Author Notes: I admit I didn't expect such interest in this story.^^ I hope you won't be disappointed by the conclusion of it.^^

Open

"John!"

Sherlock burst into the flat like a tornado. A beaming and bouncing tornado. His visit to the morgue must have gone better than expected. Molly had probably treated him to the body of someone who had died of rare infection... or something along these lines. Usually, John would be thrilled for Sherlock - especially since it appeared that his lover hadn't brought any body parts home with him - but today he merely managed a tight smile. A couple of hours had passed since John had noticed that Sherlock's room was locked. A couple of hours in which John had sat in his armchair and pondered why he hadn't seen his boyfriend's room since his return. Quite a few of his ideas had been dismissed as soon as John had come up with them - like a secret pet - but there were still enough possibilities left to give him a headache. He had to know...

"You are angry."

John's head snapped up at his lover's words and he met narrowed blue eyes as Sherlock sat down in his own armchair and steepled his hands under his chin.

"Why would you be angry?"

John didn't avert his gaze as his lover's eyes flickered over his body to deduce what had happened. Some part of him still hoped that this was just a small misunderstanding. That Sherlock had somehow become used to locking the doors in his time away and that he would invite John into his room with a smile.

"The body parts in the fridge are labeled. My latest experiments are neither stinking nor toxic and... Oh!" Blue eyes widened in surprise and a faint blush spread over pale cheeks. "Mrs. Hudson told you that she heard us when we were in the living-room. John, I swear I didn't consider that her bedroom..."

"It's not about whether Mrs. Hudson heard us fuck like rabbits," John snarled and regretted it a second later when he felt his own face heating up. "She wanted her sewing kit back and..."

"Ah yes, I burrowed it from her. It's in my room but why would you be angry about that? Because I forgot to give it back to her?"

Was Sherlock playing dumb?! It wouldn't be the first time that he had pretended not to know what had John in a strop. "Your room is locked," John pressed out through clenched teeth and had Sherlock blink at him in confusion.

"Yes and?"

"I want to know what you are hiding from me!"

"I'm not hiding anything from you." The lie would have been more believable if Sherlock hadn't gone deadly pale at John's question.

"Of course you are hiding something from me." John jumped up from his armchair and glared down at his lover. "You never invite me into your room, neither for sex nor to share a bed with you. So, there must be something in there that you don't want me to see. Let's see," John tipped his index finger against his chin in mock consideration. "Maybe you have taken up your old drug habit and..."

"If I took drugs, you would have noticed." Sherlock got to his feet as well and frowned down at him. "As close as we are these days it would be impossible for you to miss if I took anything. You even picked up on the fourth nicotine patch on my arm, last week although I removed it before I took off any of my clothes."

Defensively, John crossed his arms in front of his chest. Of course, Sherlock was right. He would have noticed if his lover had chosen to take drugs but still... He wanted to know what Sherlock hid from him. He opened his mouth to say as much when his lover beat him to it.

"You are not worried about a drug habit - not really. No, you aren't even truly angry but insecure. You fear that I hid something from you that will ruin our relationship and you had the time to obsess about it and now you won't let it go until you have your answer. Like a dog with a bone."

John knew that it was a bait. He had argued with Sherlock often enough to recognize one when it was thrown at his feet but he was too tempted not to jump on it. No matter that this was Sherlock's way of evading a conversation, John still couldn't let this one go. "Oh yes, because the last time you hid something from me, it didn't destroy anything between us. You were just gone for two fucking years in which I mourned you and thought of my gun as my closest friend. How shall I trust you after everything that happened?!"

Oh Fuck!

John almost grabbed for the words to hold them back as they shot from his mouth and slammed right into his lover. Sherlock stumbled back with a pained gasp as if John had slapped him.

"Sherlock... I didn't mean..."

"Yes, you did, John. Every word."

Christ!

John stared helplessly after Sherlock as his lover marched to his room and a few seconds later a click announced that it was locked once more.

How could this have gotten out of hand so fast? Because he was an idiot, John answered his own question with a resigned sigh. Sherlock had been right, some part of him was still insecure about their relationship and how strong the foundation of it was. Nevertheless this shouldn't be a reason for John to attack Sherlock like this especially seeing as John did trust him. Maybe not the same way he had trusted his lover before he had faked his own suicide but he still trusted him with his life.

John limped into the kitchen and stared at the closed door of Sherlock's room. He didn't know how to prove to his lover that he trusted him. Hell, he didn't even know how to apologize for his harsh and hurtful words but... he had to do something. If only to prevent himself from smashing his head into the next wall.

In the end, John settled for preparing lasagne. It was a calculated decision and not solely based on the fact that he had all the necessary ingredients at hand. No, in some way it was also an attempt at an apology to Sherlock as his boyfriend loved lasagne and had managed to eat four helpings of it once.

Just when John put the casserole in the oven, the door to Sherlock's room opened and John turned around to his lover. "Sherlock," he started and then stopped abruptly when he noticed the puffy red eyes of his boyfriend. He had never seen Sherlock looking like that. Somehow, he hadn't even believed that Sherlock could cry to such an extent that his eyes were almost swollen shut and the area around them blotchy red.

