So here is my next crap story! I think I'm better at characters in the Sherlock universe when I write them in 3rd person instead, so this is kind of an experiment. Enjoy!

Sherlock's been bored for three days, that means I've been annoyed for three days. Silly me for thinking I could go to work and leave him alone. I've already had to rush home because of a fire incident, a chemical burn to his arm (not the first I might add), and because Mrs. Hudson is going to kill him because he's been shooting the walls again.

"He's going to bloody kill something! You have to do something about this John!"

I sigh heavily, "I'm so sorry, I promise, I'm already in a cab, I'm coming."

She's distressed and crying I think, as the sound of gunfire startles her, "I'm not going up there anymore times to save him, John you've got to do something!"

"Mrs. Hudson, please just, go ahead and head out, I'm almost there now. I promise, I will take care of everything, I am so sorry."

We hang up then and I throw my head back against the seat. What an idiot? I'm bored too but you don't see me destroying the flat. Time to deal with him, head on. I sometimes feel less like his best friend and more like his mother, even though I would kind of like to be his… Nevermind. I don't need to think about that pesky detail right now. Thinking about those things will only serve me to be less harsh on him. Three days of emergency is enough. I don't care how bored he is, this behavior has got to end. Setting my face into angry Captain John, I storm up the stairs and see the debris flying from the wall as Sherlock continues to fire his pistol. "Sherlock!" I below in my solider voice. He stops firing his gun and looks at me for a moment, "Enough. That is enough."

I storm towards him and rip the gun from his hands. Quickly I disarm the weapon, "John…"

My eyes turn to him as he attempts to speak and I shake my head, "This. This has got to stop!" He glares as I start yelling, "Sherlock this is the third and the last time!"

"Bored."

"DOESN'T MATTER!" I yank him to his feet and shove him to his bedroom, "Get dressed, don't ask questions, we're going out."

"Where?" He tilts his head back to look at me and I shove it forward once more. Quickly I slam his bedroom door closed behind him and sit in my chair. I'm dragging him to the supermarket with me. I need to find something for him to do. He returns in his usual getup. "John-"

"Coat and shoes, now." I order and fold my hands over my mouth. The stubble there scratches my skin but I sigh and look up at the now ready Sherlock. He folds his hands behind his back, "Good, let's go."

I lead him down the stairs quickly, lacing my stride with irritation and anger. "John?"

"Shut up. Don't talk. Just follow."

The huff he makes does not go unnoticed by me, as I allow us to enter the cool London air. He latches the door behind him and locks it, Mrs. Hudson has went to visit her sister for a few days. She'd informed me just yesterday, that she couldn't take Sherlock's habits and needed a break. Babysitting Sherlock can be a handful. I'd hate to see what a young Mycroft and Sherlock could do to a sitter. Especially before they didn't get along. Two great minds like that, holy crap.

I shiver at the thought before pulling my jacket around me tighter. Sherlock is behind me still, he's just a step away and right on my heels. By now he's probably figured out that we're going to the market. Without even a hesitation, I waltz in and grab a basket settling into the battlegrounds that are a grocery store. Quickly I turn round and find Sherlock, whom is looking around innocently.

"Sherlock?"

He turns to me and gives a ghost of a smile, at least I think he does, he could be glaring. I sure hope he's smiling, I'm giving a whole evening to him. "Yes?"

I shake my head, "I want you to pick out a movie, any movie that you might find appealing, and we're watching it tonight. Something to do. You don't like people, I don't have a date."

His dark eyebrows furrow together as he gives me a long look, "Movie?"

"Yes, Sherlock, a film. Go pick it out while I do some shopping. I'll meet you there."

Without much of a protest, like I imagined, he wanders off in the direction of movies, while I head for groceries. It only takes me about twenty minutes to make my way back, but when I do, I find Sherlock staring at two different discs. "Did you find anything?"

He glances up at me, "Well, this one is about a murder mystery, and the other is about some killer with supernatural abilities. Which is highly unlikely that it will be realistic."

His eyes are scanning the two boxes like he could reveal who else had picked it up and looked it over, the relations they might have, and if they get around or not. "Just pick one, doesn't matter."

Those eyes turn back to me and he throws them both into my arms, "Then I pick both." Snot nose kid smirks and walks in front of me, like he owns the store.

"Of course you do." I follow him and realize I have his credit card, so really, it's his purchase.

Sherlock steers away from self checkout and glances back at me, "As entertaining as watching you fight with a machine sounds, I'd rather just get home."

