My Miracle

by sherlockingtoohard

John is still coping with Sherlock's death 3 years afterwards. When John starts receiving clues pertaining to Sherlock he goes in search of the man doing this to put an end to the pain he's being caused. Who is this mystery man exactly?

John has been without his best friend, Sherlock, for quite some time now. In the beginning it was down right hell, and being a soldier he forced himself to deal with the pain, made himself feel every bit but never show any of it to anyone he cared for.
Some nights he would dream and wake up in tears from reliving the horrid day when his world was thrust into a whirlwind of confusion and pain. Nothing could have prepared him for that, not one damn thing.

He sometimes was able to cry himself back to sleep and hope for a some-what rest full night. Other times; when the dream had been particularly vivid he would sigh heavily and make his way to the kitchen for some toast.
He would pull out the loaf of bread and a knife, then open the fridge to get some jam for his toast. Oddly enough John found himself missing the empty cabinets and freezer - at least empty of food - he couldn't say he loved finding severed limbs and bits of God knows what where their food should have been- it was more who had been the cause of it that he longed for.

So he sat in the dark, with the outside street lights illuminating the empty flat, silently praying for his old friend to stalk in, slide off his black coat and toss it onto the back of a chair then stretch out onto the sofa and clap his hands together in a teepee formation over his lips. He itched for the opportunity to glance over his laptop and see the brilliant man lost in his resplendent mind.
Nothing would be said, because nothing needed to be said if he were to return. Most of their communication was silent. John knew Sherlock like the back of his hand, he knew what he was thinking, when he was happy though his face showed no traces, he knew when to follow him verses when to stay behind. He even knew what Sherlock meant when he said certain things, how to interpret them...almost decode their hidden meaning.
Sherlock never said anything he didn't mean. He was very useful in that manner, but sometimes the full meaning behind something was not revealed until later, or maybe not at all if he didn't wish it. Everything you wanted to know about Sherlock was in his eyes, his face could be as rigid as a stone but if you were to notice his eyes, in all their ferocity, you would see the entire universe.

This was a trait that John had come to know and admire greatly. It was almost his secret window into his icy flat-mate's emotions.

Yet, John was always surprised by him, always left wondering at how such a brilliant man could be such a child in most ways. So needy and fragile at times. This exactly was what, John guessed, brought Sherlock to kill himself. He knew it didn't matter what people thought of him, everyone could think Sherlock the biggest moron on Baker Street, hell in London for that matter, but someone knew how to hurt Sherlock. Someone knew his vulnerability and they knew how to use it to crumple his spirit.

Several people, including his psychiatrist had given John theories as to why he had died, why he had left his closest friend on this planet to live alone in misery, but none of them stuck. John didn't want to know why he had done it, he didn't want to sit back and think about it. After all, soldiers never think they act. This mentality, this hard exterior was the only thing that had protected him from going mad when he was shot and before he met Sherlock. If he had stopped to think about who had shot him, or why he was having these horrible dreams about it he wouldn't have survived. He'd be stuck in the loony bin right about now instead of slowly spreading jam onto, now cold toast.

As far as he saw it, Sherlock was dead and he wasn't coming back. Pondering why was only a sign of weakness. He was a strong man, and he willed himself to recover. Yes it was painful as hell that his only, and closest friend was dead but he knew he had to move on. Wallowing was never a good thing, and these constant sleepless nights had to come to an end. They were interfering with his job.

John worked at a small Doctor's office with his ex Sarah. She was nice enough, but ever since she had come within seconds of having her head shot with a crossbow on their first date, they haven't really gone out again. I guess a simple trip to the circus was just too much to ask for when you were friends with Sherlock. Things were never simple with him. They were always clever, and exciting. That is the reason John didn't turn from this obviously insane man requesting him to be his flat-mate. The thrill of danger lurking around every corner, the rush of chasing after a car in the dark streets of London, and the pride that came with solving a new case.

Sarah would always manage to be there before John every morning. He didn't quite know why this was, but he wasn't going to take the time to figure it out. It was rather nice to see her happy face greeting him when he arrived.
She sat just outside his office taking calls and the occasional patient when John had dozed off because he hadn't slept much that night. Although she got onto him whenever she did have to take one, she was never cruel or demanding. She knew exactly what had happened and even though John acted strong she had known John for long enough to know that he didn't quite express his feelings. He was going through hell at this point, but he'd never tell anyone so she let it go. Silent support was what she gave, and it was what John needed. He didn't know just how far her backing would go but he sensed she was always there for him if anything went wrong. He never spoke of it, but he appreciated it more than she could know.

The days in the office were often long, but never boring. John enjoyed himself when he was caring for the patients. Healing people was sort of his calling, and in an odd way seeing how healthy he was compared to everyone else helped him to feel a little better each day. Though the nights were the issue, a haunting silence always managed to pierce through John's peace. Nothing he did, not turning on the telly, nor listening to music from his laptop would help.
The proverbial melody humming throughout the flat whenever Sherlock composed was gone. It's haunting current seemed to comfort John in ways only known to him when they had vanished. He often glanced up from his computer screen and saw the violin propped on it's stand facing the window, alone and unused. It's slender figure and hard lines sort of reminded John of the man who once stood there with the instrument tucked under his chin coaxing the most wondrous sounds from it's taught strings. It even seemed to stare out the window longingly just as it's owner had before.

John imagined the violin standing atop the roof of a building struggling to play one last song, but it only produces silence because without it's bow, his one and only companion, it fails to make music. And it's bow is equally distraught because without his violin all he is doing is flitting about helplessly.
The bow watches in horror as the violin plummets to the ground and shatters into a million wooden pieces on impact. The bow rushes over and begins trying to strum the twisted strings only to find they are too damaged to emit their beautiful sounds any longer.

He sighs and tosses another slice of wasted toast into the bin and slowly turns to face the faint glow coming from the window. He walks towards it and stares out into the dark streets lightly dusted with a thin cover of snow. He let his head lay against the cold glass and soon his breath began fogging up the window. A small smirk pulled at the corner of his thin blush lips as he began tracing Sherlock's face into the haze clouding his view. He hadn't been paying much attention until he noticed a small black car coasting down the street. Through the picture of Sherlock he had scribbled, without much effort, he recognized it immediately. It was the car that usually took him to Mycroft, and soon enough a slender girl in a thick coat stepped out and turned to glance up at the window. She gave a small wave and turned back to the small glowing square she held in her gloved hands. Always texting.

John glanced at the clock groggily and frowned deeply. It's 3:30 in the blasted morning. Can't he wait?
With a deep huff he pulled on one of his decorative jumpers and his leather jacket then marched out the door, only pausing to lock it. He crept past dear old Mrs. Hudson's room as not to wake her then made his way to the idling car. Gentle snow flakes perched on the end of his nose causing small shivers to run throughout him as he approached the smirking woman.

"So nice to see you John." She murmured.
He gave her a terse nod before sliding onto the, surprisingly warm seats. He guessed they were heated. When she slid in next to him he shifted uncomfortably before tugging his jacket out from behind him.

"You do realize what time it is right?" He commented gruffly.
She smirked but didn't look up from her phone. They never said much on these car rides, and John was okay with that.

Soon John stepped into the familiar office and sunk into the leather chair in front of the desk. Mycroft spun in his chair until he was facing John.

"Hello John."

John grunted and looked at him expectantly. "Want to give me a reason you called me here this early?"

"My, my. Well you were already awake I presume?" He chuckled knowingly. John jerked his head to the side and scoffed.

"I've got you here because I need to warn you." He began as he pulled a thin stack of papers out from his desk.
John leaned in slightly and extended his hand to grab the papers. Mycroft didn't push them towards him but instead waited for John to lean back. Quickly John understood and sat back, his interest peaked.

"I must do this now. Sherlock has been dead...is it 3 years?" He questioned while flicking small glances up at John while studying the papers.

"Yes." John growled rather unexpectedly. Even though he knew Mycroft hadn't tried to hurt his own brother, the resentment was still there and the fact that he would mention it so casually was really digging under John's skin. "Only a week now." He concluded.

"Quite sad really. But I must tell you that things aren't as they were."

John gave a pawky laugh and crossed his legs. "Y-You're just now noticing?"

"My point is...be careful. Anything could happen between now and the anniversary. Be vigilant." He declaimed.
John raised an eyebrow and leaned forward wanting to bite Mycroft's head off but instead sucked in a deep breath and swallowed audibly.

"Right. I'll be careful." John muttered. He stood and once again marched through the wooden doors back to the car, like he had 3 years ago. He hadn't given much thought to how long it had been because as far as he was concerned it didn't matter. It wasn't like Sherlock was coming back, so why should be bother with such a painful thing as time?

"Good morning John." The sly woman called as she shut the car door behind him. He turned to look at her, but only for a second before heading straight to his flat. It was still quite weird for him to take ownership of the it. Everything had always been split between the two of them, despite Sherlock treating it as if it were no more than rubbish along the sidewalk, it was nice to have someone to take half of the responsibility off his shoulders once in a while.

He was able to cope now, and he would have been able to before, because he was strong. He was independent. Although sometimes, he would slip and say 'our flat' sending him into an even deeper depression. Despite his attempts, a constant memory of Sherlock was pressing against John's brain, feeding the pain what was eating away at his heart. Maybe it was simply because he was in the place that so many memories were built on, or maybe it was just that Sherlock left that kind of permanent mark on you. He had changed John's life, he'd given him a friend and even more than that he'd given him a life back. A life away from the war and yet still took him on the most exciting and perilous adventures.
Even before he died John knew this, but...never had he told him until it was too late for him to hear.

John stepped into the bedroom and barely managed to slip off his leather jacket before collapsing onto the bed and falling into a deep sleep. He didn't dream that time, much to his appreciation.