"Come to my room, John." The usually so controlled voice was hoarse and John hated himself for it. Hated himself for being unable to control his feelings and think his words through. Hated himself for hurting the person, he loved most in the world.

"No," John replied as his lover was about to turn back around. "I don't want to invade your privacy. Whatever you don't want me to see... it's fine."

Sad blue eyes met his own. "It's obviously not fine if you don't trust me to..."

"I trust you!" John crossed the distance between them and clasped Sherlock's hands between his own, meeting a skeptical gaze. "I trust you with my life. My heart. With everything I have. It's just... sometimes it all comes back. All the grief, anger and pain but I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"It was my fault after all that you went through all of it." Sherlock didn't sound convinced but at least he didn't break free of John's hold.

"And you apologized for it and I accepted your apology and forgave you so I shouldn't blame my bad mood on you. Especially since... I love you."

John snapped his mouth shut. He hadn't intended to confess his feelings. The words had just made it past his lips before he could stop them. And now... it was out in the open. How he felt for Sherlock. It wasn't that John feared rejection - he was damn sure that Sherlock loved him back - but it was probably one of the worst moments to confess your love for the first time. After a big argument that had reduced your lover to tears.

John waited with bated breath for Sherlock's response which came - after endless seconds - in the form of a bone cracking hug. But before John could reciprocate, Sherlock was already dragging him down the floor and over the threshold into his room.

"Just don't... laugh." It was all Sherlock said before he switched on the light.

At first, John didn't see anything out of the ordinary. There was the wardrobe, the poster of the periodic table on the wall, the cabinet with curiosities, the bed and... Oh! This was it! This had to be the reason why Sherlock hadn't allowed anyone into his room. It was... hilarious.

A giggle broke free from his mouth and it would have turned into a laughing fit,if a sharp intact of breath hadn't abruptly sobered John.

"I knew that you would laugh," Sherlock whispered to the wall. "It's childish and stupid but I couldn't get rid of them."

"That's why you always became so defensive when I called you cute or sweetheart." John finally thought he understood a little more about his boyfriend. "You thought it childish to have them in your room and then you believed I saw you as childish and..."

"And don't you see me as childish now?!" A bitter laugh echoed through the room. "I'm a thirty-five year old man and I possess more plush toys than any five year old child."

John's eyes flickered back to the bed. One side of it was completely free while the other side was covered in plush toys in various forms and shapes. There were at least seven teddy bears, a fox, two squirrels, a bunny, a small lion and four cats.

"I think most five-year-olds have more than 16 plush toys but," John hurried to continue when Sherlock turned around and narrowed his eyes at him. "That's not why I laughed."

"Why then?"

"Because," John sighed quietly. "Because I imagined all kind of terrible things you could have hidden from me and in the end it's something completely harmless."

"But it's childish."

John frowned at this statement and then considered it carefully before he could put his foot in his mouth again. Plush toys were mostly seen as toys for children but John knew enough adults that called at least one their own. No matter if it was a remainder of their childhood or a gift from someone dear. Some cuddled up to their plush toys and others put them in cabinets and only patted them on the head once in a while. In John's eyes it was all fine. It was harmless but...

"You didn't have them... Before. You obtained them while you were away," John deduced slowly and when Sherlock nodded carefully he added: "I don't think they are childish but if you want to you can tell me about how you get to own them."

There was a long stretch of silence, in which Sherlock's eyes roamed over John's face until he obviously found what he was looking for and nodded. "Fine."

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed and after a second of hesitation, John followed suit.

One of the teddy bears tumbled over the mattress when both men sat down and John watched fascinated as Sherlock stopped its fall and put him back to the others carefully.

"You really love them," John whispered and Sherlock nodded as he stared down at his hands.

"They were everything I had after I went after Moriarty's men. Well, I said them but actually it was always only one at a time. It started in Brussels when I saw this one," Sherlock pointed at the little lion. "In a shop window and I... bought him and held him when I slept at night... until I had finished the mission in Brussels and moved on to the next one."

John frowned and stroked the soft fur of the small lion. "What did you do to it then?"

"I left it behind." Sherlock averted his eyes and stared at the floor as if he feared that the plush lion hadn't forgiven him yet. "I left them all behind. In every city, I bought a new one and then I left it there... in an empty apartment or wherever else I was staying."

"Why?"

A hollow laugh was torn from Sherlock's throat at this. "Because it would have been impossible to travel with so many plush toys and go unnoticed."

"Yes, I get that. But... if you had kept the lion then you wouldn't have gotten the others and..."

"I had to dismantle Moriarty's network," Sherlock explained slowly as if speaking to a small child. "I knew that I had to stay strong and... it felt like I was giving in to a childish urge when I bought the lion. I thought I had to get rid of such sentiments but then... I needed something to hold onto again and... it felt wrong to take the other one with me when I had left the lion behind so..."