I catch the change in his face though, he's not annoyed with the market or even the people, he's excited to get back to the flat. Sherlock Holmes is excited to spend the evening watching movies with me. Hope swells in my chest before I try to knock it away. Really it's a lot of work trying to keep the fact that you love your best friend a secret. Especially when he's a genius and the world's only consulting detective, who also rises from the dead. It's amazing this idiot hasn't seen through me yet. Maybe it's because he doesn't understand sentiment very much? My face feels hot as I shake away the thought and hand over the credit card of Sherlock's. The woman looks at both of us, the faintest of pink crosses her face, oh God.

"We're not a couple." I sigh trying to sound more annoyed than heartbroken. Sherlock has never denied it, he just simply ignores it and moves on when people make cracks. "We're just flatmates."

She smiles apologetically and continues on. I risk a glance at Sherlock, he's staring at her, most likely deducing, but a sad look passes over his face for a moment. It can't mean what I want it to mean.

We get headed back towards the flat and Sherlock is carrying a majority of the bags for once. What has gotten into him tonight? I'm just going to blame it on the lack of a case and call it good. I could be imagining things as well. No need for anything else or any other thought process, it's not worth the deduction. Once back in the flat, Sherlock starts to unwrapping the discs while I put away groceries and make popcorn. He places pillows on the floor and a blanket or two. "Are we having a proper slumber party then?" I chuckle with the steaming bowl in my hands. He even cleaned the microwave, and the kitchen isn't horrible. What really has gotten into him? Sherlock hardly ever cleans up after himself.

Those silverish eyes turn towards me, "I seen this on the telly, I want to see if it's as much fun as they all appear to be having." I nod and sit in front of my chair and place the bowl between us. Sherlock's long legs are folded to his chest as the film stars and the only light left on is the lamp beside the couch. We settle into the floor as the rain kicks up outside, "Oh look at that, it's a proper cliche now."

I chuckle along with him, "As long as you aren't shooting the walls, I don't care."

Sherlock smiles and pretends to not let me notice before hitting play at the menu. It's some horrible acting, but the scares are decent enough. I spare a glance at Sherlock and his knees are drawn tighter than usual. With a tilt of my head I watch him closer as he flinches at the movie. An amused smirk passes over my features, Sherlock is getting spooked by a little movie. A movie about demons and murders and vengeful souls.

I turn back to the screen in time to see the most horrible jumpscare ever. The mangled and pale bloody face of the woman latches onto the screen and snarls horribly with gruesome yellow teeth knocking the "person" to the floor before scrambling away. We both had yelled, I hear Sherlock's yelp about the same time I do the same. He flings himself towards me and I in turn just responsively pull him into my arms. We take a moment to catch our breath and I feel my face heat up. I clear my throat and try to not sound so husky, "You alright?"Sherlock nods and ducks his head as he settles back to his side of the room. I don't dare

spare a glance at him because he'd probably kill me. I could see the red at the tips of his ears when he as we pulled away. The movie only got more dark and more creepy. It really wasn't as cliche as we thought. A body hanging in a bag swings from the rafters in front of the main character. Sherlock yelps and then bites down on his lip hard. My head snaps in the direction and I give him a once over, "Sherlock?"

He doesn't even respond he just pulls his knees closer to his chest and ignores me. I know he's heard me, usually he doesn't, but this time he does. The way his eyes slightly glance over at me before refocusing on the screen. Oh God. He's too scared to admit that he's scared.

If Sherlock has anymore nightmares and wakes me up with his screaming, then I will feel so horrible for choosing to stay here with him tonight. I should have called Lestrade and asked if he wanted to go for a drink. Damn. The body flops to the ground, but the character doesn't open it, just walks past it and watches as the monster pulls the body bag into his arms and throws it into the character. "YOU IDIOT! WHY WOULDN'T YOU TAKE OFF RUNNING!"I jump because I hadn't expected Sherlock to scream. Sherlock has thrown his arms into the air and has a panicked edge to it. I've only ever heard it when my own life as in danger. When what Sherlock does will either get me killed, or save me. My heart swells uncontrollably and I swallow hard. "LOOK NOW YOU'RE GOING TO DIE!"

"Sherlock." My voice cracks and I clear my voice, "Sherlock, we, we don't have to watch this." He shudders and then yelps as the monster that can't track motions rips the face off the character all because he shuddered in fear.

When the monster then turns on the next character, Sherlock dives back to my side of the living room floor. "JOHN!"

I click the T.V. off and give him a long look, "Sherlock?"

He shakes his head and tries to regain himself hiding his face in my chest like a five year old, "I need scotch."

