Just an FYI this story won't make any sense unless you read the first part of the series: And All We Need of Hell

John's favorite part of the day was waking up in the morning, the moment when he first opened his eyes and found Sherlock asleep next to him. He loved seeing Sherlock in this peaceful state, his body relaxed, his expression open and unguarded. Even better though, was watching as the boy stirred awake and gazed back at him, his pale, ethereal features drawn into a sleepy smile that clearly said, "You're still here. I still have you with me." Most days they took their time getting out of bed, rousing each other with nudges and cuddles and soft kisses until Mrs. Hudson hollered from the stairwell calling them down for breakfast.

The first morning they stumbled down to Mrs. Hudson's kitchen after the night on the rooftop, Dannie and Mrs. Hudson were sitting at the table watching the small television on the counter next to the toaster. On the screen, a young female journalist stood in front of the university campus and announced to her viewers, "The students and faculty of Westminster received shocking news this morning. According to incoming reports, one of Westminster's tenured professors has been identified as the kingpin of a notorious drug trafficking ring. Professor Moriarty was arrested last night and is now facing a myriad of charges that could earn a life sentence if he is convicted."

Mrs. Hudson closed her eyes and laid a hand over her fretful heart. "Oh thank goodness." She reached across the table for Dannie's hand and gave it a light squeeze. Then she called for Sherlock and John. "Boys," she hollered, "come see the news. You won't believe what's-"

She turned and saw that Sherlock and John were already standing in the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson and Dannie stared at them open-mouthed. The two boys were leaning on each other slightly, looking a bit battered and sleep-deprived but very glad to have made it home in one piece.

Finally Dannie spoke up and asked, "What the hell happened last night?"

John smiled wearily and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist. "Well, long story short, we're not dead."

That was hardly a sufficient explanation, but Dannie and Mrs. Hudson didn't wait for another one before they jumped up from the table and ran to them, enveloping Sherlock and John in a fiercely affectionate embrace.

Five minutes of hugging later, Sherlock was in the process of trying to figure out the gentlest way to disentangle himself from the circle of love. However, Dannie broke away first. "Dammit," she muttered. "We've gotta get moving or we're going to be late for school."

Sherlock shook his head fervently. "Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, I'm not going to school. I'm going back to bed."

"The teachers are going to be helping us review for our A-levels," Dannie insisted.

Sherlock huffed. "Honestly, as if I really need that."

Dannie rolled her eyes. "Alright, you don't have to pay attention, but you have to at least show up. You've skived off too many times already."

"Fine," Sherlock muttered with an impatient sigh. Then he turned to John. "You have an impeccable attendance record, John. You can stay home if you want to."

John grinned. "No, I'll come along. Seven hours of school is exactly what I need to recover from a near death experience."

After a quick breakfast, a shower, a change of clothes, and a bit of mothering from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock and John followed Dannie out the door embarked on the journey to Paddington Academy. It felt a bit surreal joining the hustle and bustle of students going about their normal school day like a couple of soldiers coming home from the battlefield and returning to civilian life. They took a seat at the table near the window in Mrs. Turner's classroom and made a valiant attempt to stay awake. Eventually, though, John ended up leaning against Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock nestled his ear against the top of John's head. Halfway through the lesson, Mrs. Turner glanced at the back of the room and noticed that the two boys had dozed off.

Despite being inattentive as usual during the last few weeks of school, Sherlock received full marks on his A-levels. John's scores were impressive as well, but of course he had put much more effort into studying. They waited until after graduation to move the rest of John's stuff into 221B (Sherlock didn't have much that needed moving besides a box of clothes and shoes, some science textbooks, and Billy the skull). Once they were finished, John wanted to invite a few friends over to have a sort of graduation/house-warming party. Sherlock didn't really see the point, but he decided to humour him.

Irene, Molly, Mike, and Henry arrived at 221B that warm summer evening and found John and Dannie sitting outside on the front step.

Mike looked down at them quizzically and asked, "What's going on?"

"We just need to wait out here a few minutes," Dannie answered. "Sherlock is busy securing the flat." All four of them raised an eyebrow, and so John explained further, "He's just cleaning up his experiments and making sure there isn't anything infectious or corrosive or flammable lying around."

As they stood there processing this, Sherlock opened the door and announced. "You can come in now. The apartment is safe."

The tiny flat was a bit crowded with seven people milling about in the sitting room. A six-pack of beers was passed around, but Dannie opted for a soda instead since it was medically inadvisable for her to drink. Sherlock only took a few sips from his bottle to resist the impulse to climb the furniture. The discussions going on around him about plans for the summer and who was going to what university were rather dull. Still, he had promised John that he would do his best to be sociable tonight, and so he walked up to Molly and interrupted the conversation in the politest way he could manage.

