Author Notes: This story has two chapters and I intend to post the next one in a couple of weeks. Let me know what you think of it.

Trigger Warning: Sexual assault!

Scars

Sherlock loved swimming!

Somehow, that realisation was more astonishing to John than it probably should be. After all, a lot of people liked swimming and John certainly enjoyed doing laps well enough, but... this was Sherlock he was talking about. His annoying, brilliant and fucking gorgeous flatmate, who was swimming the crawl as if he hadn't done anything else all his life.

John shook his head in fond disbelief as he watched how Sherlock pushed off the opposite wall of the swimming pool and came back to John's side. He had lost count of how many laps Sherlock had done, but he was fairly certain that he was close to forty, if he hadn't already surpassed this number. John had done twenty laps and he wasn't as fast as Sherlock, therefore his calculation had to be accurate.

"Forty-five!"

He didn't even ask how Sherlock knew what John had been thinking about, when his brilliant friend grinned at him and wiped his wet curls from his forehead. John's hand itched to do it for him, to run his fingers through Sherlock's silky hair, down to his neck and then draw him closer and...

"John? Do you fancy the jacuzzi tub or do you want to catch up to my swimming record?" Sherlock was smirking at him, from where he was hanging from the edge of the pool. He was half way out of the water and John could already imagine just how much the red swimming trunks were going to stick to Sherlock's skin and... Groaning inwardly, John pushed these inappropriate thoughts away, before his body got the chance to catch up with his imagination and betray him. It was a miracle that it hadn't happened already - after having spent three hours with a half-naked and wet Sherlock Holmes - and John didn't want to push his luck.

"Jacuzzi tub sounds fantastic to me," he answered Sherlock's former question and couldn't stop his mouth from falling open, when his friend climbed out of the swimming pool in one smooth motion. Christ, but such a arse should be forbidden!

Sherlock's red swimming trunks clung to his perfectly rounded buttocks like they had been painted on them. They were probably tailored, if the way they nestled against Sherlock's thighs was anything to go by. John gulped heavily as he tried to come up with a picture that would quench his rising arousal, before he could make a fool of himself.

"Do you need a hand, John?"

Fucking hell!

John stared up at his grinning friend, who was crouched down next to the swimming pool and extended his hand to him. That certainly wasn't the picture that was going to help John to cool down. A dripping wet Sherlock Holmes, with shinning eyes and only wearing a thin piece of fabric - that cradled his crotch like a second skin - was rather the picture John would use to get a... rise out of his body. Speaking of a rise, John was certain that Sherlock's trunks wouldn't do anything to hide an erection from anyone, if it came to that - which he highly doubted. Still though, John couldn't help but wonder how Sherlock would react if his body betrayed him in such a way. Would he try to hide behind a towel or would he just strip off his trunks, because an erection would be less obvious without skin-tight fabric clinging to it. At least, John could imagine Sherlock arguing like this, even if they would be thrown out of the spa, if he started to run around naked and... bad idea to imagine this scenario.

Heat crept in John's cheeks as he felt his body reacting to his imagination and he was just glad that his swimming trunks were longer and much looser than Sherlock's. No one was going to notice his little problem, if he got out of the water now. No one, besides the object of his desires. John almost groaned as he imagined how Sherlock would react to this new revelation. It wouldn't be disgust - he was certain of that - but rather curiosity and - or - confusion as to why John's body was reacting like this. John didn't know if he liked either option, especially as he was fairly certain that neither one would lead to the outcome John was secretly dreaming of. After all, Sherlock had made it clear more than once that he was exclusively married to his work and that he wasn't interested in a romantic or sexual relationship. It was rather unfair, when you considered that Sherlock was practically a walking God of sex. Not that this thought was helping John to get the control of his body back and neither did his grinning friend, who was still crouched down in front of him.

"Fine, I'll just leave you to," Blue eyes flickered over John's form and more heat rose in his cheeks as Sherlock gave him a knowing smirk. "Cool down and make sure that we have a jacuzzi tub to ourselves." The wink at the end of his words, almost took John's breath away as did the way, Sherlock swayed his hips as he walked in the direction of the jacuzzi tubs. Christ, was John going crazy or had Sherlock just... flirted with him?

It certainly seemed like he had, but... that was Sherlock, he was talking about here. Sherlock, who was able to turn his charm on whenever he thought it got him what he needed. It didn't matter that John couldn't think of a good reason for the behavior of his friend. After all, it was impossible to read the brilliant genius or understand the way his mind worked. Only Mycroft was able to read his brother - to an extent. Mycroft, who had gifted them with a day at a spa, after Sherlock had solved a mystery of national importance for his brother.

