The second part is here. I want to thank everyone who reviewed on the first one. Um, I hope you enjoy this. Have fun. See ya.

John groaned as he heard someone yelling. He lifted his head, not being able to move much with Sherlock lying on top of him. The voice called out again and he recognized it as Lestrade's. He had two options, stay where he was and hope the detective left in defeat, or get up, and give him an excuse why he was in Sherlock's room, to see why he was there. He chose the second option, Lestrade knew where Sherlock slept and might look for him them and then find John in the position he was in. He wasn't ready to flaunt their relationship just yet, seeing as it was a difficult one for him to be in.

He lifted the consultant detective off of him slowly; he didn't want to wake him after the night he had. John quickly got dressed before pulling up Sherlock's shirt to check out the large wound. He ran his fingers down his back along the stitches, remembering the night before. He shut his eyes and shook his head when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

John quickly pulled his hand away; he opened the door and greeted Lestrade with a smile. "Do you need something Lestrade?" he asked politely.

Lestrade gave him a weird look and peered around John's shoulder, making sure he got the right room. "Is Sherlock in there?" he asked. John nodded. "Good, I have a case for him."

John glanced behind him. He knew he could wake him if he used enough force but it might cause harm to Sherlock. He only had been asleep for a few hours, definitely not enough for him to be fully recharged. He bit his lip, trying to think of what to do. "On a scale of one to ten how interesting is it?" he questioned.

Lestrade gave him a weird look. "Uh, six," he tried.

John bit his lip and looked back in the room. "Sherlock isn't feeling well, can you use him in a day or two?" he asked. A six wasn't a good enough reason to wake Sherlock up, if it was a seven maybe, but not a six.

"Is he really that sick?" Lestrade asked.

"Yeah, well, he had a rough night last night," John said. He cleared his throat. "Can you wait two days?"

Lestrade rubbed his head. "I don't think I can," he told him. "We've been at the scene for a while now and we can't find anything. I'm afraid that the killer will kill again. We really need him. How sick is he?"

John sighed, wishing Lestrade never showed up. "He's not sick; he's beaten up pretty bad, a few stitches you know," he explained. "I'll try to wake him up but if he can't do it then you'll have to wait. Give me the address and I'll call you with the answer."

Lestrade quickly wrote down the address. "Thank you John," he smiled. He left the flat again.

John moved back into the room. He stared at Sherlock silently, watching him breath. He slowly walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. "Sherlock," he said loudly. He put his hand on his shoulder and shook him a bit, trying to be careful of his back. "Sherlock wake up." He wasn't stirring, not even a noise was made. "Sherlock," John said louder. "Lestrade was here and he wants you on a case."

Sherlock moaned and opened his eyes slowly. "Why am I up?" he asked.

John frowned; he knew he should have just said no to the DI. "Lestrade wants you on a case, are you up to it?" he asked rubbing his arm slowly.

Sherlock's eyes closed again. "What day is it?" he yawned.

John looked to his feet. "It's Monday still," he answered. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I'll tell Lestrade that you can't do it, just go back to sleep." He stood up but Sherlock stopped him. He turned on his side and sat up, groaning loudly. "No, no, go back to sleep. I shouldn't have woken you up."

"John, I'm up, might as well go look at the scene," Sherlock huffed. He tried to lift himself out of bed but didn't get far. "John?"

John hooked his arm around his waist and helped him off the bed. "Really, Lestrade said he would understand if you couldn't."

"Then why did you wake me up?" Sherlock snapped.

"You can easily go back to sleep," John said. He knew Sherlock was still waking up and his moods would be worse than usual because of how tired it he was. "I'm sorry for waking you up; I knew it was a mistake."

"No, I'm going to get up, I'm going to the crime scene, and then I will rest," Sherlock rubbed his eyes.

John stared at him silently. "Fine; I did bring this on myself," he sighed. "How's your back?"

Sherlock pulled away from him and stumbled to his dresser. "It's fine," he grunted.

John nodded and moved closer to him; in case he fell he was there to catch him. "Are you lying so I won't do anything?" he questioned.

Sherlock didn't answer. He got dressed silently, small noises of pain escaping him. John cringed, feeling bad at every noise Sherlock made. He looked to the floor and ran a hand through his hair. He heard Sherlock sigh and felt his arms on his shoulders. He looked up; Sherlock was staring at him.

