A/N: This is just a short drabble. I'm sorry if it offends you, it's partially meant to. It offends me that this is often reality, that's why I wrote it. I actually encounter people like this far too often.

Warnings: Strong hateful language.

Hateful Words

Sherlock had sprinted off to the crime scene the moment he was out of the cab, John trailed behind pausing briefly to not the crowd just behind the crime scene tape holding up picket signs.

"what have we got here then?"

"Double homicide, we were hoping you could help us out Sherlock."

Sherlock began pacing about the area around the two deceased men on the park bench. John found his gaze kept going back to the angry people looking on.

"Sorry to interrupt, but who are all those people?"

Lestrade hesitated and looked at the ground, John immediately noticed the odd reaction. "They're just protesters."

"Protesters?" John raised a quizzical eyebrow, he didn't even notice that Sherlock had stopped pacing the crime scene and was listening to him.

"Yes, well, the nature of this crime after all-"

John looked at the two men with gunshot wounds to their heads. "Well this is a rather public place for such a thing, but I don't understand why they have signs." John squinted hard to read the signs but they were just too far out of sight.

Sherlock looked off in the direction John peered in, his eyesight being greater then the doctors he easily made out what they said.

"John- it's really not important." His voice sounded off even to him. Now John had to know what those signs said.

He took several steps closer before he could read one of the sea of signs, "Burn in hell fags." His eyes widened at the realization that the crowd was an anti-gay group. His fists quickly balled up. "Get them the bloody hell out of here!" he sneered at Lestrade.

Lestrade's eyes again looked away with a hint of embarrassment "I'm really sorry John, but we can't make them leave."

John clenched his jaw in frustration. "Well it's none of their damn business what people do with their lives." His face was hot and his throat began to ache.

Sherlock took stepped close to him and tilted his head, "Ah, you're upset because of your sister Harry."

"Shut up Sherlock, now isn't the time." John crossed his arms in front of him.

A voice louder then the others in the on looking crowed yelled out "It's that fag detective!"

Sherlock's face reddened deeply as he turned his back to the crowd and tried to regain focus. John watched flatmate's odd reaction to insult. He had never once been upset by anything he heard Donavan or Anderson call him. Narrowing his eyes, John stormed closer to the crowd.

"Who said that!? I demand to know who dare say that to my friend!" his voice sounded hot on the tip of his tongue.

Sherlock turned to watch him, surprise clearly in his eyes.

"Come to defend your fag boyfriend?" Another voice in the crowd teased.

"Do you know what that word means?" his eyes were piercing. "A fag is a bundle of sticks you set on fire. That man there is the greatest detective- the greatest person I have ever known. You don't have the right to even be in his presence." John practically spat. If it wasn't for the crime scene tape divided them he likely would have punched one of the many taunting faces.

"John?" John didn't realize Sherlock had walked up behind him. "We should go." His voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

"We have every right to be here." He subconsciously stepped in front of Sherlock blocking him from the crowd in defense.

"Thank you."

The words were such a surprise that John turned to see the detective blushing softly.

John smiled "Come on, we have a crime scene to deduce." He reached out to guide the detective by the arm as he turned to leave but accidentally grabbed his wrist. He loosened his grip "Sorry, I was-"

Sherlock took the opportunity to slide his hand into John's open palm and noted with great satisfaction the shorter man offered no protest to this. "To the crime scene then."

John simply nodded and followed hand in hand. He didn't hear anything the angry crowd might have said, he was too focused on the enigmatic man in front of him.

Lestrade sighed as the two men came back, "Again, I'm really sorry John, I-" the DI trailed off as he noticed the two men were holding hands. "Erm, but anyway, Sherlock- the uh, bodies, any ideas?" he tried his best to pretend he hadn't noticed.

"Yes, obviously lovers, this was likely a hate crime. Probably someone who didn't frequent the area much but had stalked these two to this spot."

Sherlock let go of John's hand to approach the bodies for a closer look. John's hand felt colder at the loss of warmth, he balled it into a light fist by his side, Sherlock noticed this and continued his deduction.

"Ah, he was a flouriest. The taller man here recently bought some flowers, the flourist killed them."

"What? How the hell could you-?" Lestrade was stumped for an explanation yet again.

"Brilliant." John could never shake the habit of exclaiming his enthusiastic admiration of the detectives deductions.

Sherlock turned and smirked. "You think so?"

"Fantastic as always." He smiled back.

"I thought you would say that." The detective stepped close to John and leaned in to give him a chaste kiss on the forehead.

John blushed, but the detective noticed yet again he gave no protest to this new step past their regular comfort zone.

"Back to the flat then?" Sherlock asked and began walking away.

John scurried to catch up with his faster pace, his hand accidentally brushing against Sherlock's paused mid step to look at his blushing blogger. He placed his hand out in front of him, palm raised as an invitation. John accepted, taking Sherlock's hand in his, but didn't continue walking. With is other hand his took Sherlock by the collar and pulled his face closer to his, noses brushing against each others for a moment, then lips. John placed a light kiss on his friend's cupid bow lips.

"John?" Sherlock's voice was a faint whisper, breath ghosting against his flatmate's mouth.

"mmhm?"

"Do you love me?" he voice was hopeful.

"Oh God yes."