John freely admitted that the spa was fantastic. It was built in the style of Japanese thermal baths, but it also held a large swimming pool, saunas and a Turkish bath. Everything you needed to relax after an exhausting week of chasing after criminals. The chauffeur, who would bring them back to Baker Street in the evening was another plus factor, although they were only one hour away from central London. Yes, everything was perfect and John still felt like Mycroft was just sitting behind his desk - certainly the elder Holmes wouldn't stay at home, just because it was Sunday - and laughing about him. At first, John had assumed that Mycroft had wanted to annoy Sherlock by gifting him with a day at the spa, but considering that Sherlock loved it... Mycroft's plan had to be to embarrass John. Especially as he didn't dare hope that the elder Holmes hadn't noticed how John looked at Sherlock. Mycroft had probably calculated exactly how long John would be able to control his body before... Oh, John gripped at his crotch discretely and sighed in relief when he touched the soft flesh of his penis.

At least, thoughts of Mycroft were good for one thing, John noted with a slight smirk as he could finally leave the swimming pool to go after Sherlock. He just hoped that his friend hadn't angered too many people, while John hadn't been able to function as a buffer between him and the rest of the world.

OOO

"That's so gross!"

"I could never touch something like that!"

John straightened as he stepped into the jacuzzi tub - which was filled with bubbles - and ignored the words of the two young women as he sat down next to Sherlock. He didn't need to be a genius to know what the women were talking about. The scar on his shoulder was more than obvious - tangled up white lines that criss-crossed his skin - and he had learned to live with it. Of course, it had been hard at first, especially because the lines had been even more pronounced right after his return from Afghanistan.

So far, none of his former girlfriends had complained about it. Yes, some had been a little unsure about it - not knowing if they were supposed to touch the scar or not - but they hadn't given John the feeling that he should be ashamed of his scar. That was one reason, why he hadn't balked at the idea of going to the spa with Sherlock, because John wasn't afraid that people were going to stare at him. Not that they didn't stare sometimes, but their looks didn't make him feel self-conscious. So, he was just going to ignore these stupid women and enjoy the warmth of the jacuzzi tub...

"Do you think they are together? They sit so close." John clenched his fists at his side and forced himself not to look at the women. "Nah, do you really think such a gorgeous bloke would want such a damaged man?"

John bit down hard on his lower lip. Couldn't these stupid bitches at least whisper, instead of talking so loudly? He really didn't want to be reminded of one of the many reasons why Sherlock would never even consider to be with him. Oh, not because of a scar - Sherlock was fascinated by scars - but rather because they were right and John was damaged in more than one way. The war had left its traces on him - not only on his body, but also on his mind - and John didn't think that Sherlock would ever want... even if he was interested in this sort of thing... if...

"If I were you," the scathing voice of his friend, cut right through John's thoughts. "I would rather worry about the state of your friendship, considering it's obvious that you," John looked up to see Sherlock pointing at the brunette. "Sleep with your," Sherlock pointed at the blond. "Husband. You aren't wearing identical earrings, because you are such good friends, but because the same man gave them to you as presents. Also, you keep glaring at the wedding ring of your friend, which indicates that you want her husband for yourself, but then you smirk, because you are aware that you already have him in more than one way."

The women stared at Sherlock, before looking at each other and even John could tell from the way, the blonde glared at her friend, that this day would end in a drama for both of them. Usually, John would have told Sherlock to leave them alone. This time though, he smirked gleefully as the women hurried out of the water, glaring daggers at each other and leaving Sherlock and him alone.

For a long time, the only noise was the bubbling of the water around them, before John turned towards his friend. "Thank you for... that was brilliant."

He was rewarded with a lopsided smile, when Sherlock met his eyes. "And I always thought that it's a bit not good when I deduce something so personal about people."

John merely shrugged. "They were real arseholes."

Sherlock just nodded and reached out a hand towards him. Startled, John blinked up at him and flinched back, when long fingers touched the scar tissues on his shoulder. "Christ, Sherlock!"

"Sorry," The hand of his friend still hovered mere inches away from his skin and John felt goose bumps rise all over his body. "Does it still hurt?"

There was genuine concern mirrored in Sherlock's eyes and John realised once more how easy it would be to get lost in them.. He had never seen eyes of such a fascinating shade of blue as Sherlock's. Looked at from the right angle, they even appeared to be green... or grey. But right now, they were the deepest and loveliest shade of blue John had ever seen and... He shook his head to stop himself from daydreaming and also as an answer to Sherlock's question. "No, it doesn't hurt. At least not right now, sometimes... when it's raining for days, then it's a little sore, but otherwise it`s fine."

