Title: The Detective and the Artist

Summary: Sherlock has a secret. One that he has successfully kept from everyone in his life (including Mycroft). This secret just happens to stand 5'3 and works as an artist/bartender. But what happens when someone stumbles onto Sherlock's little secret?

Rating: Rated 'M' …cause you'll see why

This chapter is dedicated to therednecklace as they are the one that said 'go for it!' but I warn you dear…everything is not as it seems in this story…word of warning for future reference…lots of little plot bunnies throwing their stuffing around in this story…

Oh this story completely ignores season three since I missed episodes 2&3 because I had to work (I hate overnights!) so the only thing from that season I will be using is the explanation on how he survived the fall… that is all.

Prologue

"Caught"

"When I get in there I'm going to kick his arse." Lestrade grumbled to John who merely shrugged. "I mean it's only 5 and the git wont answer his phone!"

"Greg he might have fallen asleep." John explained always one to stick out his neck for a friend. "John it's five in the afternoon and he hasn't left the flat in at least two weeks…You know it will be bad."

John nodded knowing what the Detective Inspector was implying. "You think he's relapsed…"

Greg sighed before giving a nod. "I know you don't want to hear it but these signs are a bit not good alright? This is generally the stuff we look out for before we do a drugs bust…so just prepare for the worst alright?"

John and Greg silently walked up the stairs, skipping over the one that creaked trying not to alert the detective inside the flat of their presence. John held a finger to his lips as he quietly slipped his key in the lock and opened the door only to stop in confusion.

"John what is…what the hell?"

Lying on the couch in his blue robe was Sherlock. His face relaxed in sleep. But what really surprised the two was the small man lying across his chest, all curled up and also asleep.

"Who the hell is that?" John forgot to whisper making the two jolt up in surprise.

"What are you doing here?!" Sherlock exclaimed making the small and mysterious person frown. "Well I guess secrets out of the bag now… to be clear I didn't do it." He said as he got to his feet and stretched languorously. "Who wants tea?" he asked before moving into the kitchen very much aware of the stares he was drawing.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John."

"He has very colorful hair…"

Sherlock made a show of leaning back to look into the kitchen "yes he does." He finally said ignoring the fact that the person he was just curled up on the couch with had longish hair with streaks of blue, green, pink, purple, red, and yellow stripes which made a bold statement. John started to say something before closing his mouth with a shake of the head. "Now do either of you want tea?"

John and Greg sat across from the couch where Sherlock sat down and the mystery person had his legs thrown over Sherlock's lap. Both were sipping tea as if nothing unusual has happened.

"Okay I have to ask…Sherlock who the hell is he?" Greg finally broke down and asked making him smirk.

"His name is Ciaran Mac Amhlaoibh and…well he's my husband…don't tell Mycroft." Sherlock said as both of them spit out their tea and 'Ciaran' laughed. "See I told you, you should have introduced me earlier." He laughed and handed them some napkins.

John looked highly confused. "I don't understand…how long have you two been married?" He asked making Sherlock grimace. "Go ahead Sherl…tell them." Ciaran's eyes pierced the detectives giving Lestrade the impression that this was the only person in the world that Sherlock was afraid of.

"Well John…Ciaran and I have been married…going on two years now… but been together for six years before that."

John stared at the detective. "Wait I've known you for five years…"

"Well done John you can count…OW!" The detective cried when his husband thwacked him upside the head. "Don't be smart." Ciaran smiled before turning back to John.

"Why don't we know about you?" John asked Ciaran looking a little hurt. "Love do you want to start at the beginning while I go get dressed?" the Irish man asked as he left the comfort of his husbands lap to wander into Sherlock's (their?) bedroom.

A/N aright folks

Okay I had to…Ciaran broken down is Ciar- 'Dark' and the diminutive –in it means little dark one… pronounced 'keer +awn' Or 'Keer+in" (like Kieran)

As always I love for people to write things down in that little box at the bottom and fill it with just about what ever pops into their minds…hopefully all good stuff : D

Thank you for reading the next chapter will be up…eventually…I really have to get my laptop from my sister's house so I can actually write more than one chapter at a time…

Anyways

Lots of Love

Salcone Destrivina