But as always things went on. He wouldn't take a few days off to grieve. Not after it first happened and not now; despite recommendations from his colleagues and psychiatrist. Sarah would've gladly allowed him some time off but just as before; the bills were sitting unpaid on the side table and food still needed to be bought.
With this in mind, he slowly pulled himself out of bed with a few stretches and yawns then steadily began his morning. It wasn't until his eyes had forced themselves open that he noticed he'd collapsed in Sherlock's bed. He was slightly horrified for a fleeting moment with the thought of what he would say until it hit him that Sherlock wasn't going to say anything.
His phone vibrated causing him to jump slightly then huff with irritation.
"Not a moments peace." He grumbled.
Careful -MH
A small smile crossed his tired face as he laid back and inhaled his old friend's warm scent. It wasn't very strong, but it was just enough.
John began tearing up as the memories flooded back of all the times they had been just close enough for the manly essence surrounding Sherlock to waft into John's nose.
He'd always admired his smell, and up until now he assumed it was just because he thought it was a good smell for a man to have. But now, as a small warmth ran to his groin, he knew it was because he liked the smell. He enjoyed breathing in Sherlock and remembering the times they had been especially close. This was nothing short of terrifying to John so he quickly stood and made the bed while trying to control his hormones. I just haven't been with anyone in a while. Too depressed I suppose. He thought.

The few precious hours he managed to get in before the alarm buzzed was all he needed because he'd grown accustomed to little to no sleep. And for once he wasn't woken by vivid nightmares. He was particularly happy at this so he skipped breakfast, not that that was unusual. Crime didn't wait for John's toast.

---

"Have a good evening." Sarah voiced, breaking the quiet.
"You as well." John smiled as he nodded towards her. When she looked back down John started for the main door and wasn't planning on stopping until he reached his lounge chair. Tonight he decided to grant himself a little pleasure to regain control of his hormones.
He had decided this earlier while giving a woman a breast exam. Can't be thinking about Sherlock that way. I'm not gay.

The cold London night was dark, much darker than usual considering it was a new moon, and quite vacant. Usually at this time of night there were groups of people milling about, sometimes tourists; but mostly people just like John trying to get home. He thought it was unusual but didn't think anything of it until he had just passed the alleyway in which they hid from the police when Sherlock's reputation had been thrashed.
John winced at the memory but he couldn't help feel a little happy as he recalled them running and holding hands. The feel of his cool skin against his gave him a small rush, along with the thrill of being chased through dark alleys.
He shook his head to clear it and had just began walking again when he heard a bang come from the dark beside him. He paused and gazed toward where he thought the noise came from.
"Hello?" He asked after another loud bang. He raised his eyebrows causing wrinkles to etch into his forehead. John, being curious decided to investigate.

He was almost completely in the shadows when a small voice broke the eerie silence, making him start.
"Sorry love, didn't mean to scare you." an old woman soothed with a crackly laugh as she emerged from the shadows, just enough for her old dirty face to be seen.
"D-did you make those bangs?" John asked as he recovered his composure.
She nodded and pulled a small can from her thick rags and rattled it. John sighed and shoved his hand into his jacket pocket to dig for spare change.
"I haven't got anything for you." He huffed, slightly irritated that he had delayed his computer time for some homeless beggar.
She again shook the can and smiled at him.
He opened his mouth to say 'Look I don't have anything you dumb twit.' but he sucked in a quick breath and twisted his neck then began more calmly.
"I don't have any change. I'm sorry, but I have to get home now. I'm...very tired."
"Wow, he said you were dull but I didn't think you were this bad!" She threw her head back and cackled, causing the can to rattle loudly. "Here love, keep the blasted thing. Maybe take it home tonight and figure out what this means instead of downloading more porn!"
John opened his mouth in shock as she put the can in his hand and shuffled off laughing to herself. How could she have known that? She couldn't have unless...No.
"What does it mean?" John called after her.
"Figure it out yourself! He said you weren't completely stupid." She called back as she disappeared into the shadows.

"Impossible." He muttered angrily. He considered throwing the can down and storming off leaving the bloody thing behind, but something intrigued him about it. He rolled it in his hands for a second, admiring how rusted it was before spinning and marching back out into the light of the lamps flickering above.
As he walked a breeze blew at him, making it quite chilly but he was determined to get home.

Any chance of a good mood had been ruined by that old bitch and he knew exactly who she had meant, but not just any old lady was going to convince him that she'd been conversing with Sherlock.
Old bat probably had gone senile. But then again...Sherlock did have a vast underground group of homeless who 'worked' for him in a sense. Maybe she just was wanting some attention and thought if she mentioned him I'd take her damn can. John thought as he continued marching through the bitter night.

He hung his coat on a peg near the front door and took a deep breath. He held it for a minute while looking around at the clean flat.
"Thank God for Mrs. Hudson." He chuckled as he blew through his lips and trudged over to the desk. On his way he set the can down on the coffee table and tried to push it out of his mind.
The pang of seeing Sherlock's old papers and notes no longer bothered him, so he snatched his computer and went over to his chair without hesitation.
He plopped down and leaned his head back, admiring the softness of the leather and sighed as the energy seemed to fade out of his body. He opened the mac and waited for the cursor to stop revolving.
When it was finished loading he clicked on the internet icon and waited for just a second because he had a fast computer. He paused after he began to type in his favorite site and wondered if he should check Sherlock's website. His fingers danced over the keys but decided to go on to his former plan.

---

He let out a groan of relief followed by several sighs as he came into his hand. He stroked the shaft a couple more times as his hips shook. His breath came in ragged gasps and a little more cum oozed out with each touch. He pulled a couple tissues and began wiping it all up. He soon recovered his breath and began tucking everything back into his pants while he stood and made his way to the kitchen.
"Do you want anything Sher-" John caught himself and swallowed loudly. He ground his teeth making his jaw one hard line. The pang in his heart this time wasn't normal. He's never done that before.
It was a new wave of pain and memories that, had he not have been leaning against the counter, he would have fallen to the floor in a mess of sobs. He closed his eyes and breathed for a long while, trying to stop himself from crying.
Suddenly Sherlock's eyes flashed into his mind, their stark blue-green, their wild like ferocity, and most of all the way Sherlock looked at John. He was analyzing him, every small detail, and John knew it. It was always a thrill for him, though he never let it show on his face. Sometimes when he thought John wasn't looking Sherlock would give quick glances to his lips or shoulders. John always saw, but he would never, ever bring it up. Likewise, John would glimpse at Sherlock's lips or maybe even sometimes his jawline. He liked to admire him because he was, after all, a very well structured man.
Another wave of warmth ran down to his crotch, causing him to get hard all over again. But as he felt this he realized that his looking wasn't platonic, rather that he had a desire to kiss and touch Sherlock.
Damn this! I'm not gay. He thought angrily.

He forgot about the hunger rumbling in his stomach and sat back down in his chair with the computer. His throbbing crotch ached for attention as he typed in the familiar address.
The Science of Deduction

He looked at the old entries, and re-read them a few times. Smirking to himself as he thought about the different ways Sherlock had of knowing these things, or 'observing' as he called it. The fact is, no one else could have known those small details, or make the connections he made. He was a one of a kind, and now that brain would be lost to the world forever.
John was recovering from his burst of hormones when suddenly a picture of Sherlock in the deerstalker -which now rested upon the skull on the mantle- loaded next to an article he was reading. His coat was pulled around his face and the hat was covering most of his forehead, but his eyes were still exposed. This made a chill run down John's spine. He hadn't actually seen Sherlock since he was standing on the roof. He forced himself to stay away from the papers until the news of the "Fake Detective" died down, and even almost 3 years later he was weary.

"God, I miss you." He whispered as a silent tear ran down his cheek. He sat for a minute and stared at the picture, trying to memorize his eyes and face even the way his skin curved around those cheekbones of his. He let himself feel the twists and turns of his heart silently as Sherlock's gaze bored right through him.

For a while John closed his eyes and tried to stop crying while scrubbing his hands over his face. He was close to a breakdown when there was a quiet knock on the door and he knew exactly who it was.
"Come in Mrs. Hudson." He called as he closed the laptop and wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his jumper. This one he liked particularly because he and Sherlock had picked it out one Christmas together. Sherlock had laughed in his silky baritone voice saying it was "fitting" for John.
"Hello John, sorry to bother you but I wanted to see if you needed anything. I'm going to town tomorrow and I thought i'd pick up some groceries if you need some." She asked in her quiet voice as she stepped in.

"I'm alright. Thank you. You've done so much...I don't know what i'd do without you." He smiled as he walked over and put a single arm over her shoulder. She locked her arm in his then rested her head on his shoulder.

"It's been hard hasn't it?" She sighed.

John nodded and patted her arm gently, trying to dismiss it. He didn't want to talk about Sherlock, especially when he had this much conflicting emotion.

"I sure do miss him. Even though i'm still angry with him."

"Me too..." John mumbled and took a deep breath, "Well, goodnight. Thank you, for all you do. Really." He added as he hugged her and motioned towards the door.

She gave him a sad smile before shuffling out and closing it behind herself.

"Damn you Sherlock. Damn you." John said to himself when he could no longer hear her footsteps.

That night was a mixture of lust and tears. He had never felt this way about anyone before, especially not a man.

---

When he awoke, it was still dark out and apparently too early for anyone decent to be awake. So he laid there on his back with one arm above his head, thinking. After last night he was most certainly going to take the time to sort through his thoughts. Nothing was wrong with being gay, but nothing in his life had given any indication that he was. He'd never been attracted to a man before. It was just Sherlock.
His lips twitched into a smile as he mulled this over.
Just Sherlock He thought.

He had just remembered the can when he decided to get up. The sun was just peaking above the horizon sending a blinding beam of light into John's eyes. After blocking it with his right hand he bent down to grab the can then stepped out of the ray before any further damage could be done to his eyes.
He fluffed the flag pillow in his chair then sat and began rolling the can in his hands. It wasn't particularly clean, so it had been used a few times but not to the point where it became grimy.
The paper wrapping around it had been ripped or torn by something, and upon closer examination it looked like it had been soaked off; like someone had dropped it in the water then peeled off some of it.
It looked to be some kind of coffee can, and he couldn't quite make out which brand it was. Though one word was very clear.

