I can hardly wait for the second series! Although I'm kind of a hypocrite, considering I don't believe the Semtex will detonate (not the right bullets!), I hope you enjoy this fic :)

Sherlock opened his eyes to the blinding whiteness of a hospital room, and immediately shut them again in an attempt to stop the piercing pain the light inflicted upon his eyes. It was an action doomed to fail as a voice from the corner of the room softly spoke his name.

'Sherlock?'

Forcing his eyes open despite the pain, he shifted his glance to the part of the room his ears had informed him the sound had come from. John sat there, arm bound to his chest and bandages plastered across his face. The worried look on his face told Sherlock that John was in that 'caring' mood again, but this time it didn't irritate him, rather made his heart beat a 1/6th faster.

-Interesting, must diagnose that later, however there is a more pressing issue-

'Moriarty?' he asked aloud, hoping John had used his wakefulness to gather information about what had happened at the pool after what had cleary been a volatile explosion.

'Escaped.'

'Ah... good.' This meant more exciting puzzles and games in the future. But John saw the situation in a rather different light.

'Good?... GOOD?' his voice rose in decibels (according to Sherlock's calculations he was currently at 60 and rising) and the worried look on his face had long since vanished, ' How is this good Sherlock? There's a madman on the loose and more people are going to die because of it!'

Sherlock rolled his eyes, John just didn't get it.

'We'll get him next time, besides, at least he provides me with an entertaining challenge.'

John, now standing upright, opened and closed his mouth in astonishment, too stunned to even piece together a single word. His face suddenly turned bright red -With anger or embarrassment? Eyebrows drawn together, definitely anger- and he yelled, 'I hope you two have fun together! Try not to catch an STD!' before storming from the room, cursing on his way down the corridor.

Sherlock felt his heart sink at little at John's abrupt and perplexing exit -Must investigate, may be a heart condition- but was soon interrupted in his thoughts by Lestrade's presence. The Inspector strode into the room looking as if he'd just been to hell and back.

'What did you say to him this time?'

Sherlock pulled an offended face, 'I have no idea. He seems to get worked up at the most insignificant things.'

Lestrade made a long-suffering sigh and focused his mind on the job at hand.

'Moriarty escaped the bomb you triggered at the-'

'Yes, I know that already. Get to the important information.'

Lestrade was tempted to sigh again but refrained if only for the fact that Sherlock would dig deeper and not so accidentally uncover the motives behind the Inspector's exhaustion. Which had absolutely nothing to do with a post coital glow, God knows how long it's been since he's had a warm body in his bed, much less the physical endeavors that usually accompany the presence of another in one's bed.

'As I was saying, my men have found footprints on some of the larger pieces of rubble we recovered from the scene. Only two sets, a men's size 10 and 12. Turns out he was just messing with you, never intended either for you be injured. Got a shock when you turned the tables and high-tailed it out of there, probably a little injured but we can't be sure since there was so little blood at the scene that wasn't John's.'

Sherlock decided it was his turn to pitch in. The inspector's theory was, as per usual, flawed.

'The meeting was not a game but a challenge. Otherwise why would he have used Semtex on John's parka? No, it was intentionally set up that way, he had already considered I would turn the gun on the parka- he knew I had the gun because he would have been aware of John's military records and the fact that he wasn't carrying it with him when they kidnapped him, really do keep up! He had already planned his escape route from the building, calculating the area he was standing in when the bomb went off and the layout of the pool, he now has shallow laceration on his right arm which is the worst of his injuries.'

'Alright, I'll tell the boys to check hospital records for-'

'Don't be daft, he won't have gone to a hospital, too exposed. He has most likely retreated to his base of operations. He's not sentimental or nostalgic, so it wouldn't be in Ireland. Given the luxury of his suit, Scotland would be out of the question too, he would be too noticeable, he needs somewhere to fit in. Somewhere where no one looks twice, so the answer is obvious.'

'Obvious?' Lestrade queried, puzzled at the leaps in logic Sherlock had taken in his musings.

'London, habitat of the businessman.'

Looking skeptical at how such a large scale crime organization could be working right under the noses of the Scotland Yard, Lestrade made no comment and proceeded to leave the room if only for his own sanity. Glancing back, he addressed the infuriatingly brilliant detective once more.

'So he's based in London, anything more specific we should be looking for?'

'Try investment or finance companies, less regulation provided they show you the figures you want to see.'

'Thanks.' he turned to make his way out the door but stopped to look back again, 'Whatever it was you said, make sure you apologize to John. It takes a very special sort of person to be able to stand your antics as long as he has.' and promptly left.

Sherlock continued to give the door a furrowed look of confusion until the nurse arrived and gave him the joy of someone new to torment.