Sherlock nodded again and John suspected that he had already figured out as much. Hell, his friend probably had a detailed spreadsheet about the circumstances under which John's shoulder gave him the most trouble.

"Then why can't I touch it?"

John managed to smile and sigh at the same time. "Because you can't just touch the scars of people, without asking their permission."

A thoughtful expression flickered over Sherlock's features and John wondered if his friend really had been ignorant about this minor fact or if something else was running through his brilliant mind. Silence stretched between them and John leaned back against the edge of the jacuzzi tub and relaxed into the warm water as he left Sherlock to solve whatever puzzle had caught his attention. John knew from experiences that it was fruitless to continue a conversation, when Sherlock retreated to his Mind Palace. And truthfully, he didn't feel comfortable to continue a conversation about his scar.

So, it was with a start and a minor amount of shock that John's head jerked back up to meet Sherlock`s gaze, when the deep voice of his friend sounded next to him. "May I touch your scar?"

John blinked.

For a second, he believed that Sherlock was pulling his leg, but one glance at the serious expression of his friend taught him otherwise. Obviously, Sherlock had used the past few minutes to consider if touching John's scar was worth a polite question... as Sherlock never asked permission for anything.

A shudder ran down John's body when he imagined how it would feel if these long, warm fingers were to touch his scar. As he knew Sherlock, his friend would trace every angry line - no matter how faded it was - to feel the difference in texture. Afterwards, Sherlock would be able to tell John his whole medical history, concerning the bullet that had pierced his shoulder - starting with how many surgeries he had needed and ending with the list of medicaments he had had to take afterwards. Something prickled in the pit of his stomach at this thought. With only one touch, Sherlock would learn more about John's history - about his pain and suffering - than anyone else. It would be one of the most intimate gestures, John could imagine and if he was honest with himself, he wanted it to happen. He wanted Sherlock to touch his scar, to deduce him, to learn about him and accept John completely... and this was why John shook his head.

"No, you may not."

Sherlock's face fell, but John held onto his resolve. He didn't know if he could survive this day with his dignity intact if he gave Sherlock the impression that it was acceptable to touch him. As John knew his friend, the scar on his shoulder would only be the beginning of a throughout examination of his body and because there wouldn't be any romantic or sexual intention behind it... it would be torture for John. He didn't fancy embarrassing himself at an exclusive spa.

"Why not?" John fought against a smile as Sherlock pouted at him. "I`m not the first one, who has touched it."

John rolled his eyes. "No, the first one was the doctor that stopped the bleeding on the battlefield, then came all the other doctors and nurses, who treated the infection and... No, you certainly wouldn't be the first one to touch it."

John had thought that his sarcastic reply would be enough to steer Sherlock away from the topic, but he wasn't so lucky. Obviously, Sherlock had grown as immune to his sarcasm, as John had grown immune - mostly - to Sherlock's biting remarks. "Don't pretend that only professionals have touched you. I'm sure most of your girlfriends weren't so squeamish as to be put off by a scar."

John sighed inwardly, obviously Sherlock didn't want to let go of this topic. "Well, but you aren't my girlfriend."

Amusement sparkled in Sherlock's eyes at the statement, but instead of leaping into a lecture about the ridiculousness of terms in regard to your significant other, he just directed a lazy smirk at John. "I hope you are aware that I'm never going to be your girlfriend," Sherlock emphasized the first syllables of the word. "I'm too much a man to be considered a woman," he added with a wink.

A blush crept into John's cheeks at these words. The way Sherlock had emphasized his statement, it sounded like... he could almost believe that Sherlock wasn't against entering a relationship with him. But... No, he was reading too much into his friend's words. It was far more realistic that Sherlock was just teasing him and trying to wear John out until he allowed his friend to touch his scar. He wouldn't be successful with this tactic if John had a say in it.

"You could still let me touch it, although I'm not your girlfriend." The amusement was still evident in Sherlock's voice, but it was starting to get on John's nerves. If he hadn't been hopelessly in love with the damn genius, it would have been easy for him to allow Sherlock to touch his scar, but as it was...

"No!"

Sherlock's lower lip trembled in a perfectly calculated way, when he blinked slowly at John. "Please?"

John gritted his teeth and shook his head. If Sherlock didn't stop right away, John would leave and take a cab back home. Mycroft could pay for it, for all that John cared.

"No!"

