"Why are you losing so much weight?" Sherlock asked, walking slowly into the room. He didn't realize that it was rude, and if he did, he didn't care. He was starting to worry. Over the last few months, John had become almost as thin as him. It didn't suit John nearly as well.

John shook his head. He looked up from the paper, sighing. "I haven't lost that much weight. And, why are you asking me this now? Why the sudden interest in this?"

Sherlock frowned. He took a seat next to John. "I just didn't bring it up before. I didn't want to say anything unless it seemed off. Have you been eating at all?"

"Sherlock, I've been eating about as much as you do." John said, wincing as he knew the questions that were coming next.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why? You actually enjoy eating, and you need to eat more than I do to maintain proper health, and-"

"Sherlock, shut up." John said.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Tell me, John. Why won't you take care of yourself?"

"I'm too bloody busy taking care of you," John muttered.

Sherlock shook his head. "You've always taken care of me. Why the sudden change of pace-?"

"IT'S BECAUSE I CAN BARELY AFFORD IT ANYMORE!" John yelled. He took a deep breath, realizing too slowly that he better explain.

Sherlock's eyes widened. How hadn't he had noticed? John hadn't been working many shifts at the clinic anymore. It was partially because his boss was a bitter ex-girlfriend, and partially because every time John tried to go to work Sherlock needed him for something. And, with the rent and all the cab fares and the dry-cleaning bills…they were lucky if there was ever any money left for food. Since Sherlock didn't eat, it hadn't occurred to him. But, on the other hand, John wasn't looking so well by it.

John just watched Sherlock carefully. Sherlock sighed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

John took a deep breath. "It's not such a big deal. It's kind of like a diet, you know? And, it's nice that you do all of your cases for free. Helping the people like that, it's very generous. As you've explained before, that's how you always have and always will do cases. It's one of the nicest traits about you. I didn't want to say anything, because I thought I could find out a way to handle it."

"I know you deny that we have any romantic relationship, but you always seem to treat me like a boyfriend with a severe inability to handle everything. You take care of me like one. I'm sorry I haven't been able to do as much for you," Sherlock said.

John shrugged. "You're not my boyfriend. But, yes, it would be nice to have some help with money around here. Flat mates are supposed to take a semi-equal share in those kinds of responsibilities."

Sherlock smiled gently. "You know if you want to have that relationship conversation again-?"

John shook his head. "Like I said the last time, and like you said, it's fine. Neither of us is really good with that sort of thing anyways, right?"

Sherlock sighed, and said under his breath: "Doesn't mean we couldn't try…"

"What was that?" John said, not having been able to make out the words.

Sherlock straightened himself up. "Does that mean I should be able to try and help now? Maybe we can go down to Angelo's and he can give us a meal on the house for tonight?"

"That sounds nice. Maybe you should eat too, Sherlock. I think it would do you good as well." John said, getting up and getting ready to leave.

Sherlock followed suit. "Not sure, perhaps I could. But I'd just like to see you start looking less sickly. That's the purpose of tonight."

oOo

Over the next few months, things seemed to be getting progressively better. Sherlock learned how to use a grocery store, and he often filled the fridge for John. He stopped calling John for the least essential of things while John was at the clinic working, and John was bringing home a better amount of money. And, some way that Sherlock wouldn't tell John about, Sherlock was bringing home a hefty income himself.

oOo

John should be happy, right? At least that's what he kept trying to convince himself of. But truthfully, it all felt wrong. He missed Sherlock texting him whenever he felt like doing so, and he missed not working full days. He missed Sherlock whining about boredom. And, most of all, he wondered where the hell Sherlock went every night.

Sherlock originally mumbled something about old casework. Cold cases and such, or whatever excuse that he could bring to mind. At first, John bought it. Then, one night the phone rang.

John picked up, weary that it was two in the morning. He spoke groggily. "Hello?"

