Anote: Set after Baskerville

Chapter 1- the way you love me

It was dusk when Sherlock finally drove up the leaf littered driveway.

In the hours in between while he waited, John had plenty time to think about the conversation at breakfast.

'Henry Knight, needs someone to mansion sit,' Sherlock had blurted out as he walked out of his room with his lap top bag slung over one shoulder and his suitcase wheeling behind him, 'I fancy I will take a holiday at the same time. Quite overdue, don't you think?'

By the time John could recover himself, the detective was already gone. Of course, nothing in itself was wrong with Sherlock wanting a holiday but the abruptness of it all, on the heels of his withdrawn behaviour of late, had thrown the doctor into a panic.

An hour later, after John had checked in with all his 'sources' to ensure that there was no reasonable explanation for this behaviour, he was in the air courtesy 'Mycroft' airlines.

'Hello?!' Sherlock called out sharply, bringing the other man back to the present moment, 'who's that in the shadows? Step out and be quick about it!'

'Mycroft organised a helicopter lift,' John replied feebly in response to the detective's stunned look of amazement.

They stared at each quietly, the tension of the last couple of weeks rippling in the air between them.

'Can't a man take a holiday without so much suspicion being excited?' the detective replied wearily. 'I trust you didn't fly out here just to pick another fight. I am a little tired right now.'

Just then, the fading light of the sunset caught Sherlock's face at the perfect angle and John gasped sharply at the man's blood shot eyes. His flatmate looked haggard and defeated.

'No, of course not,' the doctor said hastily, too shocked by the man's appearance to even realise what he was saying, 'Sherlock, what's wrong? Please tell me. Please.'

The detective looked at him almost despairingly for a long moment, before he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, as if it didn't really matter anymore. Without warning, Sherlock extended his hand and with one finger, traced a path gently down the side of the doctor's face.

'Why did you do that?' John managed to gasp out in a mortifying high pitched squeak as he jumped back, painfully colliding with the car door of Sherlock's rented vehicle.

'Because I know,' Sherlock replied solemnly, 'I know why you are so angry all the time.'

What?

No…no…no.

This wasn't happening.

'I know you don't want to feel this way about me and it's killing you slowly and I don't know what to do to help you,' Sherlock continued quickly, taking advantage of his flatmate's shock, 'Don't you see what's happening here?! If you continue to hide from this, in the end you will pack your things and leave, and not even understand why. I don't want that. I don't want you to go. John, it really doesn't matter to me if I am your friend, brother or your lover. These labels mean nothing to me…nothing! You know I am speaking the truth, because you know me.'

This entire speech was delivered to John's bent head but the lack of vociferous, obscene objections gave Sherlock hope.

The detective reached out a comforting hand to grasp the man's shoulder, 'This could just be a passing physical infatuation, John. And even if it isn't, we can work through it. There was really no need for you to tear yourself apart all these months, and shoulder all of this on your own. As I said before, you are my friend, my only friend and I am so very glad that you are here. Let me help you.'

'Are you sure you don't mind?' John whispered almost desperately.

Instead of looking at his face, the doctor concentrated with all of his might on Sherlock's coat buttons.

Time seemed to stand still for him as he waited for the proverbial axe to fall, and destroy everything that was good in his life. Only now, when it was too late to do anything about it, did John really understand how much he cared for the man before him.

Finally, the detective took a slow step toward him, and bent over to softly press his lips against the doctor's cheek.

John was grateful that the car was behind his back giving him support, because it felt as though he was on the verge of collapse. As he closed his eyes tight to hold on to the sensations for as long as he could, John felt the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. No cooked up smutty fantasy, he had ever dreamed about late at night when he was alone in his cold, lonely bed, could even compare to how he felt now. He was completely overwhelmed by the tenderness of Sherlock's touch.

'I have never minded the way you choose to love me, John,' Sherlock whispered in his ear.