Author Notes: This story will have two chapters and I hope that I will be able to post the second on in the next couple of weeks. Let me know how you like this chapter. :)

Appreciation: A huge thank you goes to my wonderful beta-reader, Tstui1gos. She did a fantastic work with this chapter.

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains transphobia and transphobic language. If this triggers you, don't read on.

It can always get worse

John opened the front door of 221 as quietly as possible and stepped inside. He threw an anxious glance at the door of 221A but Mrs. Hudson didn't make an appearance and John heaved a sigh of relief. Quietly, he hurried up the stairs to Sherlock's and his flat before Mrs. Hudson could get alerted to his presence. He loved their landlady like a mother - more than he had ever loved his own mother everything considered - but he wouldn't be able to handle her worried questions tonight. And she would have been worried if she had laid eyes on John. It didn't need a genius to figure out that something had gone horrible wrong. John's hair was a mess, his shirt was buttoned askew, his belt was absent and his expression resembled that of someone who had been kneed in his guts several times. At least that's how John felt as he made his way up the stairs.

Maybe he was lucky and Sherlock was in bed already or so immersed in an experiment that he didn't notice John's arrival or at least didn't pay him any attention. John could do without having his terrible evening deduced before he had even had the chance to calm his nerves with a decent cup of tea... or better yet a bottle of whisky. Something to wash away the feeling of utter wrongness that was clawing at his insides since his disastrous date with Jane.

"Do you want to come up for a coffee?" John chuckled at Jane's question as she winked at him and nodded in agreement.

They had gone out four times by now and although John couldn't imagine a serious relationship with Jane - she was too superficial for his tastes - he wouldn't deny himself a night of sweaty, glorious sex when it was offered to him. His last time with anyone had been ages ago and his last time with a woman... John believed it had taken place a couple of weeks before Sherlock's faked suicide. So it had been about four years since he had been with a woman and over a year since he had been with a man. John frowned slightly at this discovery as he followed Jane up the stairs to her flat. He couldn't recall a time when he had gone for so long without sex before by choice. His time in Afghanistan had been a different matter altogether and back then his forced abstinence had bothered him. This time around though he had barely given a thought to his lack of sex.

John sighed inwardly while he waited for Jane to find the keys in her handbag. He could excuse his decreasing interest in sex with his age or... he could be honest with himself and admit that he didn't need it when he was with Sherlock. Alright sex was still great - most of the time - but it couldn't hold a candle to chasing after criminals at the side of his best friend. Especially not when John found himself deeply in love with said best friend. The worst decision his heart could have ever made considering that Sherlock didn't return his feelings. Still what he already had was enough. John loved the life he led now and he even caught himself imagining Sherlock and himself as old men in the countryside sometimes. He was more than happy to stay with his best friend forever.

Nevertheless, after one too many cutting remarks from Sherlock about John's non-existent private life John had gladly chatted Jane up at the next pub. It was pure defiance John admitted guiltily to himself when Jane finally managed to open the door and winked at him over her shoulder. Still it couldn't hurt to enjoy a night with a beautiful woman and deal with his feelings tomorrow, right? Squaring his shoulders John followed Jane into the flat and closed the door behind him.

OOO

"Take this off! I need to see you! Please!"

John grinned down at Jane who was completely naked before his appreciating gaze and complied. He couldn't remember the last time someone had been so eager to get his clothes off. Someone who... knew. Not that his former lovers - especially his long-term boy-or girlfriends - hadn't wanted to see him naked. Nevertheless he couldn't remember them clawing at his clothes until he finally got them off.

John threw his belt away and sat up to strip his trousers and pants off before he crawled back to Jane. Her eyes were roaming over his body and John felt arousal pool low between his legs when she licked her lips in obvious hunger.

"You're so perfect," she whispered hoarsely and John groaned when she traced one finger from his chest to his crotch and stroked between his curls.

"And you," John groaned in delighted surprise. It was rare that a new lover didn't need some time to get used to the idea that a man didn't necessarily have a penis - even though John always told them before things got serious. Jane's enthusiasm was a welcome surprise. More than welcome John mused when she circled his hole with her fingers.

