Sherlock found himself staring blankly at the screen and gently sucking on the end of the pencil…again. For the third time in five minutes, he removed the offending object and placed it on the desk. Returning to his typing he discarded much of the most recent page of notes and began again.

Damn it. I can't work like this! The pencil had mysteriously returned to his fingers, being turned idly end over end as his thoughts wandered back to the previous night again.

I was mistaken. Sherlock would never admit this conclusion aloud, but nevertheless when viewed objectively, the facts were clear. The rest is not…..just transport. Transport is a vehicle entirely divided from the driver, the driver controls and guides the progress and the transport has no choice on the destination. I was…wrong. Sherlock's lip twitched in the slightest sign of disgust, the word sitting badly with him and further adding to his frustration.

That his carefully controlled and regimented thought patterns had been completely disrupted and all his theoretical research could be so badly aligned to the actual reality of the experience cast doubt on the validity of other research was deeply disturbing. Not as disturbing as the fact that the pencil has AGAIN returned unbidden to my mouth he thought, again placing it firmly on the desk, further away from easy reach.

Adding to his frustration John, comfortably settled in his chair reading the paper, appeared completely unaffected by this fundamental shift in the logic on which the world was built. This damn pencil! he thought as it snapped in two between his fingers, having returned again seemingly under its own volition. Sherlock looked at the ruined pieces as they fell to the desk. This is hopeless!

"You OK, Sherlock?" John had flipped down the top half of his paper and was looking toward him across the room.

"No." Sherlock was angry, at himself, at John, at the inanimate pencil and at the world at large that had failed to inform him that an entirely different set of rules were required to be applied once the genital organs were engaged in combination with another person.

"Right" John knew this tone well and he was in no mood to suffer a tantrum as writ by 'the greatest mind in Britain' particularly today when he was in such a good mood and riding on a small smug cloud of satisfaction. He flipped the paper back up, effectively blocking Sherlock's view, cleared his throat and continued reading.

"John!" Pay attention to me!

"Sherlock?" He didn't lower the paper this time, the smile he couldn't quite hide would provide all the evidence Sherlock would need to know that John was very consciously baiting him.

"John I'm….." Unable to find a way to simplify the seemingly unending mountain of conflicting data he settled on,"…..I'm going out."

"Want company?"

"No" More gentle this time, knowing the offer had been genuine. "I just need some space… to think".

"As long as you're sure you're OK"

John had put the paper down, the need to jibe falling away under sincere concern. John was empathetic enough to realise that the recent changes provided challenges to the both of them. And of the two, in spite of his VAST theoretical knowledge, Sherlock's practical experience lagged far behind John's.

Seeing the look on John's face, and not wishing to alarm his friend unnecessarily, Is friend still the right word for what we are? Sherlock paused in his flight from the room, "Truly John, I'll be fine. Stay here. I'll…..I'll buy more pencils" The attempt at humour lightening the mood as John rose from the chair and stepped to meet Sherlock in the centre of the room.

Not asking permission, John reached up and kissed Sherlock soundly on the mouth. "Have a good walk Sherlock and RELAX, things will sort themselves out" before returning to his seat and his paper, a smile playing at his lips.

Sherlock had barely pulled the door closed behind him when Mycroft's large estate car pulled up to the curve beside him.

"Get in Sherlock," the older brother's voice penetrating from the darkened interior out through the wound down window.

"No" Sherlock crossed his arms petulantly across his chest, and stood his ground.

The car idled. No further sound emanated, instead the door opened and the silence made the previous request a growing demand. For long moments the stand-off continued before Sherlock strode across the footpath, stepped into the waiting car slamming the door behind him.

"Good morning Mycroft" Sherlock set the tone of the conversation with the expressionless greeting indicating it was nothing of the sort.

"Is it? I wouldn't know what sort of morning you've had, given the alterations to your flat"

"Your point?"

