He was not nervous. There was no reason to be. Sure, he was on his first 'official' date with his flat-mate and sure the dinner had been a silent one and sure, they planned on spending the night together for their first time but John Watson was not nervous.

Really. He wasn't.

The blond in jumpers snuck a glance at Sherlock while biting into his fork. He thought he was being very discreet but Sherlock sensed his gaze and caught his eye. John held his breath unconsciously for a moment before averting his gaze, pretending that he just found something very interesting to look at on the floor.

He couldn't tell for sure but he had a good feeling that Sherlock was on edge. The dark-haired man had confessed to him earlier that week that he had never slept with anyone before. John finished off the last of his chicken,wondering where the night was going to go.

They were home faster than expected. John realized that they had hardly spoken to each other at all since eight. They had lighthearted discussion at the dinning table beforehand but as the moment to leave came nearer, they both gradually became more quiet.

John had never been more anxious about sex. This was the first time he would do it with another man but that wasn't what bothered him. This was Sherlock. This was the man he loved. It wasn't that he wasn't eager to jump into bed with him. No he had fantasized about this moment for a long time. What made him nervous was that this first time was crucial and had to be perfect.

"John. If you don't want to do this-" Sherlock began but John hastily interrupted him.

"I do. I really want to. But if you don't-"

"No I do."

The two were seated on the couch that they had sat together on many times before. It was ironic that before John would be so relaxed sitting by Sherlock and watching the telly, with his arms resting on the back of the couch. Now, they were both a bit tense, staring straight ahead and not knowing what to do with their hands.

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath. John almost gained enough courage to make the first move but Sherlock beat him to it. The detective placed a hand on John's cheek and gently pushed it so that he was looking at him. The two stared at each other intimately.

Then slowly, so very slowly, Sherlock leaned in and pressed his lips onto John's. The connection felt so right that John responded quickly. Soon, their anxiety dissolved as they wrapped their arms around each other, pressing their bodies in an attempt to get as close as possible and continued to kiss passionately.

Sherlock toppled over on top of John. The smaller man laid on his back as Sherlock took advantage. Their bodies were heating up fast. Sherlock was just about to take off John's infernal clothes when the bell rang.

The two men stopped and stared at it like deer in headlights.

"Just ignore it," Sherlock whispered, his voice sounding almost desperate through a guise of tranquility.

John wanted to but the door bell kept on ringing repeatedly.

"It could be urgent."

Sherlock glared at the door.

"Or it could be-" he didn't finished but instead got off of John and practically stomped towards the offender.

John was surprised to see the person behind the door was none other than Mycroft.

Sherlock was about to close the door on his face but the older Holmes rushed inside. Sherlock bit his lip.

"Please come in, Mycroft. It's not like John and I were in the middle of something."

Mycroft frowned at him, then at John. John was surprised that he hadn't counter Sherlock's sarcastic statement with his own or smiled and brush it off. By the look Sherlock was giving him, it was safe to say that he was surprised too.

Mycroft tapped his umbrella on the floor once as a nervous habit.

"Dr. Watson."

John felt himself tensing up once more. Mycroft was here on a mission. He could tell from the hard way he said his name.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Watson. As happy as I am that you and my brother get along so swimmingly, I simply cannot allow this to go any further."

"How did you-"

"So I must insist that you and Sherlock cease your actions immediately and go back to your strictly platonic relationship."

Sherlock scowled but didn't look at all surprised. John, however, was flabbergasted. Mycroft continued to stare at John, waiting for the man's reply.

"It's time for you to leave, Mycroft."

The elder Holmes looked at his brother with a challenging gaze. He fiddled with his umbrella once more.

"Not just yet, brother dear. I need to tell John a few things."

Sherlock's expression softened, to one of pleading.

"Mycroft. Please don't-"

"John," Mycroft turned to the doctor again, "I have nothing against you. As a matter of fact, I probably would've approved of this match in a heartbeat if-"

"Mycroft. Leave!"

"If Victor hadn't happen."

Sherlock rushed off to his room so fast John could only see a blur going pass. He tried to call out but Sherlock yelled that he needed to be left alone. Stunned, John looked back at Mycroft, who frowned solemnly.