"John, its Lestrade. Where the bleeding hell is Sherlock? I've been trying to call him for hours because I need him on case." Lestrade said hurriedly.

John sprung up in bed, blinking rapidly. "Sherlock said he was with you on case tonight, and not to come because it was small."

"If he was here, then I wouldn't be hurriedly calling you wondering what's going on. He usually always picks up when it comes to cases." Lestrade says hurriedly. Then, he thought for a moment. "How long has Sherlock been telling you he's been coming on night cases with me?"

John rubbed his forehead. "I don't know, a few months now? Why, hasn't he been on cases with you at all?"

Lestrade sighed. "Only seen him come in once or twice, really, over that time frame. If I were you, I would try and figure out where the hell he is. I don't really know if he'll answer his phone right now, though. Check his room or something, maybe you will find something. Listen, I've got to go, but let me know what's going on when you can."

Lestrade hung up before John could ask him anything else. He dialed another number, hoping desperately for the answers he wanted.

An annoyed voice answered the phone. "John?"

"Mycroft, yes it's me. I need to know, has Sherlock been asking you for money over the last few months?" John asked hurriedly, going over to Sherlock's room to start sifting through his things.

Mycroft huffed. "He never does, but sometimes I think he should. Why, have you noticed anything different?"

"Sherlock's been faking night cases and saying that he has been earning money. And, Lestrade just told me that he hasn't been seen on case more than twice over that time. I don't know where the hell he might've gone." John said frantically, sifting quicker and quicker. He was practically through the whole room and still found nothing.

"John, call him. If he refuses to disclose his location and let you come to him, let me know and I will find some way to step in and help. Other than that, I will have to say goodnight." After this, Mycroft hung up the phone.

John groaned. He sat back against Sherlock's bed, and dialed the detective's number. He could only pray that he would hear the right voice on the other side.

Thankfully, the detective picked up. "John, what are you doing awake at this time of night?"

"Sherlock, Lestrade called me. You said you were on case with him, and he called to tell me you've been missing from most cases you've been needed for. Where the hell have you been going?" John asked hastily.

Sherlock gulped. "John, please, just let it go. I will be home in about four hours."

"No, I won't let it go. Where the hell are you? Why have you been lying to me? Where have you been getting this money from?" John asked sadly. He was just so hurt by it all, and it was much too early for this.

"I can't tell you right now. I will talk to you when I get home." Sherlock said slowly, hoping John would listen.

"Okay, let's try a different tactic. Tell me where you are, or I will have your brother track you down." John said a little too smugly.

"You wouldn't." Sherlock said darkly.

"Oh, I think I would." John said. "I am pretty angry right now, and honestly I would do anything to know what you have been hiding from me for three months!"

Sherlock sighed. "I'm at the club down the street. If you see all the tacky lights, you are here. I don't know if I will have the chance to speak to you, but you can come anyways if you must know the truth."

"Is that the-"

"John, I must get off the phone." Sherlock said softly. John heard somebody yelling at Sherlock, and then the line went dead.

John gathered himself up as much as he could, and started getting dressed and ready. He calmly chanted to himself. 'Sherlock probably is just a waiter or something. He wouldn't be doing anything else. It's Sherlock for god sakes.'

He kept that going through his head as he got ready, as he went out the door, and all the way to the place. It wasn't until he got there that he couldn't let it run through anymore. It wasn't true.

The music was loud, the lights were tacky, but none of that mattered to John. What mattered to him was a more-than-half-naked Sherlock Holmes that was playing round a pole on stage.

John started shoving his way through the admiring crowd. He admitted in the back part of his mind that they had many reasons to admire, as Sherlock didn't necessarily look bad right now. But that didn't matter. What mattered was figuring out what the hell was going on.

When he got up to the stage, he stood there quietly on-looking for a moment. He was just trying to sustain the shock of it all. When Sherlock saw him, he bent down and whispered in John's ear: "If you flash out about fifty pounds, I can go to a room with you. Talk in private for about ten minutes."