"I love you," Sherlock said.

John dropped his eyes again; he half expected his stomach to feel sick from the words like usual but it didn't. He moved his eyes back to Sherlock's and smiled. Maybe he was getting used to that too. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he sighed. He kissed him quickly and pulled away. "Are you ready to go?"

Sherlock dropped his arms from around John and nodded. "Oh god," he groaned as he moved with John out to the street, the bright light blinding.

"Alright?" John asked, holding onto his arm so he wouldn't fall over.

Sherlock nodded. "Where is it?" he asked as he massaged his side. John repeated the address. "Get a cab; I won't be able to walk that far."

"Sherlock, are you sure you want to do this?" John asked again. When he received a glare he moved closer to the road and hailed a taxi. He opened the door and helped Sherlock in. He slid in and gave the address to the cabbie.

Sherlock wound his arms around John and buried his head in John's neck. "It hurts," he moaned. He kissed him lightly and shut his eyes.

"You're back?" John questioned.

Sherlock bobbed his head. "And everything else," he continued. "Even my eyes hurt."

John squeezed his eyes shut and carefully encircled him in his arms. "Are you complaining?" he asked humorously.

Sherlock pulled away and leaned his head on his shoulder. "No, I'm telling you what's wrong with me," he said.

John rolled his eyes and was happy the cab came to a stop. He pulled himself forward and paid the driver. "Come on Sherlock," he said as he helped him out of the cab. He was leaning on him heavily still and John tried to make him stand on his own. "Please, can you stand?"

Sherlock pushed himself off a John with a frown. "Still ashamed I see," he said. He picked up his pace and walked to the house where the police tape was placed. Lestrade was standing outside talking with another officer.

John cursed silently and jogged to keep up with him. "Lestrade, I got him here," he called to the DI.

Lestrade turned and winced when he saw the state of Sherlock. "Who did you get into a fight with? A car?"

John licked his lips and watched Sherlock closely. "I rather not talk about it," Sherlock told him with a stern look. "Where's the body?"

Lestrade glanced at John before nodding his head towards the house. "Follow me," he said and led them into the room. "Her neighbor found her when he came over to get his keys from her."

John shut his eyes when he saw the shredded body lying in front of them. He heard Sherlock make a noise and looked at him. He could see a look of horror on his face before he erased it. "This place is a mess, there was definitely a struggle," Sherlock told them. He picked up a piece of glass and sniffed it. The smell of Shadow blood was on it; he ran his finger across it and felt the clear blood between his fingers. He threw it aside and looked around. He reached out and touched the woman's arm.

John watched him. He knew the wounds on the woman were from a Shadow. Sherlock wasn't going to be able to solve this one; he couldn't prove who killed her. Suddenly Sherlock stood up and spun on his foot. John jumped back, surprised with the sudden movement. He watched him leave the room before glancing at Lestrade with an apologetic look. 'Is he really that angry he can't solve it?' he asked himself as he chased at him.

He found him in the front yard pacing back and forth. John ran up to him and tried to stop him. "Sherlock, it's alright," he said calmly. "You can't catch every killer that commits a crime."

Sherlock turned on him; he could see he was scared. "You don't understand, John," he grabbed him by the shoulders; "I think it was me."

"You?" John asked. He shook his head. "No, it wasn't you, you didn't kill her. You got into a fight with another Shadow, that's why you're so beat up."

Sherlock started breathing heavily. "What if there was another one trying to stop me?" he asked. "What if I was killing her and another Shadow attacked me? You know Shadows are vicious blood thirsty creatures. We'll do anything for a fight."

"Listen to me," John told him in a soothing voice. He placed his hand over Sherlock's heart and looked into his eyes. "I know you didn't kill her because you're a good man. You have a good heart. I don't believe people who have Shadows automatically become total monsters when they change. I believe it's the person's heart that controls the Shadow."

Sherlock stared into his eyes. "But," he started.

"No, Sherlock, you're tired, you're not seeing the whole picture," John stated. "If a Shadow killed this poor woman and you believe there were two involved, then you would be the one to stop the Shadow killing her."

Sherlock smiled softly. He placed his hand over John's and the other on his hip. "I'm going to trust you," he whispered.