"When did you last sleep?" For a moment he breathes into my jumper to collect himself. He's not quite as scared as the Baskerville case, but he's scared enough. Sherlock doesn't reply so I nudge him away from my embrace realizing that I'm going to reveal too much if he continues to stay like that, "Sherlock, when did you last sleep?"

He shrugs and looks down at the popcorn bowl, which has been spilled in his haste to reach me, "Uh…" His hands roam his hair for a moment, "Today's what… Thursday?"

I sigh, "It's Saturday."

"Oh." Those silvery light eyes lose focus as he wanders back into his mind palace, "Uh… I believe I fell asleep maybe, on like, maybe, wait!" I get up and start walking to the kitchen to make tea. He shuffles through his brain while I shuffle through the tea boxes.

Sherlock's gotten up and started pacing with his hands posed behind his back, "I think Sherlock has left the building." I chuckle to myself and set the kettle on the stove. It dawns on me that he may have no idea what I'm saying, and what I may be doing right now as he paces. It's really easy to take my time, drink him in, really enjoy what it is he has to offer. Those long legs, the tousled hair, the cliched cheek bones that every girl in London (and some men) swoon over, and let's not forget those eyes.

"Mon- John?"

I blink and swallow the husky that could come from watching Sherlock, "Yes?"

He has stopped his pacing, is standing in the middle of the living room, and watching me carefully. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Oh shit. Caught. Dammit. How do I manage to do this before and not get caught? "How-How am I looking at you?"

The kettle whistles and I quickly get the tea taken care of. My hands are steady as I pour two cups and place the bags inside. Sherlock has moved closer in the meantime and leans against the counter. "It's strange. It's sad, but it's also happy. Like you want me to notice something, or you see something extremely wonderful but it's also sad. Kind of like a funeral service of a cancer patient or some such thing." I feel my eyebrows knit together at once and give him a strange look, "Is someone dying?"

I roll my eyes and chuckle, "No Sherlock, no one is dying."

"Right." He takes his mug and looks back over at me again, "So if no one is dying… Why are you looking at me so tragically?"

My heartbeat races as I adjust myself to stare intently at the steam coming out of my cup. Do not look at him. "I'm not. I was just… Thinking was all."

"Thinking about what?"

I square my shoulders, "When was the last time you slept?"

Sherlock is annoyed that I didn't answer his question, but he replies, "I slept for six hours on Monday, and a few hours each night until Thursday."

"You haven't slept since Thursday night?"

He rubs his head and rolls his eyes, "I think I slept maybe thirty minutes Thursday."

"Nightmares." I remember hearing just one scream before he was in the kitchen. I debated going down to check on him, but he would have thought I was treating him like a child. An irritated Sherlock is worse to deal with.

Sherlock ignores my comment, "I think I'll go to bed early tonight then."

"Really?" I look up surprised. Sherlock never goes to bed before I do.

His eyes roll once again, "I do hate when you nag me about sleeping and collapsing. It's really worse than my mother."

My face contorts into annoyance, "If it keeps you healthy, then nag away I will."

We pick up the living room in silence and finish our tea before heading off to bed. I'm still shaken from almost getting caught. As soon as my bedroom door closes, I feel my body give into the stress and I slump. Sherlock has to have noticed by now and he's chosen to ignore it to save our friendship. That's fine. I can deal with that. I just wish it didn't hurt so much sometimes. Not that I want domestic and normal. But… Snogging after racing through the streets of London would be wonderful. Don't think about that John… I do not fancy cold showers and I do not fancy the activities of a fantasy jerk off. They leave me feeling empty and sad. FUCK.

I remove my clothes before flopping into bed and allowing myself to tear up. God, I'm acting like a bloody teenager. Getting all emotional over the rejection of my best friend. The tears come anyways and I bury my face into the pillow before my tired mind lets me drift to sleep.

"JOHN!" The blood curling scream of one man. Why is he screaming like that? Is someone in the flat?

I sit bolt upright in bed and latch on to my gun. "SHERLOCK!"

He doesn't reply so I race down the stairs, clothes forgotten. Sherlock isn't in the living room and so he must be in his room still. I don't think anyone's broken in, none of the lights are on and everything's in its place. What is he screaming about? I fling the door open and see Sherlock. He's pulled himself into a ball and hid his face. The lamp is on and he's shaking. My gun is placed on the window seal as I sigh heavily and regain my composure. I always start shaking after the adrenaline is gone.

"Sherlock?" I ask softly moving forward carefully. He shakes his head which causes me to freeze. The poor man looks like a small child, he must have had a pretty bad nightmare. I've never heard him scream like that. It hits me that I'm now standing in front of him in my underwear alone. "I'm gonna go grab some clothes." I turn to leave with my hand on the door.

