The situation was a flurry, a rush. Sherlock was onto something. He was so close to solving the case, he could taste it. At 221B, he ran around, climbing furniture, and collecting the items he needed to solve the case. Weaving in and out of the forensics team, Sally Donovan, Greg Lestrade, and Anderson. He came across his bookshelf once more and stopped dead in his tracks. Sherlock slowly turned his heel and began wiggling each book one by one.

Finally, Sherlock heard it. Very faintly, a hollow book with clunking inside. He took said book off the shelf and instantly felt the light weight of the supposed thick and heavy book and opened the cover to find pages upon pages cut and hollowed out. Within the hollowed of paper was a thick, brass key. Sherlock took the key out and examined it closely, but to no avail, no details were to be found. He closed the book with a snap and dropped it on the coffee table, still trying to examine the key for clues.

John, who was watching whilst sitting on the couch, took the book and began examining the cover and pages, noticing that the words were in French. He opened the book and turned the pages until he came upon where the cut out pages stopped. Within the cut out box of pages, John tried to read the lines. However, he couldn't understand. He knew someone here understood different languages, but who?

"John, we're leaving!" Sherlock called out as he descended the stairs of 221B, tying his scarf.

John quickly got up and began following until he heard a faint, "Cazzo." Among Donovan, Lestrade, Anderson and himself leaving the flat, he heard all of them muttering things along the lines of, "Here we go again," and "Look at the freak go." However, Anderson was muttering something incoherent. As if he was speaking another language...

John quickly ran back into the flat and grabbed the book to bring back down, "Anderson!"

"Yes, Doctor Watson?" Anderson called out dryly as he looked up from the bottom of the stairs. John clambered down the stairs and handed over the book that he was looking at before the team left, "Can you decode this language? I heard you speaking in tongues and thought maybe you'd understand what's written here... Where the last page was cut out."

Anderson stared at John for a couple of seconds, then looked at the book as he took the item out of John's hand. He looked up at John quickly, "The last page after the cut out you said?" John nodded curtly. Anderson scanned the pages then came up to said page after the last cutout.

"Can you decipher?" John asked as he looked at Anderson's scanning eyes.

"John! A cab is coming!" Sherlock called out, "Get over here... please," he stammered impatiently.

Anderson showed the book to John and pointed out a certain paragraph with his index finger, "You see here? It's describing the scene were Briar Rose pricks her finger and falls into the 100 year deep sleep," he slammed the book and gave it back to John, "La Belle au Bois Dormant is loosely translated into Sleeping Beauty in French."

John accepts the book and holds the item close to him. After another frustrated calling from Sherlock, he leaves the flat completely and hops into the cab, not noticing Anderson's gaze as he does so.


"The injections make them fall asleep!" Sherlock called out in the empty warehouse, beginning to pace.

"Yes, I already explained that to you in the cab," John said softly as he kept looking through La Belle au Bois Dormant. All of the other forensics team was back the labs testing evidence, leaving the two men alone. John finally closed the book with a snap and placed it on a nearby table, "How come you never listen to me?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, still looking away from John, mostly towards the ceiling. He placed his hands in his pockets, "I do listen to you. All the time."

"Then you would have known the answer quicker than now by listening to me earlier in the cab," John raised his voice.

Sherlock slowly turned towards the doctor and examined him as he spoke, the doctor getting more furious. He noticed that John wasn't actually angry, he was just raising his voice to be heard. His echos sounding through the empty warehouse. When John was breathless after his rant, the doctor just looked up and stared at the detective, waiting for a response.

"Do you know how much I do for you? How much I have to care after you? How much I care about you?" John stopped quickly, his eyes growing wide. He wasn't supposed to say the last statement. He quickly started mentally kicking himself.

Sherlock smirked as he began walking towards John, "How much you care about me? So you admit it?"

The doctor sighed and stammered, "Yes, quite frankly, I do. You are my friend, and I-" he gasped before he continued. He almost said his secret. His secret was quite obvious the way he acted around his Adonis-like detective, but he still wasn't sure how his flat mate would feel about such words.

"You what?" Sherlock's nose scrunched in concentration, surely he was trying to read John.

"Nothing, it's..." John brushed off imaginary dust of his chest, "nothing."

"No please, do tell me," Sherlock began his hip wiggle as he stood in front of John, "It's just us. No one else is going to hear."

"I can't tell you."