"Good," John said. "Let's go home, there's nothing you can do here." He pulled Sherlock to the road and hailed a cab again.

Lestrade ran out of the house. "Wait, guys," he yelled. "What about the scene?"

"Unsolvable," John yelled and shut the door. As they drove off he received a text from him. "He doesn't know what to do now."

Sherlock laughed and laid his head on John's lap. "He never knows what to do," he laughed. He grabbed John's hand kissed it.

John smiled and ran his finger over his cheek. "You're beautiful," he told him. As he listened to his own words his eyes widened a bit in surprise; the words rolled off his tongue without a thought.

Sherlock looked up at him with a smile. John returned it and leaned down a little; Sherlock met him halfway and kissed him. "I love you," he whispered. John kissed him again and sat back with a large smile on his face.

X

John was tossing and turning in bed. Dark images danced around in his head, a bright light flashed blinding John further. He opened his eyes quickly, met with only the darkness of the room. He turned on his side, breathing heavily, and felt for Sherlock. He squeezed his eyes shut when his hand was met with a cold mattress.

He sat up and climbed out of the bed. He walked out to the living room and saw Lestrade sitting in his chair with a smile on his face. John looked around more and saw officers searching the flat. He covered his shoulder, self-conscious of his scar and looked towards Sherlock who halted his pacing. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked as he stayed by the door.

"They're doing a pretend drugs bust," Sherlock told him. He looked John over and nodded. He looked at Lestrade. "If you can handle looking for something not here I want to talk with John privately."

Lestrade held out his hands. "As long as you don't try to hide anything I'm fine with it," he said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm clean," he told him as he pushed John lightly into the hallway. Once the door was shut behind him and the one that led to the kitchen was too, Sherlock caressed John's cheek. "Are you okay?"

John held his hands and nodded. "I just had a bad dream, that's all," he explained.

Sherlock rubbed a thumb over his cheek and kissed him. John kissed him back, needing the contact. John couldn't help but let his mind work as he had Sherlock so close. None of his past girlfriends could ever comfort him with just a kiss; none of them had tried so hard to show that they loved him. There was no one he could think of that was like Sherlock. No one as brilliant or mad, as the man in front of him. He pulled away and took in a deep breath. "I love you Sherlock," he told him. It was the only solution to all the facts, as Sherlock would say.

The smile on Sherlock's face made him want to cry. "Really?" he asked as he leaned his forehead against John's.

"Yes, really," John told him. "I love you."

Sherlock kissed him again. "I love you too," he laughed. He grabbed John's hand and tugged him back into the living room. "Lestrade, you're disturbing our flat," he looked down at the DI. "You're looking for something that isn't here. Even the evidence you claim I stole. Now please, if you could, leave."

John squeezed his hand. He bit back a smile as Lestrade glanced at their hands. "I'll be back in the morning," he told Sherlock. "Alright guys, clear out. We're done here." John watched everyone file out of the flat. When Lestrade was the last officer still there, he turned to them with a smile. "Remember, I'm showing up tomorrow to deal with you Sherlock, we have missing evidence and you're our main suspect," he sounded more amused than anything else. He gave them a short wave before leaving.

John peered up at Sherlock with a small sad smile. "I'm sorry for hiding our relationship," he started. "I feel like a fool for doing it, especially now."

"It was very foolish," Sherlock told him. "But, who cares. You're tired, let's go to bed."

John nodded and pulled Sherlock's arm over his shoulder and he leaned into his side. "What do you do all night when I'm asleep anyway?" he asked.

"I just lay there," Sherlock shrugged. He climbed into the bed and pulled John with him. "Sometimes I watch you; sometimes I get bored and go work on an experiment returning before you wake up. If I have a case I bring the file in here with me and read over the details."

John chuckled and rested his head on Sherlock's chest. "Of course you do," he said.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. "I don't hear you complaining about it," he stated.

"That's because I'm asleep Sherlock," John laughed. He yawned and grasped Sherlock's shirt. "Don't leave me tonight."

"I won't," Sherlock assured him. John nodded and fell asleep in a few short minutes.

X

John was standing off to the side watching Sherlock work. He checked his watch for the time and saw that it was only noon. It felt like he'd been up for days. He saw Anderson walk into the room and groaned. He knew it couldn't end well. He covered his mouth with his hand as he tried to send Sherlock a warning with his mind.