"I'm informed that you have chosen to remove several of my cameras"

"Not removed…..adjusted"

"Nevertheless, you have…..limited their effectiveness."

"I have…..'constrained' their range"

Mycroft sighed, Sherlock was well aware of the point Mycroft was trying to make, and Mycroft would be equally aware of why Sherlock had made the changes. Privacy wasn't a term that Mycroft was accustomed to applying to his brother and until recently, Sherlock had no reason to impose limits. However privacy 'was' important to John and Sherlock was, unusually, determined not to give way to his brother's need to monitor and control.

"You spoke to John without consulting me first and I believe we need to revisit the level to which you involve yourself in my personal life." Sherlock made no eye contact with his brother, carefully tempering his tone to ensure the message was clear, "I therefore choose to also…..constrain your range."

Mycroft opened his mouth, ready to speak and then closed it again slowly. Sherlock turned slowly to face his brother.

"Mycroft, I permit you to monitor me and me alone. I understand that my past gives you reason to be concerned as to my potential behaviour in the future. This permission is conditional upon the following. One…You WILL NOT speak to John regarding the personal relationship which may, or may not, exist between he and I." He paused then continued, "Two…..cameras are permitted in the rooms as …defined..by me. These rooms may or may not change on a day to day basis; I will adjust them as needed. Three…"

"Sherlock"

Sherlock held up a hand, continuing, "Three!…There are to be NO active microphones in the flat whatsoever. I shall remove them when I return and they are NOT to be replaced."

'Sherlock…"

"Four….and I wish to be extremely clear Mycroft….your 'assistance' is neither sought nor desired with regards to my private life any longer. Am I clear?"

Mycroft's face cycled through a series of brief, almost imperceptible expressions. Shock, confusion, anger, and belligerence. But the one that settled finally was a begrudging pride, a small smile turning up the corners of a face that didn't smile often.

"I do believe my baby brother has experienced something of a breakthrough"

"Shut up Mycroft"

"I also believe that challenging you on any of your 'conditions' would likely result in an escalation which would benefit neither of us…..I concede."

"You what?

"I concede. It is clear that you no longer need my eternal vigilance and I find myself content to have passed that role to another for now. I know you realise that the nature of your work, and mine makes a level of observation desirable, and I trust you will act accordingly. Good morning Sherlock."

Sherlock reached to open the door, effectively dismissed as Mycroft reached out to put a hand gently on his shoulder, "Oh, and Sherlock….", the tone in Mycroft's voice had changed and held a rare hint of fondness, "I should not have interfered."

It was as close to an apology that Sherlock was likely to receive and as the car moved off behind him, Sherlock stood facing the door of 221B Baker Street realising that the sibling relationship he shared with Mycroft may have forever altered and perhaps not before time.

The words had come so easily when setting boundaries with Mycroft, he hadn't planned it and perhaps that was the key he'd been seeking to rally his scattered thoughts. Don't act….. react. Allow instinct to manage and control his physical needs and reactions, freeing up his mind to return to work. Looking toward the shops, his original destination when he set out on his walk the thought came unbidden I don't need pencils, what I need… is John.

Taking the stairs two at a time with enthusiasm at his frankly brilliant solution, Sherlock burst through the door to find John making tea in the kitchen, silently swirling hot water around the pot to warm it.

"John"

"You're back"

"Not important" Sherlock mumbled not breaking stride as he crossed the room, turning the shorter man around and pressing him up against the kitchen bench and kissing John roughly.

"Sherlock…..?" John struggled to get a word out between enthusiastic and dominant kisses.

"Testing a theory…" came the muffled reply.

"Teapot Sherlock…just let me" John tried to maneuver his arm behind himself to put the crockery on a flat surface

"What?...Oh..right..Good thought…and while we're having good thoughts…"

Frenetically, Sherlock broke contact and on long legs, strode to the lounge room to pull a microphone from behind a mantle clock. Then stepped onto and over the coffee table back to the kitchen, reached up above one of the cupboards, turning a camera around and removing another microphone.

