Sherlock and I had been dating for about four months. I was surprised that nobody had guessed by now that we'd taken that extra step, but I supposed we had acted so much like a couple before, that no one had noticed anything amiss.

And if I was honest, not that much had changed. Obviously, there were… certain benefits, and we were more vocal in terms of how we felt, sometimes. We didn't really tell each other we loved each other- we showed each other instead. Like when I would wake up from a nightmare and Sherlock would have got his violin and started playing for me to calm me down. The smaller things, like the soothing touches after a long day at work, the lingering glances, the 'accidental' extra brushes at the crime scenes. All that had really changed was that we were allowed to touch, to look, to love.

We hadn't originally planned to keep our relationship a secret. It just hadn't come up during cases, and after a month, it had become more fun to have our little secret. It made the extras seem naughty almost, like when Sherlock would pretend to accidentally brush his hand against mine, or I would accidentally rub my leg against his. It became a game, to see how much we could get away with in front of the oblivious officers.

Sometimes, it almost got too much, and we would hold each other's gaze just a little too long, and Donovan or Lestrade would start to look suspiciously between us. Usually, on these occasions, the night ended well- very well indeed- and we would know, and share a secret smile after the others had looked away, knowing how the game would end that night.

It was how we worked, how we were. Pushing boundaries, like we always did, in all aspects of life.

Someone, sometime, was going to find out.

It was the night when we were investigating the murder of a woman, one of Mycroft's cases, which was important enough for Mycroft himself to attend the crime scene, apparently. Something about 'highest discretion', which meant the victim had been one of the highest-ranking spies in the MI6. Sherlock had figured out it was the step-brother, nothing to do with the girl's mission, but was still collecting evidence- and we were just about finished, when he looked at me again. Held my gaze for too long, intensely, making me forget about the older Holmes brother that was standing in the room. Sherlock smiled slightly, almost shyly, pausing in his work. Slowly, as if in a trance, he stood from his kneeling position and walked the ten paces over to where I was standing, never breaking the eye contact.

Suddenly, Mycroft coughed.

We quickly looked away from each other, glancing at him like startled deer.

'Yes, I… have been expecting this for some time, I must admit.'

Sherlock blushed. 'How could you possibly know that?' he said, apparently giving up an idea of hiding the truth from his brother.

Mycroft smiled. 'My dear brother, it has been obvious since I first saw you interact. May I offer my… approval.'

Sherlock snapped his head up. 'I don't need your approval.' he spat.

He sobered slightly. 'However… It would be greatly appreciated if you would…' he coughed slightly 'not inform anyone else of this.'

Mycroft considered, leaning on his umbrella. 'And why should I not?'

Sherlock sniffed, regarding his brother with contempt. 'That is none of your business.'

'But it would be such a shame if some details of the nature of your new relationship were to… slip out, wouldn't it? I repeat: Why should I not?'

Sherlock gritted his teeth, eyes wild. 'One favour, Mycroft, that's all I'll give you.'

'Two.'

Sherlock flung the bag of evidence at Mycroft. 'If that is what it takes. This is all the evidence you'll need, the brother is of a nervous disposition, you won't have any trouble getting him to talk. Just ask him about the acid that went missing from his workplace, and he'll confess.'

Sherlock stormed away, but turned back one last time to Mycroft. 'Absolute silence.' he growled, eyes flashing.

Mycroft nodded curtly.

I looked up at him. 'I'll just- I mean- I'll go- Bye.' I stuttered, fleeing behind Sherlock.

I found him on the nearest main street, looking thoroughly annoyed. 'Of course he knew. From the first time he saw us, too! It's always something!'

He looked at me seriously. 'I didn't think it would be my own emotions I would be missing. Would that be something I would miss?' he asked, frustrated.

I looked up at him, keeping my face straight. 'Yes, that would absolutely be something you'd miss.'

We stared at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing. He leant down and kissed me, gently but thoroughly, and took hold of my hand and didn't let go for the whole time we walked home.

I sat up and stretched as I woke up to the shrill call of my alarm clock. I unwound myself from Sherlock's clutches, trying unsuccessfully not to wake him. Sherlock groaned and tugged down.

'No, John, please.' Sherlock looked up, bleary-eyed and pouting. His arm wound around my bare torso, pulling me back.

I looked at him. I debated whether calling into work sick was a good idea- and at the time it seemed like a very good idea- but decided against it, in the end. 'Some of us do actually have full time jobs, Sherlock. We can't all be geniuses that prance around the flat in only a sheet half the time.'

Sherlock looked up at me wickedly, hoisting himself up on one elbow. 'Well, you know, I don't have to wear a sheet…' he drawled.