Sherlock snapped off his gloves and stood up. He turned around only to come face to face with Anderson. "Hello Anderson," he said with a small smile. He tried to move around him to get to Lestrade so he could tell him what he had for the case but the other man stopped him. The smile dropped from Sherlock's face and he tilted his head to the side. "John, can you go get Lestrade for me, I need to show him something."

John stared at the two for a moment before nodding. He knew Sherlock was just sending him out of the room. The only thing he could do was hope no one got hurt while they were alone. He waited at the door silently listening in on their conversation.

Sherlock straightened his jacket. "Is there something you want to say Anderson?" he asked.

Anderson shrugged his shoulders. "I heard you and John got together," he said. "I'm assuming you're not a virgin anymore."

Sherlock laughed. He couldn't believe how many people just assumed things. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced out the window. "Just because we're together you think John and I are having sexual intercourse?" he asked.

"What? You're not? Trouble in paradise?" Anderson smirked.

Sherlock frowned and looked down at him. "Why do you care? This isn't your relationship; you don't like us, there's nothing involving you in this. Unless you're just poking and prodding, trying to get a reaction. If you are, I wouldn't go down this route."

Anderson smirked and stepped closer to Sherlock. "So are you?" he asked.

"John and I do not have sex with each other."

The smile grew bigger on Anderson's face. "Why? Does he not want to touch you?" he asked. "Does your body disgust him? It disgusts me. I'm surprised he's even dating you."

John was in the room quickly. Anderson didn't have time to react as he was pulled backwards by the doctor. "What was that?" he asked. "I think it's clear that whatever is going on our relationship is not your business." He wanted to hit the man; he didn't understand anything about their relationship. It's been hard enough just getting where they were. "Leave," he ordered.

"It's not your crime scene," Anderson growled.

John lifted his hand up getting ready to hit him but Sherlock grabbed it and Lestrade stepped in. "No, but it's mine," he said. "Anderson, go take a break outside."

Anderson tore himself from John's grip. John was happy to see him leave and turned to Sherlock. "Ignore him," he mumbled.

Sherlock let go of John's hand and nodded. He looked at Lestrade and started telling him the clues that he gathered. "Call me when you caught the guy, I want to talk with him," he said after his long speech. He stalked out of the room quickly.

John cursed and followed after him. Anderson had to go ruin everything. He caught up with Sherlock as he waved down for a taxi. "Hey, are you alright?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine John," Sherlock said not looking at him.

John grabbed his hand, winced when Sherlock flinched. "Anderson's an idiot," he told him. He looked up and couldn't see any change in Sherlock's face; he was still staring ahead with no smile. "You know very well that I want this."

"I forced it upon you," Sherlock said as the cab pulled up. He pulled his hand out of John's and climbed in.

"That's only because it's in your nature," John said. "221 B Baker Street. It's what you do, you can't control it."

Sherlock shook his head. "Billions of people in the world and I have to love you," he murmured.

John slid across the seat and put his hand on Sherlock's leg. "Sherlock," he said softly, "I love you too, remember?"

Sherlock growled and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stayed silent the rest of the way home.

X

John paced the room in front of Sherlock as he sat on the sofa. "Sherlock, will you just say something?" he asked frustrated.

Sherlock looked up at him with a vacant stare. "Are you sure you love me?" he asked.

John groaned and pulled at his hair. "Months of courting me, now you have me and you can't believe me when I say it," he almost laughed. "Of course I love you."

"Prove it," Sherlock told him.

John frowned. "How?"

Sherlock chewed his lip. "Come here," he said motioning for John to come closer. John happily did so; he sat on the edge of the coffee table with a small smile on his face. Sherlock lifted his hands and ran his thumb over John's cheek. "Tell me you love me."

John turned his head slightly and kissed his hand. "I love you," he whispered.

"Again."

"I love you," John repeated.

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed him softly. He tugged John closer as he pulled away. John moved from the coffee table and cautiously sat on his lap. He placed his hands on Sherlock's face and kissed him again. "You can't let anyone tell you any different," he whispered against the man's lips. "Please, I just found out myself, I don't want you to be angry, I don't want you to give up."

