John watched his friend leave and sighed heavily, turning back round to face the detective inspector. He had no idea why he'd thought that confiding in Sherlock about anything would be a good idea, especially when it came to his sexuality. And how far had he been thinking he would go? Leave it at just stating the facts about the sort of people he was attracted to? Confess to something a little deeper? He groaned as he recollected the look of shock that had passed over Sherlock's face, as, John guessed, realisation had dawned on him. He shouldn't have even confirmed his bisexuality to him; should have just left him guessing, wondering if Greg really was the object of his affections.

"Sorry John," the man himself said, speaking suddenly and distracting John from his thoughts. "I dropped you in it a bit there, didn't I?"

He grimaced and took up his pint again, staring at it. "Nah, it's alright," he said. "Would have come out sooner or later."

Greg smiled slightly, still looking a little guilty, and John took a quick sip of his drink before carrying on. "Seriously, Greg, don't worry about it. It's fine." He inhaled slightly. "If nothing else, it's made me realise that I'm fighting a losing battle with that one. I can stop wasting my time and focus on other people."

Greg looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss him," he said carefully. "God only knows, Sherlock hasn't had any action in years, not as far as I'm aware anyway. I flatter myself that I would have noticed if he was loved up. The idea of being intimate with someone probably is terrifying for him."

The chatter continued around him as both men half-watched the football game. Greg went back to the bar to get another round in, reverting back to alcohol this time, and John allowed his thoughts to wander every so often back to Sherlock. He decided the best course of action was to deny everything. If Sherlock felt awkward about it, he would happily go along with the denial, and they could continue to live together, which John was positive Sherlock wanted, and what he wanted as well. He'd get over his crush, continue working with him and find someone new.

He glanced at his phone every now and then to see if Sherlock had tried to contact him, but there were never any messages, despite the full signal his mobile carried. He contemplated sending him a text himself, but then decided against it. Better to let him simmer for a while, and then waltz in at some point later on tonight like nothing had happened.

The door opened with a crash, and Sherlock jumped out of his armchair, shaken out of his reverie, suddenly assaulted with the image of Lestrade and John holding each other up in his doorway. He recoiled slightly as he recognised the overbearing smell of alcohol emanating from the pair of them, and quickly deduced that the two of them were as pissed as newts. Lestrade was leaning against the frame of the door, an arm wrapped around John's waist, and both of them were 'singing' some god-awful chant that Sherlock presumed had something to do with the match that had been on.

"Well, I can see the ever-responsible policeman and his sensible doctor friend have had a lovely evening," he said scathingly, moving towards the kitchen. "Would either of you care for several litres of water?"

"Sheee... I told you," John slurred. "He can be very... very caring... he dush care, really Gregory..."

Greg snorted and somehow managed to make his way to the sofa, leaving John stood propped up against the wall. The doctor slithered along it, as if terrified that, should he let go, he would immediately collapse on the floor, and peeked round the corner at Sherlock, who was stood in the kitchen, staring in bemusement at the pair of them.

"Am I not allowed..." John trailed off, looking confused suddenly. "Oh fuck it, I can't remember what I wash... ssssaying."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "John, I don't care remotely about what you do or don't do in your spare time, unless you're supposed to be helping me on a case. Which you may well be tomorrow, hence the reason why I have offered you water, so that your hangover is possibly lessened a little and you won't be such a massive inconvenience." He spun on his heel and made his way to the cupboard that he was pretty sure the clean glasses were kept in.

"See John?... Nasty as ever... Always so horrible to you..." Greg mumbled, his head drooping into his chest as he lay sprawled back on the sofa.

"N..no... no!" John exclaimed, staggering across the floor to Sherlock and falling against him. Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes, and manoeuvred himself so that he was stood with his back against the cabinets, holding John up with one hand and a glass of water in the other. John was lolling - there was really no other word to describe it - his side dug into Sherlock's torso, an affronted look on his face that Sherlock allowed his brain to register as ridiculous and yet somehow quite adorable.

"He is not... horrible," John growled. "You all... you at Scotland... in Scotland, you all see him as a so-sho-path, but he is... He is not a... one of those," he ended triumphantly. Sherlock managed to move John to a seat and somehow get him to sit in it, before plonking the glass in front of him.

"Thanks John," he muttered. "Should I ever need a glowing character reference, you'll be the first one I call."

John grinned at him. "You can count on me, Sherl."

Their eyes locked - well, as well as two sets of eyes could lock when one pair were struggling to focus on anything - and Sherlock, before he even realised what he was doing, placed his hand on John's good shoulder and squeezed it slightly. Even in his drunken haze, John looked briefly surprised at the contact - Sherlock wasn't sure why, he touched him all the time, although more often than not it was during a moment of panic whilst chasing a criminal, or being chased. Then he realised that John would have been expecting Sherlock to be keeping his distance from him, after his almost-confession earlier in the pub, and he withdrew his hand, not wanting to confuse matters any further.

