To the outside world, it was a night like any other: Sherlock was at the window, violin against his chin and face the perfect picture of concentration. John was in the kitchen, dumping teabags into 2 separate mugs and covering them with scolding water.

However, the occupants of 221b, John in particular, were not happy.

'Sherlock, why did you do it?' he asked, setting down the cup of tea by his companion (because despite the fact that John was angry, he couldn't help but make Sherlock tea).

'It was necessary John,' Sherlock said after finishing a particularly aggressive assault on the violin, 'She was dull, it was for your own good.'

The two stared at each other. Sherlock went to bring his violin to his chin again, obviously upset by John's reaction to his girlfriend's deductions, until his only friend spoke again.

'I don't need YOU to tell me what's good for me Sherlock,' John said, his anger slowly rising, 'Everyone I date doesn't have to be up to YOUR expectations because they're MY date, not yours!'

John sat down, managing to slosh his tea all over his favorite jumper. Why did this type of stuff happen to him? He sighed when a dent in the sofa was made by the one person he wished would just leave him alone.

'I'm sorry John,' Sherlock started. John turned to look at him, a disbelieving expression on his face: an apology from the dark-haired man was something that didn't come often, 'I'm sorry that you wish to spend your time with such trivial and meaningless company.'

John deflated a little, but, after getting over the shock of Sherlock's words, began to laugh a little.

'Whatever you say,' he muttered, standing to get changed into a different jumper.

He had been dating Mandy for exactly a month, a rare milestone in his recent dating history due to a devastatingly handsome and equally as cock-blocking consulting detective. She had told him that she wanted to see The Woman In Black but hadn't had anyone to go with and so had planned a little surprise trip to the cinema. Unfortunately, these plans were cut short when they arranged to meet at Baker Street.

Sherlock had deduced that she was actually married and using John as a way of getting back at his husband for his affair with their 2 year old child's nanny.

To say she was upset was an understatement.

'But no time to dwell on the past,' John thought, quickly mourning the loss of what was a possibly promising relationship, 'But I need to do something with those cinema tickets I've already paid for.'

Walking downstairs, he decided that maybe he'd go and find Sarah, ask if she wanted to come with him as a friend: they were getting along much better now. Then he remembered how he had booked tickets at the back of the cinema, just in case Mandy wanted a bit of a snog.

That ruled his ex-girlfriend out of the picture completely.

Maybe Lestrade would be up for it. They never went anywhere except on cases. Actually, that might also be a bit awkward.

'You're thinking about something,' Sherlock stated as John walked through into the kitchen in a tea-free jumper and keys in hand.

'Well, I have tickets to a film that I was going to see with Mandy and I can't think of anyone to bring with me,' John said, grabbing for his coat and slipping it over his shoulders.

There was a moment of silence in which John checked his pockets for spare money and keys. Then Sherlock spoke again.

'Why did you not ask me?'

John looked up. Sherlock was staring right through him, eyes slightly narrowed in what seemed to John like rejection. The ex-army doctor felt a wave of guilt wash over him: he hadn't even thought of Sherlock. He hated anything that involved being still and quiet for extended periods of time.

'You're terrible during films,' John said quickly, too quickly to be convincing, 'You just tell everyone how it ends.'

John imagined sitting through The Woman In Black with Sherlock whispering the entire plot of the story into his ear while he jumped out of his chair.

'But John,' Sherlock wined and John was surprised he thought his excuse was serious, 'I want to go. With you. I've never been to the cinema!'

John stepped back, slightly baffled.

'Not...not even for a case?'

'Never.'

John thought for a moment. This could be one of the worst cinema experiences he will ever have. But Sherlock had never been before: he owed it to him t show him how fun it was. How is it possible to have never gone to the cinema? Then again, it doesn't seem like he'd go with any friends. And if Mycroft is anything to go by he wouldn't go with his family.

'Fine, you can come with me,' John sighed, 'On the condition that you don't talk through the film, understand?'

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically.

'I'll grab my coat!'

30 minutes later the pair were shuffling into their seats. Row O, seats 14 and 15. Right at the back.

John felt a little embarrassed as he made his way past a teenage boy and girl already locking lips over the armrest. That should've been him and Mandy. But looking back at Sherlock made him forget any sense of remorse he had previously had.

His face was positively glowing, an excited grin gracing his lips, reminding John of a small child on christmas. Sherlock's arms were filled with a large box of sweet popcorn and a massive tango ice-blast ('John, why are we surrounded by so much needlessly fatty food?' 'That's what people usually eat in the cinema Sherlock.' '...Ok, I want some.').

Finding their seats, John sat down with Sherlock following after him, spilling a few pieces of popcorn in the process.

'What happens now?' Sherlock asked, popping some of the treat into his mouth.

'There are some adverts and then the film starts,' John said, pleased that it was him having to tell Sherlock what was going on instead of the other way round, 'Make sure you don't eat all the popcorn before the films starts because you won't be able to go out and buy more.'

Sherlock, who was now halfway through putting a mouthful in between his lips slowed down, chewing at a snails pace in the hope the popcorn would last longer.

They waited for the film to begin in a comfortable silence, watching as more and more people filed into the theatre. Finally, the adverts started.

