I own nothing, but am eternally grateful for the genius of ACD and now MG, SM, BC, MF and the BBC crew.

According to the intywebby thing (wiki whotsit) 'The Four Loves' is a book by C. S. Lewis which explores the nature of love from a Christian and philosophical perspective through thought experiments. But he based his ideas on the work of the ancient Greeks including Aristotle.

The religious side has no place in this story. But the idea of at least 4 different types of love sounds spot on. And lets face it, the ancient Greeks came up with lots of good stuff like democracy, central heating, the alarm clock, umbrellas, homosexuality and pizza. So lets give it up for the oldies of ancient Greece.

"What the buggering fuck? 795 comments. SEVEN HUNDRED AND NINETY FIVE. If It's going to be as bad as this I might just shut it down. How the hell have I got time to moderate seven hundred and ninety five sodding comments on my blog? And why now? Why today of all days after the bloody day we've had?"

Sherlock raised his head from where it was poised over his microscope and looked over at his irate flatmate. "Problem?"

"Yeah. I'll say. I thought I'd just have a quick check of my blog and I've got 795, no 812 comments to moderate. I've no bloody idea why. I mean, I've had a few busy days after big cases, but nothing like this. It's not like I've even posted anything recently, and I haven't had a chance to type up today's case yet."

"Well why don't you read them John. Perhaps you can deduce a pattern. "

"Yeah, yeah. I am reading them you git. All the ones I've read so far are much of a muchness. Congratulations, lots of 'awwwws' and general soppiness. Oh, here's one from Mike. 'I knew it was all a front. I'm glad you've finally sorted out your feelings.' Sorted out my feelings? What the hell does he mean? Oh and here's one from Sarah. 'And that is why I broke up with you. I assume you're now officially a couple.' A couple? Who am I supposed to be a couple with? She told me we broke up because of … Oh."

Sherlock's mouth twitched as realisation dawned on his friend.

John's face suffused with a subtle hint of puce as he began to blush. He spluttered as he tried to verbalise the horrible truth that had now permeated his consciousness.

"They think … they all think we're together. Romantically. Oh God. My life is ruined. I'll never date again. Why would they think that? Why?"

"Don't be so melodramatic John. Of course your life isn't ruined. This is no different to the comments we have received throughout our partnership, except on a wider scale. People see but they do not observe. "

"Right. But why do people assume we're a couple? I've made it very clear from the outset that I'm not gay and we're not involved. Well, not like that anyway. Not that you're not a great looking bloke, and I love you like a brother." He noticed his friend's grimace. "No, not like Mycroft … or Harry for that matter. I mean I trust you with my life and would do anything for you. But I have absolutely no interest in what's in your trousers beyond the purely medical. Why do people keep assuming otherwise?"

"For the same reason that people watch those ridiculous romantic comedies, or try to push the actors in television shows into real life relationships. Despite love being a vicious motivator, it does appear to make the world go round and the general public are fascinated by it. They see romance everywhere, even where it does not exist. Unfortunately, many only see romantic or sexual love, when many ancient cultures including the Greeks understood that there were several types of love, each different. Even C. S. Lewis wrote a book on the subject called 'The Four Loves' based in part on the works of Aristotle and other Greek philosophers."

"Four? Really?"

"At least. I believe in our time together we have experienced three of the types Lewis documented. We felt Storge or affection not long after we first moved in together. I believe it may have been one of the motivators behind you despatching Jefferson Hope with such alacrity. That quickly grew into Phileo which Lewis defined as a strong bond of friendship or companionship between people who share common interests or activities. If my own response to you is any measure, I believe, even before, but certainly since my return, we have moved to Agape or unconditional love. I believe that caring regardless of the circumstance best describes our current situation."

John had sat throughout this in a state of shock. He knew Sherlock wasn't a sociopath as he so enjoyed claiming to outsiders, and he knew that Sherlock truly cared for John and the small group of people he called friends. He even cared for his homeless network and made sure he was always available to them in time of need. John just assumed that Sherlock had never actually admitted his feelings to himself, let alone given it extensive consideration.

"Wow! I mean, shit Sherlock, you've really given this some thought. And I have to say, as far as our relationship is concerned you analysis is spot on. Thank you. I know your own emotions make you uncomfortable, but I really appreciate that you have taken the time to look at what we have and decide that it is worthwhile."

"Of course it is John. I have been and will always be lost without my blogger."

John felt a warm glow at the admission from his best friend and flatmate.

"Jeez, I hope Mycroft hasn't got the flat bugged. If he heard that we'll never hear the last of it."

"I did a sweep this afternoon. We are clear."

