'Tea' the next morning didn't go exactly as John had planned it. After Sherlock had left his room the previous evening she seemed to have become carried away with a number of potential experiments. John awoke to her lying on the sofa, curled in a ball and evidently sleeping off the excitement of a thrilling night of data.

Although he was longing to discuss the potential for a relationship with her, he knew she would get in a strop if he woke her up from sleeping: something he scolded her so often for not doing enough of. Instead, John made himself a scrambled egg on toast, some tea and he went back up to his bedroom. Disturbing what looked like blood on the kitchen table seemed like a bad idea and he wasn't in the mood for standing at the counter like a teenager.

About noon Sherlock came barging through his door. 'Lestrade texted me. Very exciting sounding murder. He mentioned a potential serial rapist and suicides as well. You coming?'

John looked up from his laptop. Evidently she had forgotten about last night. 'Oh. Yes, sure. Let me get on some socks and a more acceptable shirt.'

'Do hurry up. I've been waiting for something this exciting for 3 days! I don't want to be held up by my blogger.' She was already tying her wet hair up into a neat bun as she walked out the door. John knew that she would look perfect within 5 minutes and that he better hurry.

Ten minutes later they were hailing a cab and heading to Hackney. 'Bit... artsy don't you think? For a serial rapist?'

'That or the perfect disguise. What hipster is imagining getting raped? It's not that sort of scene.'

'And the suicides?'

'Lestrade didn't say much about them. I can only speculate the rapist had some sort of manipulating power. Potential for pregnancy? No idea.'

Although John had suspected that Sherlock had forgotten about their conversation, she evidently had not. While her usual lack of social understanding surrounding personal space was limited, she leaned closer than ever into John as the taxi sped East, and her piercing blue eyes made John's thoughts deviate farther from the case than he would have liked.

They arrived at a flat in the centre of Hackney and within 10 minutes she had already began to develop a motive for the suicides. It had turned out that all of the people who committed suicide were not only women, but also married to conservative husbands who would denounce them if they found out they were bearing a child that wasn't theirs. Upon exploring a second flat in the area, Sherlock managed to find a connection with the specialty brand of tea they bought.

By 5 o'clock that evening an employee of a local, organic tea shop had been arrested for raping 15 women and causing 7 of them to commit suicide. Sherlock looked rather pleased with herself as John hailed a cab. They were heading back to Baker Street in no time. Although they were now sitting next to each other on the backseat, John couldn't help but look at Sherlock longingly. Her dark hair had fell out of the neat bun into strands down her face, softening her often hard features.

'Shall we have a cuppa when we get home?' Sherlock looked anxious, now that she had remembered she had neglected her own suggestion that morning. 'I think we have things to discuss, yes?'

'Only if you want to.' John knew that as much as he might want to rip off her clothing at that moment, the relationship had to be on her terms. That was just how Sherlock operated.

'Yes. I was thinking a lot last night. Or at least a little bit. When I wasn't busy experimenting.'

'What was going on in there? I noticed a great deal of blood on the kitchen table but didn't really have much desire to investigate what might have happened.'

'Oh. That. Really nothing. I was just examining the absorption tendencies of blood on different fabrics over time. It got a bit messy.'

'You couldn't have bothered to clean it up? I mean, really, Sherlock. I put up with the limbs in the fridge, but at least they're in bags.'

'You could say that I became... distracted with other things.' Although she didn't mention it, this 'other thing' was John. She knew there was a reason that she hadn't gotten herself into a serious relationship before… things like this happened. They were simply distractions from the work and all that she valued. Human interaction could be so taxing on the emotions and the brain. It was much easier to devote oneself to her job than try to worry about making someone else happy.

'Do you mean us?' John was trying to be delicate.

'There is no "us."' She turned away.

Her words bit hard as the taxi pulled into Baker Street. John was taken aback. 'So that's your decision then, is it? The potential for you to be with someone who respects you and you throw it back at me?' Sherlock could hear anger in his voice even as John did his best to maintain his composure.

'That's not what I meant.'