It took awhile for John to find his voice.

"Who's Victor?"

Mycroft took a seat, hinting that a long talk was soon to follow.

"Victor was in some ways like you, John. Only some ways though. Like you, Sherlock attached himself to Victor in a way that he doesn't normally do for other people. And like you, Sherlock fell in love with him."

There was a pause, as if Mycroft was having trouble figuring out what to say next.

"What happened to Victor?" asked John, unable to take the hesitation any longer.

"Sherlock confessed his feelings and Victor said he loved him too. But that was a lie. He didn't want Sherlock. He was using him. And I will never forgive him."

The elder Holmes' voice hardened to a dangerous level. John had never seen a deadlier look on him.

"After Sherlock found out, he was devastated. He...tried to kill himself."

The last part was spoken so softly but John heard it like it was a siren. The doctor felt his breath catch in his throat. He rose from his seat.

"You can't be serious! Sherlock-"

"Felt that no one loved him. He hated the world. He hated Victor. He hated me."

"Why would he hate you?"

Mycroft looked down sadly.

"Victor had a little crush on me. That's how he planned on using Sherlock. To get to me."

John's eyes widened slightly. He didn't care if standing seemed kind of awkward, he was getting too worked up to sit back down. Mycroft stood up as well.

"I know you are not like Victor and have good intentions. However, I cannot let him have another heartbreak. I don't want him back in the emergency room getting pills pumped out of him. So please John. End this before it begins. For Sherlock's sake."

Mycroft looked pleading but he also looked aggressive. John knew he wouldn't leave without getting the answer he wanted. John couldn't believe what he had heard. Sherlock trying to kill himself? He was used to Sherlock not eating and doing little to take care of himself but-

John suddenly glared, leaving Mycroft astounded.

"I don't know what I'd do if I ever met Victor. Nothing too good, I'm sure. But-" his expression softened enough to look at Mycroft, "But I love Sherlock more than anything. I will never break his heart."

Mycroft was miffed.

"You may not do so intentionally but there's a good chance you will do it. My brother is going to test your limits until you die. He's just that way. And there will come a time where you will feel the need to leave. And if you leave then, it will hurt him much more than if you leave now. So I'm begging you. If you love Sherlock as much as you say you do, then end this now."

Mycroft barely had time to finish his sentence when the sound of a violin echoed through the halls. It was a piece John had never heard before; sad and bitter. It pained him to hear it.

"I want to talk to Sherlock about this," John finally told Mycroft.

The elder Holmes looked very unhappy but stayed silent as John went up to Sherlock's room. He knocked on the door softly.

"Go away John," Sherlock's voice sounded broken.

John entered, saw Sherlock with his back turned on him and sighed. Sherlock always did look elegant when he was playing the violin. The movement reminded John of a cricket strumming its legs to attract a mate. The doctor closed the door to give the two of them the smallest bit of privacy from Mycroft.

"Listen Sherlock," but John was cut off by a sudden screech from the instrument.

The taller of the two turned around but didn't make eye contact. John never saw the man look more broken. In fact, he had the urge to hug him and whisper in his ear that everything was going to be alright.

But this was Sherlock he was dealing with. And so he should treat him like Sherlock.

"I know you didn't want your brother to tell me that. But I'm glad that he did. Do you know why?"

Sherlock didn't answer in his very typical lack-of-cooperation style. John smiled. So Sherlock. The light-haired man stepped closer.

"Because it's proof to exactly how much love you're capable of."

The dark-haired man bit his bottom lip and looked up at John shyly. Sherlock took a step forward.

"I don't want you to think I'm weak."

"Never have. Never will."

The both meet halfway and embraced each other. John resisted the urge to whisper that everything will be alright in Sherlock's ear. But he did whisper something.

"You're stuck with me. I'm not going to leave you."

The smile on Sherlock's face was so radiant, the sun itself would be envious. They pulled back to look at each other.

"Good. Now let's convince my brother that too."

John sighed. This was going to be hell.

Small serious piece that's different from the crackish fics I usually like to write.