Miracle

The very second he read that word his stomach dropped. He blankly stared at it, his eyes so focused that they almost looked dead. He scanned his memory for any possible explanation as to why an old homeless woman would give him a can with only that word visible. He knew exactly what it meant, it was the last thing John said to Sherlock.
"One more miracle Sherlock, for me. Don't...be...dead."

John rubbed his thumb and index finger over his eyes then gave the word a second glance. It was still there, just as real and vivid as anything had ever been. He gripped the can tighter as he closed his eyes and twisted his neck around. He took several deep breaths before he looked again.
How could she have known? It's not like anyone heard me when I was at his...grave. Unless...No. John you're being preposterous. You want him to come back and have everything return to normal so you are making connections where there shouldn't be. Get it together.

He nodded quickly then stood and began his morning in the usual manner. He skipped breakfast, naturally, then went to work and had the dreaded thought completely out of his mind by noon.

"I'll be back soon. Just getting some lunch." He said as he looked to Sarah.

She looked up from the work sprawled out on the desk before her and gave him a small smile.

"Want anything?"

She shook her head and looked back to the papers. Her forehead had gotten increasingly more wrinkled as the work got more intense and John could tell she needed a break. A small idea popped into his head as he walked out of the office and onto the sidewalk. It was chilly, but compared to his stuffy office it was a welcome change.

He walked to the nearest café and had just paid for a small sandwich and tea when a small boy ran past him almost knocking him over.

"So sorry sir." The boy squeaked after he had recovered. He gazed up at John with stark blue eyes that were so obviously terrified that all John's irritation left him.

"That's alright." John laughed trying not to be too harsh. "Look where you're going next time though?"

The boy smiled and nodded as he tipped his somewhat familiar hat then took off out of the open doors. John chuckled and walked to the nearest park and took a seat on a bench just in front of a fountain.

He felt good today, remarkably, after he got a chance to be outside in the refreshing air.
He decided to take Sarah on a date, not a normal date he took girls on, he wasn't trying to get her in bed, although if that did happen there wouldn't be any complaints. This would be simply to cheer her up and partly to repay her for all the times she's covered for him when he was too upset to function properly.

He let out a small giggle as he thought of how he would ask her.

Hey, since my sociopath friend isn't here to spoil another date. Would you like to have dinner with me?

His joy was cut short as the absolute truth in that hit him and immediately he felt guilty. All those times John had cancelled dates just to be with Sherlock...all those missed chances. Yet, he wouldn't have traded them for the world.
Nothing was stopping him now, not a sudden call from Lestrad, not his friend to send them into the midst of a killer's plot, not even the simple fact that he was too depressed to date. Sherlock wasn't there anymore to get in the way of his dates. The overwhelming guilt that he could be happy about such a thing hit John like a speeding bus. And from that moment on he thought of nothing but Sherlock. This sent him off thinking about holding Sherlock's hand, and for once he didn't stop himself.

It had been about 45 minutes when John snapped out of his daydream and noticed that the sun was now behind him, making it much later than was acceptable. He looked at his un-eaten sandwich and cold tea with a sigh and stood.

He tossed the lunch in the bin before spinning on his heel and making his way back to the office. Sarah wouldn't be happy he'd stayed out for two hours, but maybe he could correct it by taking her out.

A tall spindly man stalked past John wearing a deep purple shirt with black pants and a deerstalker hat. The man shot John a look before continuing his hurried pace to wherever he was going.

"Hamish!" The man barked as he strode forward. "Where are you! It's time to leave!"

"Coming father!" A small voice yelled from behind John.

He turned just in time to see the same boy from the café running forwards with his hat scrunched in his hands. His face was flushed making his blue eyes stand out even more. The boy's overall appearance reminded John of Sherlock. So much so that he had to look away and continue on to work.

"Hurry Hamish!" The dad hissed as he patted down Hamish's tufts of curly black hair and replaced the wrinkled hat on his head.

The man turned to John then winked and pointed at his hat.

"Come along son. We have to leave now." The man, who also looked like Sherlock, whispered a little more gently to the small boy. Hamish took his father's hand then turned back to John.

"It's a ear hat!" Hamish exclaimed as he waved while walking away.

John was left speechless, standing in the walkway underneath the setting sun. He couldn't move much less breathe.
Ear hat? Sherlock said that...maybe he's...No! He is dead. He isn't coming back and you know damn well that's the truth.

Despite John's logic something was just too coincidental about all this. First the homeless woman and the can very specifically labeled with his last words to his friend, and now the hat?

He scrubbed his face and after glancing around at the few people left he formulated a plan.

What would Sherlock do? He thought as he strode back to work. He'd be scientific of course. I have to figure this bloody mess out before I go mad.

The first step was to decide what was possible and what wasn't and on the way back to work, he had concluded that there is a possibility something is happening. Maybe not Sherlock rising from the dead, but something big. After all, why would Mycroft warn him for nothing? He needed someone with a rational point of view on things, and he knew just the girl.

"Sarah, I-" He began.

"Two hours John? Really?" She snapped before he could even start his apology.

He took a quick breath and looked her square in the eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just...while I was away something happened. I need your help...p-please." He begged while maintaining his solid composure.

Her eyes softened into the eyes he always loved to look at. She sighed and put her elbows on the desk with a loud smack then buried her face in her hands.

"What is you need?" She mumbled. He could tell she was trying to stay calm.

He grinned and decided in that moment he would surprise her.

---

"John! It's so good to see you dating again." Mrs. Hudson called as she entered the kitchen and began tidying up some. "Getting over Sherlock wasn't easy I'd imagine."

"We were nev-" He started but she cut him off.

"It's good to take your time. Who's the fellow?"

He closed his eyes and tried not to let the anger slip out.

"I'm not gay Mrs. Hudson for the last time. And it's Sarah." He miffed. This was a tiny lie, because he wasn't totally sure of his sexuality at this point.

"Like I said, we've got all types." She lilted.

He scoffed quietly, but smiled. You couldn't help but love her, she was just that kind of person. So innocent and sweet despite her frustrating moments.

"When is it then?" She asked while bringing a tea cup to him. "Lovely girl by the way."

"Tomorrow night."

Tomorrow night was exactly what he needed because what could happen between now and then?

---

"Hey John." She sighed as she let him hug her and kiss her cheek. "No crossbows tonight right?"

John gave a quick laugh then nodded and took her hand.

"None, I promise." He smiled, but in the back of his mind he thought 'Yeah, because the sociopath isn't here' and a pang of guilt punched him in the gut.

"Where are we going?" She asked as she pulled her coat on. It was pink.
John hadn't noticed but her whole suit was pink along with her pink nails and pink shoes.

"You're awfully...pink." He pointed out as they walked.

She blushed and dropped her gaze. "Erm...Pink is kind of my color. Plus tonight seemed a nice night to try out my new suit."

He shook his head and held back an accusation. Just what the fuck does she think she's doing? Is she trying to upset me?

They were walking down the sidewalk until Sarah piped up and pointed at a restaurant.

"Ooh. Let's go here John! It looks quaint, and cozy."
She pulled him into the small door and led him to a small booth just in front of a big window. Not surprisingly it was the same old diner that Sherlock and himself had gone to when they first met.

With a heavy sigh John scooted in next to her and patted her knee affectionately as she smiled at him.

"I've never been in here before." She said after a minute.

He cleared his throat to keep from snapping at her.

"It is...nice isn't it?" He mumbled. "What would you like? Anything goes, my treat." He asked trying to change the subject.

She rubbed her lips together while she scanned the menu. The small candle, normally for John and Sherlock, lit her face up beautifully. It made her eyes stand out as they hadn't before and her lips looked a darker shade of red.
He expected the same flutter he always got when he looked at a pretty girl to flop around in his stomach but nothing happened. Even when she slid her coat off to reveal her bare shoulders underneath a thin strap of her blouse. It was as if he was staring at brick wall.
John decided to experiment with something, so he closed his eyes while she was busy deciding what to order and tried to bring Sherlock's face being lit by the candle to his mind.

Eventually he could clearly see his face, his perfect pink lips, those piercing eyes and cheekbones, all lit by a single flickering candle. John felt a warmth run through him and soon a familiar little flutter was growing in his chest. It felt like a small butterfly was flapping around trying to escape. Eventually Sherlock's eyes turned towards John and began analyzing him as he often had. His lips pulled into a wide grin as he leaned in to John.
He could almost feel his shaky breath on his lips and that warmth now was shooting directly into John's groin. The imagined Sherlock ran his hands through his friend's hair and pulled him into a much awaited kiss.

"John? A-are you alright?" Sarah interrupted while pushing his face from hers.

"W-what? Yeah. Yeah i'm alright. Sorry..." He muttered, after realizing he was leaning in to kiss Sarah while picturing Sherlock.

She raised an eyebrow at him then smiled faintly. "Can't the kiss wait until later Doctor? I'm not some girl who gives it up easily."

John faked a laugh and dropped his gaze, ashamed yet exhilarated at his fantasy.

"You're even blushing. How adorable." Her phone began ringing inside her tiny purse next to her. "Ooh. Sorry, let me just get that. Could be work." She noticed as she stood and maneuvered around the tables in her path away from their table. Her ring tone was some pre-set thing, and it was quite annoying. He wished she would answer the bloody thing instead of waiting until she was practically on the other side of the room.

Her nervous body language and hushed voice peaked John's interest.

"Yes...well...kind of." She paused and wrapped her left arm around the right side of her waist. "No. I don't think he noticed. I mean...w-what? His eyes? They just kind of looked like they always do. Why?"

John wondered who's eyes she was talking about. But he decided he was too happy with his little fantasy to care at this point.

Maybe I am gay...it's fine if I am but...why haven't I been attracted to other men before Sherlock? Was it just him? Am I just gay for Sherlock? He smiled but tried to cover it with his thumb as he bit at the inside of it.

"Uh-huh. Right i'll tell him for sure. Okay bye."