"Good, good. Oh Sherlock, you said Lewis had identified four types."

"Yes, the fourth is Eros or romantic love. That's the one most people get so worked up about and want to see everywhere. Personally I have no interest in it. It is a nasty, messy business and is too often confused with lust. If people spent a little more time analysing their true feelings instead of rushing headlong into sexual liaisons we would be out of cases in no time."

"Quite." Although John thought a little Eros with the new barmaid at The Crown wouldn't go amiss.

John turned back to his laptop and refreshed his blog.

"Damn, it's over a thousand now. I'm just going to suspend it for the time being until I can work out what everyone is getting so excited about."

"Perhaps you should check your email. Maybe one of your friends has sent you some clue."

"Good thinking. I'll check as soon as I've done this. Right, sorted. Oh great, here's an email from Greg. Must be an update on the case. No, it's a url. An online video. He says 'you should find this interesting lol'. He's even put a winky on it."

"A winky?"

"It's an emoticon Sherlock. A smiley face with a winking eye made by placing a semicolon next to a closed parenthesis."

"Oh, a winky, hmmmm." And Sherlock shook his head before returning to his microscope.

John clicked on the link and the video started. It had been uploaded just three hours ago, so just after they'd left the crime scene – a particularly gruesome double murder. Sherlock had been on top form, swooping around the bodies before firing off deductions so fast that Lestrade now didn't even bother writing them down, and just had several of his officers record the proceedings so he didn't miss anything. It also made it much easier for chain of evidence to have the whole deduction videoed and prevented claims of fraud or evidence tampering.

This footage appeared to be of the same crime scene, but looked like it was from someone's phone. So, not official video. Whoever was recording this was careful not to show anything of the bodies or the evidence, in fact the sound seemed to have been muffled out, presumably so as not to prejudice the case. So, a member of the Met was responsible for the video, either an officer or a member of the forensics team.

"Hey Sherlock, come and look. Someone's posted up footage of today's crime scene."

Sherlock grudgingly abandoned his experiment to lean over John's shoulder to view the laptop screen.

Whoever had shot this had been positioned near or behind Lestrade judging by the angle. Sherlock could be seen swooping in and out of shot, his arms waving, his eyes blazing and his coat billowing. He was magnificent. But it was John the camera was focussed upon, specifically John's face.

John had, not unnaturally, never seen himself when Sherlock was in full flow and what he saw now was something of a shock. His eyes were wide, never leaving the figure of his friend. His whole face shone with happy wonderment and pride. He was truly enthralled by his companion's deductions, a picture of captivated enchantment.

"Christ. Do I really look like that when you're deducing?"

"Oh yes. It is a sight to behold. Your expressions and your pride in what I am doing inspires me to levels of logic and deduction I never thought possible. My Conductor of Light."

"I never knew I looked like that. That I could look like that. Shit, do I look like that when you deduce for fun, you know, in restaurants and whatnot?"

"Not to anywhere near the same extent, but yes."

"Damn it. I look lovesick. No wonder people assume we're a couple no matter what I say."

Sherlock quietly returned to his experiment. He wished he had known about the video and had been able to get Mycroft to erase it before John saw it, but he knew too well, once something was on the web it would never die. Now John knew how he looked he would shut himself down. He would learn to keep his expression more neutral to stop people making embarrassing assumptions. He would stop shining.

Sherlock could not help but feel a desperate sadness.

-0-0-0-

It was two days later that Lestrade called with another case. A possible locked room murder. The victims, a Siamese cat and an elderly lady.

John was worried. Sherlock had been quiet and withdrawn ever since they'd watched that video. It was almost like someone had stolen his violin, like someone had taken something precious from him. John would almost say Sherlock was afraid.

As normal Sherlock leapt from the cab and began striding towards the crime scene tape as John paid the cabby. He then strode deliberately towards the tape that Sherlock was holding up for him.

Sergeant Donovan met them at the entrance to the block of flats. "Flat 5 on the third floor." She turned her gaze to John, barring his way. "See you've taken your blog down. The truth too much to handle or you just pissed off that everyone's commenting on your twisted taste in men?"

"Really Sally, you're a fine one to comment on taste in men. And I'd have thought after all this time and all your disappointments you'd have learned a modicum of professionalism by now. Or do you plan to be the mouthy sergeant guarding the tape your whole life?"

Sally's jaw dropped at the usually genial Doctor's retort. She stepped aside dazedly as a couple of uniformed officers nearby tried to hide their sniggers.

John arrived at the flat to be greeted by DI Lestrade. "Hi Greg, what have we got?"

