The dull gray hose came to life and began to spray the water through the shower head with a loud splattering sound that seemed to bounce off of the brown tiled wall and radiate out the door and echo through the empty house. John let out a deep sigh and began to unbutton his shirt slowly and methodically-remembering the feeling of Sherlock's hands doing the same just three days ago- and once he had undone all the buttons he slipped off of the white material and revealed scared, tan flesh. With a sidelong glance John noticed his reflection in the mirror and saw a pale, terrified, and sad man whom looked like he couldn't live another minute.

"Sh-Sherlock, w-what are you doing?" The man had leaned forward on the plush couch and caught John off guard when he actually fell on top of him. Now he laid there lightly with his his ear pressed against John's chest so that his curls sprawled out over John's blue dress shirt, and his legs pulled up so that they were tucked under John's own. The much taller man's hand shot up to press a slim finger to the moving lips to silence him.

"Shut up John."

Perplexed, John laid there with the other man on top of him. Oddly he wasn't offended by the gesture, if anything he liked the closeness of Sherlock. It had been so long since he had had any human affection. That and the consultant was so unpredictable that John really couldn't figure out what he had planned so he just went with it.

"John?" The deep baritone of his voice caused reverberations throughout his body that radiated into John's and made him feel odd inside-a good odd. "John your heartbeat," He paused and slid his head up to meet the man eyes whose chest he was resting on. Ice blue eyes that sent John's heart into a flurry of beats that caused embarrassment, and caused a wild smile to cross Sherlock's face, "it is so peculiar." The man stopped and before John knew what was happening he was poised above him with his knees on either side of his hips and his bottom resting on John's upper thighs-dangerously close to his groin area- and his hands resting on either side of his upper body, causing his head to hang inches from John's.

"Sherlock I don't understand what on Earth you are doing." But he did as he looked into those eyes that had slowly began to turn hazel. He was testing John. And he was failing. He was failing as the consultant poised over him attractively, causing John's heart to beat wildly and his body to grow very warm.

"So when I go like this," Sherlock scooted forward to rest his bony bottom on John's groin and took his hands and unbuttoned the top button of the doctor's shirt seductively, "does it cause it to beat faster?" Suddenly his bottom scooted back to its original position and his ear fell on John's slightly opened shirt. Cold ear to burning flesh.

Shit, thought John. In fact his heart was beating the fastest it ever had and the deranged man rubbing on his nether regions wasn't helping. "Holmes this is absolutely absurd."

Another scoot up. Bony butt to erect groin. Dammit. "Oh! John," the tormentor paused and wiggled his bottom on John, "I do say." More shirt buttons undone then a pause. He had stopped abruptly. Then without warning he shot off of the couch and blushed a red that John had never seen on him before. "Er-um that'll be all. You fail."

John's hand ran through his blonde hair as he tried to fathom why Sherlock had done such as obscene thing. The only problem was that John had liked it. But then tears began to sting his blue eyes as the memory can flaring back-that phone call. That call had ruined it all. It had shattered his world.

No. I cannot think of this..not yet. John denied himself as he blinked rapidly and removed his trousers and undergarments. Once fully unclothed John approached the ajar shower curtain and shoved his large hand underneath the steam of water but instantly removed it when he felt nothing but ice cold water. Dammit. The heater must be broken again. He would fix it, but recalled with a sigh that it was in fact Sherlock who had always fixed the device when it malfunctioned-leaving John clueless, and even more exhausted.

Tears once again threatened to form but John forced them away. He couldn't let it happen, couldn't let the hysteria take him over again-not like after his best friend dropped that call phone and took that step- no not again.

"Sherlock! Sherlock don't!" His screams echoed off of the buildings falling on deaf ears. "NO!" There he was, a black cloaked figure poised on the edge of the building, arms outstretched. Then, a step. Falling encased in black, curls slicked back in the wind-the figure fell.

Utter and absolute hysteria. A tan hand clutching a non-beating ebony wrist, screaming…

John felt his body harden as he stepped under the freezing water. Soon he realized that he really had no need for a shower-not a cold one- and haltingly lowered his head to rest against the shower wall, sliding his eyes shut in sadness. What was he to do?

Thoughts. He couldn't fight them away. Thoughts of Sherlock, and his ebony skin. God that flawless white skin. His icy eyes that almost never showed emotion and would occasionally slide to a hazel color, his perfectly slender and lengthy figure that stood at least a half foot taller than John's own, and his black curly hair that added to his beauty. His beauty, He was beautiful, John realized and snapped his eyes open in realization-centimeters from the shower wall-, he was attractive and I was attracted to him.. John stopped in his tracks and was jolted back to the night before it had happened...