She stood with her arm on her waist and her phone held delicately in her hands with her head bowed. He saw her shoulders lift then relax as she sighed before she turned and walked back. Her heels made a delightful clicking sound as she got closer.

"Sorry about that, just one of my clients." Her bottom lip pulled down into an awkward sneer as her eyes up and to the left.

John knew something was up, she wasn't lying but she was being very vague and he didn't care for it.

"Client?" He asked as he handed the waiter their menus.

She hesitated just long enough for her to think of something before answering.

"Yeah...he's one of the needier patients and I told him he could call me any time he needed something."

"Uh-huh. What was the thing you were supposed to tell...who again?" John asked with a slight edge creeping into his tone. He wasn't trying to be nosey but after her dressing exactly like the first victim in the very first case he and Sherlock had ever worked on together he wasn't inclined to trust her.

She took a long sip of her ice water before she replied. She swallowed, which got John thinking about the way Sherlock swallowed. Then his throat, and his jawline, and what it would be like to brush his lips across them.

"He wanted me to t-to tell you that..." She paused and looked about the room like someone was listening although the only other person was the usual waiter and another lone man sitting just far enough away so he couldn't hear what they said if they were quiet. This struck him as odd, because Sarah wasn't a nervous person. She had always been fun and confident, which is part of the reason John liked her.

She cleared her throat then dropped her voice into a hushed whisper. "I'd love to tell you everything now...but I can't. H-he made me...Alright just be careful and stay vigilant. Go see Molly in 2 days. You got that? Two days."

They finished dinner and went back to the flat.

"Tea?" John asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Sure, i'd love some." she replied as she took her coat off and looked around at the various books and papers scattered around.

John let his mind wander to Sherlock and he was almost beside himself when the kettle began whistling. He carried the cups into the sitting room and set them down on the coffee table. He sat next to her and slid his coat off and draped it on the arm next to him before scooting closer and crossing his legs.

He smiled at her then kissed her cheek. She took a quick breath in and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow to ask if that was alright, and when she didn't seem to mind he continued. He ran his lips along her neck, jaw, and soon her shoulders.

Beside wanting to ease the stress from his dear friend, tonight would be an experiment to see if he still wanted to be with woman. He wasn't going to deny that he had feelings for Sherlock, and this would need to be dealt with. But right now, he wanted to find out just what his limits were.

---

He awoke with the sun pouring in the window sending a small beam of light onto his exposed torso. He lifted his arms above him in a stretch then tucked them behind his head. He felt someone close to him with an arm draped over his chest. He looked down and saw Sarah, sleeping peacefully. A lock of hair was draped over her cheek which brought out the natural blush undertone in her skin. She was beautiful no doubt, but John just wasn't attracted to her anymore. It was like he was appreciating a beautiful flower, without wanting to pick it.

John smiled and thought for a while. He mostly thought about how he hadn't been able to get hard until he fantasied about Sherlock. This didn't really bother him, and it was kind of amazing how easily he had accepted his feelings. He smiled as he thought of, instead of Sarah, Sherlock laying there with his head resting on his chest and his black curly locks gently tickling his skin.
The weight of his situation suddenly hit him, and John felt as though a ton of bricks had been dropped onto his chest and it was slowly crushing his ribs. But he also felt this enormous pressure, almost like a flame, ripping through his heart and spreading out into the rest of his body. He thought the combination would rip him apart.

He had finally accepted his feelings, but there was no one to share them with. He was too late...He missed his friend so much.
A small tear rolled down his cheek the same time that a lump was rising in his throat.
"Good morning." Sarah whispered as she stretched and pulled herself closer to him.
He choked for a second on the massive lump that was causing him so much pain before he answered. He was betting on her thinking he was still asleep.
No such luck.

"Last night was...incredible. You were really into it weren't you?" She chuckled deeply.
John blushed and bit his lip slightly.
"Erm, yeah I was..." His eyes flickered to the side as he avoided her adoring gaze.

"Well I had no idea you were such...an animal." She sat up and kissed his cheek which let the blanket fall down to reveal her naked torso.
She stood and began to pull her clothes back on.
"Fancy breakfast?" She asked as she wiggled her hips and slid her underwear back on.
John watched her ass as she dressed. Normally, seeing a woman's naked butt would be enough to give him a hard-on all over again, but now it was just like staring at the same flower. Appreciated, but not desired.

"I've...got some things to do. But i'll call you." He said trying to sound sincere.
She turned and looked at him after she hooked her bra. She slid one arm into the strap, then the other.

"Don't bother. I know you were just trying to make me feel better. I appreciate that sweetie, you're such a good boyfriend." She leaned in and kissed his forehead then walked off.

Boyfriend? But i'm not her...oh. He realized what she meant, and normally this would have insulted him, but now it just caused him pain. He would have never claimed the title of being Sherlock's boyfriend...until now. He wondered what made her think that, but dismissed it for another time.

He sat up and crawled to the end of the bed while he looked for his underwear before he stood and made his way to the bathroom. John flushed the toilet after he peed then started the shower. The hot water was relaxing him and made the crushing weight ease slightly.

"I'm off John. See you at work." She called.
He didn't say anything and continued to wash himself. He wanted to see if she knew anything, but obviously she was part of the plot as well so he couldn't trust her to give him any kind of valid information.

After actually eating breakfast he went out into the streets and began walking around, looking for whatever clue was next. He knew it could be anything so he looked for everything.
Something was going on, someone was intentionally leading John somewhere and he intended to find out who. So he walked about for a few hours, watching the streets slowly get more and more busy. Nothing jumped out at him, and after about 8 hours of aimlessly strolling around London he gave up and started to head back.

Just as the sun was setting he walked past the tiny Chinese store that they had gone into on one of their cases. A small woman was standing just inside helping someone wrap a tiny glass cat.

When she saw him she smiled and waved for him to come in.

He stared ahead for a second before walking over and flashing a quick smile at her.

"Oh! You're back! Welcome welcome, we have half-off all items!"

"I'm just browsing. Thanks." John replied politely.

"Oh no! Maybe you like to buy cat for wife? I bet she love you even more!" She enticed as she handed him a black cat.

He didn't want to be rude, and frankly wanted her to shut up so he decided to get one.

"Yeah, he'll love it." John whispered as he rolled it in his fingers.

He paid for it and was on his way home when he noticed how much it was rattling around in the bag. He stopped just under a streetlamp to examine it a little more closely.

"What are you hiding?" He muttered to himself as he shook it gently. Something banged around for a second so he shook it again. Another tiny bang. He turned his head to look back at the small store. The lady was standing in the doorway shaking her hand next to her ear.

He looked back down at the cat and shook it next to his ear. It sounded like some kind of thick metal something was stuck inside.

With a tiny smirk he quickly set off for home so he could find out what exactly this cat was hiding. A small flutter of hope was rising in him as he marched home quickly.

Not stopping to take his coat off, he immediately sat in his chair and began examining the cat. Everything looked normal, save for a small hole in the bottom of it. He rolled it until whatever was inside was visible. It looked slightly like a key, but he wasn't sure.
He stood and made his way to the kitchen then stopped and decided he needed Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He called.
He listened carefully for a minute before walking to the door and trying again.

"Yes dear? Coming!" She shouted as she closed her door and began walking up the steps.

He shuffled back into the kitchen to wait for her and soon she was standing next to him.

"What is it John?"

"I uh bought this cat, and it sounds like there's something inside it. I think it's a clue." He explained as he handed it to her.

She smiled slightly. "Are you wanting to break it? What do you think is in it?"

He took it back and flicked his eyes up at her; she still was looking at the cat. "A key. Someone is leading me somewhere and I want to find out what's going on."

"Well, if you're going to bust it be careful. Don't get glass everywhere and use this." She sighed as she pulled an handkerchief from her coat.

He grasped it gingerly then spread it out on the counter before laying the cat in the center. He held his index finger on his lips for a moment while he thought of where the hammer was.
He began rummaging about, in all the boxes and drawers.

"What are you looking for?" She inquired as she stepped forward cautiously.

"The bloody hammer." He spat. "Help me will you?"

They looked around for a while, searching in all the boxes and under all the papers until finally John found it laying between a few papers on their desk.

"It seems like it's gotten even messier around here since he's left." This pained him but it was true.

"Well, just be careful." She warned as he stepped towards the pink wad on the counter.

He smirked then drew his arm back in an attempt to muster his strength before actually hitting it, to ensure he broke it the first time. It made a satisfying crunch on impact which made Mrs. Hudson jump.

"Sorry.." John mumbled as he put a hand on her shoulder.

He carefully began unwrapping the handkerchief. Some glass shards were stuck to it, but mostly they were piled around a single silver key. He grinned with delight and brushed the glass out of the way before picking up the key.

Mrs. Hudson gasped, "What do you think it unlocks?"

John shook his head and ran his thumb over the ridges. "I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

---

John spent the next few hours sticking the key in every lock he saw around the flat, even a few rusty old ones laying around that had been abandoned by Sherlock since he had moved onto new experiments. Not one single lock was a match, and despite this frustrating John, he knew better.
Whoever this was obviously knew a lot of their life together and was determined to make John use his brain, obviously he wouldn't make things easy.

That night he had mixed kaleidoscopic dreams of locks, keys, and an ever present Sherlock just beyond his grasp. He began calling for Sherlock, desperately reaching for his friend as his ghost strode away into the haze of colors. Soon the baritone voice began ringing in John's ears, circling around his skull as he ran then reciting his name again and again.
John fell to his knees and was clenching his hands over his ears until the voice flew away from him and seemed to be coming from afar. He lifted his head tentatively and saw Sherlock standing atop the hospital holding the phone to his ear.

Goodbye John

He snapped awake with a jolt and immediately sat up. His jumper was stuck to his skin mostly due to the thick coating of sweat that now covered his body. He let out a loud sigh and took several deep breaths before letting a few tears slip out. An agonizing rip starting in his heart shot through him until he was nothing more than a stiff board gasping for air between silent sobs.

