Dont forget me

by aliealouise

AU story, just an idea I had and I couldn't stop thinking about it so I just had to write it down. a Massive thank you to my beta Mapleleafcameo.

A/N First I would just like to give a massive huge thank you to Mapleleafcameo who helped a lot with this, going through it with a fine tooth comb so if there are any mistakes they are mine and mine alone. She also was a huge inspiration to writing this, if you haven't read any of her stories then stop everything and go read them like right now! She is truly amazing.

Secondly this story was something that took over my life for a few weeks, it was something that stuck and there was no choice but to write it. I hope you all enjoy and reviews would be very much welcome.

Disclaimer, I own nothing :(

Colours, greens ranging from the deepest emerald to the kind you find in the ocean that bled into blues so pale they looked silver then to blues so dark they looked like the night sky. There was also white, silver white and then there was the black. Not blacks, not a different gradation of black just black, the colour of total darkness but it wasn't frightening it was soft and welcoming.

Colours were all he remembered in the moments he was allowed to be awake, in the moments when the dreams ended and he found himself lost in an alien world with no memory of where or who he was.

Colours became his lifeline, they became his every waking thought because here, locked in a world of dull silver the colours of his dreams gave him meaning.

Slowly as the waking world forced him once again from his dreams, from the world that was so much more than the real one, dark blue eyes started to open.

He hated to wake up; he hated the harshness of the reality of the cold and the steal all around him. He hate the sterile smell, the way the white light above him shone brightly in his eyes, he hate the sting of needles pressing against his skin, the feel of warm blood running over his flesh, he hated the pain, he hated them.

As his eyes adjusted to the light of the world around him he wondered once again where the hell he was and he wondered how long it had been since he had woken. But he never got his answers because how could he when his body was trapped and there was no way he could escape.

Now fully awake he lifted his head slightly and looked down at his body, a body small and compact, a body to whom he was a stranger. He never remembered when he woke, never remembered his name or where he was from or who his parents were or where he was born, he never remembered any of it and it had now become something he didn't worry about. It was a part of who he was now so why worry about it.

As he took in his body, totally naked and strapped down to the tilted table he wondered how he had gained the muscles on his legs and across his stomach, maybe he had been in some kind of sport, or was just a fitness freak, but as his eyes travelled further up his body he noted the wound on his shoulder. The skin there was white and scared where the rest of his skin was golden, tanned in some places but not everywhere. Maybe a solider then, wounded in action, now there was a thought, he could be some sort of hero decorated for his services in...His thoughts came up with nothing.

Leaning his head back against the cold slab of the table he let his eyes close and concentrated on the one thing he could remember, the colours of his dreams. He swam in the clear blues and greens and led under the dark greens and the deep blues and he fell softly into the pale white and black, the black that made his fingers twitch, that made him long for...something.

Clenching his fist his eyes opened once again but this time he wasn't alone.

Quickly closing his eyes again, he tried not to let the image of them invade the safe darkness but he soon lost and a soft moan of fear escaped his lips.

Voices started to speak around him, voices he didn't understand. With a jolt, he realized he didn't even know what to call the language his thoughts were in so how was he ever supposed to understand what they were speaking.

Keeping his eyes closed he tried to block out the sounds of the voices, of the sounds of equipment being moved and of the sound of his own heart beating fasted and faster within his chest but in the end it was to no avail.

As the first needle was pushed into his arm his eyes opened yet again and looked straight into deep dark eyes so large he could see himself reflected back in them.

"Kaima john, kaima sii' " the being before him whispered but his eyes had widened. It had said a name, John, was that his name, did him finally have a name?

As he rolled the name around in his mind the being spoke to him again. "Kaima ar' olos."

John looked back at the being and he slowly felt his eyes close as yet another needle was pressed into his skin.

Feeling his eyes grow heavy he thought on the word he had heard three times now and understood what it meant, Kaima...they wanted him to sleep. So as the drug started to take effect he let his eyes close and the next words spoken to him he understood.

"Yes John, sleep."

John... He thought smiling as his eyes closed fully and he was delved back into colours.

"John...John, wake up!"

Blinking a few times, John took in the room around him as the dream of the cold, sterile room filled with strange beings and long painful needles slowly drifted away.

"John!" the deep voice shouted again and John couldn't help but smile.

"Give me a sec!" he shouted as he pushed the covers from his legs. Slowly sitting up, he ran his hands over his face and through his hair before standing, instantly falling back on his bed as his legs gave.

Gasping, his vision blurred slightly and the room from his dream flashed before him.

"Ro kilo!" A voice sounded and a sharp pain ran down his neck. Wincing John raised his hand placing it against his neck and then drawing it away, as the room around him became his bedroom once again. There was an expectation there would be blood covering his hand but there was nothing and as quick as the pain came it went and the words and strange metal room disappeared from his thoughts.

Blinking a few times, John mentally shook himself, stood once again, grabbing his robe and headed down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

"Why are you not dressed?" a voice asked as he reached the bottom step leading up to his room.

"Do I need to be dressed?" he asked as he stepped into the living room coming face to face with his tall roommate, his eyes locking straight onto the green blue eyes. He was already dressed for the day, today opting for well-cut black trousers and a black form fitting shirt, one John had never seen him wearing before. He was just about to pull on his long coat.

"Yes...case, John!" Sherlock said his eyes bright and excited.

"Tea first, Sherlock." John replied and headed towards the kitchen.

"Fine, met me there." The tall detective said as he pulled his scarf around his neck before heading down the stairs.

"Text me!" John shouted as he switched the kettle on and before it had boiled a text came through to his phone, which was in his robe pocket. Pulling the phone free as he put a tea bag in his cup along with a dash of milk, he read the text as he waited for the kettle to finish boiling. The text held an address and nothing more, nothing about the case or why Sherlock seemed so excited about it.

*Care to give a details? JW* John hit send and then poured the now boiled water over his tea bag.

*If you had gotten dressed I would have. SH* came the reply as he sat down at the table tea in hand.

*You never give me enough time. JW*

*If you had gotten up the first time I called. SH*

John frowned. *I did! JW*

*No, you took precisely 12 minutes and 48 seconds before you called back down to me. SH*

John's frown deepened as he thought back to the moment he had been woken by Sherlock's voice. He had called his name three times and he had responded at the third call.

*How many times did you call me? JW*

*Five. SH*

"Humm," he mused, he must have been in a deep sleep, but then John never slept that deep, he always responded when his name was shouted, especially when it was shouted by one consulting detective.