He had been stuck in the hospital for five days and in that period of time he'd made two female nurses cry, a male nurse lose his temper and attempt to strangle his infuriating patient and a doctor call the police, the officers showing up with both unimpressed and reassuring smiles across their faces. The responsibility for Sherlock was then gratefully transferred to John after the medical board's analysis of his expertise in battlefield medicine.

Sherlock's first steps taken into their Baker street flat were blissfully comforting and he immediately bounded up the stairs with his elongated limbs, strode across the living room and plopped himself down onto his beloved mud-brown couch, ignoring the pain of his body underneath the bandages wrapped around his torso. There was no experience quite like breaking a rib, and Sherlock was certain that having discovered this information first hand, he had no desire to repeat it in any form, experimentally or accidentally.

John peered at Sherlock for a few minutes, as if he expected the man to suddenly catch aflame. His arm was hanging limply at his side, healed but still tender, the bandages were gone and replaced by a spatter of wide bandaids and mottled purple bruises. Sherlock felt another dull ache in his chest and dismissed it as his rib bothering him again.

'Any chance of tea John?'

The doctor rolled his eyes and moved to put the kettle on after taking precautions to ensure that it wasn't poisoned, melted, or being used as a hiding place for Sherlock's latest acquisition of bodily parts.

'John...' the almost inaudible call came from the living room. Peeking around the corner, John spied Sherlock unmoved, yet unwilling to look at the eyes he knew were upon him.

'For what I said to upset you at the hospital... I'm sorry.'

The unexpected apology nearly floored John who mumbled a returning 'it's all fine' and walked back into the kitchen in a daze. Sherlock finally deigned to look towards where John was and not seeing his flatmate, he extracted himself from the warm comfort of the couch and strolled casually into the kitchen.

John stood over the sink breathing evenly and zoned out, unaware of the pale blue eyes studying his figure -for medical reasons- Sherlock convinced himself.

'John?'

Well honed military senses stopped John from flinching in surprise. Still not looking up from the silver (barely thanks to Sherlock's pouring of unidentified liquids down it) basin, John though long and hard about whether or not Sherlock suspected his feelings for the stubborn, immaculate arse of a man. Deeming this exceptionally likely, he turned to face the arrogant, insanely beautiful detective.

'Sorry Sherlock, I was just thinking.'

Arching an eyebrow at him, Sherlock looked the man up and down, 'Hunched stance denotes an emotional trouble, you wouldn't look at me though, so it's to do with me' Sherlock's heart leaps a little at this thought, but too wrapped up in his deduction, he doesn't take mind of it, 'You've been frowning for a while, so something negative then. I did say sorry... was that not right of me to do?'

John saw the sadness in Sherlock's eyes and hurried to dissuade him, 'No no no, it's not tha-'

'Why did I listen to Lestrade? That bumbling-'

'Lestrade? What's Lestrade got to do with this?'

They stood staring blankly at each other for a few moments before Sherlock spoke.

'He said I could fix it if I apologized...'

Something clicked in John's brain, 'Oh, so that's why you said sorry. I though you'd developed a brain tumor or a concussion that the hospital missed.'

Sherlock glared weakly at the doctor. Moving closer to stand before the significantly shorter man.

-It feels right, I never act on feelings, strange, maybe John was right about that concussion-

'You of all people should know that my brain is exercised far more than those belonging to the plebeian masses, my probability of developing a brain tumor is... 5.3 per cent.'

John mimicked a facepalm and Sherlock grabbed at his hand, -Don't cover your face-. John's eyes widened as he looked at where their hands were grasped together, and Sherlock quickly let go as if his hand was hot as a stovetop. John continued to look at his hand, unmoved while Sherlock gazed into the soft, worn out face trying to find all the answers in the trauma-caused wrinkles on John's face. John looked up into Sherlock's eyes and the detective blamed the doctor for the impulse decision he made next.

Tender lips met for the first time, unsure and confused. Pressure was added and Sherlock documented that this improved the experience. John's more experienced lips nudged at the taller man's, motioning to open them up and Sherlock willingly obliged. Tongue met tongue in a heated wet embrace, exploring aimlessly while hands came up to grasp at clothes, skin, hair, whatever they could reach. Sherlock gripped passionately at John's shoulder and arm, causing the shorter man to cry out in pain and push away from the entwined position they had so comfortably moulded themselves into.

'John-'

'This is a-' John imitated a fish out of water once more, uselessly opening and closing his mouth. A resolve settled on his face and he locked eyes sullenly with Sherlock, 'Do you want this?'

Sherlock's heart made itself know again, aching with pleasure of holding John tight in his arms again -Maybe this is that emotion they call love?- Sherlock came to a conclusion of his own, ignoring the risk that accompanied the dramatic shift in their relationship.