"I can't give up," Sherlock laughed. "You should know that. It's Shadow 101. Every human with a Shadow latches onto someone else, human or Shadow, and that love will last until their last days together. It's literally until death do us part."

"You could live forever if you wanted to," John told him. "Your Shadow will keep you alive."

Sherlock shook his head and wound his arms around John. "No, when you die I'll be right after you," he told him. "We can't live without you John."

John stared at him; amazed at the last sentence. His lips twitched as he frowned. It must have been hard for the both of them when John tried to stop them. "And I can't live without you."

X

John was lying on the couch, reading a book. His eyes were drawn away from the words when he saw Sherlock coming up the stairs. "Where were you all day?" he asked.

Sherlock didn't answer as he shrugged off his jacket. "I want to show you something," he said as he started unbuttoning his shirt. John sat up, expecting to see a wound but instead there was a hand print on Sherlock's chest over his heart. "Do you like it?"

John licked his lips as he peered at the hand. "It's a tattoo," he stated as he put down his book. "Why do you have a tattoo?"

Sherlock frowned and started buttoning up his shirt. "I don't know," he turned around. "I just wanted to get one."

John pushed himself off the couch and turned him around. He started unbuttoning his shirt again. "Let me get a proper look at it," he told him. He knew Sherlock only meant well and couldn't be mad at him for something as simple as a tattoo. He pulled back the shirt and stared at the dark handprint. He narrowed his eyes and looked up at him. "This is mine." He traced the small lines slowly. "Is that why I woke up with ink on my hand?" he asked, swatting at Sherlock. "I would have loved to know that."

"I wanted to surprise you," Sherlock told him. "I got it finished today."

John smiled. "I like it," he told him with a laugh. He spread his fingers over the hand on Sherlock's chest, matching perfectly with it. "I love it."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Really, you like it and love it?" he asked.

John glanced up at him. "I love it, no, I really do." He moved his hand and kissed it. "It's great, and it's in a spot where no one else will see it."

"Selfish," Sherlock chuckled.

John hit him lightly before going back to the couch. Sherlock moved towards the couch and laid down with his head on John's lap. "Do you want attention now?" he asked peering down at him.

"I wouldn't mind it," Sherlock mumbled.

The smirk on his face made John sigh. He motioned Sherlock closer before kissing him lovingly. He pulled away and moved out from underneath Sherlock and laid down next to him. He continued to kiss him. Sherlock pushed him over onto his back and laid on top of John. He started kissing down his jaw line onto his neck. John hummed as his eyes slipped shut.

Sherlock pulled away slightly. "You still don't want to have sex right?" he asked.

John frowned at him. "Right, why? You don't want to do you?" he asked, his eyes going a bit wide.

"No, no, I just wanted to make sure, you're mind changed about loving me, maybe it changed about that too," Sherlock said.

John shook his head. "I'm perfectly happy with just this," he told him as he pulled him down and kissed him.

"Good," Sherlock growled and kissed him harder.

X

There had been a string of murders committed by Shadows. John had been helping with Sherlock as he tried to stop them from happening. They knew it was nearly impossible to figure out who killed them but they did know it was planned. Every one of the murders was planned and done in just about the same way. One thing that was clear was that they were working with a serial killer.

Sherlock was stumped, and he could only imagine how the others must have felt. He knew John was getting frustrated; he lost his job because he was working on the case, and they were getting nowhere. He glanced at the doctor where he was asleep on the floor, the file he was reading underneath his head. He sighed and pushed himself away from his microscope, and knelt next to John. He shook his shoulder gently, trying to wake him.

John jumped awake, his hand flying to where his gun should be in the waistband of his jeans. His eyes focused on Sherlock, his breathing slowing as he relaxed. "What?" he asked as he ran a hand through his hair. "Did something happen?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, your shoulder will be sore in the morning if you sleep on the floor," he explained. "Go to bed, you need your sleep." He shut his eyes when he started feeling a buzzing in his chest.

John scanned his face; he could see sweat shinning. It wasn't hot in the flat at all, quite the opposite; the first week living together Sherlock requested the windows stay open as much as possible. "When was the last time you changed?" he asked as he sat up more and grabbed his wrist to check his pulse.