"Sorry things didn't work out with Tom," Sherlock said, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Molly blinked at him, slightly taken aback by this deduction, but she recovered quickly. "Um, thanks." She took a long sip from her beer. "I'm honestly not that upset about it. At least now I can focus on my studies. I'm thinking about becoming a pathologist."

Sherlock nodded. Molly's infatuation with him was still glaringly obvious, but most likely that would diminish over time. It was possible that someday they could be very good friends. "Maybe then I can come to you for lab specimens instead of bribing the janitorial staff at Bart's morgue to let me sneak in there at night."

John furrowed his brow. "Is that how you got the bag of ears in our fridge? You told me those were borrowed!"

Sherlock shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."

Despite his antisocial tendencies, Sherlock handled most of the evening fairly well. He did his best to listen and contribute somewhat relevant comments to the dialogue, and only very occasionally did he retreat to the corner to play the violin or have a telepathic conversation with Billy the skull. By nine o'clock, however, he was slumped on the sofa completely zoned out. John watched him worriedly from across the room, the chatter of the others fading into white noise. It occurred to him then that maybe being in a crowded flat reminded Sherlock of when he lived with Jim.

John was on the verge of calling it a night and sending everyone home. Then he saw Dannie wander over to the sofa and whisper something to Sherlock. In response he got to his feet and muttered, "Alright, hop on." Dannie stood up on the couch cushions and clambered onto Sherlock's back as he hooked his arms under her knees and headed towards the door.

As he walked past, Irene called after him, "Where are you going?"

Dannie answered, "We're going across the universe. BRB."

John stood by the window and stared through the darkened glass as Sherlock stepped outside under the streetlamps with Dannie clinging to his shoulders like a baby koala. He downed the rest of his drink and turned to see Irene peering out the window as well. "What did Dannie mean by 'across the universe?'" Irene asked.

John sighed and set his empty bottle down on the desk. "They're taking a walk to Regent's Canal. Sherlock likes to go there to think."

Irene's eyes scanned over John's face. "Does it bother you that they're so close?"

"Not really, no," John responded. "It shouldn't bother you either. They just have an… understanding." He wasn't sure if Dannie had mentioned anything to Irene yet about what happened to her when she was little, but it wasn't his place to talk about her past, or Sherlock's past for that matter. "I just wish I knew what goes on in his head."

"And you think she knows?"

John shook his head. "Honestly, I don't think anybody knows."

Mike, Molly, and Henry stuck around for another hour. After they left, John and Irene waited outside on the steps for Sherlock and Dannie to come back. Just as Big Ben chimed quarter after ten, Sherlock reappeared on Baker Street with Dannie half-asleep on his shoulder. John opened the door to let them inside, and Sherlock set the small girl down in the hallway, steadying her as she swayed on her feet.

"I think it's time for bed," Irene said softly, taking Dannie by the hand and leading her towards the basement apartment.

Before bidding them goodnight, John interjected, "There's a vacant room upstairs if you ever feel like sleeping someplace, you know, above ground."

Dannie blinked drowsily and grinned at him and Sherlock. "Thanks, but I'd rather not be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of you two going at it."

John laughed at this comment to hide the uneasy feeling it gave him. Truth be told, he and Sherlock hadn't made love since the night in the hotel. Given everything they'd been through recently, John figured that he ought to leave it up to Sherlock to initiate physical intimacy, but they had yet to move beyond snogging and cuddling.

As they settled under the covers in their bedroom, John eyed Sherlock's long-sleeved t-shirt. "You know, you wouldn't have to wear long sleeves to bed if you didn't set the thermostat so low."

Sherlock shrugged. "It's what I'm used to."

John slid his thumb under Sherlock's sleeve and brushed over the small red heart. He had filled the drawing back in once the cigarette burn on Sherlock's wrist had properly healed. The boy's arm was covered with a collection of other scars that still stood out against his porcelain skin, but there were no new cuts. As John stroked his wrist gently, Sherlock cupped John's cheek and studied his face like he was cataloguing every detail, something he often did before going to sleep.

John looked back at him and asked, "Why do you do that?"

"I want you to be the last thing I see before I close my eyes," Sherlock whispered, "so that you'll be with me in my dreams. My subconscious is a scary place to be alone."

With a pang in his chest, John stroked back Sherlock's dark curls and kissed his temple. "If you can't find me, just wake up and I'll be right here." He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and listened to his breathing slow as the boy drifted to sleep. This, simply being close, would be enough for now. Everything was fine.

Wasn't it?