"Mrs Hedges, 72, widow. Cleaning lady found them this morning when she let herself in. She comes every other day. Has her own key. Says they were fine when she left on Wednesday night. "

"Sorry. They?"

"Mrs Felicia Hedges and Mr Whimsey – her Siamese."

"Oh right."

"Doors were locked, no signs of forced entry or disturbance. It looks like she sat down by the fire with her cat and they both just stopped. We're only investigating at the insistence of the family solicitor. She was the main contact and the cleaner called her before she called us. Apparently there's a lot of money and corporate shares tied up in this death and the solicitor wants to be certain there is no sniff of foul play. "

The two men stood for a while watching Sherlock flying around the flat. It was obvious that the lady was well off. Almost every piece of furniture and ornament was an antique. There was a hamper from Fortnum and Masons in the kitchen that had been brought in by the cleaning lady from where it had been delivered that morning. A well-loved baby grand piano stood in the corner of the living room adorned with what appeared to be family photos.

Greg filled John in on a bit more background on the victim. "She was a concert pianist before marrying the heir to Willson-Bradstock Engineering. No children. Husband died nine years ago, so now it's just her and the cat. As you see from the photos there are several nieces and nephews, but so far they appear to have cast iron alibies. A couple of the nephews are on a hiking holiday in the Rockies and are out of touch so we've yet to speak to them."

Greg crossed his arms and watched Sherlock. "So, how's it been since that film went up?"

"Not too good actually. I had to take my blog down. I had over 1000 comments within three hours, and by the look of things the video's gone viral. I can see why everyone thinks we're a couple. Even my own sister who should know better. I do look completely enamoured don't I?"

"Yeah mate. Totally besotted I'd say."

"We talked about it. Still not gay by the way, and that's not going to change. I'm not going to suddenly undergo some sexual identity crisis. We decided we are both deeply in Agape. You've got a smartphone so look it up."

They watched the crime scene a few beats longer. "How's Molly?"

Greg's ears pricked up and a warm smile ghosted over his face. "She's good. Great actually. Says we should all get together soon."

"Sounds like a plan. Tell her to bring a few organs and we should tempt his nibs to stay." Greg hummed in agreement. They were both trying very hard not to snigger.

Greg cleared his throat. "She says there's a new Clinical Psychologist just joined the staff from Edinburgh. I've met her briefly. She seems nice, if you're interested."

"Clinical Psychologist. Hmm. She'll have a field day with me. Sounds interesting though. I take it Molly has warned her about Sherlock? That the Work tends to come first and we're a bit of a joint package."

"It's all right, Molls has done the prep work and she's intrigued apparently. Actually you'll be meeting her at The Bombay Brasserie 7:30 on Friday. Her name's Mary Morstan."

"Right. OK. So I'll let you and Molly run my social calendar now shall I? Just co-ordinate with Sherlock on that." John grinned at his friend. Sherlock had finished with the other rooms in the flat and was now examining the living room.

"It was Anderson by the way. The video. Vindictive little sod. Not much we can do apart from put him on suspension without pay and a warning on his record. The legal eagles said he didn't actually compromise the crime scene as it was only focussed on your face and nothing from the crime scene itself. It's not like there was any audio or you could even lip read anyone apart from you. I think there was a fantastic and two brilliants in there."

"Anderson's an arse. I suggest you keep him away from me for the foreseeable future. Sherlock's not taken this well at all. He's shut down, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's hateful seeing him this way."

"Talking of which, I believe you're wanted."

Sherlock was now scrutinizing the bodies, sitting upright in the armchair, looking like they'd simply gone to sleep. The cat was curled on his mistress's lap, her hand resting on his back.

"John, can I have your opinion?" Sherlock's expression was pained and he struggled to look his friend in the eye.

John crouched down beside the armchair as he gently checked the bodies of both victims.

"The victim appears to have been dead a little over 24 hours. Lividity is fixed. She has not been moved, but rigor mortis is full and only just beginning to diminish. No visible signs of trauma on the female, but the cat has a small patch of dermatitis on his right front leg, you can see where the hair has fallen out and the skin is red and flaky. It looks like it was being treated though. Given the lack of obvious injury or trauma I would have said death by natural causes if it wasn't for the cat. Therefore, probably some sort of poison, probably administered through inhalation or dermal absorption as it affected both of them. No obvious signs of dermal irritation on the female victim so not an irritant, and given the general calmness of both victims I'd say a fast acting neurotoxin."