Sherlock's eyelashes flattered seductively and his lips turned slightly upwards. John had to swallow hard to stand that expression without giving himself away. If only Sherlock were looking at him like that, because he meant it and not just... because he wanted to satisfy his curiosity.

"Why not?"

John forced a glare on his face. "Because you are just my flatmate!"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, John wanted to take them back. Not only because they were so completely untrue, but also for the way Sherlock's face fell. Gone was the playful pout and the brightness of his eyes to be replaced by an expression of raw hurt. It almost choked John to see the pain in Sherlock's eyes and - worse - to know that he was the cause of it. But before he could say anything to sooth his friend, Sherlock's eyes turned to steel and his hurt was masked by an expression of disdain as he regarded John coldly. "In this case, I'm sorry that I overstepped my boundaries, John." Sherlock`s voice was overly polite and cold as he stood up and made to leave the jacuzzi tub. "I should have gathered as much from your statement to Sebastian. My apologies!"

The words hit John like a punch in the gut and he gaped at Sherlock as he climbed out of the water and grabbed his towel before he marched away.

Christ, what had he done?!

John groaned as he leaned back in the jacuzzi tub. Why hadn't he just allowed Sherlock to touch his damned scar? Certainly, he was old enough to control his body, especially when his neither regions were hidden by bubbles of water, wasn't he? John wasn't so sure about that, but even some embarrassment would have been preferable to hurting Sherlock... again. He closed his eyes in despair as he recalled his first encounter with Sebastian Wilkes and how John had denied that he was Sherlock's friend, when the brilliant detective had introduced him as such. And all of it, just because John had been afraid of his own feelings at the time. Really, John thought with a bitter smile, Sherlock would be better off without as terrible a friend as he was.

OOO

"Because you are just my flatmate!"

The words echoed through Sherlock's mind, stabbed at his heart and sent a terrible ache through his whole body with every beat. It was ridiculous that these simple words should hurt him so much. After all, half of the Yarders threw nastier insults at him, whenever they got the chance. Being called someone's flatmate certainly shouldn't be worse than when Sally addressed him with Freak, whenever Sherlock came to a crime scene. Yet, feelings weren't logical - a fact, Sherlock detested - and while he only shrugged when Sally insulted him, John's words... burned away at his heart.

Sherlock took a shuddering breath and barely registered how the hot air burned in his lungs as he mulled over his reaction to John's words once more. It wasn't that John had called him his flatmate that had hurt, but... it was the just. Sherlock smiled bitterly. Such a simple word and yet, it held so much meaning. It implied that there was no other connection between John and himself than 221B. Therefore, if one of them were to leave - rather John than Sherlock - there would be nothing left between them.

Sherlock's fingers dug into the soft flesh of his abdomen to distract himself from the pain that flared up in his chest at the thought. It wouldn't do him any good if he started whimpering while lying on his towel on a wooden bench in the sauna. He didn't want the other patrons in the sauna - mostly men except for two women - to think that he couldn't stand the heat of the sauna and to make him leave. He needed some time to think things through and the sauna was the only quiet place at the spa.

Sherlock shifted a little and stretched his legs out as a burning sensation at his knees reminded him that it wasn't a good idea to keep them bent in the sauna. John would scold him if he saw red marks on his legs and... No, John probably wouldn't say anything. Sherlock snorted inwardly at his own stupidity to even entertain such a notion. John was only ever worried about serious injuries or when Sherlock hadn't eaten for days, because he was a doctor. It wasn't like John truly... cared about him.

Sherlock clenched his eyes shut when his throat constricted painfully at the truth. Moisture was burning behind his closed eyelids, but he didn't allow it to fall, although no one would have been the wiser. Most people were terrible at observing their surroundings and Sherlock should probably be grateful for that. After all, if John had been more observant these past few months, he would have noticed the signs of Sherlock's feelings for him. To Sherlock, his behavior had been quite obvious and had revealed just how much John meant to him - more than a friend.. All this time, he had waited with bated breath for John to pick up on it and - if Sherlock was very positive - tell him that he felt the same.

Stupid!

Sherlock swallowed against the lump in his throat. He would happily believe that the movement was only so hard because of his dry throat and the way his body was covered in sweat, but he wasn't so disenchanted. John had made it clear that he didn't see Sherlock as his friend - he had even told Sebastian as much - and Sherlock had still tried to read more into his kind gestures than was obviously there.

Pathetic!