*How long are you going to be? SH* John shook his head as he replied, *Half an hour at the most. JW*

Precisely half an hour later, John was jumping out of a cab and ducking under police tape that was shutting off a small back ally. As he walked towards the group of people at the dead end of the ally, he stopped just next to Sherlock as the detective crouched down next to the body of a young woman in her early twenties, dressed in blue jeans and a pink knitted cable jumper. Her blonde hair was spread out around her head, her arms and legs straight and if it hadn't been for her blank, staring eyes, she looked as though she could have simply been asleep.

"John," Sherlock spoke as he waved his hand towards the body.

Taking the gloves handed to him by Lestrade, he nodded his thanks to the DI and then went about examining the young girl.

"Early twenties, fit, no sign of a struggle." He went about trying to find a cause of death but there was nothing obvious. "I can't tell how she died."

"She has a small needle mark on her neck, on the right," Sherlock offered and John moved some of the blond hair to get a better look.

"It's rather small, too small to be injection of some type." Moving his hands, he gently lifted the girl's hand and then pushed back her sleeve reviling more marks on her arm. As he held the dead girl's hand his eyes drifted to his own arm; he had seen those exact same marks before, but they'd been on his own arm.

"This is the fifth body we have found like this," Lestrade said crossing his arms. "The fifth in five months, all having no sign of what killed them, all blood tests come back negative. We have no ideas"

"But they all had these marks, these needle marks?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, but if they had been injected with something it doesn't stay in their system."

"John, how long has she been dead?"

John looked back down at the girl his hands still holding hers. "When was she found?"

"This morning around seven, the owner of the cafe found her when she came to open up."

"It was warm last night, and she has only just started to show signs of rigor mortis. I would say the owner found her only an hour, maybe less, after she died."

"So around six this morning?" Lestrade said.

"Yeah."

"CCTV has come up with nothing thus far."

"No, it wouldn't have," Sherlock muttered as he stood. "The ally exit is the only way in or out of here correct?" he asked the DI.

"Yeah other than the cafe door."

"The CCTV won't show anyone coming in or out of the ally."

"Then how the hell did she get here?" John asked pulling the pink sleeve back down the girls arm and placing it back down on the ground.

"Good question John, one for which I don't have the answer," Sherlock near enough growled at that admission.

"Okay, so first we find out how she got here, how she died and who did it," John said as he took off the gloves and threw them into a bin close by.

"Yes," Sherlock responded as he started to look around the ally while Lestrade's forensic team went about doing their job now Sherlock was finished.

John walked over to the DI and watched as Sherlock took in everything, looked for anything to help.

"So these others that you found, have they all just been left like this?"

"Yeah, no sign of how they got to where they were dumped, all looking as though they had simply laid down and died. There's no footage of them anywhere near the place they've been found." The DI shook his head. "It's like they had just appeared out of thin air."

"Do we know her name?"

"No, no ID. We're in the process of going through missing persons, but I don't think that will help."

"Why?"

"Because we don't even know who the other four are."

"What?" John asked clearly shocked.

"No one has ever come forward to identify the bodies, no one has ever listed them as missing and even after a description has been posted in the news not a single person has come to say they know who they were."

"Okay, so homeless then?"

"No, they have all been as pristine as this girl here, all well dress and well looked after. They don't look homeless."

John had to agree with that, he had met plenty of Sherlock's Homeless Network to recognise how someone living on the streets looked and this girl really didn't look like one of them.

"Lestrade, I need everything on the others!" Sherlock suddenly shouted as he reached the end of the ally. "John, are you coming?"

Shaking his head John smiled at Greg. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"Sure, same place and time?" the DI asked.

"Yep, see you then," John said and quickly followed Sherlock out of the ally and onto the busy street having to run slightly to catch up with the taller man. "So any idea?"

"No, and I don't like it."

"So where are we going?"

"Bart's. I want the post mortem on the others," he said as he lifted out a hand flagging down a cab.

As they drove to Bart's, John watched as the London streets went by his eyes slowly finding it harder and harder to stay open. Part of him wondered about his constant falling asleep, something that had started to happen in the last few days. He would find himself drifting off to sleep at the most unlikely of times as though his mind simply couldn't stay awake.

"John?" Sherlock's voice asked and then a warm hand touched his forcing his eyes wide open and zoning in on Sherlock's long fingers touching the back of his hand. "You were falling asleep again."

John looked up his eyes locking onto his friends and he frowned. "Green."

"What?" Sherlock frowned his fingers gripping John's hand slightly.

"What?" John repeated.

"Green?"

"Green...your eyes...I..." He looked down at his hand again watching as Sherlock's fingers wrapped around his hand.

"John?" Sherlock's voice was quite, nothing more than a whisper and Johns eyes closed again just for a moment.

"He is waking up again."

"The dream is emotional, a touch."

John blinked his eyes open to find Sherlock staring at him with worry.

"John, are you okay?"

"Fine, just tired I guess." The look on Sherlock's face continued and then he noticed that the cab had stopped. "How long have we been here?"

"Twenty minutes." Sherlock's hand was now gripping John's wrist his fingers pressed on his pulse point. "Your pulse dropped, really dropped."

"How low?" John asked, concerned.

"Below forty, and I could not rouse you." Sherlock's other hand moved to touch John's temple and again his eyes started to drop. Instantly Sherlock let go of John and his eyes opened once again.

"Are you ready to get out yet?" the driver suddenly asked.

"Hold here and I'll pay you double your fare if you shut up!" Sherlock's voice was quite but the cab driver shut up and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"John, these episodes are becoming more frequent."

"Yes, but I'm sure it's nothing." As he looked back up at Sherlock, their eyes once again locked and John felt a wave of dizziness come over him. "Okay, maybe not nothing," he muttered putting his hand to his head.

"You should go home, I'll only be reading reports at the moment anyway."

"Reports I can help with."

"Reports that I can have Molly go over with me if needed."

"Okay, okay fine." John waved his hand towards the door. "Just if you are paying him double give me some extra cash."

Sherlock smiled at that but John missed it as he kept his eyes close trying to fend off the dizziness.

"I've paid the cab to take you back to Baker Street, text me once you get there," Sherlock's voice was extremely close to him and when he opened his eyes Sherlock knelt before him on the cab floor. "John make an appointment to see a doctor please."

"I am a doctor."

"Yes and a very lousy one when it comes to self-diagnosis."

"Fine, I will make an appointment for tomorrow, happy?"

"Exceedingly."

"Good, now go, text me if you need anything."

Sherlock nodded and exited the cab leaving John alone with the cab driver.

"So are we going to Baker Street?"

"Yeah...just take it easy," John was able to say as he lent back against the seat.

"Sure, he gave me £100, can take it as slow as you like."