"It's been so long," she murmured and John was just about to reassure her that this was fine when she continued. "So long since I have been with a woman. My family is against it but with you... they wouldn't notice and it would be perfect. It's a shame about your breasts

but..."

"I'm a man," John rasped out as he grasped her wrist and shoved her away from him. "I'm not a woman. I told you..."

"That you live as a man, yes." Jane rolled her eyes at him and reached for John again who tumbled of the bed in his haste to get away from her. "I don't mind that. If everyone thinks you are a man it makes it much easier for us. Only we have to know the truth."

"The truth," John pressed out through clenched teeth as he scrambled around for his clothes and put them back on as fast as possible. "The truth is that I'm a man. I don't pretend to be a man. I'm a man and it doesn't make me less of a man that I don't have a penis."

"Yes, it does." John didn't look at Jane as he grabbed his wallet and keys from the nightstand, lest he slap her. "You are a woman. Either admit it or get a surgery, you..."

John didn't hear the rest of her angry tirade when he fled from the flat and hailed a cab back to Bakerstreet. He barely held himself together on the ride back home.

John took a shaking breath as Jane's words echoed through his mind before he could push the memory away. He had been faced with cruel jokes, rejection and incomprehension before but none of his dates had ever gone as wrong as today's date. Either the men and women had accepted that John was transgender or they had rejected him right away. None of them... none of them had insulted John while he was in bed with them. And that was what made Jane's parting words so much more cutting than the insults of other people. He had been naked and vulnerable before her eyes and she had reduced him to his genitals. As if he couldn't be a man, without a penis. As if his whole life -all his accomplishments - didn't matter because he... missed something. And actually he didn't... No, John didn't miss a penis per se. He had never felt the need to get his genitals readjusted otherwise he would have found himself a specialist years ago. Still it was hard to dismiss Jane's words so easily. Of course John knew that she was wrong but the knowledge didn't help with the sick feeling in his stomach or the way his skin crawled whenever he recalled her words.

Get a grip, Watson, John told himself sternly when he noticed the tremor in his left hand as he reached for the door handle. He didn't want Sherlock to deduce how much Jane's cruelty had affected him because... John already hated himself for his weakness and he didn't want his friend to see it and think less of him for it. Squaring his shoulders John entered the flat and sighed in resignation when he found his brilliant flatmate sprawled on the couch. Too much to ask for a chance to get to his room without being deduced, John thought bitterly when he noticed how Sherlock's analyzing gaze swept over him.

"Your date didn't go well." John snorted at the understatement of the century but merely shrugged in reply. Maybe Sherlock would take a hint and leave him alone. John glanced at his friend who's eyes sparkled with interest and buried this hope before it could even take root.

"You went home with her. You even got undressed indicating that you hoped to have sex with her but something went wrong." Sherlock sat up on the couch and narrowed his eyes at John. "You were in a hurry to get away from her. You even forget your belt so what..."

"Sherlock, leave it!" John glared at his friend on his way to the stairs. He didn't want to review every part of his disastrous evening. He only wanted to be left alone to lick his wounds. Nevertheless it was to his great surprise when Sherlock laid back down with an annoyed huff and stopped his deductions. John could barely believe his luck... until Sherlock deemed it necessary to open his mouth again. "If I'm not allowed some reprieve from my boredom you can at least make tea."

John stopped with his left foot on the first step of the stairs and frowned at his friend. "Excuse me, why should I make you tea? You are perfectly capable of making tea yourself... although I have never seen you actually preparing tea."

"That's because it's your duty," Sherlock drawled and lay back on the couch. "Just like doing the shopping and cleaning the flat. I could do it but since you are here..."

"Don't treat me like a housewife!" John watched with grim satisfaction as Sherlock almost fell from the couch at his enraged shout. For years, he had believed that Sherlock didn't care that John was transgender because he had never once mentioned it. He had allowed himself the illusion that Sherlock accepted him the way he was and appreciated his help as a doctor, soldier and friend but... obviously he had been wrong. Obviously, Sherlock didn't accept him as a man if he reduced John to a housewife in his mind.

