That night Sherlock slept better than he had done in weeks. No nightmares, no waking up screaming, just a silent, deep sleep. He woke up with the sun burning his eyes. A gap in the curtains where Sherlock had taken a sample of the fabric for an experiment was letting the bright white light stream through. He sat up and pushed the blanket John had put over him the night before away from himself. He stretched out his lanky arms and glanced at the clock. 1:17 pm. What? How long had he slept? He stood up and John's jumper fell to the floor. He lovingly picked it up and placed it on the armchair. He couldn't help himself when John had put it down last night; he just had to feel the softness against his skin. He had wanted to do it when John was wearing it but he knew John got uncomfortable about Sherlock invading his personal space. And human contact was not something Sherlock would do on an every day basis.

He rubbed his eyes and walked into the kitchen. He was hungry; he hadn't been hungry for a long time. It was obvious John had been shopping as there was now food in the cupboards and milk in the fridge. Sherlock put on some toast and boiled the kettle. As he sat at the table he considered last night. John had returned and Sherlock felt better for it. He felt awake, warm, his brain was buzzing at its normal pace, and yet there was still something that was not quite right. There was something, something that he wanted to change but he didn't know what. Everything was the same since before John had left, nothing had changed, and Sherlock hadn't felt this way before.

He got up and placed his empty plate and mug in the sink and walked over to his phone. There was a message from John.
'Didn't want to wake you so I have gone for a walk. I did a little bit of shopping so you had something to eat when you woke up. Make sure you eat something. JW.'
Sherlock smiled. His John always looked after him. But that was it wasn't it. He wasn't his John. He could quite easily get up and leave whenever he wanted. He had left for Afghanistan; he had chosen to go out with Sarah over him before, nothing was stopping him from leaving forever. Sherlock couldn't bare the thought of it. It tore a hole in his heart every time John left that door without him. He wanted John, wanted him forever and for good. But what could he do about it? Nothing. Sherlock was not one for expressing his feelings. Even a smile took more effort than people appreciate. But when thinking of John a smile was easy.

Sherlock walked towards the stairs to get dressed but paused as he passed the sofa. His scarf, the one that had been missing was neatly folded on the arm. He picked it up and examined it. How on earth did it get there? There was no way he could have missed that. John must have put it there, but then where did he get it from? Sherlock went up the stairs, two at a time as per usual, to his room and got changed. A charcoal suit today with a blue-grey shirt, the same colour as his eyes. As he tied his second shoe lace - he always liked to wear his shoes, so that he was ready if a case came up - when he heard the front door open and close. John, he grinned, and darted downstairs, tripping on the bottom step. John lurched forward and caught him in his arms. His saviour. Sherlock straightened himself and patted himself down trying not to look too embarrassed as John laughed at him.

***

John had woken up at 7 am as his body clock was still out of sync. He got dressed and tiptoed downstairs. Sherlock was still sleeping, his arm hanging loosely off the sofa. John stood there taking in every feature of Sherlock's face. His wispy black hair had flopped forward covering one eye. It looked messy, although it also looked like every ringlet was in their exact place. Sherlock's eyelashes were very feminine. They curled upward, giving those crystal blue-grey eyes the perfect frame and really showing them off. John had never really seen eyes like them; they just drew him in every time. He couldn't help but get lost in them. John's eyes followed Sherlock's angular nose down to those perfectly crafted lips, the bow deeply defined and the colour pale but not unappealing. He looked so peaceful that John didn't dare wake him up. Instead he decided to make himself useful and get some shopping, taking plenty of cash since he refused to get into another fight with a chip and pin machine. He bought a few necessities and put them away in the cupboard.

It was now 12 pm and John considered waking Sherlock. He raised his hand and was going to shake his shoulder when a small gurgle passed through Sherlock's lips. John couldn't help but find this adorable and thought he couldn't wake him now so he decided to go for a walk. Just a short walk to the park and back. Maybe he would sit and watch some children feed the ducks. He used to do that when he was little. No doubt Sherlock fed ducks weird things as an experiment when he was a kid. Just thinking about Sherlock as a child made John smile. He must have been unbearable.

John sighed as he sipped his hot coffee on a bench next to the pond. It felt so good to be home, back at the flat, to see nothing had changed. He thought about home every day. He also realised that the sense of adventure he used to get from the army was no longer enough for him. When he was out there only a few days ago he saw men with guns, children being threatened, a real war zone and yet always his mind travelled back to wondering what case Sherlock was on now, how many times had Mycroft tried to contact him, how many times had Sherlock insulted Anderson? But when he had got home he had felt something, something odd. An atmosphere. Sherlock had been acting weird and John couldn't understand why. And he too felt strange. It was like they had both put up a brick wall up in their minds to stop the other from finding something out. But what? He didn't want to keep anything from Sherlock; he knew Sherlock would work it out anyway. So why then wasn't everything normal, how it should be?

He sat there for sometime lost in his thoughts before deciding Sherlock definitely had had enough time to sleep and that if he was not up now he was going to throw water in his face to bring him back to the world of the living. As he shut the front doors he heard Sherlock coming down the bedroom stairs and was just in time to save him from falling flat on his face. He said in between laughs,
"Hello sleepy head. You're looking much better today." Sherlock scratched the back of his head, trying to erase what just happened from his mind.
"John, my scarf, where did you find it?" John looked down, trying to hide a blush.
"I don't remember... I found it last night... just before I went to bed." Sherlock smiled, John looked so cute when he was embarrassed. But then he frowned, wondering why he should be embarrassed.

Sensing a need for a change in conversation John said,
"You have eaten haven't you?"
"Yes, yes of course. Don't worry I got your message." He added awkwardly, "Thanks for the shopping by the way." John nodded and they both stood quietly, not quite looking at each other. They could both feel the awkwardness in the air, almost choking them as they breathed in.

"So how was-", "What have-" they both said at the same time. They smiled at each other, waiting for the other one to speak.
"How was the memorial?" asked Sherlock. John's eyes glazed over slightly as he remembered.
"It was a good memorial for a good soldier. Exactly as it should be." Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement. "He was a good man Sherlock, why do the good ones have to die?" John may be acclimatised to violence, but he still had a heart, and the death of a friend hit him hard. He turned away from Sherlock desperately trying to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes. Idiot, Sherlock thought to himself, did you really have to make him cry? His arms were aching to be put around his shoulders, Sherlock wanted to comfort him, to tell him it would all be okay and that he would look after him, but he just couldn't.

When John had composed himself he turned back to Sherlock and said,
"So what have you been up to whilst I was away?"
"This and that." Sherlock didn't want to lie to John, but he didn't want to tell the truth either.
"Uh huh. Well did I miss much?"
"No, no, nothing I couldn't handle."
He doesn't need me, thought John, but then rebuked himself almost immediately. How many times had he had said 'I'd be lost without my blogger' or something along those lines. The truth was it didn't matter if Sherlock needed John, because John needed Sherlock. There was no way he could leave now he knew what it was like to be with him, to watch him work, he was an amazing man and John just couldn't live without him. He just wished he knew how to tell him. When Moriarty had said that Sherlock had a heart, sort of, he had sat there and wondered what it could have meant. There was an underlining threat made there that John didn't understand. He had seen the way fear had crept onto Sherlock's face as Moriarty threatened him. It had only been on there for a second but that was all it took for Moriarty to see and smirk. Whoever Sherlock's heart belonged to; Sherlock did not like the sound of that threat. And what did John feel? Jealousy. Red hot, steaming jealously. He didn't like the fact that someone could possibly own Sherlock's heart.