"Of course he did," John shook his head a small smile on his face.

.#.#.#.#.

"These levels are phenomenal!"

"Never has a subject shown such a connection before."

"Do we have the other?"

"We are searching for him now."

.#.#.#.#.

John made his way up the stairs to the sitting room his head thankfully no longer dizzy but his body felt heavy and he just wanted to lie down, to sleep and hopefully wake up in a better condition.

Shrugging his coat off as he stepped into the sitting room, he threw it over the arm of the sofa before falling onto it face first. Sighing, he got himself comfortable before letting his eyes close and slowly drifted off to sleep.

He felt the cold of the room before anything else, felt the sting of it as his naked skin woke with his mind and part of him just wished that they would keep the room at least warm, then he would wake up comfortable rather than shaking.

Keeping his eyes closed he tried to hold onto the colours of his dreams, the colours that he knew would vanish the moment he opened his eyes to take in the steel cold room he always found himself in.

"His levels have stabilised and he is coming around."

John turned his head to the voice having no idea what had been said but kept his eyes closed. They were in the room with him and they always scared him.

"Heart rate has increased."

"He is awake, his fear of us is causing it. Nothing more."

The voices continued to talk and he slowly started to tell the difference between them, hearing unusual lilts in their speech. But he still had no idea what the where saying, other than Kamia, that he remembered from the last time he woke.

"We should make him sleep again."

"No..." John whispered his eyes opening for the first time. He winced slightly against the light but he forced them to stay open as he took in the three beings in the room with him. Part of his mind rebelled against what he was seeing, not believing for a second that what they were, what they looked like, were real and he had to be drugged somehow into thinking that these...whatever they were, were real.

They were all tall, impossibly so, all thin with long arms and he believed long legs but they were covered in what looked like a dress or skirt. Their heads where small, perched upon a thin neck and he knew if they turned to him he would be looking into impossibly huge eyes that where ink black and reflected everything around them.

As he thought this, one turned to look at him and he forced himself to keep his eyes open even though his heart rate increased and he couldn't help it as he started to hyperventilate.

"What..." His voice was ruff as though it had hardly been used and his throat constricted painfully.

"I thought I heard him speak." The thing spoke but John had no idea what was said.

"They don't speak, other than repeating words said to them." Suddenly the other two turned and he was confronted with three sets of large eyes looking down at him.

His heart rate upped even more and he felt his fist clenching as he tried to keep control of himself.

"No...don't."

"Fascinating." John turned his head to the one that spoke and glared.

"Let me go!" His voice was still ruff but he was starting to put force behind it.

"Are we still recording?"

"Yes, data from his brain is still coming through. How he is able to speak is beyond me, most once awake have no cognitive thought what so ever."

"Data show increase heart rate and his brain waves are slowly increasing."

John looked between the three of them and then towards the door as it opened. Another table like the one he was led on was brought in. Still breathing hard, John started to pull against his restraints as the three that had been leaning over him stepped back, their attention on the other table that had been brought in.

"We have found the other."

John continued to pull at the restraints until the other table that had been brought in was tilted up in front of him at the same angle as his and the subject that was also restrained, came into view.

Pale skin, black hair, and then eyes opened and John was once again lost in a world of colours.

"Sherlock..."

"Sherlock!" John woke and sat straight up, his heart hammering inside his chest at the same time as he looked around the flat looking for the tall detective.

The sun had lowered in the sky and he found himself staring or into a darkened sitting room with a small fire still blazing in the hearth. Sherlock was slumped in his armchair his eyes closed. As John took in his sleeping flatmate he tried to remember what his dream was about. He frowned.

Awakening and shouting Sherlock's name had not disturbed him at all. It was rare to see Sherlock sleep. Rarer still to see him sleep so deeply a shout did not disturb him.

Pushing back the blanket that was over him, the blanket that hadn't been there before, he walked over to Sherlock and placed a hand on a shirt-clad arm.

"Sherlock," he said, gently shaking the arm. "Sherlock, wake up."

When he got no response, John knelt next to the long legs that were stretched out, his fingers finding the pulse point on Sherlock's wrist. It was steady and as he counted, he also watched the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"Sher..." John stopped and frowned, leaning up slightly from his kneeling position and brushed back dark curls from a very pale neck. At the pulse point, a small needle mark was clear to see and though at first John's thoughts jumped to Sherlock using for just a tenth of a second, he quickly ruled that out as he remembered finding a similar mark only two days ago upon his own neck.

Looking down at where he still held Sherlock's slim wrist, John quickly unbuttoned the white cuff and gently rolled the sleeve up, his actions still not waking the consulting detective. Once his lower arm was full uncovered, John turned it gently to look at the underside and startled at the marks upon the pale skin.

Quickly shoving off his coat, which he still had on, he roughly pulled up his own sleeve and checking the marks upon his own arm and was not surprised to find that both his and Sherlock's arms matched.

"What the hell is going on?"

"John?"

Looking up, John was caught by Sherlock's eyes as the man slowly came out of his sleep.

"What are you doing?"

"These marks, how long have you had them?" John asked taking hold of Sherlock's arm once again. He watched as his friend looked down at his arm and frowned, pulling his arm free of John's grasp and studied his arm even closer.

"I...I don't know." Sherlock confessed, clearly at a loss as to what was happening.

"Well, I've had mine two days." John held out his own arm for his friend to see. "And that girl today, she had them as well."

"Yes...so did the others." Sherlock stood, entered the dark kitchen and flicked the light on as he went to pick up a file on the kitchen table before returning to John. "Take a look."

John took the file and looked through the post mortem data Molly had put together. Each pictured showed a different body but each body had clear marks upon their necks and arms. He noted on the last picture, another mark had been found within the hairline at the back of the neck, a notice had been put in Molly's handwriting saying that the other victims didn't have this mark.

Lifting his hand, John ran his fingers over the back of his neck. "Let me look."

Sherlock didn't give him a chance to answer, he just pulled John's head down, his long fingers gently moving the hair along the back of his neck. As Sherlock inspected him, John had no choice but to rest his forehead on Sherlock's lap, his hands still had hold of the file. Although the position and situation was surreal, John couldn't help but enjoy the feel of his flatmate's fingers upon his neck, upon an area John had always found sensitive, an area that previous lovers had always capitalized on. John quickly became putty in their hands if they played with that area for long.

"I don't see anything," Sherlock muttered as he turned John slightly more towards the fire. A soft breath ran over the skin exposed to the firelight. Biting his lip, John had to hold himself back from shivering, or even moaning.

"John..."

"Humm."