When the heart-wrenching ache had subsided and when he began to regain feeling in his limbs again, he pushed himself up until he was sitting. He peeled off his drenched jumper and the jeans he had neglected to take off before he fell asleep in Sherlock's bed. He noticed he'd created quite a mess, what with all the sweat and tears, and sleeping there was now an impossibility. Not to mention he was far too upset to even have the hopes of rest.

He stood and made his way to the kitchen, mostly naked save for his red briefs, and put the kettle on to boil.

Tea, lovely tea. John hummed to himself as he thought of a little tune about tea he'd heard when he was still in primary school.
Normally he wouldn't behave in such a manner, but slumming to a child was the only thing that kept his mind off Sherlock after a dream like that.

So he drank his hot, sugarless tea while he typed -ever so slowly- away on his laptop on a blog that he never bothered to check anymore. He updated when he couldn't sleep, but the amount of readers and build up of questions didn't interest him any longer.

When he noticed that the sun had come up he set out to find where the key belonged, and also to find his clue for the day. After walking several blocks and not finding anything interesting he started noticing the people buzzing around him. Some parents were dragging impatient children behind them, and others -the kind that John didn't like to look at- were couples walking hand in hand, arm in arm, strolling down the pavement looking innocent and happy, not knowing that their entire world could be ripped away from them in an instant.

John sat while he waited for a bus just so he could get to a quieter part of town and continued this thought. He began wondering if he had looked the same way before everything happened. Had he been so innocent and naive?

A hard chuckle escaped his lips as a woman in a fitting black dress sat next to him.

"Hello." She said. Her voice was deep, but not so much as to be masculine, it was very womanly and if John wasn't mistaken; teeming with suggestion.

He flickered his eyes towards her and gave a terse nod. "Hi." A quick flick of his hand soon dismissed any attention she thought she could get. His mind was too busy with the daunting task of constant vigilance to think about anything else.

She mouthed an irritated "okay" before opening a small black handbag. Soon she had a compact mirror and red lipstick out and was applying the deep red to her, already red, lips. She poked them out in a pout and smacked them together while eyeing herself.
John let out an audible sigh in the hopes she would leave, but instead she just sat there and continued fixing her painted face.

John pressed his thumb and index finger against his temple after propping his elbow on the back of the bench and snuck tiny looks at her. She wasn't paying attention, but after snubbing her he didn't want to deal with the embarrassment he would feel if she caught him.
She was fairly attractive, she had long brown hair which curled slightly mid-way down her back and a long slender body with equally lengthy legs. Her dress hid nothing and John could tell she was fit.
Probably a dancer. He thought as his eyes trailed her silhouette.

She closed the mirror and rolled the lipstick back into its tube then dropped them into the bag.
John caught a glimpse of something in her purse, but she snapped it shut before he could properly tell what it was.
She smirked and crossed her legs, causing the dress to ride up on her tone thighs.
John took this opportunity to see if he still was interested in woman.
He pictured doing things to her in bed, mainly kissing her all over, and nothing happened. Even as he made an effort to stare at her breasts, that were already pronounced by the skin tight fabric, he felt nothing.

With a heavy sigh of defeat he scooted closer to her and gave his best smile.
"I'm John." He stated.

"So, finally got the guts to talk to me?" She mused as she took his offered hand. "Candy."

He raised an eyebrow and laughed slightly. "That's...an unusual name."

"I'm a...dancer of sorts you might say."

John smiled and thought, Nailed it. I'm getting better.

"Oh...Well, it isn't a mystery that i'm finding you absolutely sexy." He lied. Amazing what curiosity will do to people. "I'd very much like to buy you a coffee."

"Tea would be lovely." She replied with a smirk pulling at the corners of her red lips.

They walked, somewhat quietly, down the street to the nearest cafe and sat at one of the outdoor tables, just beside the door.

"Little early for the prowl isn't it?" She asked after taking a delicate sip of her tea. The lipstick came off slightly, leaving a lip shaped mark on the rim of the cup.
John eyed it with disgust. At least with men he wouldn't have to deal with sticky makeup any more.

"Never too early." John laughed with a quick shake of his head and a wink.

She opened her bag and pulled out a small pouch which looked like it held money.

"Here, i'll pay." She offered as she slid the pouch to him.

Her small hand pushed it forward until it was at the very edge of the table and directly under John's line of sight.
He shook his head slightly with confusion before he looked at her.

"I-I don't..." he began

She simply smiled then stood and walked away.

John hesitated for only a second before he snatched up the pouch and began digging through it.

Immediately he found the clue. It was a small blue piece of paper that had been folded and torn but was still readable.

Roofs are a great place to observe, don't you think? was the only thing written.

Roofs? John thought. His eyes darted back and forth from the paper to an empty space in front of him as he scanned his memory for something.

"Of course! The hospital!" John exclaimed as he pulled a wad of money and tossed it down.

He was soon inside the familiar corridors of St. Bart's Hospital, which carried a chilling air for him.

"Oh! John, what are you doing here?" The meek red-head asked as she stepped forward with a smile.

"Just uh-" He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I'm just here because..." He trailed off and glanced around him.

"Can I trust you Molly?" He asked sternly while gazing into her eyes.

"Y-yes." Molly squeaked. John hadn't noticed but she was trembling slightly with guilt.

"I got a note, telling me to come here and go to the roof. Can I go up?"

Her eyes fell to the ground as she shifted uncomfortably. She mashed her lips together until they were white before she spoke.

"Sure, but just this once...they don't really let many up there anymore after Sherlock jumped." She then immediately looked straight into his eyes. "John i'm so sorry! I-I didn't mean that I just-"

John put his right hand on her shoulder and gave a sad smile. "It's alright I understand."

She took a breath then nodded, obviously relieved.

"I'll just head up now. Thank you." He said with a terse nod.

Molly watched as John marched away and swung open the door leading to the stairwell with a desperately sad look in her eyes. The pain would have been visible to anyone watching, though thankfully no one was because it was still early.

He reached the final landing on the stairs and paused for a moment, unsure whether or not he should continue onto the roof that haunted his dreams. He rounded his shoulders and rolled his neck in an effort to shake off the shudders running over his skin.

He reached for the handle and after a small twist and push it swung open.

"Christ." he whispered as the chilly wind hit his face. He took a few steps forward until he was in the middle and he pictured Sherlock standing in the same spot.

After he got a good look around he mustered the strength to begin searching for whatever was waiting for him. He eventually found Sherlock's phone laying just near the edge where he had jumped.

John's eyes watered and a quiet prayer passed his lips as he wandered over to the small black box. He squatted and rested his left hand on his knee while the other hand picked up the phone. He ran his thumb over the screen just to make sure it was real and he wasn't dreaming again.

Real. He thought happily as a quick smile flashed across his tired face.
After turning the phone over in his hand he saw a small engraving carved into the back of the phone. It looked like it had been hastily scratched in with a knife of some sorts.

Press play

John raised an eyebrow and blew air out his nose loudly as he flipped it back over. He clicked it to bring up the lock screen, in which he typed in the code.

Incorrect

He scoffed and tried again, this time with 'Sher'

Incorrect

His brow furrowed with concentration while he thought of something Sherlock trusted enough to make it his code. He sucked in the crisp air then held it for a few seconds. His thumbs danced over the on-screen keypad then finally it hit him.

Correct

He had tried his name. 'John' and it worked. For a brief moment he put his hand over his face and let himself feel the flutter at the base of his spine. A grin spread across his lips and he rocked slightly on his heels.

He trusted me enough to make it his code. God Sherlock, you brilliant dick.

The giddy feeling soon vanished as he sifted through the only recording in the file named "ListenJohn". Another feeling hit his spine, but it wasn't pleasant.

The audio was muffled and rather scratchy at first, but soon John could make out voices; they sounded like Sherlock and...Moriarty.

"There is no key DOOFUS!" Screamed Moriarty. "Those digits are meaningless, they're utterly meaningless. You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears. I'm disappointed, i'm disappointed in you ordinary Sherlock."

John wondered what code he was talking about, but soon that was pushed to his mind when he heard Sherlock's deep voice. It was strained and hard to hear in the bad speaker, but it sent rivets of pleasure down John's spine. If this hadn't been the last recorded audio of Sherlock he would have been much happier.

"But the rhythm-" began Sherlock.

Moriarty cut him off with something John couldn't understand, but eventually it was clear again. "Thank you Johann Sebastian Bach."

"Then how did y-" Sherlock started, but Moriarty cut him off once again.

"But how did I break into the bank, to the tower, to the prison! Daylight robbery! All it takes is some willing participants. I knew you'd fall for it. That's your weakness. You always want everything to be clever. Shall we finish the game?"

John paused it and took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves as they were all firing simultaneously. After a long minute he collected himself and pressed play again.

"Oh just kill yourself. It's a lot less effort. Go on. For me." Moriarty taunted.

"You're insane." Sherlock growled.

"You're just getting that now? Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don't."

A lump rose in John's throat as the pieces in the puzzle he'd been trying to solve slowly came together.

"John?"

"Not just John, everyone. Three bullets, three gunman, three victims. There's no stopping them now unless my people see you jump. Y-" the audio was muffled out for a few seconds and John's breath hitched.

"Unless I kill myself and complete your story." Sherlock whispered.

The very next sound was a gunshot and a muffled gasp of horror. John jumped a little, nearly falling backwards. He knew that was Moriarty killing himself, and he smiled internally.

He whimpered as their last conversation played through the speaker.

"Goodbye John."

There was a pause, a loud clatter, and silence.

He covered his face and let himself fall onto his arse carelessly. He sat with his legs pulled close to him and spread apart so that his arms rest numbly between them propped on his knees.
The puzzle he'd been slowly working in his mind all this time, since the clues started, suddenly came together to form a vivid picture.

Sherlock didn't kill himself because he was a fake...he did it to save me. John thought.

"Oh God."

He sat with his back against the ledge, his head leaned back so the sun was beaming down directly onto him while he took deep breaths, and with each one tears coming closer and closer.