John didn't take a second to notice the flaws in his logic as he turned around and all but shouted at his stunned best friend. "I can't help it if you are a prejudiced prick and think that women should do all the household chores but for the record: I. Am. Not. A. Woman!"

With that John stormed to his room and ignored Sherlock's bewildered protests as he

slammed the door shut and locked it - just to be safe - before he collapsed face down on his bed and hide his face in the pillow as angry tears ran down his cheeks.

OOO

"John!" Sherlock spoke in the direction of the staircase after the click of the lock sounded through the flat. Desperation and confusion colored the name of his friend but Sherlock didn't bother to mask either sentiment. It wasn't as if John heard him and besides Sherlock was completely at his wits' end. His friend's reaction had been utterly unexpected and - as far as Sherlock was concerned - lacked any logic whatsoever. Usually he could predict which actions and insults would make John angry but this time Sherlock hadn't tried to rile his friend up. Quite the contrary he had kept his deductions to himself in an effort to respect John's wishes. Maybe it hadn't been his most clever move to ask John to prepare them tea but really... Sherlock had only wanted his friend to sit down with him for a bit and relax. Granted the gesture would have gone over better if Sherlock had prepared the tea for them himself but... he never made tea. Usually that wasn't too big a problem for John but... this evening it had been different.

Sherlock sighed and steepled his fingers under his chin as he lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. He hated it when he couldn't figure out his best friend. Most of the time it was fun how unpredictable John was as long as Sherlock could see at least some kind of logic behind his actions but this time...

A muffled sound echoed from upstairs and Sherlock had to force himself to stay put on the couch instead of going up to check on his friend. He knew these kind of sounds. Distressed cries and screams that sounded from John's room whenever his friend had woken up from one of his more violent nightmares. This time though John's distress wasn't caused by his subconscious but by the events of this very evening and Sherlock feared that he was partly to blame for John's state of mind. And that after Sherlock had sworn to himself that he would never cause his best friend any pain again. Not after the grief he had put John through when he had faked his own suicide. He had even been prepared to step aside for any lover John might choose to spend his life with but as his friend seemed more than content to stay with him...

Sherlock shook his head to chase the hope away that arose at the notion that he might be enough for his friend. John had never made a move that indicated that he felt a deeper connection than friendship to Sherlock. Besides his latest date proved that John wasn't completely content with living with Sherlock - he definitely missed the sex - and that... led Sherlock back to the original problem.

Concentrate on the facts, Sherlock told himself as he wrestled with the sentiment that threatened to cloud his mind. What do you know about John's evening? He had had a date with a woman - fourth date but nothing really serious on his part. The date had gone well until they had gone to her place - sex was on the menu but something had gone wrong.

Sherlock pinched his nose with his fingers as he tried to figure out what had put John to flight. Not the woman's looks - John wouldn't react like this even if she had hidden some horrible secret under her clothes. No, that wasn't it. So maybe... When does John feel the need to get away from someone, the annoying voice of his brother echoed through Sherlock's mind.

"When he is angry or hurt and fears that his temper will get the better of him if he doesn't get away." The words were unbearable loud in the otherwise quiet flat but they made sense. So, the woman had hurt John - verbally since there was no proof of physical injuries - and John had become upset by whatever she had said to him. But what could a stupid, boring woman say to John that hit him so hard?

"I. Am. Not. A. Woman!"

The words flew through Sherlock's Mind Palace and he frowned slightly at how important they seemed although they merely stated the obvious. John wasn't a woman. Obviously, but... his date had been a closeted lesbian - Sherlock had deduced that when he had followed his friend to their first date. So, had she wanted to play a role game and had wanted John to act like a woman? The idea felt close to the truth but not completely right just yet.

"Maybe you should ask yourself why a woman with such preferences would even date the dear Doctor?"