'Oh, sure it isn't. The great Sherlock Holmes. She's just too good for little Doctor Watson. Always the sidekick and never the equal. So independent.' John paid the driver hurriedly and was storming out of the taxi away from 221B and towards Regent's Park.

'Really, John. That's not what I meant!' Sherlock was shouting now and running to catch up with him.

He turned around, his face livid. 'Oh really then? What did you mean, Sherlock? Have you finally decided to be less blunt with your words and have some respect for the normal people in your life? No. You couldn't possibly have that. You'll never change.'

'I just meant that there isn't an "us" yet. We have to mutually decide what parts of this relationship are and aren't going to work! I did my research as well, you know.' Now she was the one who was fuming. 'You think this is easy for me? Getting into a relationship with someone? Because it isn't, John. I've spent my whole life alone because it's much easier for me to deal with myself and not have to worry about also taking care of someone else. And then you come along, wanting to be all respectful. What am I supposed to do? Swoon at your knees like all of your other girlfriends? '

People were starting to stare at them shouting at each other, but that didn't stop John. 'So you tell me there isn't an us, as if that's at all respectful. I was trying to show you that I know you have boundaries, Sherlock. I was trying to be delicate and that is what you come back at me with?' He took a long breath in. 'Let's go inside, please? Sit down and talk. Last night… I felt like there might be potential.'

They walked into the flat and Sherlock flounced over to her chair and sat down, taking her phone out to send a text. John went to the kitchen to make tea. He knew that if he didn't, she never would and he could really do with a cuppa. Within five minutes they were both sitting down with steaming mugs of tea, staring at each other.

'John, you know I'm new to this. I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.'

'Well, the first thing is listening to what's coming out of your mouth and thinking about how someone else will react to it.'

'I'm only telling the truth.'

'Not everyone wants the blunt truth, Sherlock. You can say something that's true without it stabbing someone in the heart every time.'

Sherlock sat there, probably contemplating the different splatter marks that would appear on the wall depending on the size of knife and force of the attacker.

'Sherlock, are you listening to me?'

She came out of her trance and snapped her head around. 'Yes. Just… thinking. I want to try this relationship, John. But there is no guarantee that I will be very good at it. Affection seems so… unnecessary.'

'Does it?'

'Well it's certainly not essential to our lives. I've survived this long without it and look where I am now.'

She always knew how to put the most logical spin on things. Just because she was surviving… John thought this was insane. 'There's more to life than survival, you know.'

'It seems extraneous.' John got up from his armchair, walked over to the sofa and sat down. Sherlock looked confused.

'Come here.' His voice was soft, but direct. 'Being loved is not extraneous, Sherlock.'

She walked cautiously over to him, as if he was one of her experiments and he might explode at any moment. 'What do you want me to do?' She was standing over him, as if he expected something out of her. Sherlock was far more vulnerable than she appeared to be. Behind her calculated exterior was someone who clearly didn't have enough love in her life.

'I don't want you to do anything, but sitting next to me would be nice.' She nervously sat down next to him, keeping her distance. John put out his left arm and pulled her slowly into him so that her head cradled his shoulder, his hand resting softly on her collarbone.

'And now?' There was apprehension in her voice.

'Nothing. We can just sit here and talk. Nothing has to happen.' He began to rub her shoulder slowly, as if to comfort her. It took a few minutes but she relaxed into him, sighing slowly. John could smell a soft vanilla perfume on her, something he hadn't noticed before, and her hair was shockingly soft on his neck. It was peaceful, sitting there with her. Although he longed to be with her, it went beyond that: he had an inexplicable connection with Sherlock. From the moment they had met they knew that they needed each other, even if they couldn't admit it to themselves. He was her rock and she was the explosion that kept the endorphins running through his body.

Half an hour passed and John thought that she had fallen asleep when she spoke softly. 'I like this. It's… comforting. Can we just lie here?'

'Of course, Sherlock. Although I would like food at some point. I can feel my stomach about to growl.'

'Take-away?'

'How's Chinese?'

'Perfect.'