wouldn't admit that he was considering bringing some home to annoy John in response to his outburst that morning.

That would just be childish. That plan came to a halt when he noticed the text from John. He had felt his phone buzz earlier but had ignored it and deleted the fact in favor of his work.

"221 B Baker Street." His deep voice rumbled at the cabby as he turned to stare out the window. John had apologized, no one ever apologized before when they hurt him. Generally they expected HIM to apologize whether he was at fault or not.

He had a squirmy feeling in his belly now. After long consideration he decided it was guilt. He felt guilty lashing out at John. "John Watson what are you doing to me?" He muttered under his breath ignoring the cabbies glance.

When they reached his flat, he tossed the man some cash and slid out of the car. Straightening he took a moment to stare before squaring his shoulders and making his way inside. Silence. Brow furrowed he glanced at the coat rack as he hung his up. John's coat was still there and the man who had spent months in the desert heat of Afghanistan would not leave without it in the chilly dampness of London.

He was in the flat somewhere. Stealthily Sherlock made his way upstairs still listening. Stopping in the common area he searched around, no sign of the army doctor. He noted that their tea cups remained on the table both half full. Perhaps the man was in bed nursing his wounds? Debating with himself finally Sherlock decided to check, and it wasn't because he was worried. And yes denial is only a river in Egypt.

Stalking up to Johns room he knocked, there was no response. Eh it wasn't like he ever had respected the man's boundaries before. He opened the door slowly, and was startled when he found it empty. The bed was made with precision, that of someone in the service. He knew he could bounce a quarter off it, he had before.

Grumbling he closed the door and debated. The man had not left, he knew that much. was not home so he was not in her flat. His eyebrows furrowed as he pushed his curly black locks back from his forehead. That left one room. His.

Traipsing back down the stairs he turned the corner and went down the hall to his room. Opening the door he heard his flatmate before seeing him. Stepping inside he looked down. The man was curled in his bed, face smushed into his pillow.

The man looked...cute. Then he wrinkled his nose did that thought really just cross his mind. This man really would be the end of him.

He reached down and gently shook the man's shoulder. He looked peaceful but Sherlock had the urge to make sure the man was well.

"John?" He said quietly.

He blinked awake "you're home" he smiled softly "look sherlock I'm really sorry" he pulled sherlock down onto the bed "I shouldn't have snapped at you"

The consulting detective blinked as he was once more offered an apology and pulled down onto the bed next to the man. He felt a flush creep on his face as electricity danced across his skin where John had touched him. Clearing his throat he glanced about the room trying to think of something, anything to say.

"I-am sorry as well. I should not have spoken so sharply to you. You are upset." Shifting he felt John pressed up against his side his body heat warming him. Being skinny and not prone to eating a lot Sherlock was nearly always cold. It was a shock to his system feeling the man's body heat run through him.

Sherlocks heart pounded and he licked his lips. No he couldn't let this happen, he could not let John know how he felt or he would lose him forever.