Sherlock growled at the manifestation of his brother in his mind but followed his advice. This woman knew that she was homosexual but she was too afraid to disappoint her family to date another woman. From what Sherlock had gathered she also didn't have sex with men, she only dated them to avoid raising suspicions. So, why would she even take John home with her? Had she wanted to give it a try with a man? No, Sherlock shook his head at the idea. If that had been the case and she had freaked out during the act John wouldn't have taken it personally. He would have stayed to comfort her and probably told her stories about his sister.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. This whole incident made less sense the more he thought about it. John coming home upset and accusing Sherlock of treating him like a woman and insisting that he wasn't one after a lesbian had wanted to have sex with him and hurt his feeling in the process... Oh!

Sherlock sat up with a gasp as the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place. "Took you long enough, nearly five years," his brother's voice mocked him but Sherlock shut him out as he searched his Mind Palace for additional evidence to support his theory. It was easy to find once he knew what to look for. Tiny snippets of his life with John which added up to a much greater picture and explained the behavior of his friend this evening.

"How could you not see it sooner?" Mycroft laughed from behind his desk in his Mind Palace and Sherlock just shrugged in reply.

"It didn't matter to me... it still doesn't," he spoke to the empty room and then got up from the couch to convince John of this sentiment.

OOO

Someone was in his room. John's eyes snapped open as all his senses came awake at once. He tried to keep his breathing even to lure the intruder into a false sense of security.

"I know that you are awake, John. It's rather obvious from the change in your breathing pattern... to me at least."

"Sherlock," John groaned, annoyed that his sleep had been interrupted once more by the crazy genius. He was just about to relax back into the pillows and demand that Sherlock leave at once when the memories of the last evening came back to him in a rush and his whole body stiffened in response.

Anger, hurt and embarrassment fought a battle in his mind as Sherlock crossed over to his window and drew the curtains aside before he sat down on the edge of John's bed. Part of the anger vanished when Sherlock stayed quiet instead of needling John to speak. Hurt and embarrassment remained in equal parts as John recalled exactly how the last evening had gone. Hurt at Jane's words and Sherlock's behavior towards him and embarrassment for overreacting when Sherlock hadn't treated him any differently than he normally did. But that was the whole point, John mused to himself. Sherlock had always expected John to do all the household chores. Not that it had bothered him before - not more than it would bother anyone else to scrub the remains of an exploded liver from the floor. Now though he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had treated him the same way if...

"Before you jump to any silly conclusions it would be better to talk to me." Sherlock's voice broke the silence and John sighed in annoyance. "Because you are the only one who comes to the right conclusions?!" Ah, the anger was back - partly at least. That was good. John could deal better with anger than with any of the other emotions that flooded his mind.

"No." Sherlock had the nerve to remain completely calm as he met John's eyes in the twilight of the room - brightened only by the light of a streetlamp. "But you are biased and you will come to the wrong conclusions like you did before."

"And which - pray tell, genius - conclusions were so wrong that you broke into my room in the middle of the night just to convince me of your superiority?"

Sherlock visibly flinched at John's angry tone but he stayed where he was and his voice was as calm and businesslike as ever when he spoke. "You accused me of treating you like a woman. That's not true. For one thing I don't treat women very differently from men... at least not in the sense you meant. I don't think that women have to keep house and look after the children or some other nonsense that you were referring to."

"And what about Molly?" John sat up against the headboard and glared at Sherlock. "You flirt with her and then you expect her to do as you say without questioning you." And that's also exactly how you treat me, John thought but didn't add aloud. His skin crawled at the newest proof of how Sherlock obviously thought of him.

"I flirt with witnesses of both gender if I think it gets the desired results. And when did I ever tell anyone why they need to do something for me?"

The last question tore a laughter from John's lips. "You tell me... sometimes."

Even in the semi-darkness of the room John noticed how Sherlock's features softened as his friend nodded at him. "Yes because you are my friend... my best friend. That's why... our friendship isn't a game to me and I... I apologize if you feel like I didn't appreciate your efforts to keep the flat habitable. We can pay someone to clean if you think..."