His head darts up then, "DON'T LEAVE!"

I blush and turn back to him, his eyes are wide and panicked. Baskerville has taught me a few things, never, ever, leave him when he says not to, do not ever underestimate a scared Sherlock, and know when it's time to shut up. A lump forms in my throat that I swallow around. His eyes narrow in on my face and I feel my expression soften so he knows it's okay. "You okay?" I softly and cautiously ask.

"Your pupils dilated." His voice is a whisper as his eyes narrow.

"What?" I move slightly closer.

Sherlock's eyes scan my body, "You're concerned, but there is something else here. It's been there for awhile. I think I've chosen to ignore it. Maybe even from that first night in Angelo's."

I feel panic quickly replace itself in my chest and I move a step away, "Sherlock, just… Stop before you even get started."

Sherlock uncurls himself, "Oh no, this is the perfect time."

My feet carry me backwards again, "Sherlock, you just had a nightmare, everything is going to be fine, I think you should go back to bed."

His eyes widen, "That's what I was thinking, but I thought of something just now." He gets to his feet and reveals himself to be only in his underwear as well. I feel my face redden and my back hits the wall. Shit. I'm really cornered. "Why were you looking at me sadly in the kitchen a few hours ago?"

I shake my head, "Sherlock, really, don't."

He smiles softly which takes my breath, "Got you." Sherlock leans closer and I can't help my body's natural reaction. Slowly he reaches for my wrist, "Elevated heart rate. Pupils blown wide. You keep looking at my lips. Mr. I'm Not Gay is actually exerting homosexual like tendencies. Oh you can't hide the university days, or Afghanistan. You can say, you're not gay. You're bisexual, possibly pansexual."

I swallow hard and force myself to look away, "Sherlock. If you do this, things will never be the same." I feel like I might be sweating actual bullets at this point.

His lips press against my cheek, "Things were never the same after the fall and my return. Let's be honest darling, just from now on."

I feel instincts kick in and my hands are on his waist. We mash together limbs and lips and souls. That was stupid and cheesy. I can feel Sherlock judging me even if he has no clue what I'm thinking. Hands roam each other, this is all so new and exciting. My legs feel like jello so Sherlock pulls me closer and allows me to put some of my weight on him. We gravitate towards the bed, the kissing has turned passionate, and a bit sloppy at best. My hands grab his ass unashamedly and he moans just the same. "Mh… Sher-"

He breaks apart and throws us onto his bed, "Not now, John."

I chuckle into his mouth and place my hands on his face, "Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson is awake by now, I don't think we should shake up her old heart any more than usual."

The pout that passes his face makes me that much more eager to throw caution to the wind, "I didn't intend to start something I couldn't finish." His voice has dropped an octave if even possible. My eyes close for a moment to just let that noise sink in.

I run my hands over his face and feel the slight stubble, "I know, believe me I want to… Mrs. Hudson really though…"

He rolls his eyes but repositions himself so he's laying next to me, instead of overtop of me. "John, I don't… I don't find these sort of things…"

I sigh and lean over to give him a kiss, "I know. The nightmares made you impulsive."

Sherlock freezes and then rolls over me once again, "How could you know that?"

With a sigh I look up at him and relief floods my chest, I don't have to hide anymore. My hands finally get to play with that hair! Oh my God! "I've been able to tell for awhile. Since the first time you told me to stop treating you like a child." Sherlock sighs and then drops right on my chest, "Ow."

He curls his nose against my shoulder, "I almost said it you know. Before I got on that plane." Sherlock readjusts himself against my chest and huffs, "I wasn't ever supposed to see you again."I smile lightly, "I thought that was what you were hinting at."

My detective sighs and rolls into a more comfortable position, still resting his head on my chest. I catch a quick glimpse of his bullet wounds, the tiniest scarring on his arm from drug use. He's above all that now, well the drugs anyway. Anyone of us could be shot again. I feel the twinge in my shoulder and Sherlock kisses the scar lightly. "I think I'm suffering from sleep deprivation."

"Seriously." I snort. "The real Sherlock Holmes would never be this clingy. It's not unwanted though." I add quickly.

Sherlock huffs against my chest, "Oh shut up."

"Night love." I wrap my arms around him and draw the sheets closer.

"Goodnight John."

Okay so that was probably rubbish! If it was I'd like some HELPFUL pointers! I probably should stick to writing Sherlock and John in a 3rd person point of view, I feel I can keep them closer in character that way. Anyways, as always if you could leave a review, fav, or follow, I'll love you forever! haha Well maybe! :)