There were several for children's cereals, a couple for brand new cars but most were for upcoming films. Sherlock looked slightly blown away by the sheer size and sounds being forced at him but also looked like was enjoying himself immensely. When the film began, the two leaned back in their seats, their eyes wide in horror as the girls in the film began to stand.

Their terror was echoed by most of the cinema, shown by the various squeals coming from the rows in front.

As the film continued, John watched, happily soaking in the storyline and jumping at the places where you were meant to jump along with everyone else in the cinema.

It was about 30 minutes in when he felt a hand squeeze round his arm. Turning, he looked at Sherlock's face. It was set in an emotionless state but his eyes were a little wider than usual. John recognized that look as fear.

'If you're scared we can leave,' John whispered, hoping to remove Sherlock's iron grip from his arm: his circulation was being cut off.

Sherlock turned to face John and he let out a small 'Hmpf', a single word that was used to tell John that 'I'm fine, I'm not scared and I don't need you to comfort me'. Despite the look, his hand remained on John's arm, if just a little looser.

It was another 20 minutes later when the hand migrated to John's wrist. He didn't mind: the film was getting pretty intense. His breath did catch a little though when his fingers were suddenly in the cool grip of the consulting detective's hands, a long thumb gently rubbing the side.

It was all a little surreal: in the darkened room, screams blaring from speakers, a twisted woman appearing on the screen and then this hand attached to his, soothing him despite the fact it wasn't him that needed soothing.

John looked to Sherlock's face. It seemed very eerie in the light from the film, his lips set in a hard line, his nostrils widening and shrinking at a faster rate than usual, his eyes flicking across the screen in a restless way.

John was more scared about how Sherlock was acting than the actual film.

When it ended, John and Sherlock sat in their seats for a while, watching as the credits rolled down the screen and other watchers filed out of the cinema, their aimless chatter floating to the back of the room.

Sherlock finally stood, his hand still gripped tightly in John's as he dragged the smaller man out of the cinema. As soon as they entered back into the complex, the warm caressing hand was gone and John found he was missing it.

They made their way back to 221b Baker Street in relative silence with John making comments about the film while Sherlock merely nodded in response.

When they entered the door it was about 10.30. John had work the next morning and so decided it was probably a good time to retire to his room. Bidding Sherlock a goodnight, he made his way up the stairs, proceeded to complete his bedtime routine and then hopped into bed.

He awoke to the sound of his door opening.

'Sherlock?' he asked into the darkness.

The figure at the door shifted from foot to foot for a moment, the bouncing curls being all the confirmation John needed.

'What are you doing in here?' he asked, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at the clock. 2.48. Too early.

'I...I need...' Sherlock tried, his ability to form coherent sentences failing, 'I'm scared. It's completely idiotic, I know that she isn't even real. That was a film for gods sake! Nothing to be afraid of but a bunch of special effects and purposeful lighting. However...'

Sherlock stopped half way through his ramble, narrowing his eyes as John shifted in his bed, making the bed springs squeak.

'Sherlock, it's ok to be scared of a film. Especially one as creepy as that,' John shuddered a little, earning a small smile from Sherlock, 'Were you trying to sleep?'

'Pfft, of course John. We're not on a case, I need to regain enough strength so that I don't collapse when we're at a crime scene. I thought you knew this,' Sherlock snapped, obviously upset at showing any kind of weakness of his flat mate.

John smiled a little.

'Stay here for a while, if you like. You can pull that chair over.'

Sherlock did as he was told so he was sat directly facing John's face where he had laid down on his side.

Bringing his knees up to his chin, Sherlock closed his eyes, listening to the sound of John nearby: John was strong, he'd protect him from the lady in black.

Sherlock tried to sleep, he really did. But every dark corner, every moving shadow, it reminded him of her. John was lucky, he didn't seem to be having any nightmares about the skeletal woman dressed head to toe in something a mourning mother would wear. And so, after waiting for John to roll over, Sherlock migrated from his chair, curling into a small ball on the edge of the bed, careful not to take any of the blankets that John was using.

John's bed was...different. The mattress seemed to be more firm than Sherlock's despite the fact that Sherlock hardly ever used his bed. The duvet was a lot softer, probably because of it's constant use and Sherlock was surrounded by the smell of John.

He looked towards the man whose bed he was currently resting in. John was lying on his back, his mouth open and soft snoring noises coming from his throat. Despite himself, Sherlock smiled.

Taking his hand and bringing it to the man's face, he drew a finger across the already stubbled skin, the feeling of it against his fingertips making his stomach tingle a little bit. He didn't understand it, but then again there were so many things he didn't understand about John. Like why he made him tea even when he was angry. Or how he managed to put up with Sherlock's pestering and ridiculous experiements.

Suddenly, the room was too peaceful and he couldn't help but feel as if he was intruding, what with his mind buzzing with thoughts that should be deleted and yet refused to be. He contemplated leaving John be, but his fear of the woman in black kept him under the covers, lying just close enough to feel John's safe, comforting body heat without touching him.

It was the deepest sleep he'd ever had.

I was totally inspired after seeing The Woman In Black. Seriously, I can't stop Sherlock-ing! Thanks for reading!