"Your heart rate has increased and you are breathing rather hard," he realised then that Sherlock's fingers had moved from the back of his neck to his pulse point, probably looking at the mark John had there.

Lifting his head, John felt the heat rise in his cheeks but he refused to look away from Sherlock. "You have a mark on your neck as well," he whispered, his hand reaching out to brush at Sherlock's neck.

As his fingers connected with Sherlock's skin, the room started to spin around him.

"John..."

Feeling his eyes close, John let the file drop from his hand as he fell forward against Sherlock's chest.

"John!"

.#.#.#.#.

"My, this one has extremes!"

"The other is reacting also...but he fights it...he denies it...most interesting."

"How much longer can the other last?"

"If he gets an even stronger reaction before the end of the night..."

.#.#.#.#.

"John!"

John jumped but didn't get far as Sherlock had anchored him by placing his hands on either side of his face.

"Five minutes."

"Five minutes...what?"

"You were out again this time for five minutes."

"Did my pulse drop again?" John asked, more out of curiosity than worry.

"Yes, even lower than before."

"What the hell is going on?"

As Sherlock held John's eyes he shook his head.

"I have no idea. But you react the same way every time we touch."

"We are touching now." John looked out of the corner of each eye indicating Sherlock's hands as they still held his face.

"Yes...but your pulse rate has stabilised, your eyes are normal and your breathing is even."

"So?"

"So, let me try something."

Before John could ask what he was going to try Sherlock lent forward and ever so gently brushed his lips against the corner of John's mouth. Instantly desire raced through his body. As the room started to spin Sherlock fell against him and concern for him took over as he caught him and gently he pushed Sherlock back against his chair.

"Sherlock?" Taking hold of the slim wrist, John started to count as he looked down at his watch. Sherlock's pulse started to drop dramatically and after a minute, John jumped up, ran to his room and grabbed the doctor's bag. Within seconds, he was back and he knelt in front of Sherlock. Quickly, he wrapped his blood pressure monitor around the thin arm. As he waited for the reading, he put on his stethoscope, undid the first few buttons of the white shirt and placed the end over Sherlock's heart.

The whole time, his mind split in two, one side was in total doctor mode as he looked after his patient, the other was freaking out. What the hell was going on? Sure he got excited whenever Sherlock touched him, hell that had been happening for some time now, but recently just a single touch seemed to cause John's body to stop, at least that is what it seemed like. Now Sherlock was reacting the same. Part of him thrilled at the idea Sherlock was also starting to show signs of something John had been longing for, for some time, he also hated what was happening to them both because of it.

Finally the monitor stopped and gave the reading.

"Shit!" Ninety over sixty was far too low! Looking up at Sherlock as he continued to listen to his heart, all he could do was wait. He already knew from trying before from what Sherlock had told him, nothing would be able to revive him.

Checking his watch, verified that Sherlock had been under less than five minutes.

"John!"

Jumping, John looked back up at Sherlock, expecting him to be awake but he was still under. Frowning, John lent up more and gently pulled back one of the lids and examined the pupil. It was dilated, something that shouldn't happen.

Shaking his head, he let his hand drop just as Sherlock woke and bolted upright

"John, you need to..." he paused and frowned, the words on his lips clearly forgotten as he looked down at the man before him.

"How long?"

"Six minutes...what do I need to do?"

"What?"

"Just now, you said I need to...what?"

Sherlock's confusion increased. "I never said anything other than 'How long.'"

"No, when you woke you looked, well terrified and then said 'John. You need to...'"

"I...no." He shook his head, causing the curls to bounce slightly.

Seeing how clearly distressed Sherlock was John raised his hands. "Okay, it's okay."

Sherlock went to say something, then looked down at his arm and then at the stethoscope.

"Ninety over sixty. Let me take it again and let me listen." He started the monitor back up and once again pressed the stethoscope to Sherlock's chest. His heartbeat had increased, from a low forty-five to an average sixty-five and when the monitor finished, it read one-twenty over ninety. "Normal, everything is back to normal."

"John, those people, the ones like us, their cause of death is a total mystery to everyone, even Molly has no clue. What if they just stopped, their bodies just shut down and stopped."

"That is almost impossible in young healthy people which all of them seem to be, there has to be some under lying reason."

"Emotion."

"What?" John frowned as he took the cuff from Sherlock's arm.

"Every incident we have had involves a moment, a touch, and heightened emotional states."

John nodded, allowing his mind to go into a mode he used when Sherlock was bouncing ideas off of him. He did not allow the part of himself that really was starting to rejoice in the fact that Sherlock was nearly admitting that he had an emotional reaction to him to take over.

"Okay, so five others have been found. I wonder if any of them knew each other."

"Good, very good. We may never know because as far as anyone knows these people never existed. There is no one looking for them, no record of who they are, even medical and dental records seem to be none existent."

"Sherlock, when you sleep do you dream?" It was a random question he knew but he needed to know.

"Don't remember. I think I do. Why?"

"Because two days ago my nightmares stopped."

He saw understanding in Sherlock's eyes. "You never stop dreaming."

"No I don't. I just handle them better these days."

For a moment the two of them just stared at each other, both of them wanting to try and reassure the other but neither of them knowing how to.

"Okay, so here is the deal going forward. The trigger for us is obviously each other, be it a touch, or as you just brilliantly demonstrated, a kiss."

"A kiss that was meant to put you under."

"Yes, but it would seem you had a stronger reaction to that than I did." John couldn't help but smile slightly at that.

"So you didn't react to it?" Sherlock's face had dropped slightly, his eyes looking down at his hands as they rested on his lap.

"Oh, I reacted, but then you passed out and, pushed everything to the side as I became too concerned about you."

Sherlock looked up and the shy smile on his face just begged John to lean forward and kiss it away. Before he even had a chance to do so, Sherlock became serious and put his hand up.

"No don't."

John stilled. It was clear to the both of them that they wanted this, that if what was happening wasn't then the two of they would have taken themselves to the bedroom some time ago. As they stared at each other darkness started to creep into John's vision and he had to force himself to look away from Sherlock.

"Okay, so it would seem touching does not need to be involved." This came from Sherlock as he fell back against his chair his hands going to his hair for a moment before he messed the curls, drawing John's eyes to his hands as they delved into his curls.

"Damn it." John stood and started to pace. "So what do we do?"

"I don't know. Your heart rate was far too low the last time. I don't think it could take it again."

"I agree, same goes for you."

"So what we just ignore this thing..." Sherlock moved his hand between them. "This, whatever it is, going on between us."

John stopped and saw Sherlock's eyes were watching him still. "I guess...but God, I don't want to."

Sherlock smiled again and John growled as he turned away. "Okay so we need to work out what the hell is going on before this kills us both."