John nodded, not even thinking about it as he yanked a fifty from his wallet and handed it to Sherlock. The audience groaned as Sherlock climbed off-stage. Sherlock turned around, giving his best fake-charming smile to them. "Don't worry boys… it will only be a bit."

John didn't particularly like seeing one other person fancy Sherlock on a case. Seeing so many men blatantly drooling over him was a little more hurtful to him than he'd like to admit.

When they reached the room, and the door was shut behind them, John started in. "Sherlock, you didn't have to do this."

"John, I need you to sit down." Sherlock said carefully, nodding over to the cameras.

John wasn't exactly sure about it, but he did anyways. More than a bit shocked when Sherlock followed by coming over to give the doctor a lap dance. "Sherlock, we need to talk."

"I have to make it look like I am working," Sherlock said calmly.

John tried not to, but he couldn't help it. He just sat quietly for a moment, and watched Sherlock. The way the detective's hips were moving, the skimpy purple pants, everything. John cleared his throat. "I need to be able to concentrate."

Sherlock smirked. "It shouldn't be any trouble for you, has something changed?"

Sherlock moved a bit closer, barely an inch away from touching as he kept his dance going. John took a deep breath. "Will you come home with me?"

"After my shift, of course I will. I live there, after all." Sherlock said swiftly.

John shook his head. "I mean come home with me. You hate it. You hate other people. This attention is not something you like. The strain on your face as you try to keep up the fake charm, it's excruciating. I don't want you to be miserable just to make a bit of extra money for the flat."

"First of all, it wasn't for the flat. It was for you. I don't want you to be sick because I can't afford to help around with money." Sherlock said quickly.

"Sherlock, it's not worth it." John said, moving his hands to Sherlock's back, gently pulling him down to be just plainly straddling/sitting on the doctor's lap. He hugged him tightly to him. Sherlock gently started shaking in John's arms, and John couldn't see but he guessed that the detective might be crying. "I'm taking you home, okay? We'll figure something else out. I will talk to both Mycroft and Lestrade, and I'm sure they will be open to helping, okay?"

Sherlock pulled back from John, and nodded.

That's when the boss walked in. "Hands off the merchandise."

"Excuse me?" John said, shooting daggers from his eyes at the bastard who had just come in.

"You heard me." The boss said, attempting to hold his ground.

John scoffed. "Sherlock, do you want me to let you go?"

Sherlock nodded. "For a minute, so we can leave."

John smiled, and waited for Sherlock to get up and followed suit. He grabbed onto Sherlock's hand, and they were about to walk out the door when the man and a few colleagues stepped in front of the door, blocking their path.

"I will give you a raise," the boss said, pleading. "I will give you more drugs. Whatever you want is yours. Business has been so much better, please Mr. Holmes. Don't let your flat mate tell you what to do."

John didn't let anything from that get to him. He would deal with any issues later. He just needed to say this now. "He's not just my flat mate. He's my boyfriend, and I don't like that you are treating him like an object. We're going to go home, and I swear to God if you bother him again, I know people who would be only too glad to have an excuse to arrest you."

John ignored the look of shock on all of their faces, and the big smirk on Sherlock's, as he grabbed Sherlock's clothes and wrapped the coat around the genius as they went.

John wouldn't even look at Sherlock until they had hailed a cab. When they climbed inside, they sat quietly on opposite ends of the seat.

Sherlock slid over a bit, grinning. "So, John…"

"Shut up." John said quickly. He was still trying to process it all.

Sherlock shakes his head. "Just because you're my boyfriend now doesn't mean that I have to listen to everything you tell me to do."