Finally, after three years he understood. He always believed in Sherlock, he just knew that Sherlock wasn't lying. He hadn't done any research on him prior to their meeting, he simply deduced John with his wonderful eyes, and brain.

"Fuck Sherlock, you didn't have to leave me. There was another way!" John yelled to no one in particular because he thought nobody could hear him.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "There's always another way..."

He heard the door open and close before he looked up to see Molly standing there gazing down at him as if someone was holding a gun to her head.

"Molly?" He stood and walked over to her quickly. "What's wrong?"

"John. I came up here to tell you something...but now..." she trailed off.

He shook her shoulders frantically, but gently. "What is it?"

A tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her perfectly pink cheek.

"I'm sorry John. I can't. He made me promise." She whispered as her voice broke into a soft cry.

"Who? Who Molly!" John barked.

More tears fell as she shook her head.

"I can't!" She insisted loudly.

"You bloody-" John began to shout. He stopped himself, knowing it wasn't Molly's fault. Whoever was doing this was the one to blame. "Are you sure you can't tell me?" He asked.

She shook her head then walked towards him slowly.

"I can give you this." She whispered while reaching into her white coat pocket and extending a closed hand.

He reached his hand and opened hers to find a small note. He refused it.

"I never asked to know these things." He mumbled. "I already knew Sherlock wasn't a fake. He's too brilliant to be anything less than a miracle." He let his gaze fall to the ground as he said this.

"I know it's hard John." Molly whispered as she leaned in and pecked his cheek. "I know. It's hard to conceal things for a long time, especially when you know it's hurting someone you care for."

John flicked his eyebrows up as he returned a rather shocked stare at Molly. He was about to ask what she meant but let it go. After one hard laugh he straightened up and looked at her dead in the eye.

"I wish he'd given me my miracle."

---

John managed to fall asleep around 7 that night after documenting the day's events in his blog. Obviously, he didn't go into detail but it was just enough for him to receive a few hundred curious questions. He ignored them and soon was wrapped in the sheets trying to get a decent few hours in where he wasn't awoken by nightmares.

He nuzzled the pillow and took a deep breath as a smile spread across his face. This bed still smelled of Sherlock, it probably actually didn't, but it was comforting to John to think it did. He imagined laying on Sherlock's bare chest listening to his heartbeat as he wrapped his lean, but strong arms around him and pulled John closer.
John could almost feel the rumble resonating from deep within his chest when he spoke. He recalled what Sherlock sounded like when he said his name and let the velvet baritone of his voice lull him to sleep.

A stark ringing woke John up with a start.

"Bloody hell, who could be calling this early?!" He grumbled groggily, while rubbing his eyes.
Through the faintest of lighting flitting in from the window the bright light of the phone was near blinding as he rolled over and snatched it off the table.

"Hello?" John mumbled with a yawn.

No one replied.

"Hello?" he repeated a little more loudly. He knew there was someone on the other side of the phone because he heard the faintest of breaths.

"This isn't funny." John growled. "Who are you!"

There was only the same quiet breaths beneath the silence, the same irritating quiet.

John hung up angrily and slammed his phone back onto the table. He sat for a minute staring out the window wondering the same things he'd wondered before. A car drove past casting a beam of light onto John's face momentarily.

He rolled his eyes upwards then laid back down on his back and tried to fall asleep again. Eventually he did, and to his delight he had no dreams that night.

---

When he woke up Mrs. Hudson was milling about the bedroom picking up stray underwear and humming an unfamiliar tune.

"A bit early for cleaning isn't it?" John grumbled as he sat up and pulled the sheet off him.

"Never too early for cleaning love. I wouldn't be in here but Sarah called and said she really needs you at work. She sounded desperate, you'd better hurry John." She said as she flung open the curtains sending a ray of sunlight directly into John's eyes.

"Aah!" he cried as blocked it with his forearm.

"Up! Up!" She said as she pushed on his muscular back.

He stood and turned to her with a smile.

"I'm going...i'm going."

"I'm sorry John. I know today is hard for you..." She whispered as tears came into her eyes.

"Hey! I'm okay." John lied. He pressed his thumb into her cheek and wiped her tears. "You're okay."

She nodded then leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I miss him John. Despite everything he put us through, i'd give anything to see him again."

He hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head. "Me too. I love him." He then realized what he'd just said so he coughed and finished. "He was my best friend."

She stood back and smiled at him. "It's alright to say you love someone John." She took his hand and kissed the back before walking out of the room, and eventually the flat.

John waited until he heard the door close before he started to dress. A shower was rather out of the question, he wanted to get there early so he could get his mind off the pain he knew today would bring. Today is the three year anniversary of Sherlock's death, and if the clues were right something big was going to be happening today. He didn't know what to expect, but a small part of him hoped that Sherlock would pull one of his tricks and perform a miracle.

"Silly." He scoffed to himself.

"Morning Sarah. Is it busy today?" John asked as he clocked in and leaned against her desk.

She looked up from a mountain of paperwork and sneered at him. "No not at all. What makes you think that?"

He laughed bitterly and nodded towards the full room

"I'll get it, don't worry."

She looked up at him as he placed his hand gingerly on the back of hers. A small, tired, smile crossed her lips.
"Thank you."
He nodded toward the crowd of waiting sick patients then strode forward.

"The doctor's here!" He called as he made his way around the sick people to his office.

***
"Hey, thanks." She said as she tossed her coat around her shoulders and stepped into the chilly night.
"Don't mention it." He took a deep breath and exhaled a small puff of visible mist. "It kept my mind busy."
She patted his shoulder. "Thinking's a nasty business."
She walked off into the night as she hoisted her purse into her shoulder.
John watched her walk and co couldn't elp smiling to himself sadly. He turned his head in the direction he wanted to go then began his route home.

John observed everything, even the most inconspicuous person shuffling past. He had to because nothing had happened yet and the person who'd been leading him on wouldn't just cut him off.
Something would happen tonight, and he knew it. So he kept his eyes open and went on.

He had just reached his front door when his phone vibrated.

Come quickly. Emergency.
-GL

John rolled his eyes and huffed as he re-locked the door and shoved the keys back into his coat pocket.
He muttered on the way down there, but still kept very vigilant as he didn't want to miss anything.
The moon was reflecting on the small ice patches that were on the ground and John was careful to avoid them; a nasty fall would certainly hinder the grand plan for tonight.

He stepped around the corner and stopped as soon as he saw the building.
It was completely dark, not one single light was on and no one was around.

"What the hell Greg?" He muttered as he looked around him.

Come inside.
-GL

"Bloody hell."

He walked into the doors which were unlocked, and stepped into the main room. There was no light coming in from anywhere which gave John an uneasy feeling that resonated in the base of his spine.

He maneuvered his way through the dark room until he found the staircase and then slowly felt his way up until he passed about three floors.

Finally he got to the right floor and he knew this because he saw a small light filtering from under the door. When he tried the door it was locked. He raised his fist to bang on it but he remembered he had a key.

"Could it be?" He whispered quietly. He pulled the key out and stuck it in the lock.
With a heavy sigh of relief he swung it open and marched through.

"Lestrade, i'm tired. Let's get this over w-" He suddenly realized he was alone, and so talking was pointless. But a slight nudging in the pit of his stomach said otherwise.

He swallowed hard then moved into the small circle of light, it was just enough to see the desk the lamp was sitting on and the lamp itself. A hundred gunman could have been surrounding him for all he could see.

The sounds of cars zooming past and the usual bustle of London seemed to fade out with each lingering second. The silence soon was the only thing John could hear and his training immediately kicked in.
His eyes just couldn't adjust to the dark but this wasn't too much of an inconvience to John because his ears had been honed to listen for small buzzes in wires, and the small ticks of a live mine buried in the ground.
So he remained absolutely still, straining his hearing to the maximum just to pick up any kind of sound so he'd know who, or what he was dealing with.

Soon he heard footsteps, like rubber soles padding across the floor. His breath hitched and he began scanning the darkness in which he thought it was coming from.

"I see you got my clues." A deep voice echoed. It was scratchy and unfamiliar.

"Yes I did. W-who are you?" John asked, revealing a litte more of his fear than he wanted.

There was no answer to his question, only more footsteps. He was getting closer; and John tensed out of instinct.

"What did it mean?" The voice whispered harshly into John's ear making him collide with the desk as he jumped forward. He had obviously miscalculated where the stranger was and his hip bone paid the price when he slammed into the corner of the desk.
He let out a small yelp as he shuffled awkwardly away from the voice and around his obstacle.

"You, whoever you are, obviously wanted me to remember Sherlock! I never wanted to know those things you bloody idiot!" John spat after he caught his breath.

"It was painful was it not? Living without him." The voice whispered again, this time it was softer.

"What do you think?" John snapped as he began searching again to no avail. "He was my best friend! I had so much to say, and I should have said it when he was there. Now he'll never know how I feel."

There was another few moments of silence, save for the steady beat of his footsteps.
Then, without warning, he was behind him. His breath was hot on the inside of John's ear, sending a completely new sensation through him making his groin begin to tingle.

John jumped forward, causing him to bang into the desk again. This time he hit his crotch and he let out a loud gasp.
"Do you want to know how he did it?" The voice growled in an intense voice.

John stood shakily, and scanned the edges of his small circle of light for a long moment before he answered.

"How who did what?"

"Sherlock." replied the deep voice which had dropped to a hushed purr. "How he killed himself."

John flinched, but didn't jump because he knew if he did he was likely to ram the desk again and bruise himself further. As the hot air from the man's mouth rushed down the collar of his shirt he shivered. This man's voice was intense and John found that it was doing things to his body he wasn't entirely proud of.
With as much control as John could muster he managed a simple nod. Truth be told he wanted to turn the lights on and punch whoever was doing this. He wanted to yell at him, unreserved, tell him exactly what his clues had been doing to him.
Everyday was like being in an ocean, some days it's calm and some days it's stormy. Ever since Sherlock died it had been more stormy than anything else, but it became routine for John to be knocked around and nearly drowned. So when a life preserver happened to float by, even though he clearly saw it was taking him straight to a bottomless pit he was sure to drown in, the hopes of a relief from the mundane was too powerful. It ultimately would lead to his destruction, and John guessed this was his life preserver.