"Yes."

.#.#.#.#.

"They both fight now."

"They know something is going on."

"Readings are staying level for now, though John shows signs of giving in."

"What about the other?"

"The other is concealing his emotions more, hiding them from himself as much as possible."

"We need to push the matter."

"How?"

"Wake them up, together."

.#.#.#.#.

John ran his hands over his face letting his eyes close for a moment before he went back to his laptop. He had been searching news reports and police reports looking for anything like the deaths Sherlock had been investigating and he also searched for anything to give him any idea about what was going on with the two of them.

Looking down at the clock on the screen he sighed as he read 02:47. Both of them refused to sleep, so while John researched, Sherlock experimented on blood samples from the five victims. He insisted on taking blood from himself and John to compare.

Getting up, John stretched lifting both hands above his head before heading into the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked as he filled the kettle before placing it back on its base and grabbing two mugs.

"Coffee...very, very strong coffee," The deep voice answered.

"Yeah, coffee would be better. It's a shame it's nearly three in the morning. I would have gone to the coffee place down the street instead."

"In the morning."

John turned once he finished prepping the two mugs, crossed his arms as he lent back against the counter and watched as a dark head lent over the microscope on the kitchen table.

"Found anything?"

"Nothing! Everything looks normal, everything reacts normal!" Sherlock looked up at John and then in two seconds flat he was up and leaning over John.

"Sherlock..."

"Together."

"What?"

"That's the only thing not to have happened so far, we haven't slept together."

"Sherlock, no," but already Sherlock was leaning in, placing his hands on either side of John upon the kitchen counter. John uncrossed his arms, his hands going to push Sherlock back when Sherlock suddenly fell against him. "Shit...Sherlock!"

As gently as he could, he helped Sherlock down along the way until he was led laid on his back. As he began to take Sherlock's pulse, John's eyes suddenly started to close and within a second he too passed out, on top of Sherlock.

.#.#.#.#.

When his mind started to wake it did what it always did, it remembered colours, but this time everything was so much more intense, everything was stronger, it all glowed brighter and then the dark, the pure black that always made his feel so safe, came over, that was when he opened his eyes.

Eyes unlike anything he had seen before greeted him, eyes so pale yet held such depth watched him as he came to, eyes that held every shade of blue and green he could imagine looked at him with such open wonder and fear, John started to panic.

"Where..." he choked, his voice sore with disuse.

"Don't," the other answered before he started to cough.

John watched helplessly as the man continued to cough and cough until finally he calmed down enough to just breathe. Once the pale man recovered, he quickly focused his eyes back on John.

"I...don't ..." John started to shake his head, it was clear the man's voice was just as disused as his own but he continued none the less. "...know, where."

"Where are the...they?"

"Left." The head of curls turned to door.

"Why?" John frowned; they had never left while he had been awake before.

"Name?" John turned to the other man and shrugged.

"I don't...remember, but they...they called me John." The man smiled and John's heart missed a beat, he was gorgeous. "You?"

Pale shoulders shrugged. "You said...Sherlock."

John frowned again. "When?"

"When they brought me here."

"I don't, don't remember," he laughed slightly. "Sherlock..."

The other man laughed too. "Strange right?"

"Yeah."

"When I wake, that's how I think of myself though."

"Sherlock it is then." John smiled this time and Sherlock smiled back.

They stayed silent for a while both resting their voices a moment before John started to pull at his restraints.

"John don't," Sherlock warned.

"This is the longest I've been awake, I intended to use it."

"John, I tried, it only hurts..."

As John pulled at his left arm, pain shot through it and he cursed, letting his head fall back as he waited for it to ease.

"...like hell." Sherlock finished. "They have something stuck in us."

John looked back down at his arm and for the first time he really examined what was holding him to the tilted table. His arms were placed so the insides and palms of his hands faced up and four metal cuffs held them down to the table. These were the points that he was sure needles of some sort where placed in him, needles that had strained and hurt as he tried to pull his arm free. Around his legs there were also restraints but as he pulled on these no pain followed so he surmised that no needles were jabbed into him there. His feet were on a small shelf helping to support his weight so that the restraints on his legs and arms didn't pull.

Looking down though, he was also reminded that he was totally naked. When he glanced up at Sherlock, he noted for the first time that the man was in the same state of undress.

"It would seem who ever has us has no qualms to being undressed."

"Yet they wear robes of some sort." John muttered.

"Indeed."

John sighed and let his head fall back again but this time he kept his eyes open and he took to studying the man before him. He was so pale in comparison to John, his skin looked like marble and his veins, blue against his skin, stuck out in stark relief. His hair was black and part of John, the part that for some reason had become addicted to colour, especially black, wanted to know what his black curls felt like.

Finally his eyes locked back onto Sherlock's open to find him smiling.

"Enjoying the view?" the deep but still rather unused voice asked.

"Well it's a far better the view than the one I have been greeted with recently. Everything here is so grey and dull."

"Agreed. It's almost hard to look at you," Sherlock confessed causing pink to colour his pale skin slightly. John watched totally fascinated by the colour as it spread to the man's cheeks.

"Why is that?" John asked.

"You glow in this environment, your skin is gold and don't get me started on your hair."

Now it was John's turn to blush and as the heat spread through his chest and up a new sensation started from between his legs.

"Oh God, no," he whispered, his eyes closing as he wanted nothing more than to cover up his naked form.

"John, look at me," Sherlock's voice ordered and John slowly opened his eyes. "You are not the only one," he said before looking down at himself. John followed his gaze and then moaned at the sight of Sherlock's pale cock semi hard.

"Damn it!" John nearly shouted and once again started to pull at his restraints not caring as pain laced through his body. He needed to get out, he needed to get out and help his friend.

At that thought he stilled, why did he suddenly think of Sherlock as his friend, he had only just met him and sure they both showed an attraction to each other, that didn't make them friends. This had to be something more. Focusing on the thought, John let his eyes look back to Sherlock and then he gasped.

"London...Oh my God...Sherlock we live in London, in an apartment, together."

"What?"

"I know you."

"Not possible when I don't even know myself."

Suddenly the door opened and the three...beings John had seen before, gracefully walked back in. They started to talk as they looked between John and Sherlock then one walked over to Sherlock and placed a needle in his neck.

"GET THE FUCK OFF OF HIM!" John shouted causing the three to turn, but whatever they had given Sherlock already took effect as the detective slumped and fell back to sleep.

Detective? John held onto that thought, the clarity that came with that one word, he remembered.

"What the hell have you done to us?" he asked as the three beings moved around him.

"Something changes in this one."