"Excuse me, Sir!" Sherlock turned his head in the direction of the voice - only a feet away from him - and lifted one eye to regard the young man coldly. He wasn't in the mood for someone hitting on him in the sauna. Sherlock almost said as much, when the stranger spoke again. "You were already in here, when I entered the sauna and I have spent the maximum of fifteen minutes in here by now. It's unwise to stay for longer than fifteen minutes at the sauna."

Sherlock opened his other eye as well and sat up slowly. He didn't have any problems with being naked in front of strangers, but he certainly didn't like lying down while he had a conversation with one. His head started spinning, when he moved and Sherlock realised that it hadn't been his best idea to lie down in the sauna to go through his conversation with John.

"Is there a swimming pool in the naturism area to cool down?" Of course, Sherlock could also go back to the textile area, but the chances that he would meet John there, were significantly higher than if he stayed here. After all, John had made it quite clear that he wasn't going to the sauna with Sherlock - when they had arrived - because he didn't like wandering around naked in front of strangers.

The young man nodded and pointed in one direction. "There is a small swimming pool between some rocks, it almost looks like a small pond and it's perfect to cool down."

Sherlock nodded his thanks and grabbed his towel to leave the sauna - walking carefully, because his head was still spinning with the motion - and was relieved when the young man turned to walk away with his friends in the other direction. He had never been overly fond of someone hitting on him, while he was naked. Certainly not since... Sherlock scoffed at himself, when he climbed down a couple of stairs to the swimming pool. Firstly, he got emotional, because John didn't see him as a friend and now he was even recalling that old story. Really, pathetic!

Sherlock didn't pay the beautiful arrangement of rocks and plants around the swimming pool a second glance. He only noted that no other patrons were in sight, before he threw his towel on a bench and stepped into the water. It was comfortably cold - not freezing at all - and Sherlock sighed with relief as his overheated body was completely surrounded by it. The water only reached up to his chest, but he still took a few strokes to the other side of the swimming pool. Sighing contently, Sherlock put his arms on the edge of the pool and bedded his head on them, allowing his body to relax a little.

He didn't raise his head when footsteps sounded near the pool, nor did Sherlock look up when someone else - a man, judging from his steps - climbed into the water. He kept his eyes closed, forcing himself not to think of John and how hard it would be to meet him after their last conversation, when the movement of the water told him that the stranger was getting to his side of the pool. His body tensed, but Sherlock forced himself to remain calm. It was unlikely that the incident from fifteen years ago would repeat itself. He was irrational.

The movement of the water stopped and Sherlock congratulated himself for remaining calm, when something touched his leg. A second later, the stranger resurfaced just behind Sherlock and gasped for breath. It was one second, before strong arms closed around Sherlock's chest from behind and a straining erection was pressed against his buttocks. One second, in which Sherlock could have punched the man to render him immobile. One second, in which Sherlock didn't do so much as breath as his body froze in remembered horror as stubbly lips were pressed to his ear. "Want to have some fun, Gorgeous?"

A tremor ran through Sherlock's body and he couldn't throw off the wandering hands of the stranger as one went for his cock, while the other wandered to his buttocks. Sherlock knew that he was more than capable of fighting the man off, but his body was paralyzed with terror and the quiet "No" that fell from his lips only gained him a weak chuckle from the stranger. "Don't be a prude, I know that you want it!"

Fingers closed around his limb cock, a hard erection rubbed against his buttocks, a finger pressed against his hole and Sherlock was only able to whimper as the past seemed to repeat itself.

OOO

Where was Sherlock?

John had spent a few minutes in some kind of daze, after his stupid remark to Sherlock, before he had found the courage to leave the jacuzzi tub to start his search. He had been sure that he would find his friend in one of the swimming pools, sulking and in a very bad mood, but that assumption had been proven wrong. Sherlock wasn't in one of the various swimming pools, nor was he on a sun lounger, in the green area - for the first time in his life, John had hoped that Sherlock was smoking outside - or at the restaurant. No, there was no sign of his friend and if John hadn't found Sherlock's locker undisturbed, he would have believed that his friend had ordered the chauffeur to bring him back to Baker Street.

John tore at his hair in frustration and let his eyes wander over the various alcoves, which were designed as hiding places for couples in every swimming pool. He had checked them all, but he hadn't found Sherlock - only four annoyed couples - and John was almost at his wits end.

"You great, fucking idiot!" He muttered and ignored the strange looks some of the other patrons sent him. After all, they didn't know how badly he had just fucked up everything. Instead of leaving the jacuzzi tub and ignoring Sherlock for some time, until his friend realized that touching John's shoulder was out of question, he had... He had basically told Sherlock that there was nothing else between them than 221B.