'Yes John, more than anything.'

John paused for only moments before throwing himself into Sherlock's long arms, lips reuniting, bodies pressed as close as possible, coarse fabric rubbing against fine silk. Sherlock didn't know much about emotional relationships -The physical part is easily understood, the emotions fluctuate too much for a detailed prognosis-, but knew enough from watching corny romance movies ever since John bought a TV so that he could confidently move his and John's... amorous, activities to a bedroom.

Clothes dropped silently to the floor on their ascent to Sherlock's bedroom, and their lips parted only to take off John's pullover shirts. Entering the room, John stopped to look around and take in his surroundings but was interrupted by Sherlock pushing his back where he bumped his knees and fell onto the plush mattress.

'Wha-' he was cut off by Sherlock's mouth coming down on his once more and he relaxed into the embrace, both men now naked from the waist up. John sought to rectify this and reached down to fumble Sherlock's belt buckle open, succeeding after a minute and then proceeding to undo the rest of the nefarious jean's blockades. Sherlock caught his hand when the zip was halfway down and gazed into John's eyes, silently asking if he was okay with this.

The doctor responded by enthusiastically attacking other man's jeans again, tearing them off so that Sherlock was left only in his silk boxers (what other kind of underwear would John have expected?) and started on his own pants. Impatiently needing more skin contact, Sherlock roughly pulled down John's underwear and then his own, pressing their hardened lengths against each other eliciting a sharp breath from John and a deep groan of pleasure from Sherlock. Rubbing together the pressure built until John grasped at Sherlock's clever hips, halting the movement.

'Can't... can't last... haaa, please, more?'

Sherlock's eyes went feral at John's request and he fumbled in a bedside drawer that John hadn't noticed previously. Pulling out a condom and small tub of lubricant, Sherlock moved to prepare John for what Sherlock refused to tell him was his first time.

'Why do you-?' John breathed out, barely managing his words through his fogged mind.

Sherlock looked at him seriously, never stopping as he worked John with slicked fingers. 'Someone in my line of business must always be prepared.'

'Ah of-kaaah!' John keened and writhed in the sheets -Prostate located- breathing heavily as he came down from the sudden high and crying out again when Sherlock continued to torture that part of his anatomy. He abruptly grabbed Sherlock's evil hand with his good arm, and held him in a vice grip at the wrist glaring to inform Sherlock that he was so very very close.

The detective rolled on the condom with unpracticed hands and slowly imbedded himself into John's sacred warmth, wary of the bandages around his own torso and John's injuries. Sighs and groans oscillated and reverberated through the room as Sherlock first slowly, then as fast as their injuries would allow, thrust in and out of the welcoming body beneath him. John's overstimulation pushed him off the cliff of ecstasy very quickly and he cried out a garbled version of Sherlock's name. The warmth encompassing him tightened, and Sherlock's inexperience helped shove him off the same cliff and he fell hard, drawing out John's name as he collapsed onto the smaller body underneath him, remembering at the last second to roll to one side and avoid John's recovering limb.

They lay there, panting for minutes on end, strangely too comfortable to move despite John's cum drying on their chests and Sherlock's manhood still being held within John's pliable body. They were dragged out of their stupor by the ringing of a phone. Sherlock pulled out of John's body and was rewarded with a slight sigh, reached around in his discarded pant's pockets, pulling out his Blackberry and frowning as he answered.

'Hello?'

'Sherlock? I've been trying to through to John for ages since you never pick up... are you alright?'

'Fine' he snapped, 'Now what was it you need to tell me so very urgently?'

'There's been a reported sighting of Moriarty followed by a murder in the same vicinity. We though if you were healed enough...?'

Sherlock went silent, ear still attached to the phone.

'We'll be right there, text me the address.' and promptly hung up before Lestrade could ask any questions.

John sent him a puzzled look before Sherlock explained the situation. Instantly, John began to frown and turn away from Sherlock as much as he could given that Sherlock was still firmly pinning him into the bed.

Kissing him tenderly on the forehead, Sherlock enquired into what was bothering his blondish flatmate turned unexpected lover.

'You'll always keep chasing after HIM, won't you?'

Dropping more feather-light kisses onto John's face, Sherlock sighed a little and pulled back to gaze into the eye he could see.

'Yes... and I hope you'll be with me the whole way. I'd be lost without my blogger.'

Sherlock smiled in response to John's silly beaming grin -He needed to hear that- and the shorter man pulled Sherlock down for another kiss.

'Now', Sherlock began, carefully lifting himself off the bed and dragging John up by his good wrist, 'Come along John, get dressed. Moriarty is out there and the game, my dear' Sherlock turned to wink cheekily at John.

'Is on.'

Please review! Let me know how I did :)