"Sherlock…what are you thinking of…"

"Not thinking John…doing! I'm reducing the need to consciously process my physical needs." Sherlock had returned to John, crowding him up against the bench again.

John found he rather liked this new, slightly manic Sherlock and the possibilities it presented.

"Sherlock what..."

Sherlock paused long enough to mutter a quick reply, "Transport John! I was right all along. The cruise control John, I needed to engage the cruise control."

"Not that I'm complaining, but I didn't follow any of that." A laugh began somewhere in the middle of John's chest, erupting with childish joy as Sherlock plundered his mouth with careless enthusiasm. The measured, calculated experiment of the past had gone and this was a Sherlock John rarely saw, the man behind the deductive mask. Here in the kitchen, the detective was gone and there was only the instinctive brilliance of the genius that John had run across London following. It was breathtaking.

Without warning and without permission, Sherlock reached to palm John's erection through his jeans, eliciting a squeak of surprise and a whimper of need from the shorter man. More boldly still, Sherlock's other hand reached to guide John's first to the waist of his trousers, then down, inside, past underwear, to settle it around his own cock. Arching into the touch, the two men ground against each other shamelessly.

"I want..."

"What Sherlock? What do you want...tell me"

"I want, God...I want...everything...I...Damn it John, I NEED...", his voice trailed away, "...everything" Sherlock continued relentlessly pushing against the man he'd come to regard as essential to his future survival.

Breaking from the bruising, demanding kisses, John became serious for a moment, bringing his unencumbered hand up to cup Sherlocks face and ensuring he had the full attention of the wildly passionate man in his arms, "Then...come with me and you can have it all."

The eyes staring into John's glazed, pupils blown wide as meaning pierced, settled and the entirety of what John was saying became clear. The frantic movements stilled and for a moment, there was a stunning, magnificent, perfect balance between instinct and intellect and John saw it all, saw it reflected in those prismatic changeable eyes as Sherlock nodded wordlessly.

"Your room?" John asked, selfishly not wanting to break the momentum.

"I think so...yes"

Extricating his hand from the front of Sherlock's trousers, eliciting a small whine of disappointment, John took Sherlock's hand and led him from the room.

Sherlock's mind worked frantically, struggling against his newfound resolve to simply let things evolve and happen without guidance. While he was physically delighted at the progress and emotionally elated, jumbled, desperate thoughts threatened to again overwhelm him and deep-seated habits continued to exert their influence. How will this work, this is new, what will John want, will I please him, he has so much more experience, freak, annoying, dysfunctional, asexual, unemotional, fool.

Sensing a shift, John paused and turned back, seeing the conflict that threatened to pull Sherlock below the waves. His strong hands came to grasp Sherlock's shoulders, giving him something to hold onto, while he waited for calmer seas to bring him to shore.

So incredibly strong. You save me over and over again. I don't understand why I deserve this. Sherlock leaned into John's arms, finding the safe harbour he needed. Leaning to press their foreheads together John murmured quietly, "You OK?"

"Yes. John, I'm going to need help. I don't...I'm not...this isn't an area I've explored in any...depth."

John smiled, "Relationships involving two penises aren't exactly my usual fare either Sherlock, but we've been doing alright so far. Stop overthinking and we'll work the details out together. If some solid data would help you..."

"It would.."

"We're both clean, I get our blood tested every time we get banged up. The rest of the...mechanics," John searched for the right words, clinical enough to satisfy Sherlock but not so much as to spoil the mood, "my training has equipped me with the knowledge I need to make sure things will be ...screw clinical... brilliant"

"Brilliant?"

"Mind-blowingly...brilliant"

"Excellent" Sherlock replied, a rare open smile that John was beginning to recognise as reserved for him broke across Sherlock's face and taking John's hand again, he led his partner, friend, colleague...lover...John to his room