"You left them all behind and bought a new one in each city." John believed he understood it now and his heart went out to Sherlock. He had imagined that the mission of his friend must have been terrible but somehow he hadn't understood what the worst part had been. Sherlock hadn't had anyone to speak with. He had been lonely, probably afraid - No, certainly afraid - and he had bought himself a small, fluffy friend as a comfort. And then - because he could be a big softie sometimes - he had treated them all the same way and left them behind.

John gulped at the last thought. Some might say that they were just plush toys but if you cuddled up to them night after night and trusted them with all your fears and secrets then it was hard to let them go. It was like leaving a small part of yourself behind... and John was only speaking from the one experience when he had had to give up his plush cat because it had been overrun by lice. He couldn't even imagine how bad it must have been for Sherlock. He could just imagine how his lover had pressed each of them to his chest one last time - maybe kissed their head - and then placed them on a clean surface and left without looking back.

John took a shaking breath to stop himself from tearing up at the heartbreaking image and instead focused on more important matters. "If you left them behind then how did they get here?"

A quiet chuckle and then just one word: "Mycroft."

And this explained it better than an elaborated story and it redeemed the elder Holmes' brother as well - at least a little. Who else if not Mycroft could locate the plush toys of his little brother all around the world?!

"He didn't find them all. I left one to a small child in a shopping center and two others I left behind in churches because I was sleeping in the streets back then."

John forced himself not to imagine Sherlock in the streets - alone and cold - and instead tried to focus on something else. Thankfully, he came up with something very fast. "So, the sewing kit..."

"Yes, the arm of this one," Sherlock held one teddy out for inspection to John. "is loose and I wanted to sew it back on but I'm afraid that I won't get it right and ruin it."

John took the small teddy from his boyfriend's hand, examined the hurt arm closely and then nodded. "Good that you have a doctor in the house."

Sherlock blinked. "You mean you would..."

"Of course, I would be a terrible surgeon if I couldn't sew the arm of a teddy back on." In fact, John had loved to heal plush toys at the Teddy Hospital - where small children could bring their sick darlings - when he had still gone to medical school. He had even volunteered a few times. "Tell you something," John smiled up at Sherlock. "I will repair his arm and you set the table and then we spend a nice evening together."

A smile - only a small one - but a smile nonetheless graced Sherlock's face before it vanished a second later and he bit down on his lower lip. John raised an inquiring eyebrow but didn't say anything. He had learned a long time ago that it was better if Sherlock found his words in his own time. His patience paid off when Sherlock finally asked: "Would you sleep here with me, tonight?"

John gaped for a second but before Sherlock could take his silence the wrong way he nodded. "Of course, there is more space in your bed than in mine even with the plush toys."

"So, you don`t want them to go?"

Even if John had wanted such a thing he wouldn't have been able to demand the removal of the plush toys when Sherlock was looking at him like this. Insecure and pleadingly. "No, they can stay. As long as you don't complain that I don't cuddle with you because I wake up with an armful of teddy bears in the morning."

A brilliant grin lit up Sherlock's face. He pressed a quick kiss to John's brow and then he was off to the kitchen. Leaving John alone with the hurt teddy.

John glanced behind himself at the plush toys and estimated that he would have enough space to sleep in the bed without problems and then grinned down at his patient. "I can't even start to tell you how glad I'm that this was all that was hidden in his room."

Either John's blood sugar was too low and he was starting to hallucinate or the bear had winked at him. Either way, a portion of lasagne wouldn't hurt. John pecked the nose of the teddy and then hurried into the kitchen to get at least one full plate of lasagne before his lover could devour all of it.

OOO

"Sherlock."

They were lying in bed together. Sherlock was snuggled against his side, with his mop of curls bedded on John's chest and already half asleep judging from his deep breathing. John wasn't there yet. He had to get used to the plush toys in his back yet. Especially to the sneaky lion that always managed to find its way to the crook of his neck to cuddle up to John. "Do they have a name?"

"Mhm?" Yes, his sweetheart was definitely half asleep if he couldn't even follow this simple conversation.

"The plush toys. Do they have a name?"

Silence and John almost believed that Sherlock had fallen aslee, but then: "John... they are all John because I didn't want anyone else with me. I just wished that John... that you..."

"Shh." John held Sherlock close to him as his lover pressed his nose to his chest and just breathed in and out for quite some time while John fought against his own emotions. He knew that Sherlock loved him - although he hadn't said it in quite these words - but he hadn't been aware that he had meant so much to his lover even back then. It was... humbling to learn that Sherlock had held such deep feelings for John for such a long time and yet he had still managed to leave him behind in order to protect him.

The feelings that came with that realisation where overwhelming and John squeezed his own eyes shut against the tears that threatened to spill over as he held onto Sherlock. He could deal with his newly found revelations later. For now, he only needed to hug Sherlock close and allow him to feel that John was there for him.

And he always would be, John thought fiercely to himself as Sherlock's breathing evened out and he fell asleep. As long as his heart was beating, John would always be there for him to make up for all the lonely nights that Sherlock had endured.