A/N: This story begins immediately after "Sherlock Holmes Saves a Marriage."

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profits.

Warnings: Definitely slash, but nothing on the physical level yet. If fluff rots your teeth, you may want to pass. There may be some mild profanities.

Special thanks: To Jarri Scythe for being such a wonderful beta-reader. I am so grateful!

A Night At The Symphony

I collected my now-pressed formal suit from Mrs. Hudson and carried it upstairs to the flat. I went to go put it away in my room, as I was not going to be needing it for several more hours yet. I walked up to my now mostly unused bedroom and hung the suit carefully on the backside of the door.

I dragged my large, flat shoe storage box out from under the bed and got the dress shoes out, intending to polish them for that night. The storage box had a handy compartment for storing polish, brushes and rags in addition to shoes. I had felt a little like Imelda Marcos or something, buying a special box devoted to shoes, but it's clever design for under-bed storage had appealed to my military-ingrained urge toward neatness.

I was sitting there arranging my polishing supplies when Sherlock came up and found me.

"I was thinking that maybe we would want to grab an early dinner at Angelo's before the symphony," he said.

"Sounds good to me," I said.

"So I'm going to go ahead and take my shower now, as I take longer to get ready than you do," Sherlock continued.

"Fine," I replied, still working over my shoes.

There was a pause, and Sherlock wasn't leaving, so I looked up at him questioningly.

"Why don't you go ahead and move all your clothes and stuff to the bedroom?" he asked.

I shrugged, "Just haven't gotten around to it, I guess."

"I've cleared out space in the closet for you, and I can help you move your dresser if you'd like. I've made space for it as well."

"Ok, well, you take your shower and I'll start bringing my things down. We can move the dresser tomorrow."

Sherlock nodded and then left; shortly after that I heard the shower start.

I finished polishing my black dress shoes and put them carefully back in my shoe box. I was about to shove it back underneath my bed when I stopped, shrugged, and picked it up and brought it downstairs to our now shared bedroom.

I went to shove the box under the bed, but it got hung up on something. Whatever it was, it was preventing the box from sliding completely under the bed, but the object seemed to be soft, with some give to it.

I wasn't particularly anxious to thrust my hand under Sherlock's bed to investigate something soft and squishy, so I went in search of a torch.

After locating one in the kitchen I came back and peered underneath the bed. Much to my surprise, what I found was a balled-up blanket. A decidedly familiar looking blanket, at that. I reached in and pulled out what was undoubtedly my old blanket, the one Sherlock had stolen from me after the Pool Incident.

I was staring at it, a bit dumbfounded, when I remembered Sherlock telling me he had used it for an experiment. I dropped it and backed away.

I didn't see anything immediately wrong with it, so I carefully spread it out. I still didn't find any evidence of foul-play: no disgusting stains, or burn marks, or any other sign that it had suffered ill-treatment. I cautiously sniffed at it, and smelled only dust, and perhaps a faint whiff of Sherlock's shampoo.

I set it aside, as Sherlock was still in the bathroom, I'd ask him about it later. In the meantime, I busied myself with continuing to move my relatively small collection of clothing from my bedroom to Sherlock's. Just as he'd said, there was space in the closet next to Sherlock's clothes, which all seemed to consist of dark-colored suits and silk dress shirts of varying hues.

It gave me a rather odd feeling to look at my clothes hanging next to his. I started to question what I was doing, but became nervous at direction my thoughts were going. I shook my head and went back to work.

I took the drawers from my dresser and carried them downstairs so that the empty dresser would be lighter and easier to carry. I stacked them up in the spot that I assumed that Sherlock intended to place the dresser.

By the time I finished with all of that, Sherlock had come out of the bathroom in his dressing gown, his hair still slightly damp. He came in the bedroom where I was still organizing and storing. I saw his eyes settle on my blanket, balled up on the floor at the foot of the bed. His face assumed the closed, neutral expression he used when he was either defensive or uncomfortable about something.

"Sherlock, why was my blanket under the bed?"

"I forgot it was there."

"But why was it there? I thought you'd said you'd thrown it away."

"I never said that," he paused, "I got you a new one."

"I appreciate that, but I'd appreciate even more if you would tell me why I couldn't have my own blanket back."

Sherlock shifted his weight on his feet a few times, maintaining his blank expression. I kept a steady gaze on him. He wasn't going to wriggle out of this one.

After another pause he said, "It was the only thing that got the smell of chlorine out of my nose...after...the Pool."

He swallowed, shifting his weight again.

I threw up my hands, "Well, you could have just said so! Why all the cloak and dagger?"

Sherlock didn't reply.

I took a deep breath and continued, "Sherlock, it was a traumatic experience, even for us, and we each have been through a lot. And, for a minute, we believed that we were going to lose each other. So, yeah, needing a...security blanket," (I was very careful not to smile), "after something like that really isn't at all strange or something to feel ashamed of."

Sherlock looked insulted, "I didn't need a security blanket! I only needed..." he stopped.

"What?" I asked.

He hesitated then said, "I needed something to remind myself that you were ok...when you weren't around."

"I wish you would have said something."

"I couldn't."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I just couldn't."

I sighed, "If it were to happen again, would you tell me?"

"Of course, John. Things are...different," he waved his arms vaguely around the room, "now."

"Good. Because, you know I'm here for you, right? You don't have to suffer in silence. Otherwise, why are we doing," it was my turn to wave around vaguely, "this?"

He swallowed again and nodded, looking at his feet, he then looked up and gave me a tentative smile.

Impulsively, I drew him into a hug, which he returned awkwardly. His body was very warm from the shower. He smelled moist and faintly of mint and citrus from his shampoo and soap. I caught myself instinctively running my hands over his body to check and see how much I could feel his bones. I was always worried about him being underweight. I stopped when I felt Sherlock tense and pull away slightly.

"Sorry," I said, "can't help it. As your doctor, I can't help wanting to check up on you when I get the chance."

Sherlock seemed a bit pink in the face as he turned away and started rummaging in his drawers.

"Well," I said, "I guess I'll take my shower now. You through in there?"

I saw Sherlock nodding his head.

"All right, see you in a bit, then."

The whole thing felt a bit awkward, but I wasn't quite sure why.

To be continued...