He heard the footsteps behind him, but he did not move. Instead he stiffened and strained to hear every small detail of quiet clicks on the tile beneath them.

"Well?" asked the voice. It sounded less threatening and more gentle now. John still couldn't place it, but he was desperately trying. Something about the baritone silk struck a chord deep within him, like someone had lit a bulb in his heart.

"Isn't it obvious? Oh John, I would have expected better!"

"I don't particularly care for how he did it. It doesn't matter anyway. He isn't coming back." John growled.

"You're curious. The recording I left you is interesting is it not? And i'll bet that you're wanting a miracle." His voice seemed to get closer until he was right next to John's ear. "I can give you that miracle John." He purred. The man brushed his lips along the shell of John's ear causing a visible shudder to roll over John. He spun around and swung a punch but missed.

"Who are you?!" He yelled.

"You know me John." the man soothed. He sounded far off now.

"Remember. Try to remember." He whispered as he circled John, lurking in the shadows.

"I'm not going to remember anything! Show me who you are or i'm leaving." He threatened.

There was only the sound of his footsteps and John's angered breathing.

"Right. I'm leaving." John said as he turned to walk into the darkness.

There was a loud smack as a riding crop collided with John's cheek.

"Agh! God damn it!" John yelled as he stumbled back into the light. Though the pain in his throbbing cheek was close to unbearable, he felt a pleasure surge through him straight to his crotch. He felt it throb and grow slightly hard underneath his clothes.

"I'm sorry John. You mustn't leave." The voice said, apologetically.

"Will you hit me again if I try to leave?" John asked.

Silence. He stayed, but curiosity overrode his better judgement.

The man began circling again and soon he was whispering details of the death into John's ear harshly. John spun frantically trying to locate the voice that seemed to be everywhere at once.

"The blood was everywhere."
"I saw the tears in his eyes just before he jumped."

Slowly the taunts became apologies, sounding more and more grieved.

"I'm sorry this happened to you John."
"I wish I could have prevented your pain."

And finally a whisper so faint and distant was heard that John almost asked for him to repeat it.
"We're safe now John."

The recognition bounced through John's head as well as the sultry voice he knew so well. It was Sherlock, without a doubt.

John took off blindly into the dark to find the light switch so he could see what his heart and mind were screaming so loudly in his head. He tripped over several desk legs, and chairs, effectively bruising him even more.
The pain was the last thing on his mind as he pushed himself forward until he slammed into a wall and desperately felt along it, praying a switch was nearby.

"John!" Sherlock called. John could hear his footsteps as he ran, though his heart was pounding too hard to accurately make a guess as to where he was.

At last, John found the switch and flicked it on. The surge of bright lights blinded him, but not before he saw a dark slender figure straighten to look at him. The image blurred then disappeared as he closed his eyes. Tears ran down his cheeks as he adjusted to the harsh light that now filled the room.
The blurry figure came back into focus as John rubbed the tears away.

Sherlock stood, erect and solemn, staring at John with an intensely icy glower.
"Hello John."

John's heart fluttered and almost stopped as he gazed at Sherlock. Nothing seemed real at this point, not the pain in his cheek, the bruises no doubt covering his body, or the man standing about 50 feet away.
He fell to his knees and crumpled completely.

"Sh-Sherlock..." he muttered as he began to cry. "Oh God, Sherlock."
He heard the footsteps approaching and immediately looked up.
"Stay away from me..." he mumbled as he extended a hand.

"You're angry." Sherlock said.

John laughed bitterly.
"Three damn years! I th- I thought you were dead." John yelled before he broke into sobs. "You bastard, of course i'm angry!"

A small nudge in his gut told him to calm down, and say what he was really feeling instead of acting like nothing had changed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, seemingly unaffected by John's current state. But if you saw his eyes, like John could, then you'd see a world of pain and crushing defeat. Sherlock loved John, madly and irrevocably (albeit it was innocent, he had no clue that the feelings he had for John were different from 'friend' feelings.). He'd never do anything to hurt John on purpose that he didn't deem necessary.
Sherlock knew he was different, he knew it because everyone told him.
Freak, weirdo, psychopath
But it was everyone else that seemed alien to him. No one made sense, they all seemed to have codes of socially acceptable behavior and sometimes he got it right but other times, he was way off and it warranted a scolding from John.
He liked when John used his angry voice, it made his penis get hard, but not enough to be noticed by anyone.
He lived in his mind, there wasn't really anywhere else to go since he didn't know how to behave physically.
Despite his disability socially, he knew he'd upset John and he expected John to not forgive him or even want anything to do with him after this. It made him sad, but he wanted John happy.

He took a cautious step forward again, only to be stopped by another raised hand.

"Don't. Sherlock. I'm serious. Listen to me, i'm...hurt. I've been...alone for the past three years wondering if I could have done anything differently, or maybe stopped you. I felt like i've failed you and i've-" He took a deep breath and rubbed his stubble. "I've blamed myself everyday. It's been hell Sherlock, it really has been."

"John, you listened to the recording. It wasn't your fault, Moriarty-"

"Shut up. Let me finish." John snapped. Sherlock took a deep breath and sighed.

"Everything was fine before, but it wasn't good enough. I never said what I wanted to, and I honestly-" He laughed bitterly while shaking his head. "I honestly thought that i'd never get the chance to."

Sherlock took another step forward and this time John didn't stop him. He squatted down until his eyes were level with John's and then he leaned in, carefully and slowly.

"It's alright John. I'm home."

Sherlock placed his hands on John's face and wiped the tears from his eyes with his thumbs.

"I love you Sherlock. I'm in love with you. I think you're brilliant and sexy. You amaze me with your cheekbones and wild eyes and even the way you look at me when deducing. Oh God i've missed you." John's voice broke and soon he was laid against Sherlock's chest crying while he stroked the back of his head affectionately.

They stood and John collapsed into Sherlock's arms and clutched at his purple shirt as he sobbed into it.

"I-I love you too John." He whispered into his hair.

John heard and smiled through his soft cries. He took a deep breath and sighed as Sherlock's real scent flooded his nose.
Sherlock titled John's chin up and a smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

"I get this fluttery feeling when i'm with you John." Sherlock murmured as he blushed. "And I feel very...attracted to you."

"That's normal." John said as he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his grin grew. He ran his hand from Sherlock's chest up and around his neck so he could tangle his fingers in his black hair. He bit his lip, totally unsure of everything that was happening, or what would happen. But the throbbing in his pants told him exactly what he needed, and wanted, to do.

He pulled Sherlock in closer, then closed the distance by standing on his toes and slowly pressing his lips onto Sherlock's.
Immediately Sherlock shuddered making John more desperate. He guessed this was Sherlock's first kiss, which drove him to make it wonderful.
He sighed and opened his mouth as Sherlock closed his. John sucked on his bottom lip gently, enjoying the sweet taste.
Sherlock opened his mouth and pressed himself closer to John. He ran his hands down John's back, feeling the muscles and raw strength making his desire for his friend grow immensely.
John moved onto his jawline, kissing sweetly and slowly. When he reached his neck, Sherlock gasped and shivered. John felt a hard bulge pressing on his thigh and he knew his need was just as great as his own.

"Not here John." Sherlock murmured. "The flat, let's go home."
His words were bittersweet, and stung John slightly. Home was normal, home was where he and Sherlock were always quiet, and never romantic like this.
He pulled away and looked into his friend's deep eyes searching them for reassurance. Sherlock winked, and swiftly started walking away towards the staircase. John felt petrified for one moment but when Sherlock grasped his hand and pulled him along he relaxed.

***
They laid down onto Sherlock's bed on their sides and cuddled.
"I'm scared John." Sherlock whimpered.
John laughed, the first real one he's had in a long time, then said, "Why? You've got a doctor to take care of you."
They kissed again, this time Sherlock was less hesitant and he pressed himself into John. He traced his tongue along John's lips making him sigh and groan softly.
John moaned quietly as his bulge began to hurt from the hardness, this had never happened to him before and secretly, he loved the pain.
He rubbed himself on Sherlock's inner thigh, and found some relief as the precum oozed out.
John began kissing Sherlock's neck again, hearing the need in his voice as he sighed. This time he went straight to his adam's apple and began sucking gently on the skin. He opened his mouth and circled his tongue swiftly over his neck.

"Bite me." Sherlock moaned into John's ear.
He was surprised at first, but did as he was commanded and took a soft piece from just underneath Sherlock's jaw between his teeth and nibbled gently.
He felt the deep rumble in Sherlock's throat as he encouraged him with a soft "mmm"

Sherlock rolled on top of John and gazed down at him with a glimmer of excitement.

"What?" John asked biting back a smile.

"I'm hard."

"I can feel it." John laughed.

Sherlock grinned then ground his hips down onto John's.

"Mmmf, ow." John mumbled.

Sherlock stopped then rolled off him.
"What's wrong?" His eyes were wide with concern.

"When you came out of the dark I kind of rammed my hips onto the desk corner. And I guess I got some bruises."

Sherlock ran his hand from John's neck and down onto his hip, and his wild eyes followed his hand.

"Let me see it." He commanded. His fingers lingered over the spot delicately.

"Why?"

He smirked and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Why are you taking your shirt off?"

Sherlock pressed a finger to his lips and whispered, "Science John."

John blushed hesitantly as Sherlock's nimble fingers quickly undid all his buttons then swiftly began on John's.

Sherlock eagerly ripped open his shirt as soon as he finished on the last button and tossed it to the side.
He's beautiful. John thought as his eyes traced the contours of Sherlock's bare, muscular chest.
His eyes sparkled with desire as he ran his hands over John's exposed chest and shoulders. John shivered at his touch and let out a gasp as Sherlock bent down and began kissing John's neck.

"Am I doing this right?" He mumbled as he slowly moved down onto his sternum and took small nibbles.