"John, go to the bedroom now," Sherlock told him. He stood up, taking John with him. He pushed him towards the bedroom. "Lock the door and don't come out."

John nodded and stepped towards the bedroom. He paused and looked back at Sherlock. He frowned as a pained look overcame his features; he wished he could stop it, but knew it had to happen. He went to the bedroom and locked the door as he was told. He leaned against the door and listened for any sound of Sherlock's transformation.

There was a crash and John flinched. He pulled his knees up to his chest as he heard Sherlock yell out in pain. They were lucky Mrs. Hudson was out for the night, it would have been bad if she came up. There was another crash from the living room. He clamped his hands over his ears trying to block out the noise.

He was pushed forward as something hit the door. He pushed back against it. "Leave Sherlock," he growled. "Please!" The door was hit again as Sherlock slammed himself against it. John moved away from it and crawled across the floor. "Go!"

X

For an hour John was curled up in a ball in the corner. He had his hands over his ears still. The moment the noise stopped through, John's heart started pounding. It made him afraid; did Sherlock leave; has he changed back to his human form? He took in a deep breath and crawled over to the door. He pressed his ear up against it and listened for any noise.

A low groan was let out and John knew right away that Sherlock was back. He unlocked the door, and pulled it open the door; it practically fell off the hinges. He winced as he stepped on some glass, hearing it crunch under his shoes. "Sherlock," he called out, coming around the corner.

Sherlock was lying on the floor, his knees drawn to his chest. His breathing was ragged, and a piece of glass was sticking out of his leg. John ran over to him, falling to his knees. "Sherlock," he breathed out. He looked at the wound, trying to figure out how to successfully remove the shard. "Hey, be careful, don't move. I have to take this out."

Sherlock nodded his head. "Hungry," he moaned.

"I know, I know, but I can't do anything for you with this in your leg," he told him. He wrapped something around his hands and grabbed the piece of glass. He pulled it out slowly, listening to the small pained noises coming from him. "There, all done," he sighed and threw the glass to the side. He ran to the bathroom and grabbed some bandages and started to wrap his leg. He lifted him off the floor and moved him to the destroyed couch. "Just lay here and I'll get you food."

John stumbled into the kitchen and everything in the fridge. He dumped it in front of Sherlock and went back to get more food. He came back setting it down in front of him before sitting down next to him. He rubbed his back soothingly.

Sherlock finished eating and leaned his head against John's shoulder. "Did I hurt you?" he muttered sleepily.

John shook his head. "Let's go to bed," he said slipping his arms under Sherlock's leg and lifting him off the couch. He carried him to the bed, setting him down gently. He kissed his cheek before crawling in next to him.

"Get any news you can on the cases while I'm asleep," Sherlock told him as he rolled over so he was lying on John. "I can't miss anything."

"I will Sherlock," John told him. "Go to sleep, you'll feel better in a few days."

X

John had spent four days gathering up evidence for Sherlock like was told to. Every night he would check up on him, seeing if he was awake, or healing any better, and would leave the files and his notes by the bed just in case he did wake up.

He was at the Yard, phone close by as he read over the file Lestrade gave him. John sighed and rubbed his eyes. He picked up his pencil going to circle something he thought was important before dropping it again. A cup of coffee slipped into his view and he looked up to see Lestrade standing beside him. "Looks like you need a bigger one but this is the only size cups we have," the DI laughed.

John smiled up at him before taking a large gulp of the coffee. "Thanks," he coughed. "This is tiring."

"I know, I don't know how Sherlock can do this for days on end," Lestrade said sitting next to him.

John nodded, knowing full well how Sherlock could do it. "I don't understand either," he lied. "Sherlock really wishes he could be here but he's worn out form days of work. I can barely get him to wake up."

Greg laughed again. "You're a good man, staying up late just to do his work," he said patting his back. "Why don't you go home?"

"Sherlock will kill me if I don't look over these for him," John told him. "If I stay here I have a less likely chance of falling asleep."

"Yeah but if you keep working like this you'll end up like Sherlock."

John sighed, imagining himself sleeping for four days. "I would be so rested," he said. "Listen, I'll be fine. I'm going home soon."

Lestrade nodded. "I'll stay until you leave and take you home. You're vulnerable for attack if you're tired like this," he told him.

"Thanks Greg," John yawned. "I'm almost done."