The image of Sherlock's hurt expression ghosted through his mind's eye and John swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Great, fucking great! There, he had sworn that he would always protect Sherlock - no matter if from murderers or the brilliant genius himself - and then, there John was, hurting his friend worse than anyone else ever had. Christ, this was a mess and John could only blame himself for it. If he had only showed Sherlock what he truly felt for him then... he might have been rejected, but Sherlock would at least have known that his friend loved him. And maybe, only maybe... No, John forbad himself to follow this train of thought. Before he could even allow himself to entertain such fantasies, he had to apologize to Sherlock... and he should better do it fast, before Sherlock had the time to doubt every aspect of their friendship.

Once more, his eyes wandered over the various swimming pools, before they landed on the stairs to the area upstairs and John almost slapped himself for his own stupidity. Of course, John realized, as he hurried to his sun lounger to retrieve his towel and then climbed up the stairs, if Sherlock didn't want to see him, he would be up there. John had made it clear from the start that he wouldn't go to the naturism area and Sherlock had obviously believed that John didn't want to run around naked among strangers. To tell the truth, John didn't have any troubles with shrugging out of his swimming trunks and wrapping the towel around his hips. After his days spent in the army, it wasn't any real hardship for him to be naked in front of strangers. Besides, John didn't think that there was anything wrong with his body - except maybe for the scar on his shoulder. Of course, he wasn't as beautiful as Sherlock... but who was? John pushed that picture of his naked friend back in his mind, before it could affect his body in any obvious ways. That was exactly the reason why he hadn't wanted to go to the naturism area with Sherlock.

John sighed and then tried to decide in which direction he should turn. The naturism area was as large as the area downstairs - with a lot of saunas, steam baths and lounge areas - and John didn't know where to start looking. He couldn't just peek in every sauna at the off chance of finding his friend. No, that wouldn't be well received by the other patrons.

Another sigh and John decided that he would ask some people if they had seen Sherlock. No women, as he didn't want them to think that he was hitting on them and most men weren't that easily alarmed even if they thought that he approached them with second thoughts in mind.

Squaring his shoulders, John went to a group of younger men - in their late twenties, he presumed - and plastered a tight smile on his lips. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you had seen my friend? He is in his thirties, tall, dark curls, pale skin."

John didn't flinch as one of the man regarded him with a disgusted sneer. "If you have lost your plaything, it's not our business, Faggot!"

John narrowed his eyes at him. He didn't care how this idiot insulted him, but no one called Sherlock a plaything to his face. "I asked you if you had seen my friend and you jump to the conclusion that we are a couple right away. If I were you, I would ask myself why you came to that conclusion so fast!" The man bristled and if it hadn`t been for his buddies, John was sure that this would have led to a nice, little fist fight. As it was, they hurried him away, before anything could happen and John was almost disappointed that he hadn't gotten the chance to teach the asshole some manners.

"Excuse me." John turned around to meet the nervous gaze of a stranger. "I couldn't help but overhear your... conversation and I think that I have seen your friend. Your description certainly fits a man, I have seen in the sauna. He was there for about twenty minutes or longer and he had obviously forgotten the time. Therefore I recommended the swimming pool to him, to cool down a little."

Forgotten the time in a sauna... Yes, that definitely sounded like Sherlock. John grimaced at the thought that his friend had pushed his body to its limits once more. He just hoped that he hadn't passed out somewhere after leaving the sauna. "Where is the swimming pool, you recommended to him?" After being shown into the general direction, John threw a short "Thank you." over his shoulder and hurried off.

The swimming pool was fairly easy to find and John breathed a sigh of relief, when he spotted Sherlock at the other end of the swimming pool. The relief was short lived though as John watched how another man approached his friend from behind. Anger welled up in John as the stranger slung his arms around Sherlock and pressed his body to the backside of his friend.

How dare he?!

John clenched his fists at his side and was barely able to keep himself from jumping into the water right away. Sherlock wouldn't thank John for finding him in such a position, especially when his friend was more than capable of throwing that bastard off and...

"Don't be such a prude, I know that you want it!"

John bristled at the words of the stranger, but it was the low whimper from Sherlock that got him moving. He didn't know why his friend wasn't fighting back against this bastard, but it was obvious that Sherlock didn't want the man's attention and John wouldn't stand by and watch his friend being molested by some stupid wanker.

"HEY!" The voice that had kept recruits in line and made his fellow soldiers respect him, was still effective as the stranger flinched and backed away from Sherlock. Throwing his towel to the ground, John jumped into the water and crossed the swimming pool with a few long strokes. "What do you think, you are doing?" John's words were a low growl as pressed his arm to the chest of the stranger and pushed him against the edge of the pool.