"Now hold on." John blinked in surprise when Sherlock actually clapped his mouth shut at his order. Usually it was impossible to interrupt Sherlock mid-sentence but if he was willing to listen to John just for once he wouldn't complain.

John ran shaking fingers through his hair as he put his thoughts into words. "I understand what you are trying to tell me but," John bit down on his lip and glanced at the covers. "It's not exactly about household chores. I'm not sure how you see me anymore." John didn't dare to meet Sherlock's gaze as he waited for an answer with bated breath. If anything his friend was brutally honest and John didn't know if he could handle that tonight. Not after Jane's insults and the quicksand of emotions he had waded through in the last few hours. If Sherlock was to tell him that he had only humored John all this time but had never accepted him as a man then... John didn't know what he would do. Lashing out in anger probably... before crumbling to pieces in his bed.

The insight brought a bitter smile to his lips. He had broken ties with his family when he had been old enough to move out and he had fought since then to become the man he was now. He had lost friends when he had come out as transgender. He had fought with his health insurance to cover his top surgery. He had been to three endocrinologists until he had finally found one who didn't condemn him for who he was. Endless nights spent crying himself to sleep when it had all become too much. And then... the army. A place where John had been - in defiance of what most people had told him - completely accepted for the first time in his life. Of course not all the men had known that John was transgender but his commanders had known - it was in his files after all - and they had treated him like all the other men. No discussions about separating him from his comrades or any other nonsense. The army had even paid for John's hormones. Everything had been perfect for once in his life and then... a bullet had ripped his happiness to pieces. He had been alone once more but this time with the added bitterness of feeling useless. Until Sherlock had come into his life. The most brilliant man John had ever met. He had deduced John's whole life and yet he hadn't mentioned John's gender identity once. It had been too great to believe at first. Someone who didn't ask questions but just accepted him and treated him like the man he was. It would be a cruel twist of fate if the man who had given John a new purpose in life would also be the one to break him. When he had endured everything else that life had thrown his way. Nevertheless John couldn't imagine how he would survive such a blow. He wasn't sure if he wanted to survive it.

"You are," Sherlock spoke slowly and John grabbed two fistfuls of the covers to conceal the shaking of his hands. "My blogger and colleague, my doctor and first and foremost my friend. The bravest, wisest and most patient man I have ever had the fortune to meet."

John's head jerked up at the last part but there was no mockery in Sherlock's eyes as he met John's searching ones. The blue-grey eyes of his friend were as open as John had ever seen them and they didn't show anything besides honesty and a deep understanding. John took a deep breath and forced his racing heart to slow down. He allowed himself to believe that Sherlock had always seen him as who he was. With this realisation came regret and John ducked his head as heat flushed his cheeks. "I'm sorry for behaving like such a prick. I shouldn't have doubted you just because Jane..."

"Is a transphobic cow who doesn't understand that other people have to fight for the life they want to lead because she is too afraid to fight!"

John's mouth opened on reflex to defend his latest date - he had never allowed his mates to insult someone he had dated - but then closed it again with a snap when he admitted how spot on Sherlock's deductions were. Besides there was no actual reason why he should defend a woman who had insulted him like no other.

"So you deduced why I was... angry?" John prayed to a God he didn't believe in that Sherlock wouldn't point out that he had been far beyond angry. He didn't fancy reliving this part of the evening or to remember in too many details how he had overreacted when Sherlock had just been... Sherlock.

Either his friend had become a mind reader - which was within the realms of possibility - or he didn't deem John's display of feelings worth discussing - even more likely because Sherlock skipped directly to the heart of the matter. "After I pieced together that you are transgender it was fairly easy to..."

"Wait a second!" John held up his hand to go over his friend's words in his head. He couldn't have heard correctly, could he? There was no chance that Sherlock had only just now figured out that John was transgender, was there? "You mean to tell me that you didn't know..."