"Do we continue?"

"The others readings have changed, the emotional levels have increased, the harvest from him alone could feed us all for a week."

"What of this one?"

"This one's readings are off the chart."

John looked between the three as they talked. Their alien sounds meant nothing to him, but he needed to know what the hell was happening to them. He had needed to discover if those others, the ones from the dream, because that had to be the dream because this, this all felt too real, all suffered the same fate that was going on with he and Sherlock.

"Did you kill those others too, the ones from the dream, and how the hell did you incorporate them into the dream."

"He remembers."

"Shall we?"

The three looked at each other. John then flinched as one stepped forward.

"You dream a shared dream, you all connect and when a match is made or one expresses increased emotional levels, you are brought here." John frowned but forced himself to keep his eyes on the tall being before him.

"How many?" The being tilted its head. "How many of us do you have?"

"Enough to feed us for a life time."

John's heart stopped and then a sharp pain in the side of his neck brought him back to the present. "You can't..." he whispered as his eyes started to close.

.#.#.#.#.

Startled, John sat up, surprised to find himself laid on a bed, with the sun streaming through a small crack in the curtains. That couldn't be right because his room didn't get the sun.

"You're in my room. It's a lot closer than yours, besides I don't think I could have carried you up the stairs."

John turned toward Sherlock's voice to find him sat with his legs stretched out in front of him as he lent against the wall next to the closed door.

"How long?"

"You said it was nearly three AM when you went to make coffee."

"Yes," John answered, running his hand over his face.

"It's now nearly three PM." John stilled and turned to face his friend. "I came to about four hours ago. You were lying on top of me in the kitchen."

John's mind raced. "I need to go back."

Sherlock's head spun to face him. "No."

"Yes, Sherlock. I need to go back, I need to...damn it, I don't know what I need to do but I need to do something."

"You don't remember?" Sherlock asked standing and walking to the bed but not sitting down.

"No," John answered looking up at his friend. "But you do." Grabbing Sherlock's hand he pulled him down till he sat next to John. "Tell me."

"It's hazy and I've been trying to hold onto it all since I woke up but it keeps slipping away."

"Okay but tell me what you do remember."

"You mostly, you glowed, the room was so boring but you lit everything."

John smiled slightly. "Well you did once say that I was a great conductor of light."

"It's the truth, and in that room I saw it."

"Tell me about the room."

"Dull, stainless steel, grey. There was equipment's of some sort but I don't really remember it. It's like they held no interest to me. All I was interested in was you."

"Okay, so were we talking? Moving about?"

"No we were both restrained, on tilted tables, and we talked though our voices were sore from disuse." He paused for a moment then looked up at John for the first time since sitting down. "You started to remember, in that world, you remembered but I didn't."

Silence filled the room, broken only when Sherlock voiced the one thing they were both coming to understand.

"This world is false."

"Yes, that's what I'm starting to think."

"What do they want with us?" Sherlock asked.

John grasped both Sherlock's hands as he started to shake.

"Sherlock?"

"This world, it's not real. How long have we been living this lie? Why didn't I see it, John?"

John understood his friends panic; Sherlock prized himself on seeing everything. His whole life was built upon a world of fact and science and now it had been take from him and he was left with doubt as to what was real and what was fake.

"You said you remember me the most."

"Yes."

"Did I have me scar?"

"What?"

John pulled his jumper over his head and then quickly undid his shirt before pulling his vest off. "This," he said pointing to his shoulder. "Did I have this?"

"I..." Hesitantly Sherlock shifted then reach out with his hand to trace the scar. "Yes...yes, you did."

"Okay, so Afghanistan was real. Which means this," he pressed his finger to Sherlock's forehead. "This is real too."

"What about us?"

"What about us?"

"What if in the real world we have never met?"

"But we have now, you just said so."

"So everything in the last two years could just have been a dream?"

"Possibly."

"And we have dreamt up all the cases, the people, everything?"

"No," John answered knowing it to be true. "Everyone else is real, they are dreaming with us."

"So Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft..."

"Yes, they have all of us."

Silence fell again for a while then Sherlock jumped up. "Those people, the ones that have died. If they have shared the dream with us then others must have known them, must remember them." He started to pace. "But what if they do something, what if once a dreamer dies in the real world then we forget them in this world."

"Why not just take them from the dream completely, why leave a body?"

"They don't, what they leave is the mind, the dead mind that was part of the dream when they died."

"Five victims, all dying while still within the dream."

"What if there were six?"

"Six?"

"Yes, the last one, the girl, what if she had a partner who died in the real world, leaving no trace of him or her with in the dream."

"I don't understand."

"All the other victims."

"What about them?"

Before Sherlock answered he pulled his phone free.

"What are you doing?"

"Texting Lestrade."

"Why?"

"Because I think he forgot to mention that the first four victims were found together."

Understanding came upon John and then he felt sick. "They kill them because they fall in love."

"Yes, though why is still not something for which I have an answer."

"So the last victim?"

"I think they killed her once her partner had died in the real world, took whatever they could from her before she was overcome by grief."

"What happens if they do that?" John suddenly thought.

"Do what?"

"Taste grief."

"I don't understand." That was strange coming from Sherlock and John smiled but said nothing.

"I think they feed on heightened emotion, they feed when someone first falls in love. So what would happen if they fed on grief?"

"Poison maybe?"

"Maybe." John fell silent, letting himself get lost in his own thoughts. As he sat there, he briefly acknowledged that Sherlock had received a reply from Lestrade, letting him know that yes, the first four victims were found together as couples, but other than that he ignored Sherlock until he stood.

"I'll be right back," he said before running up to his room grabbing what he needed then returning to Sherlock's room. Once inside, he locked the door and watched as Sherlock continued to pace.

"I should do it."

John smiled though it was a sad smile. "Do you really think I would let you?"

"Do you think I would let you!?" Sherlock's voice rose and he turned on John holding his hand out. "Give it to me."

"Nope."

"John," he practically growled, stepping into John's personal space.

"Listen, when you wake up, I don't think you will have a lot of time but you know CPR and you must administer it as soon as you can."

"John, unless you forgot we are restrained."

"Yes, I know." With that John grabbed a fist full of Sherlock's shirt, pushed him against the closest wall, then reached up and kissed him, hard. At first, Sherlock fought and resisted everything John did but John could feel him falling, he could feel Sherlock's heartbeat increase inside his chest, he could feel the tall body become soft and welcoming as long arms wrapped around his naked waist and pulled him harder against the pale body, as hands started to roam over his back, causing shivers to run down his spine. When those bow shape lips started to kiss him back, John fell completely.