"Mmmhmm." John replied happily.

Sherlock continued down until he was at the waistband of John's jeans. He glanced up at John for approval before unbuttoning them and slowly sliding them off. John lifted his hips to allow for the pants to slide easily.
Sherlock smiled at John's red underwear and then laid down between John's legs.

"You're very hard John." Sherlock chuckled. "And big."

John turned his head sideways then made his eyes slightly bigger in an attempt to be cute. "Help me with that?"

"Gladly." said Sherlock as he kissed the inside of John's thigh.

He glanced up at John and gave him a sideways smile before biting into the soft skin.

"Nyuhh. Mmm." John moaned.

Sherlock sucked and made sure to leave a mark. Later he would use it so he'd know how to get John hard again.

"Lift." He commanded as he slid his underwear off and tossed it on the ground with the other clothes.

John bit his lip, feeling slightly embarrassed because of how large he'd grown in the short time he'd reunited with him. Hid head was turning red, and now was beginning to hurt again.
Sherlock grinned with desire and ran his tongue up his shaft, gently licking up all the precum that had slipped out.
"You taste wonderful John." Sherlock complimented as he sucked his lips together.
He put the head in his mouth and began sucking.

A wave of excitement flooded through John making his legs tremble slightly, and a deep moan escape his lips. "Oh God Sherlock!" he moaned as he ran his fingers through his black curls.

Sherlock's cheeks hollowed as he bobbed up and down eagerly, letting his penis slide into the back of his throat. He never had much of a gag reflex, so John fit nicely in his mouth.

Sherlock dug his fingers into the bruise on his hip, effectively summoning loud groans and sighs from John.
Quicker than even John expected, he was cumming into Sherlock's mouth. His hips shook and he groaned as Sherlock pushed all the way down to the base.
Sherlock licked the cum dripping down and smirked as he swallowed.

John was still hard, but the pain was considerably less. He was far more turned on now than he was before. Just seeing Sherlock's heart shaped lips slipping up and down his cock was enough to drive him crazy.

"You were..." John spoke as he helped Sherlock slip his pants and boxers off.

"Brilliant?" He finished. "I once did an experiment wh-"
He looked down at John's hips.
"Does this hurt?"
He pressed down onto the big bruise on his hip bone and grinned as John squirmed underneath him.
"Guh nnmmm"

"Does...this hurt?" He giggled as he bent down and bit the bruise. John groaned and tried to wiggle out from underneath Sherlock. He sat back up and kissed John lightly then pulled back with his eyes half-open.

"I love you." he murmured.

John sat up pushed Sherlock down onto the bed and pinned him down. He straddled him then lowered himself until his lips were right next to Sherlock's ear. He pulled his left lobe into his mouth and gently sucked and bit making Sherlock groan.

"Not as much as I love you." He whispered. "Hold still."

He slid between Sherlock's legs and pushed them above his head, leaving Sherlock trembling and whimpering.

"P-please." Sherlock whined.

John smirked and then pressed his lips against his cheek and began running his tongue up and down until Sherlock shook with anticipation.

John reached for the bedside drawer and pulled some lube out.

"You honestly keep this?" He asked with a small chuckle.

Sherlock blushed and then bit his lip. "Experiments John."
John grinned. "You dirty liar. You're going to have to pay for that."

John sucked on his finger until it was moist then pressed it against Sherlock's asshole.

He felt long fingers on his head so he flicked his eyes up to meet a desperate gaze.

"Gently, John." He begged, an obvious need in his tone. He sounded like he was in pain, and while John wanted to draw out the pleasure, this was his first time and he didn't want to do anything wrong.
So he pressed a little harder until the very tip of his wet finger was inside him. It was overly tight, and warm. John liked it so much that he felt his penis throb painfully.

He pulled out and licked his finger hungrily. Sherlock waited patiently as John dipped a finger into the lube and rubbed it around with his thumb.
Once it was slippery enough John bent back down and began flicking his tongue on his hole. John grinned gleefully as Sherlock bent his head back and moaned softly. His glorious neck was exposed and John felt a need to leave many delicious love bites all over it's creamy length.

He circled his tongue around making Sherlock squirm. Slowly he pushed his tongue inside, knowing this would hurt less he went a little deeper. John wiggled his tongue around causing Sherlock to buck and squirm.
He pulled it out then savored the taste while rubbing his lubed finger gingerly over the hole.

Sherlock lifted his arms above his head, causing his biceps to flex while John slowly climbed back up his body and pressed his lips against his jaw and grinned into his warm skin.
He left soft kisses along the long neck, occasionally biting just hard enough to leave a bruise later. Each time Sherlock let out a heart pounding deep moan of pleasure.

John chuckled darkly as he slid his lubed finger down his body before shoving it into Sherlock's tight ass. His hips bucked and he cried out "I want you inside me John!" So loudly that John had to cover his mouth in fear of Mrs. Hudson walking in.

"Roll over." John commanded, and Sherlock did with great anticipation. He stuck his ass in the air and gave a sly look back to John.
John pulled himself onto his knees and carefully pressed the head onto the hole.

"Mmm. Good John." Sherlock encouraged.
He squeezed a dollop of lube onto his palm then began stroking his shaft. He sighed as the familiar tingle began to rise in his tesitcles.

"Ready?" John murmured after he'd placed his head back against the hole.

Sherlock bit the sheet and nodded.

John pushed until he was in and he gave Sherlock a few seconds to adjust. His tight skin closed around his penis, and as Sherlock began wiggling with discomfort he chuckled impishly.

A tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek and he gripped the sheets. John slowly began moving his hips back and forth slowly stretching him.

"Mmm Guh. You hurt so good." Sherlock moaned. "Speed up."

John sped up, thrusting faster and deeper into Sherlock. Sweat dripped down his chest onto Sherlock's ass making them both glisten in the faint moonlight pouring in through the window. Their breath shortened as their pleasure grew.
"God, this is amazing." John moaned. Sherlock grinned then sat up and pushed John down onto the bed.
He straddled him and adjusted himself so he could move up and down comfortably. He bent down and kissed his lips softly.
John instinctively grabbed Sherlock's hips and began lifting him up and down. Sherlock began wiggling his hips and grinning.
Before John could stop him Sherlock dug his thumbs into the bruises on John's hip causing him to grunt with pleasure.
John groaned and started pounding into Sherlock, making the feeling growing inside him increase until he was at the very edge.

"S-Sherlock! I'm cumming!"

Sherlock grabbed his cock and began stroking himself furiously.

"Let's cum together John!" He exclaimed

He sped up until he felt waves of pleasure shoot from deep within him and spray out into Sherlock's ass.
"Ahg!"
Sherlock came as well, shaking and pounding up and down as his cum shot out in spurts and fell onto John's chest.
He collapsed forward onto John, trembling he rested his head in the crook of his shoulder. He took ragged breaths that came out in gasps, blowing hot air onto John's ear.
He opened his mouth like he was going to speak, and John could tell he was trying, but he was lost in their moment of bliss. John couldn't have said anything, if he wanted to.

John wrapped his arms around him and Sherlock nuzzled his neck before rolling off him and stretching out.

"Come here John." Sherlock whispered.
John smiled and curled into his waiting arms. He rested his head on his chest and wrapped one arm around his waist. The mixture of their musk, and combined sweat filled his nose as he took a deep breath. The steady beat of his heart brought a sudden urge to sleep over John.
"I'm so tired Sherlock." John whispered.
"As am I. Sleep, there will be plenty of time for another go later." Sherlock replied quietly, as he kissed the top of John's head.

***
John fluttered his eyes open when he felt something moving around on his chest.

"Sherlock... What are you doing?"

Sherlock trailed his quick tongue up John's stomach licking up all the cum that had squirted out earlier.

"You were dirty, so I wanted to clean you up." he winked.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" John laughed.

Sherlock nodded innocently.

John's eyes watered up as he stared into the eyes of his best friend. It had been so long since he'd seen him, or felt him, that everything felt surreal. John had been so depressed and alone without this beautiful man. Nothing was happy, everything hurt and he'd given up all hope that someone as wonderful would come into his life again.
John knew he wasn't that lucky, and so he had set his mind to coping with being alone until he died. That kind of thing isn't an easy task; people are hopeful and want to believe there are better times ahead, so forcing your brain to believe nothing good will ever happen takes effort and doesn't exactly happen without carving deep emotional scars.

John reached out and stroked Sherlock's face gently. They remained silent, but stared into each other's eyes trying to memorize the tiny details.

"I can't believe you're back." John whimpered. "Don't leave again. P-please I won't be able to handle it."
He leaned into Sherlock's chest and wrapped his arms around his shoulders pulling him into a tight embrace.

"I'm not going anywhere. I need you too John. You're my blogger." He chuckled deeply then nestled his cool cheek against John's forehead. "I want to be with you everyday."

For the first time in three years John let himself feel, he let the pure joy of having his Sherlock in his arms wash over him. John was happy, in every sense of the word. And he knew Sherlock was happy as well.
Time meant something again, it was no longer an endless sea of pain. It was something that John looked forward to. Being able to go through every day with Sherlock, cooking him food he wouldn't eat, chasing after him in the streets, tracking criminals, and apologizing to everyone for his rude behavior, was how he wanted to spend his life. Every second with this wondrous man, every minute was another John was carried into new world.

Sherlock truly had opened John's eyes to life. It could be so much more than what he had been doing, it could be exciting and dangerous, filled with mystery and love.
John grinned as a few tears escaped his eyes and a lump formed in his throat. He let out a soft cry and buried his face in Sherlock's chest.

"What's wrong?" asked Sherlock as he pulled John away quickly.

"I'm just...finally happy. You're my miracle Sherlock."

Sherlock's whole face lit up, obviously overtaken with love, and kissed John passionately.

They laid back on the bed kissing and cuddling their way into a new future; a new and happy one filled with lots of warm kisses, excitement, danger, cuddles during the boring times in between cases, and a long and happy life together. Forever as the inseparable team of Holmes and Watson.