Greg, who had been watching this exchange, and had somehow realised there was some slight significance to it, made an attempt to stand up, clutching onto the arm of the couch as he steadied himself in a more upright position.

"I think I'll leave... you two... you need a chat, yeah?" he said, rubbing his hand across his face, trying to make himself more alert. "I'm sorry I made things awkward... you know..."

Sherlock, ignoring Greg's apology, shook his head slightly. "I don't think so, Detective Inspector. Can't let you wander the streets in the state you're in. I'm surprised you two made it back here in one piece."

"I'll get a cab," Greg protested. "I'll be fine, Sherlock."

"Let him... cab," John stuttered, before taking a glug from his water.

After a brief debate with himself (neither of the two men present were capable of anything close to such a thing), Sherlock finally decided that it would be better to get rid of the policeman and concentrate on keeping an eye on John. He could barely deal with one drunken idiot, let alone two, and he was mildly concerned at how drunk John appeared to be, having never seen him in this state before. Greg seemed slightly less intoxicated, probably used to drinking more often than the doctor was, and once he had had a coffee he even managed to make it down the stairs of the flat without falling over.

Lestrade gone, Sherlock returned his attentions to his flatmate, who was now resting his head on his arms, which were folded on the kitchen table. The revelations of earlier had indeed alarmed Sherlock, but he still wasn't sure what he was alarmed at most; being wrong, or discovering that he was the one that John was attracted to. It still didn't explain the looks between John and Greg that he had definitely witnessed, but he allowed that to slide for now.

Seating himself back in his armchair, facing towards John's slumped form in the kitchen, Sherlock closed his eyes and steepled his fingers under his chin, his favoured thinking position. Having never really allowed himself the chance to consider anyone in... well, in any way, this was new territory for him. However, saying that, the one person who was always the anomaly in his otherwise consistent ways was John Watson. John was the only person in the entire world who Sherlock thought of as a friend. John was the only person who had managed to live with him for so long before giving up - John was showing absolutely no signs of wanting to move out and away from their strange life together. John was the only person who didn't irritate him more than 80% of the time.

Was he attracted to John though? He really wasn't sure, having not allowed himself to fall victim to the world of attraction since he was a young teen. There was always something more important going on in his life, and the normal adolescent years of crushes, unrequited love and then often very much requited lust had somehow passed him by. He had reached his mid thirties with no real understanding of how this world worked, and he was unsure that he really wanted to know.

John stirred suddenly, raising his head from the table, and stared blearily in Sherlock's direction. His face was a mess, he looked absolutely ridiculous and Sherlock couldn't help but smirk at the confused, drunken stare on the doctor's face.

"Where'd Greg go?" John asked, trying to stand up. Before he knew what he was doing, Sherlock had leapt up out of his chair and was by his side, helping him to his feet and holding him as he swayed slightly.

"Home. You need to go to bed and sleep this off," Sherlock said, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and cupping his hand into John's armpit, in an attempt to move John towards the stairs. He then suddenly realised - stairs. Not feeling up to carrying the doctor to his room, he changed tactics and shifted John towards the living room.

"On second thoughts - sofa," he muttered, as they reached their destination and Sherlock helped John to sit on the edge of the furniture. John grinned vacantly at Sherlock and pulled him down. The suddenness of the move surprised Sherlock and he was unable to stop himself from falling to sit beside John, blinking at their proximity.

"Youra good friend, sh'lock," John mumbled, leaning into Sherlock, who froze, his mind going blank as John placed a hand on his leg. "You know I really love you... as a friend... obvioush..."

John raised his head off of Sherlock's shoulder and stared at him for a few moments, as if suddenly surprised to find him so close to him. Sherlock still couldn't move, still completely alarmed at the situation he found himself in, and it was because of this that he barely reacted when John moved forward suddenly, kissing him firmly on the lips.

This only lasted two seconds, before Sherlock's brain leapt into action and, easily pushing the inebriated man off him and, conveniently, into a lying down position on the sofa, he jumped up, quickly grabbing some blankets and flinging them over his friend. "Sleep. Now," he ordered, quickly running into the kitchen to fetch John's water and a bowl. "If you need to be sick, use this. Drink some more water. I'm... I'm going to bed, I'll see you in the morning."

"Sher-"

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock said firmly, glaring at his friend. John looked suddenly scared, and Sherlock, not wanting to say, or do, anything that he might later regret, left John with haste for the second time that night.

So sorry for the delay in updating. I've been quite busy, and I feel a little rusty too, so I hope this chapter is okay. It was a little bit of a filler chapter to be honest, necessary to help the story move along. Next chapter will explain why Sherlock reacts the way he did, will explain the John/Lestrade looks and will get a little bit angsty. But, as always, there will be a happy ending. I can't do anything else! Please review, I love them so much. Thank you so much for the reviews already received :D E x