"You've already told me many things before, why not now?"

"That's because you read my e-mails!" John began to get heated again.

"John, we're partners-" John's breath hitched at that word. Sherlock stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. After a few seconds, he inhaled and continued on, "on a forensics team, and flatmates. I'm pretty sure you can tell me anything."

"You're going to use this information against me, I know it!"

Sherlock smirked and shrugged, "Maybe. It depends on what you say," he leaned in a little closer towards John. He expected John to come up with something barbaric such as forgetting to do the laundry this week, tucking him into bed when he last had that cold (he felt that one when John thought he was asleep), or maybe even taking his credit card to get groceries without asking. But he didn't expect this, never this.

"Sherlock, I love you," John finally said with no inhibitions. He stared straight into the detectives eyes, waiting for a response. Sherlock didn't say anything back, in fact, he literally stepped back and his eyes began shifting all around the empty room. His mouth opened and closed and few times, most likely trying to find something to say, but nothing came out. Sherlock was speechless, a very rare thing for anyone who worked with such a man.

Sherlock looked away from John, down towards the floor and blinked a few times before walking away towards the warehouse door, "Sherlock..." John called after him, "Sherlock?"

John grabbed the book on the table and quickly left after Sherlock, "Is everything alright?" But the detective didn't answer.


In fact, Sherlock didn't speak to John for another week. True to his word when they first met, that he'd not speak for days at a time, but this was the longest Sherlock ever got. He at least mutter a few words by now.

John decided to put him the spot. If he didn't answer him when they were in private, he must have at least the decency to speak to him when people are around. When the next case rolled around and once again the forensics team were in 221B, and once again Sherlock was about to leave in a hurry to follow the team, John just merely called out, "I'm going to stay here."

"Alright fine," Sherlock interrupted, "Too much people call for unnecessary space."

"Be safe," this is your chance, John, "I love you," he said it loud enough so Sherlock could hear, however that meant Lestrade and Mycroft could hear as well. They both stopped in their tracks and looked at Sherlock for his response.

Sherlock's eyes grew a frenzy again and he slowly turned on his heel towards John. His head bowed low as he looked into the doctors eyes.

John gulped as he waited for an answer, occasionally looking as Sally Donovan, Anderson, and Ms. Hudson left the flat. However, Lestrade and Mycroft stood in the same spot as before, simply watching Sherlock for an answer.

The detective walked up to the doctor slowly and was inches away from each others faces when he stopped, "Here? Now?" he asked in hushed whispers.

"I want an answer," John rocked on his heel and took a deep breath, "I'm waiting."

Sherlock blinked and looked taken aback, "I don't have to tell you anything," he hissed.

"Oh, I wish you would," John nodded, "Just tell me the truth. I don't care at this point."

"But-"

"No, tell me the truth, I don't care what it is. Break my heart if you have to," John went stone face.

Sherlock nodded over towards Lestrade and Mycroft, "What about them?" he whispered.

"Friend," John pointed at Lestrade, "Family," he gestured towards Mycroft, "They can listen in."

John's blue eyes stared into Sherlocks intently, hoping for the answer he was looking for. Just tell me already, John was getting impatient.

Sherlock got close to John once more, "Lestrade, Mycroft, please leave. Now."

"He even used 'please,' how nice of him," Mycroft said as he sauntered off with his trusty umbrella. Lestrade still stood there.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock looked at him.

"Oh, just tell him already! It's quite obvious!" Lestrade crossed his arms and shook his head at Sherlock, knowing full and well that the word 'obvious' was his word.

Sherlock grimaced and quickly turned back to John, "Fine, only on one condition. No PDA. I don't want anyone to see."

Now it was John's turn to cross his arms, "You didn't tell me what I wanted to hear."

Sherlock sighed, "What does it matter?"

"It matters to me!" leaned into the detective.

"Just tell him, Sherlock!" Lestrade chimed in.

"Fine!" Sherlock raised his hands in frustration, then quickly pulled them back down to his sides, "I..." he looked around before looking back to John's eyes, "I love you too."

John smiled.

"But none of this goes out to anyone," he turned to Lestrade and pointed, "You understand?"

"Won't say a thing," Lestrade smiled and went down the stairs.

"See, wasn't so hard," John smirked. He quickly leaned forward all the way while he had the chance and kissed his flatmates cheek before he descended the stairs as well. Leaving Sherlock to stand there in bewilderment.