Sherlock gave a nod, a tight smile and a final look at John before launching into his deductions. "This was murder, a crime long in the planning and execution. And its motive is money. Mrs Hedges was a concert pianist in her youth and still loved to play. The piano is well used and the victim's hands are well cared for and still agile, especially given the complicated score still on the music rack that she was playing shortly before her death. Her bank statements and meticulous accounts in the bureau reveal that she liked to manage her own day to day finances and had control of considerable wealth that will be bequeathed in part to her murderer. Lestrade, check for financial difficulties amongst her heirs. The murderer was clever and ensured that they could kill whilst they were far away from the scene with a solid alibi."

Sherlock spun round, his hands indicating the victim's movements through the flat, his eyes flashing as his brain ran rampant with his stream of consciousness.

"She rose as normal and prepared for the day. The crockery and cutlery on the draining board show she had eaten breakfast and put down fresh food for the cat. As there appears to be no common foods between the victims and the cat has water, not milk, the toxin was not ingested. There is a distinct odour of lavender in both the bedroom and the living room. It is subtle, and has a slight artificiality about it. As there are no lavender bags in the bedroom drawers and no signs of lavender here in the living room, we are looking at a lavender scented hand lotion. There are several unopened bottles stored towards the back of the bathroom cabinet indicating this is a favoured and well used brand. There is one newly opened bottle in the living room, an unusual place for it. An empty bottle is in the bedroom bin under the dressing table indicating where the lotion was normally used. She had carried out a manicure at the dressing table as part of her regular hand care regimen to help maintain agility in her fingers. However she then carried her hand lotion through to the living room, no doubt to apply some to the dermatitis on her cat. There is no sign of any product specifically designed to treat feline dermatitis, so this is the logical conclusion. There is an appointment with her vetinary practice for later today marked on the calendar in the kitchen, so the dermatitis is a very recent condition. The toxin is in the hand lotion and as John rightly said, absorbed through the skin, hence the concurrent deaths of both victims."

Sherlock walked to the piano and picked up one of the framed photographs. A graduation picture.

"It would appear one of the nephews has a degree in chemistry from Cambridge. You will find it is one of the nephews currently hiking in the United States. He spiked one of the bottles of hand lotion and no doubt moved it to the front of the cabinet ensuring Mrs Hedges naturally took the new bottle most readily to hand. All he had to do was ensure that the previous bottle would run out whilst he was out of the country, hence a month long trip to America, then he simply had to wait and enjoy his holiday. I suspect you are looking for a neurotoxin stable in liquid form, quick acting and easily absorbed. The murderer was fond of his aunt and did not want to cause her undue pain, but was not prepared to wait for his inheritance, hence her gentle death. I suspect an organophosphate, possibly VX or something similar. Something quick, painless and quite deadly. Find out where the nephew works and whether he has access to such toxins. Had it not been for the use of the hand lotion to treat the cat, and the insistence of the family solicitor, this would almost certainly have been written off as natural causes."

Only as he finished did Sherlock appear to crumple, like a toy whose battery had run down. For the first time he turned to look at John, fully expecting to see a man keeping his emotions firmly under control.

What he saw defied all his expectations.

John's eyes were wide and shining. His face was a picture of amazed adoration. "That was totally brilliant. Absolutely amazing."

Sherlock was delighted. He had not lost his Conductor of Light. He looked into his blogger's eyes and lost himself in them.

Lestrade was looking between his friends, a huge smile on his face. He suddenly shook himself, clapped his hands and shouted to his team. "OK people you heard the man. Find out about the nephews, look for financial problems. Sullivan, bag up the contents of that side table and make sure her hands are bagged to preserve evidence. And bag the cat. Forensics, pay particular attention to the bedroom and that bathroom cabinet. Come on people, this is a crime scene not a tea party."

John stood from his crouched position beside the body. He walked over to his best friend, leading him gently from the flat and towards the stairs. "I've told you before, you're not going to lose me. Certainly not because of some bloody video. You are brilliant and I am not going to hide away my appreciation of your gifts just because of what people think. Unconditional love. Caring regardless of circumstance. That's what we've got and that's not going to change. Now come on. I missed breakfast and I could murder a decent cuppa. The Criterion is not far if you fancy that for lunch. After today I could do with a bit of a splurge"

"Yes John."

They started towards Piccadilly, keeping pace with each other in comfortable silence. John was smiling gently, happy that Sherlock was back. Sherlock looked a little like all his Christmases had come at once, at Easter, with fireworks and a whole corpse tied up with a bow.

Sherlock leant over as they walked and bumped his shoulder affectionately into his best friend.

"Thank you John."

"Any time Sherlock."

I've enjoyed writing some slightly OOC stories (for me, not the Sherlock characters in my head canon) that I've posted up recently. This one has gone back to a genre I am more comfortable with. I think my muse is sated for a while.

I'd appreciate your opinions.