The faint blush that colored Sherlock's pale cheeks proved - against all odds - that John's suspicion was correct. Usually his friend didn't blush - not even when he was lying like a professional. The few times John had witnessed a faint color spreading over Sherlock's features John had either praised Sherlock for an especially brilliant deduction or his friend had been forced to admit that he hadn't noticed an important detail. Like every other time John was mesmerized by the way the color highlighted Sherlock's cheekbones and made him appear even more otherworldly than usual. If only he were allowed to trace the lines of Sherlock's face with his fingers and chase his blush until... But no, he had to concentrate on more important matters than his own, silly fantasies. "How can it be that you didn't...?"

"Because it wasn't important," Sherlock snapped at him and if John hadn't been used to how defensive his friend got when he had gotten something wrong he would have taken offence at his tone. As it was he merely raised an inquiring eyebrow and waited. "I noticed everything important about you right away. You're loyal, a good shot and a great doctor. You have got a temper and you love to rush headlong into dangerous situations. Of course I learned more about you while we lived together but... I never saw the need to question the most obvious fact about you."

"Which is?" John prompted when Sherlock faltered in his little speech.

Their eyes met and a small smile ghosted around Sherlock's lips as he replied quietly. "You're a man. It's obvious so why should I look deeper into the matter of your gender identity?" Sherlock shook his head and continued while John couldn't do more than stare at his friend in astonishment. "There was no need for it and even though I know it now it's still... I don't see the importance of what was written on your birth certificate. Of course," Sherlock continued, before John could interrupt at this point. "It's of importance to you. I see now that it wasn't easy for you to become who you are but... You are John, now. And you are my friend... My best friend."

John gulped down humiliating tears that threatened to spill over at Sherlock's honest and heartfelt declaration. He couldn't remember anyone who had ever reacted quite like this at finding out that he was transgender. Even Mike who had never judged him had still needed some time to wrap his head around the whole concept. Somehow it probably shouldn't surprise John that Sherlock reacted like no one else ever had. He was Sherlock after all. Unique and brilliant. The man John had fallen in love with years ago and maybe there was a chance that his friend returned his feelings after all.

John ignored the part of his brain that cautioned him to take it slowly as he scrambled to his knees and leaned towards Sherlock. The press of lips on lips felt like the first drop of water after a day on patrol in Afghanistan. John savoured the feeling of Sherlock's plush lips against his own and a relieved sigh escaped him when Sherlock returned the kiss tentatively. John's eyes closed of their own accord as he brought one hand up to tangle in messy curls and slung the other one around Sherlock's waist as he deepened the kiss. At least it had been his intention to deepen it when Sherlock turned his head away and shook John's hands off him.

"What..." John started but the desperate look in Sherlock's eyes as he met his gaze stopped him.

"I can't, John," Sherlock whispered and dropped his gaze to the floor. "I just can't. I'm sorry."

The words felt like a bucket of cold water and left John shaking and with a lump in his throat, as he realised that Sherlock might not be as different from most people as John would have hoped.

OOO

That hadn't gone as planned. Sherlock resisted the urge to bring his hand up to his still tingling lips and touch his fingers to the place where John's lips had rested just seconds ago. It would look pathetic and Sherlock didn't want to look anything but calm and collected when he had The Conversation with John. His lips twisted into the bitter imitation of a smile as he recalled how often he had explained the very same topic to other people and how often he had been rejected afterwards. The numbers were identical although the rejection hadn't always happened right away. A few of his former... romantic interests had given it a try with Sherlock after The Conversation. No matter that they hadn't lasted longer than a couple of weeks until they realised that they wouldn't be able to change him and that he would never return their interest in kind. Of course they had blamed him for the failing of the relationship. No need to mention that it had been impossible to stay friends afterwards especially when they had implied that Sherlock should see a therapist.

A wary sigh escaped Sherlock's lips as he glanced sideward at John who looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach. Understandable after Sherlock had ended their kiss like this but he hadn't seen any other way that wouldn't have made the situation worse. Kissing was fine as far as Sherlock was concerned but even Anderson could have deduced that John didn't want to stop at kissing. No, his intentions had been clear and as much as Sherlock loved his friend and wanted to please him there were certain things he just couldn't do. And they needed to talk about it before this - whatever it was between them - progressed any further.