I swallowed. 'No, Sherlock, I've got to go. Seriously.' I said, my defences weakening but resolve still strong.

I clambered out of bed, still wearing only my pants, and groped the clothes-strewn floor for the nearest shirt, jumper, anything. I had to get out of that room, or I would never get to work. Eventually my hands found Sherlock's silky purple shirt, and I shrugged it on quickly (it wouldn't button, but it would do) and fled. I heard Sherlock falling back on the bed, practically seeing his dissatisfied pout.

As I climbed down the stairs from the bedroom, I shook my head to try and clear my thoughts of Sherlock, without much success. What I really needed was a nice, strong cup of tea.

I was boiling the kettle, still waking up when suddenly, a voice in my ear said 'Boo.'

I must have jumped about a foot in the air and I turned to see Sherlock behind me, standing only in boxers, grin glinting in the early morning sunlight.

'Christ, Sherlock, I-'

'Not like you to be so distracted, John. Lost in your thoughts, I'd say.' he murmured, backing me into the living room, staring deeply at me.

I swallowed. 'I- I was-'

'What might those thoughts have been about, hmm?' he continued, lightly tracing a hand over my chest, still backing me further into the room. I landed with a thud on the sofa, still staring up at him like an idiot.

'Sh- Sherlock- I- I need to go-'

He smirked. 'Is that so? Tell me, would you rather go to work, or would you rather-'

This time, Sherlock was the one that was cut off. I stood up and crashed my mouth upon his. 'Work can wait.' I said firmly.

He smiled triumphantly, brilliantly, and leaned down to capture my lips in his once more.

We were lost, lost in each other, and neither of us noticed the footsteps climbing the stairs as we gradually sat on the couch, never breaking the kiss.

Neither of us noticed the series of impatient knocks on the door as I dragged my hands down Sherlock's back, drawing a quiet moan.

Neither of us noticed the door opening as we gradually laid down on the sofa, clutching at each other.

We did notice, however, the loud, simultaneous shouts of Donovan, Lestrade and Anderson as they took us in.

We froze.

I turned bright red; Sherlock went pale white; the officers stood there in shock.

I cleared my throat, an action which seemed to bring everyone around.

'Christ!' muttered Lestrade. 'Out, everyone out.' he said.

Sherlock and I didn't move until everyone had left.

'Well, I wasn't expecting that.' said Sherlock carefully, sitting up and checking my face for any signs of anger.

'No, no, neither was I. Not how I was planning on telling them about us.' I replied, equally carefully.

We both laughed awkwardly.

'Well… Guess everyone knows now.' Sherlock grimaced.

'Yep.'

'Well, I suppose we'd better… get dressed and go after Lestrade.'

'All right.'

Sherlock's eyes were bright, suddenly. 'John! It must be a marvellous case, for Lestrade to come in like that! Maybe it's a triple murder!' he said gleefully.

I laughed, and looked at him fondly. My strange, odd, intelligent, wonderful man.

We made our way into Scotland Yard. Even Sherlock seemed nervous, although he was doing a very good job of hiding it. I reached over and squeezed his hand quickly, intending to take my hand away, but Sherlock held it tight.

I looked up at him, confused, but he just returned my gaze, giving me a weak half-smile.

Lestrade strode out into the hallway, and stopped dead when he saw us.

He coughed.

'Lestrade.' Sherlock said.

'Sherlock.' Lestrade nodded. 'John.' Greg couldn't help looking between us, at our interlocked hands.

I cringed. 'Er, hi Greg.'

'So… I believe that… er, congratulations are in order.' Greg said, blushing.

Sherlock nodded.

'The case.'

Lestrade looked confused, and then shook his head and said, 'Yes, yes of course, uh, right this way.'

We were lead through to the office, where we were greeted by the stares of half of Scotland Yard.

'So, it's the freak and his boyfriend.' Sally sneered.

I felt Sherlock tense, and murmured, 'Leave it. Case, remember.'

He glanced down and nodded.

Anderson looked down and ignored us entirely.

It was like that, people's reactions. Different. Mrs Hudson, of course, was thrilled, although I suspect she had heard quite a bit more than she let on. Molly pretended to be pleased, too- and I genuinely think she was, but understandably she was upset.

Eventually, the people who worked at Scotland Yard adjusted- Anderson didn't care, still insulting Sherlock and ignoring me. Donovan insulted both of us, but it didn't bother us. She was just the same as always, really. And Greg- he'd been counting the days until we got together, apparently. He said that he could 'tell', but I didn't buy it. After all, we had been together for four months before the incident happened.

And Sherlock and I? We were the same as ever. Driving each other mad, but not being able to live without each other. Sherlock still had severed heads in the fridge , and I still fell asleep at work after an all-night chase.

After all, not much had changed.