"I... it was consensual, we were just..."

"Don't. Fuck. With. Me!" John hissed and moved his arm up higher to press against the larynx of the man, whose eyes widened in fear. Good, hopefully he would piss himself for what he had done to Sherlock. John glanced at his friend, who was still leaning against the edge of the pool - faint tremors running through his thin frame - without even looking at them. A cold fist closed around John's insides and he increased the pressure against the man's larynx. The stranger coughed, but John just glared coldly at him. "What did you do to him?"

Sherlock had never been that thrown by a physical assault and John couldn't remember a time, when his friend hadn't fought back against an attacker. Rationally, John knew that the bastard hadn't had much time to do anything, but still...

"I... touched him." The voice of the man was rather strained, but John didn't even think of loosening his hold on the man.

"Where?" It was barely a snarl and the man winced when John`s fingernails dug into his skin.

"His... cock and... behind... please, I didn't mean to... let me go..."

For a second, John felt like crushing the larynx of the bastard with a simple movement of his fingers - army training was rather handy - and leaving it to Mycroft to sort out the mess. He was quite certain that Sherlock's brother would happily cover a murder, if he got to know that the victim had been about to... rape his little brother. And it was this thought, that made John let go of the man and swing his arm back in a furious motion. The cracking of bones - zygomatic bone and nasal bone, the doctor in him supplied - was music to John's ears as was the suppressed scream of the bastard. John grabbed his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "If you ever get near him again, you won't survive it. I'm a doctor, I know how to cause maximum pain, without killing you right away. Are we clear?!"

The bastard squeaked something in agreement and John shoved him away. He only waited until he was out of the water and stumbled away from the swimming pool, before he turned back to Sherlock. His friend was staring at him - eyes wide and lips trembling - and John did the only thing, he could think of... he crossed the remaining inches between them and enfolded Sherlock in his arms.

OOO

He was trembling.

Sherlock took a shaky breath and tried to force his body into stillness, but it was to no avail. If possible, the trembling grew even worse and Sherlock cursed his transport for its traitorous behavior. After all, there was no logical reason for such a humiliating act like trembling, now that John was here.

John!

Sherlock pressed his nose into the crook of John's shoulder and inhaled deeply. The scents of chlorine and fresh sweat enfolded him, underlined by the unique and comforting scent of John.

John, who had saved him once more. John, who was holding him close and rubbing soothing circles on his back. John, who... had seen him at his most pathetic. A chocked breath - it wasn't a sob - escaped Sherlock's lips and warm hands tightened on his back. "It's alright, Sherlock. I have got you, that bastard won't hurt you anymore."

Oh God, John thought that Sherlock couldn't even protect himself, that he was... weak!

Sherlock pressed his eyes shut and cursed himself, even as he slung his arms around John's waist to hold him close.

Of course, John thought that he was weak, Sherlock reminded himself bitterly. What else would he think, after Sherlock hadn't even been able to fight of a random stranger? He shouldn't have had any trouble with punching the man in his stupid face and teach him a lesson. Instead, Sherlock hadn't even found the strength to scream for help. He had just stood there and allowed that bastard to... A violent shudder ran down his spine. Sherlock could still feel where the stranger had touched him, where his hand had closed around his penis and where his finger had pressed into...

"Shh, Sherlock, breathe! Calm down! Breathe!" John's arms let go of his back and suddenly Sherlock was face to face with his friend, who cupped his cheeks in his hands. Worry was mirrored clearly in his eyes. Worry and... anger. Anger at the stranger, who had attacked Sherlock. But no pity or disgust. A slow breath was squeezed out of his lungs and some part of Sherlock noted that he must have started hyperventilating at some point, when his head became a little clearer. He took another careful breath and held it in, before letting go of it and John gifted Sherlock with a quivering smile for his efforts. "See, that's better."

Sherlock nodded and averted his eyes. Even if John didn't pity him, Sherlock was certain that the questions would start soon. John knew that Sherlock was more than capable of holding his own in a fight and he would want to know what had been different this time. And Sherlock didn't know if he could reveal...

"Are you... how do you feel?"