"Are you going to tell me that it isn't my fault?" Sherlock's head snapped up at John's bitter and angry tone. "That you really like me and that you could have imagined something between us yesterday. But now that you have figured out that I'm transgender, it's out of the question."

"John," Sherlock tried to get a sentence in between his friend's angry rant but John ignored the interruption. "You have probably deduced how my body looks. Does the thought put you off? Are you only interested in men with a cock? Is that why you can't stand the idea of kissing me?"

Blue eyes bore into his own and Sherlock glanced away at the wall above John's head as he tried to come up with a satisfying answer in the face of his friend's irrational anger. No doubt that some of John's dates had reacted like this when they had learned about his friend but Sherlock still thought it unfair that John directed all his anger at him. His last date certainly had something to do with John's terrible temper tonight. Nevertheless Sherlock didn't see why he should endure this kind of verbal abuse when he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Even if I was there would be nothing wrong with it," Sherlock pointed out and then hurried on before his friend got a chance to continue his rant. "Sexuality is fluent and everyone has preferences when it comes to their partners. As long as they aren't arses about it and treat others with respect, it's rather unfair to judge them for it."

"Of course, but it's not unfair to judge me for my gender identity?!"

Sherlock sighed, suddenly tired. Maybe it would have been wiser to wait until the next morning to talk with John. At least then his friend's temper would have cooled down and he wouldn't have been so affected by his date's insults anymore.

"But he might not have kissed you in bright daylight," Mycroft gleefully pointed out to him and Sherlock had to give him that point. He was thrilled that John had kissed him and that his feelings for his best friend were obviously returned but... he dreaded the essential conversation. "And that's why you procrastinate. Just get it over with, brother dear." Again - to Sherlock's chagrin - Mycroft was right. If he beat around the bush any longer then John would work himself up even more and Sherlock would lose whatever chance he had with his friend.

"No it's not fair to judge you for your gender identity," Sherlock started and then faltered before he decided to jump into the deep end head first. "I told you that it doesn't matter to me that you are transgender and it doesn't. I..."

"I hear a but in this," John mocked bitterly and Sherlock ground his teeth in an effort not to yell at his friend to shut the hell up and listen to him. It was hard enough as it was without having to watch his every word.

"I want to be with you as partners - or boyfriends whatever term you prefer - and I enjoy kissing you but... I'm asexual," Sherlock rushed the words past his lips before he could think better of it and huffed a sigh of relief that it was finally out. Now it was up to John where they went from here.

"Right... asexual."

Sherlock's heart sank at the mocking tone and the snort that accompanied John's dismissive words. He had known why he had never acted on his feelings for his friend. For fear that John would reject him like everyone else had done. And the reality of it hurt more than Sherlock had ever imagined possible. The air burned in his throat as he took a shaking breath and prepared himself for what else John would throw at him.

"That's a great excuse not to have sex with me. I must admit I haven't heard this one yet. Did you just come up with it?"

Sherlock clenched his hands in the fabric of his trousers as the words cut into him like knives. Part of him was aware that John wasn't thinking rationally and that he was lashing out in an effort to protect himself but that didn't lessen the pain of his accusations.

"No, I'm asexual and I have never been anything else," Sherlock pressed out even as he felt that any more explanations were wasted. "I stopped our kiss because I didn't want the situation to get out of hand. I wanted to talk with you and make sure that we are on the same page."

"Right," John's bitter laughter cut deeper than the whip of the torturer in Serbia. "So that you can be with me but without being forced to see me naked."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a second to gather his strength and got up from the bed. His gaze met John's for the first time since they had started this conversation and he allowed his hurt and disappointment to bleed through. "This conversation wasn't about you, John. It was about me: my preferences and feelings. I would have hoped that it had gone differently."

John opened his mouth probably to attack him again but Sherlock was out of the door before a single word could come past his lips. He hurried down the stairs and through the living-room. He only paused for his coat and wallet on his way out and then fled the flat. Sherlock didn't know where he was going as he stumbled down the street. He was only aware of the burning pain in his chest and that he needed something - anything - to numb the pain that tore at his heart.