Darkness crept in on his vision as he opened his eyes slightly and he could feel his body getting heavier as his heart started to slow. He then felt Sherlock start to slump against him and he knew he need to act, he needed to do it now before Sherlock went first.

Pulling his gun from the back of his jeans, John wasted no time in placing the gun against his temple, drew back slightly from Sherlock and pulled the trigger.

.#.#.#.#.

Sherlock reacted instinctively, he flung himself away from the sound of the gun going off but he kept hold of John as the gun dropped to the floor, released from limp fingers and then John collapsed.

"No...No, no, no, nonononononoooooooooooooo." Sherlock lowered John to the floor and quickly started CPR but he knew it was pointless; the man had just shot himself in the head.

"John no, don't, please, god no please you can't do this!" Tears started to cloud Sherlock's vision as he continued to hit at John's chest until there was nothing left in him. In the end, he moved so that he could cradle John's head in his lap, not caring about the blood that soaked his white shirt and expensive trousers. All he wanted was to hold the man he had slowly fallen in love with, to hold him until he came back, and to tell him that he loved him, but that was never going to happen now.

.#.#.#.#.

Johns gasped as he woke, part of him in shock as memories flooded his mind. Relief filled him when he realized he was alive. Still gasping, he lifted a hand to his head and then paused as his fingers came in contact with his hair.

He was free.

Looking up he saw the three beings all surrounding Sherlock, all with what looked like straws going to their mouths as they fed of Sherlock's emotions. He tried to work out what to do. Just as he was about to push off the tilted table the three being started to shout and wither in pain.

"What happened?"

With a look of astonishment at discovering John was conscious, the aliens, turned and crumpled to the floor.

"Poison indeed," John said then stepped off the table only to collapse in a heap upon the floor. His body though looking well, obviously lacking the strength to stand. "God damn it!"

Taking a few steadying breaths, he slowly lifted himself using only his arms and painfully made his way to Sherlock.

"Sherlock..." Once he was close enough, John pulled himself so that he was sat at the foot of the tilted table and reached up to touch Sherlock's leg. "Come on Sherlock, wake up."

Alarms suddenly sounded, startling John. Holding his breath, he waited for others to come rushing in but nothing happened. Turning back to Sherlock, he looked up him and shook his leg again.

"Sherlock, please..."

"He is fine," a voice sounded and John turned to look up at more of the beings.

"Let us go."

"Believe when I say that this is the plan." The tall being stepped forward, pulling off one of his robes as he did so and placed it over John's shoulders.

Frowning, John wrapped the fabric around his now shivering form and stared at the tall being. "You are different to these others."

"Yes, these are outlaws, criminals of our race." He paused and looked at the three on the floor. "What happened to them?"

"Grief."

"Ah, very well done, your race is smarter than we first thought." John looked as the being smiled at him, its small mouth turned up slightly. "I must apologise for what has been done to you."

"Well I guess as long as you take us back then we can just get on with our lives."

"Yes, though we shall have to return you back to the time you were taken."

John paused then closed his eyes. "How long have we been here?"

"Two years."

"Of course." John looked up at Sherlock. "And I guess the dream will be forgotten and we will never remember any of this."

"Indeed."

Leaning his head against Sherlock foot, John took long breaths, trying to steady his heart.

"Would you like us to wake him?" John's eyes widened at this.

"Yes, but release him first."

He watched as the being went about freeing Sherlock and then gently lower him to the ground with John before he too was covered

"Give him a few minutes he should wake soon."

"Will he remember?"

"The dream?"

"Yes."

"Hard to say, it is surprising that you remember." The being turned and started to move about the room and then others came and took the three that had died.

"Why were they criminals?"

"Because they fed off of sentient life."

"I see."

"Our race, as you have discovered, lives off emotion, emotion of others."

"So you feed off each other."

"Yes, it was a mutual thing, we mate and we fed of each other, and families feed their young."

"What happened?"

"Our females started to die off, we have been searching ever since for an alternative source of food."

"But you refuse to live of another race."

"Yes, it goes against everything we are. We live for each other and we deem it barbaric to kill just to live."

"John..."

Looking down, John brushed back Sherlock's curls. "Hi."

"What...what is going on?"

"What do you remember?"

"Waking up before."

"What about the dream?"

"Dream?" Sherlock was clearly confused.

"Don't worry about it," John smiled running his fingers over Sherlock's forehead. "Listen, we are going home."

"That's good."

"Yeah, it is," John smiled again, though he knew it didn't reach his eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing, don't worry, I just worry is all."

"I'm fine John, if a little cold." John reacted instinctively and wrapped himself more around Sherlock, well as much as he could while he had his head resting on his lap.

"Listen to me Sherlock, when we get back I want you to do something for me."

"Anything," he whispered as his eyes closed.

"Try not to forget me," John murmured in his ear and then Sherlock's head turned and their lips met for a brief kiss.

"Never John."

.#.#.#.#.

John woke with a start, his heart pounded in his chest, sweat dripped from his face and caused his shirt to cling to him and as he caught his breath he felt tears start to fall down his face.

The PTSD was not easing, in fact if anything, it was getting worse and in the last few weeks his nightmares had caused him to wake up every night drenched in sweat with a pounding heart and tears streaming down his face.

Growling after a few minutes, John pushed back the covers, grabbed his stick and walked to the desk. Once there, he pulled opened the draw and picked up his gun.

Holding it in his hand, he leaned the walking stick against the desk and picked up the clip that had been lying next to the gun. Loading it, he made sure the safety was off before he walked back over to his bed and sat with the gun still in his hand but resting on his lap.

He couldn't do this anymore; he couldn't carry on with the pain, with the memories, with any of it. He wanted it to end, to just stop, for the agony to finally fade and to just sleep. If that meant he was to sleep forever then so be it.

Cocking the gun, John closed his eyes and held the gun in both hands as he placed the barrel between his lips.

"JOHN!" Jumping, John lowered the gun (stunned by the fact that he hadn't just shot himself) and looked to the door as someone banged on it and called his name once again. "JOHN! JOHN LET ME IN!"

"Who is it?" he called back, not getting up from his bed.

"It's Sherlock."

John frowned. "Sherlock who?"

"Sherlock Holmes. John please, just open the door."

"I don't know a Sherlock Holmes," he called back.

"No...Of course you don't, you don't remember."

Standing, gun still in hand, John walked to the door slowly, deciding not to take his stick with him.

"Remember what?"

"It's hard to explain, but please John, don't do what you planned."

"How...how did you know?"

"Today is the twenty-ninth of January...well now it's the thirtieth."

"Yes..."