Sherlock stood there in the fading sunlight, his profile outlined by the beautiful red and pinks that racked the sky. The doctor and consultant had solved a case not even an hour ago and were standing outside the door that led to their flat, but for some reason Sherlock had stopped him from inserting his key into the lock. "You know Sherlock, this is absolutely absurd. Unless you have something dire to inform me of, I would indeed desire to go to bed." Though the sunset made it hard to see the towering man's face, John could tell that something was wrong. His normal scowl had been replaced with an ordinary sad expression. This almost never happened. "Sherlock? What is wrong?"

The unpredictable man turned his head to the side and glanced down the road to the left then the right, sending his curls in a fury, then returned to face his partner. "John? Can I tell you something?"

Wondering what his flat mate had to say that no one else could hear, and why he wanted to talk to John, because he never shared his feelings. "Y-yeah Sherlock, whatever you need- you can tell me."

Sherlock took a tedious step toward the building's wall and pretended to study it. "If something were to happen to me, would you be upset?"

John turned toward him, baffled. He could only answer the truth, "Of course."

"How upset?" He blundered and reached a hand to run it over the brick surface.

"W-what?"

"John," Sherlock said forcefully and turned towards him, his icy stare burning into him, "how upset."

"Very!" He blurted in reply. Those eyes... "I would be deeply upset Sherlock, and you seem foolish to not know this: you mean the world to me," John paused and felt a weird stirring inside of him. A warmth spreading from the center of his stomach to his outermost appendages, "You.." deep swallow-he had to word this right, "You mean the world to me. I don't know what I'd do without you. I can't fathom what it would be like to wake in the dark morning and not smell you brewing some concoction, and when the shinning trendels of sunlight begin to seep through the drawn curtains, I couldn't think what it would be like for them not to reflect blindingly off of your unearthly pale skin." Flowing from his heart. "If anything were to happen to you my world would be in ruins. The flat would radiate the emissions of your fleeting presence. I would live in a gray world that I would no longer desire to carry on. I would slowly slid into insanity: you keep me stable. Sherlock.. you are the only thing in this depressing world that I care about." John was now red hot throughout his soul, and tears streamed from his face, making him feel foolish. "Sherlock, if something happened to you this world would lose the most selfish, most incoherent, most unpredictable, and most unfeeling person on Earth."

Tears erupted from Sherlock's eyes as he dropped to his knees and covered his mouth. "John..."

John dropped to his own knees and gingerly took the weeping man's face in his hands and continued, "Sherlock your selfishness, incoherence's, utter un-predictableness and lose of emotions make you who you are. And the world needs you for you. I would not be the only one lost without a presence like yours daily."

Sherlock's hands slide off his face and landed in his lap, utter shock playing on his sharp face. Before John could continue, though, Sherlock blurted something that his flat mate would never forget: "John, I love you."

Coldness. Nothing but coldness. That was all that John felt, but oddly yet not surprisingly he could not remove himself from the shower. His newly fountaining tears mixed and blended with the freezing water to be carried down and away forever. He loved Sherlock. Without a doubt. "Sherlock... I need you."

Without realizing it John turned and slowly slid down the shower wall, landed on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest, shivering. Maybe I will acquire hypothermia and freeze to death. Then I can be with Sherlock. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead to his knees and wished for death.

But something happened, the cold slowly began to disappear, and it was replaced with warmth. John believed the warmth to be the sensation of dying, and urged it on, but when he realized he could still hear the sound of shower running he slowly regained his senses to around him without opening his eyes. He felt a closeness. The closeness of a body? And that smell... Was that Sherlock's cologne? He gingerly opened his eyes and found a nude Sherlock, alive and in the flesh sitting on the shower floor beside him with his arms wrapped around him and John's head resting against his pale chest. Water was streaming overtop of them, but it was unnoticed. Sherlock was here and alive.

"Sher-"

"Shh." He shushed John and looked into his eyes and began to slowly lean forward until his lips were less than a centimeter away from John's. His breath was warm as he looked down at the lips he was about to kiss, then back up and went for it.

Sunlight. Sirens. Traffic. The telly. Baffled John looked around and saw that he was on the couch, cradling a shirt of Sherlock's that was emitting the familiar musky smell of the man, wrapped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer.

It was a dream... John began to cry, burning salty tears. "Sherlock! Bloody hell why!?" He sobbed. "I need you.." He buried his head into the blanket that Ms. Hudson must have brought up and wrapped him in. "Sherlock I need you..." His cries unanswered, all the broken man could do was cry and wish for death.

Staring at the bawling man made tears erupt from his eyes. It was all he could do to stay hidden in the shadows of the kitchen and not reveal himself. He had snuck in and found him shivering like hell on the couch and immediately grabbed a blanket and threw it over him. Then his screams. He couldn't bear them. He had to throw his hands over his marble ears and try to block the sound-it didn't work. The only person he loved in the world needed him, but thought him dead. John I'm so sorry. I wish... I wish I could take it back..

In and almost inaudible voice the unpredictable man whispered, "I need you too."