John bit his lip. "I'm still upset, you know. We have to go home, I have to search the flat for your stash of drugs, and I have calls to make to reassure me that you won't have reason to go back."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He waited a moment, and then started unbuttoning his jacket. When he had undone all the buttons, he moved over to straddle John's lap. John stared at him, wide-eyed. Sherlock shrugged. "Can't you just let us a have a few minutes to register this as a good thing? I mean, unless you were just doing this to get me out of there by saying you were my boyfriend…which I don't think is the case. But if it is-"

John leaned forward and captured Sherlock's lips with his own. After a short kiss, he pulled away, hand now somehow tangled in Sherlock's hair. He smiled. "I'm a little more nervous about this than excited, and that's why it hadn't happened sooner, if you didn't remember the numerous conversations we've had about this idea."

Sherlock leaned forward to whisper in John's ear. "I'm sorry I'm not being the one doing all the thinking right now. Is it a crime though to want to see the fresh look on your face when you saw me first in the ensemble I'm wearing? I really just want you, John. You know I'm impatient, and you've given me indication that I perhaps shouldn't have to be. Can you, please, just let us worry about that stuff tomorrow?"

John laughed. "How do I know you aren't just doing this so I won't stay mad at you?"

"Perhaps that is just a bonus?" Sherlock put forth as he pulled back to be looking at John again. Within seconds, with a nod of the blonde's head, Sherlock crashed their lips back together. This time it wasn't slow or small. No, no. It was blisteringly, impatiently passionate. They both had been waiting far too long for this.

Sherlock rutted into John's lap and they kissed the whole way back to the flat, and Sherlock held his coat together hastily and John grabbed his things so they could rush up the stairs. Unfortunately, they picked the wrong moment, as Mrs. Hudson was just coming out to put out her trash. "Boys, what are you doing out so late? Without trousers, Sherlock, surely you know better than that?"

John flushed, and Sherlock answered back shortly. "It's a long story Mrs. Hudson, but I wouldn't bore you with it right now. I have a night to be spending with my boyfriend." Mrs. Hudson had a beaming smile on her face as she nodded and scurried away.

Both of the boys laughed as they raced to the flat, practically slamming the door behind them. They dropped all the things they were holding in the doorway, including Sherlock's particularly large coat, and John pushed Sherlock up against the back of the door and hoisted him up.

They kissed, and rutted, and got John quickly out of the rest of his clothes, leaving for last the slip out of Sherlock's pretty purple pants. Just as John went to prepare Sherlock, he sighed. "Sherlock, don't you want to do this in a bed, first time and all?"

"I'm too impatient. So are you." Sherlock said in his 'it-should-be-obvious' tone. Normally John would scold him for that tone, but tonight was an exception.

John quickly went to work preparing Sherlock, not letting it go unnoticed as Sherlock moaned a little too loudly – loudly enough for any of their neighbors to hear, that was going to be fun when they went out for mail in the morning – and it didn't take long before Sherlock was getting insistent.

"John, please, stop just teasing." Sherlock said, groaning as John completely removed his fingers.

John nodded, grabbing Sherlock's arse in his hands and slowly pulling it down over his prick. John moaned then, much louder than he was proud of. "Oh, God, yes."

"Move," Sherlock said darkly.

And so John did. John found himself continuously thrusting up into Sherlock so hard and fast that the detective nearly went limp in his arms. When they both were finished, which took longer than either of them expected, John fell to the floor, Sherlock tumbling down into his arms.

Then, them being them, they laughed. Sherlock shot John a devious smirk. "Next time it's my turn, and in a bed so we have softer landing ground."

John chuckled. "You have a deal."

After a long while of comfortable silence - well silence with a lot of laughter in it – Sherlock got up and reached out his hand to pull him up as well. "John, do you have to do all those things that you talked about earlier right now, or can it wait till morning?"

"Why's that?" John asked gently, wrapping his arms around his detective's torso.

Sherlock yawned. John giggled at it, and Sherlock shushed him. "I want to try and sleep tonight, but only if you come with me. Deal?"

John nodded, even though it was practically morning, but to have Sherlock sleep was a miracle and a half. "And you'll let me get us all the help we need in the morning?"

"Promise."

FIN.