Dr John Watson stood there watching Sherlock Holmes. They had been friends now for quite a while and in their time together, they had developed an interesting relationship. It was hard to have any kind of relationship with the famous Sherlock Holmes and a normal relationship was even harder to come by. This was Sherlock Holmes. The man who kept a severed head in the fridge for an experiment. The man who solved cases and saved lives for fun.

As John watch Sherlock intently, he wondered about what he knew about this incredible man and, more importantly, what he didn't know.

Sherlock observed various slides through a microscope, not making a sound. It was unusual for him to be silent. When in deep thought, he spoke out loud. That, nicotine and many other strange things, helped him to concentrate.

"What?" Sherlock asked in a quiet tone that said he was barely concentrating on the other man's reply.

"What?" Repeated John, shaking his head, focusing on reality ad not the mystery parts Sherlock Holmes' life.

"You want to ask me something." Sherlock stated as though it were obvious.

"I just wanted to know," he paused, unsure how to phrase the thought that had been swimming in his head for a while now.

"Yes?" Sherlock seemed a little impatient but in no rush to end the conversation.

"How, exactly, are you a virgin?" John 's face flared red, he was sure. It definitely felt like it. Why had he been so blunt? Wasn't there a function in his head to make the question seem more heterosexual and less like he wanted to take Sherlock right there and then? He guessed not and, unable to take back what he had spontaneously said, looked at Sherlock.

The taller handsome man had not moved or showed any other sign of interest in what the doctor had uttered and instead changed the slide once more. After what seemed like an eternal awkward silence, Sherlock replied. "I don't know."

"Well surely you do." John moved in closer now, not feeling as red-faced as he was only a moment ago.

"I've never really found anybody I adore so much to be with them in a physical or romantic relationship." A moments pause. "I just haven't."

"Have you ever been with anyone at all?" John asked, now standing at the table were Sherlock was working. "Or even thought about anyone in that way?"

"No." Sherlock breathed, still looking down the microscope.

"Then what about…" John started, unable to finish. "Do you…"

"Are you asking me if I masturbate, John?" Sherlock saw the point even before his friend did.

"Yes." He shyly answered. "I guess I am."

"Then yes I do," was Sherlock's honest answer. "Not when you're home but yes, I do."

"Okay." John felt a little awkward now.

"Do you masturbate John?" Sherlock asked, taking a moment from his observation to survey the look on his friend's face.

"Yes," John was honest too. This, Sherlock was not expecting.

"Oh." He said, going back to the microscope.

"Okay. Well," John moved back and clapped his hands together. "I'm off to the shop. Want anything?"

"Yes. Get me a bottle of vinegar."

"Sure." John turned to leave the room.

When he heard John ask Mrs Hudson if she would like anything from the shop and the door close, Sherlock allowed himself to move. He made the new shape in his underwear more comfortable and looked at the face he had shot into the wall. Smiling as he thought of John's reaction what he had done, Sherlock returned, once again, to his observing of slides.

Thirty Minuets Later...

The door slammed shut and footsteps sounded up the stairs. John was back.

"I've got you vinegar, Sherlock." He said as he emptied the contents of the bag into the fridge.

"Excellent!" He jumped up from his chair and set his violin down next to the closed laptop that belonged to his flatmate. As Sherlock walked up to John, he held out the bottle in front of him. As Sherlock took it without a word, their fingers touched. There was a definite connection between the two but it didn't last long as John passed his companion and made his way to the laptop.

Johns eyes lingered on the bow of the violin. He touched it gently, with care. His fingers stroked up and down the hair of the bow, feeling it's materiel. Sherlock appeared behind John. He reached round John's right to pick up the bow and his left to pick up the violin.

"Let me teach you." He said, but it came out more of a whisper.

"Sure," was all John could manage.

Sherlock placed the violin to John's body. The blonde hared man rested his chin as he had seen Sherlock do so many times before. Sherlock showed John the correct arrangement his fingers needed to be so that a beautiful four-note melody could be played.

Forty minuets later John was able to play the tune without much of a struggle. Sherlock remained behind him though, neither of them wanting to sit down or stop the music.

"That's beautiful," Sherlock smiled at John in congratulations for being a fast learner.

"Thanks," was John's reply. "You're a great teacher." He set the violin down and turned to look Sherlock in the eyes innocently. "Got anything else to teach me?"

"I was thinking more along the lies of you teaching me…" Sherlock let out a long breath as he leaned in. His hands cupped Johns face and arched his head upwards so they could kiss comfortably.

A beam of light shone through the window and highlighted the boys. John noted that the breath he had inhaled smelled like his mouthwash. Sherlock had used his mouthwash. This gesture wasn't as spontaneous as it seemed.

Lips connected and bodies came closer together. John's hands pulled at Sherlock's back, bringing him closer. While Sherlock's hands were pulling John in by the shoulders. John slid his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth and Sherlock retorted by doing the same.

For a little while, their hands slid over each others bodies groping parts they liked.

Both of them were unable t contain the lust that had overcome them. John, being the only one experienced in sexual endeavours, began to unbutton the black shirt that Sherlock was wearing. When new flesh was revealed, John couldn't contain himself, so he didn't. He kissed, licked and bit gently at the exposed body of the tall dark haired man.

Sherlock's head moved beck, his eyes closed and as he let out a low sound of pleasure from his lips, another sound was heard.

It was the sexual moan of a woman. It had come from a phone on the table, just a little beyond the laptop and the violin. Sherlock's phone, of course.

He ran to it and opened the message excitedly. It read:

I think the park looks beautiful in this weather, wouldn't you agree, Mr Holmes?

"She's here." Sherlock said as he ran from the room, leaving a shocked John Watson alone. John looked at his feet, embarrassed and confused. He had almost forgotten about the Woman. A dark haired figured ran back into the room whilst re-buttoning his shirt and grabbing his coat and scarf. "She's here!" He repeated before running out again.

"I heard," John said to himself as he looked out at the street, now dark from the clouds. He saw Sherlock run in the direction of the local park and thought though the past few moments, tying to get them to make sense.

A few raindrops hit the window lightly as John became overcome with sorrow. He turned and leaned against the wall. He listened to the sound of the now heavy falling rain. An observer would have said that the water running down the outside of the windowpane had washed the sorrowful man to the floor.

He sat there, listening to the four note melody that his friend had taught him. He was unable to get the tune out of his head. He touched his fingers to his lips and let tears fall as free as the rain outside, now storm like.

A sound came from the lips of the ex army doctor. It was the tune. His tune. Sherlock's tune. Their tune.

And as he sat there he wondered about his friend and what he thought of the exchange, his mind filled of memories. Seeing Sherlock's body, watching him work, trying to figure out everything about everything, the feel of his tongue, the taste of his skin, the way he made John smile…

For hours he sat, waiting for Sherlock to return and hold him and tell him it was all going to be okay. But he didn't John had to reassure himself that life was going to somehow turn out better. He had to drag himself up and to bed.

Just before he dozed off, he wondered were Sherlock was. As he looked at the now black sky, he thought to himself:With her I bet.

And with that, Dr John Watson fell asleep, thinking of his friend, the great Sherlock Holmes.