"Today you took a walk in the park, today you were meant to meet a friend of yours by pure chance, a man names Mike Stamford."

"How the hell do you know Mike?"

"But it didn't happen, because today you slept in for the first time in years today, you slept in 'til gone nine and it threw off the rest of the day, so by the time you walked through the park, Mike had already finished and headed back to Bart's Hospital."

John stared at the door, totally confused and wanting to tell whoever this Sherlock was to just fuck off but he also found himself totally intrigued.

"John, you asked me not to forget, and I didn't, well okay I did and it has taken me most of the day to remember, but I remember it all now so please just open the door and put that blasted gun down!"

Looking down at his hand, John wondered at how the hell the man on the other side of the door knew.

"How..."

"Because you told me, you told me that if you hadn't met me then that night you planned on ending it. You took the time today to see the city you love one last time and then planned this all, you planned to sleep and see what happened and then if you woke with another nightmare you were going to end it. John please, can't, I...just please opened this god damn door!"

Reaching out John unlocked the door and then slowly opened it.

The man on the other side took by total surprise; he was tall, with pale skin, black curled hair and the most amazing eyes he had ever seen.

"Colours..."

"What?" Sherlock asked as he stepped forward, his hand reached down and he took hold of the gun all the while holding John's eyes with his own.

"Colours, your eyes." Sherlock smiled and John's heart actual stopped, my god, the man was stunning.

"Yes, you said you always dreamed about colours."

"I...I don't know you."

Sherlock stepped further into the small flat and closed the door behind him. He placed the gun on the small dining table before looking back to John.

"No, you don't remember me, it's different."

John moved back as Sherlock stepped into his personal space. Sherlock stopped advancing, holding his hands up. "I wish I could tell you everything, I wish I could tell you what has happened in the last two years but if I did that you would think me crazy."

"I already think you are crazy," John said causing Sherlock to laugh, a sound that went right through John. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine. Okay that shouldn't happen, John wasn't gay, yet he already found himself drawn to this mysterious man.

"Can I try something?" Sherlock asked, holding out a hand as if to touch John's face.

"I don't know..."

"Trust me," he whispered and reached forward, his fingers gently brushed against Johns face. John's reactions surprise even him as he closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, which felt far too good. Keeping his eyes closed, he found himself stepping forward as Sherlock's fingers moved to his neck and then moved around until his hand cradled the back of his neck. Sherlock pressed his forehead against the top of John's head. "You know me John, you know me better than anyone."

John looked up, the words he was about to say dying on his lips. They were no more than an inch apart now and John could taste Sherlock's breath as he exhaled slowly.

"I'm not gay." John blurted out in a whisper.

"No, you're not." Sherlock whispered and then soft lips where pressed firmly against Johns.

The kiss started slowly with Sherlock not wanting to frighten an obviously very confused John away, but when John started to respond by opening his mouth ever so slightly, Sherlock took the opportunity to pull John further against him with his free hand pressed against the small of John's back.

John found himself clutching at the lapels of the long coat Sherlock wore, holding the other man in place as well as pulling him down so that he had more control over the kiss.

Soon the kiss became heated to the point where they started pull at each other's clothes, searching and wanting nothing but skin between them.

"John," Sherlock finally broke free, breathing hard as he looked down him.

"Sherlock, if you don't shut up and kiss me again, I will never forgive you."

"John, you need to remember first."

"Oh please, the moment you kissed me it all came back." John smiled as he looked up at the dumfounded look on Sherlock's face.

"You remember."

"Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

"Good." Sherlock pushed him away. "You fucking shot yourself!" he suddenly exploded. "And you were about to do it again!"

John flinched as Sherlock shouted and then winced at the memory of killing himself. "Sherlock you know that was necessary."

"Necessary, to kiss me like that for the first time and then to kill yourself right in front of me!"

"Yes!"

"Do you know how many days you were gone before I woke up?"

John went still all his defiance gone. "No."

"Five, five days you were dead, five days I waited to wake up, to find out if it had worked. I started to think that it hadn't and the dream was real and the room was the dream."

"Sherlock..."

"I held you for hours, your blood everywhere, I held you and wept and when Lestrade finally found us that night, I refused to let you go, they had to sedate me in the end."

"Sherlock, stop." John closed the gap between them placing his hands on either side of Sherlock's face. "Please stop."

"You died, John," Sherlock's voice broke John's heart so he did the only thing he could do. Wrapping his arms around slim shoulders, he pulled Sherlock against him and just held onto him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I had to do that to you," he whispered, running his fingers through the unruly hair. "Sherlock, I know I cannot ask this, but please forgive me."

"Damn it John, I forgave you the moment I remembered everything!" Sherlock lifted his head from John's shoulder forcing John to look up at him once again.

"Oh."

"Yeah...but that does not mean that I'm not still mad as hell at you because I am."

"I know, I know." John started to kiss along Sherlock's jaw until he reached the incredibly lips and started to kiss him between words. "You know, this is technically the first time we have ever been...really together."

Sherlock ran his hands up John's back, drew John closer to him as he caught his lips fully silencing John for good.

John for his part melted against Sherlock, his hands quickly found themselves gripping the narrow hips and pulled him closer to him only to be met by something distinctly hard. Moaning, John ground his hips against Sherlock and an answering growl escaped Sherlock as he pushed John back.

"Bed."

John forced himself to turn from Sherlock and dragged him to the single bed before turning back to Sherlock and recapturing his lips. As they kissed, John found his hands inside Sherlock's coat and pushed it off his shoulders. His jacket quickly following before John's fingers started to pluck at the white shirt, wanting to feel skin. Once his fingers found what they sought, he sighed against Sherlock's lips.

"Two years John, two years I've wanted this."

"Oh god."

"I waited for you today, I waited for you to come in, for Mike to bring you just like it happened in the dream." Sherlock's snatched at Johns t-shirt and tugged it over his head, throwing it to the ground to join his coat and jacket before his lips started to kiss down John's neck and across his shoulder all the while he continued to talk. "But you didn't come..."

"I know, but I'm here now, 'with you." John felt tremors run down the long back and he frowned and leaned away slightly. "What? What is it?"

"They took the whole of London."

"I know." John saw the fear he felt reflected in Sherlock's eyes.

"How can we be the only two to know about it?"

"Because we ended it."

"Part of me...I want to delete it, to forget it all."

"But then you would be deleting me."

"Yes."

John gave him a small smile then sat on the bed bringing Sherlock down to sit next to him. "Then we deal, we go forward knowing what we know and we fight through whatever comes next just like we always have."

Sherlock lent forward and took John's face in his hands, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. "John Watson, what did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Everything, you did everything to deserve me."