Sherlock scoffed at the question and shrugged. Honestly, he didn't even know how he was feeling right now or what he was supposed to feel. His mind - which had never betrayed him before - was caught in a whirlwind of emotions and Sherlock hated it. Certainly, it wasn't appropriate to feel so... raw after a minor sexual assault, right? Especially, as it wasn't the first time that it had happened. Sherlock clenched his fists at his side and tried to push these particular memories away to where they belonged - in a dark room in the cellar of his Mind Palace - as deleting them had never been possible. One should think that a man of thirty-two wasn't as affected by a few touches as a seventeen year old boy, but obviously Sherlock was still as pathetic as he had been when...

"Hey," John's tender, but worried voice, brought Sherlock back to the present. "Don't retreat in your mind, now. Talk to me, please."

It took all of Sherlock's willpower, but in the end, he could plaster a sneer on his face and meet John's eyes with a cold glare. "What's there to talk about, John?! I was sexually assaulted, you saved me - just like you always do - and it's over now. No need to have a heart-to-heart talk, especially since it was neither the first time nor should you worry about it, seeing that you are just my flatmate!"

John visibly flinched, but he neither moved away from Sherlock nor returned his glare with one of his own. If there was one word to describe John's facial expression right now it would be... sadness.

Sherlock gulped. He didn't want John to be sad - even after he had made it clear that he didn't see him as a friend - but he also didn't want John to pretend that he cared for him. It was one thing if John patched him back together after a fight with a criminal - that was purely physical - but if he started to comfort Sherlock now and then stopped when he thought his duty was done... that would be unbearable.

"I`m sorry."

Sherlock blinked.

John didn't look sad anymore, but fairly miserable, rather like he was going to retch at any second now. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What are you sorry for? You were here in time and you aren't responsible for the actions of some sick pervert."

Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say, as John's expression fell even farther and he bit down on his lower lip. A sure sign that he was nervous and - or - uncomfortable. Sherlock wasn't sure which one it was or what could have brought either feeling on. But it was certainly better to analyze John's emotions than to concentrate on his own. Therefore, Sherlock didn't really mind that John's mood was a mystery to him for the time being. Maybe, John was...

"I'm sorry for telling you that you were just my flatmate, you git."

A thick lump formed in Sherlock's throat and he had to swallow a few times, before he trusted his voice again to risk a reply. "You don't have to say that, John. I know that I'm hard to live with and almost impossible to like and if you..."

"Stop it!"

There was anger in John's voice, which stood in stark contrast to the glistening moisture in his clear, blue eyes as he gazed up at Sherlock. "Yes, you are hard to live with, but I enjoy living with you and I... I like you, you idiot. You are my friend and what I said back then was... absolutely stupid of me to say, since it wasn't true. There was never anything that was less true than that I see you as just a flatmate. Sherlock, you are," John licked his lips nervously and Sherlock felt his own heart rate increase as he waited with bated breath for the end of the sentence. "You are never a just. Not to me. Never."

A hitched breath rushed past Sherlock's lips as he scanned John's face for any signs of deceitfulness, but found none. Every evidence pointed to the fact that John was telling the truth. From the anxious biting of his lips, to his straight posture - ready to fight for Sherlock to believe him - and the open look in his eyes. John meant it, he considered himself to be Sherlock's friend and Sherlock had been stupid for rushing off after one angry remark from him. Stupid emotions!

"Fine, but if you didn't mean it, why did you say it, then?"

This time, John closed his eyes as if searching for strength in a hidden place of his mind. Sherlock knew that expression and he had come to hate it, as John always wore it, whenever he went out on the first date with a new girlfriend. But there was no girlfriend present at the moment, his mind pointed out to Sherlock, but he ignored it. No reason to get up his hopes and become greedy, just because John had made their friendship official. It was impossible that John would ever consider him as more than a friend. Sherlock should be thankful for what he had gotten and be content with it.

"I didn't want you to touch my scar."

Sherlock frowned at that statement. "Obviously, I gathered that much from your behavior."

An exasperated sigh escaped John and Sherlock's lips quirked up in the illusion of a smile. It was the same sigh, he always got to hear, whenever John found new body parts in the fridge. "I didn't want you to touch it, because I was afraid of how I would react if you did."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side at this cryptically statement that could mean quite a lot of things. "Were you afraid to get a flashback?"

Another sigh - this time deeper - and John shook his head. "No, that wasn't it... it was... Oh to hell with it!" Sherlock yelped in surprise as John's arms closed around him once more and drew him close against the warm body of his friend. "Feel free to punch or drown me, if you don't like it!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to question John's actions, but he didn't get the time to voice them as determined lips sealed his own. A gasp escaped Sherlock, even as his eyes fluttered close and his arms came around John of their own accord. Drowning John wasn't even an option as Sherlock returned the kiss cautiously.