"How do you do it?" Lestrade asked. "How do you deal with Sherlock and still want to do this for him?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "I understand Sherlock, a lot more than you guys here do," he told him. "If you knew him like I do you would understand why I do what I do."

"I don't think I want to know him like you do," Lestrade told him. "Come on, finish up, the wife wants to have a fight when we get home."

John cringed. "What is she mad about now?" he asked.

"This case, me staying out late every night," Lestrade sighed. He rubbed his face tiredly. "It's fine though; she'll get over it like she always does."

"And if she doesn't?" he asked.

"Do you have room on your couch?" Lestrade laughed.

John pursed his lips for a moment. "Well, the couch is a bit of a wreck," he told him. "You could always use my old bed though, if it really becomes a problem. Of course Sherlock would have to approve."

Lestrade shook his head. "No, I couldn't do that to you two," he told him.

John nodded and shut the folder. "I'll just take this home. I'm sure Sherlock will be fine tomorrow; he can take a look at it himself." He stood up, swaying on his feet. Hopefully he would be able to just fall asleep when he got home. "I can't thank you enough Greg."

Greg held up him up and led him to the door. "You can barely walk," he told him. "People would think you were drunk." He laughed and John joined in with him. Lestrade opened the passenger door for him and let him slip in. He ran around and climbed into the car, starting it up.

John leaned his head against the window and watched the buildings go by as rain covered his view. "Greg do you know what Shadows are?" he asked.

Lestrade looked over at him with a weird look. "Yeah, the things that light casts on the ground," he told him. "Or those silly stories my folks talked about?"

John shut his eyes and laughed. "Never mind," he said. He glanced over at Lestrade. "So you never believed those stories?"

"No, I'm not a nut job," Lestrade pointed out. "Maybe I did when I was a kid but I don't even talk about it with my kids."

John hummed as he nodded. "I read a book on them a few days ago," he told him. "Despite all my work, I just wanted to see what people thought."

Greg cleared his throat and looked over at him. "Do you believe in those stories?" he asked.

John shrugged; he didn't want Lestrade to think he was a 'nut job'. "I don't know. I have a few friends that believe they're real." Greg nodded and continued to drive in silence. John smiled and shut his eyes again.

The car came to a slow stop in front of the flat. "Thanks again," John told him. "You'll probably see Sherlock tomorrow."

"Alright," Greg laughed. "Sleep well John."

John nodded and waved at him as he stumbled into the flat. He moved quietly up the stairs and pulled off his jacket. He slipped out of his shoes leaving them by the door and stripped himself of his clothes as he continued onto the room. He dropped the file in the growing pile before slipping under the covers, grabbing Sherlock by the waist.

He took in a deep breath, burying his head into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock mumbled incoherently and wrapped his arms around John. The doctor smiled and kissed his chest before going to sleep.

X

John woke up sometime late afternoon the next day to Sherlock talking on the phone. He rolled onto his back and looked up at him. "John, don't move," Sherlock hissed.

John blinked at him a few times and looked that the bed was covered in papers. "Oh god," he groaned. He looked at the files he spent days going over strewn across him. "Can I get out of bed?"

"No, just go back to sleep, you don't move much then," Sherlock told him.

"If you just let me slip out of bed you'll have a whole side to yourself," John pointed out.

Sherlock looked at him. "Hold on Lestrade," he said into the phone. He held it to his chest before leaning over and kissing him. "You're tired still, just go to sleep. I'll wake you if I need you."

John stared at him blankly. "You're absolutely ridiculous," he told him. He shut his eyes again. "I'm going back to sleep."

Sherlock smiled down at him watching him fall asleep again before Lestrade's voice on the phone brought him back. "Lestrade, you're an idiot. How could this yellow paper have any significance to this case at all?" he asked. "I'm glad John brought it to my attention. You would have been on the wrong trail completely."

X

Sherlock had moved to the counter in the kitchen, eventually allowing John to catch up on his sleep in peace. He had received samples of some Shadow blood from the crime scenes; though the police called it mysterious clear goop. Sherlock did all he could to hold himself back from insulting everyone at the Yard. He was examining the samples underneath his microscope, trying to find a difference between them.

In all the years that Shadows were known and studied by a few people no one has been able tell a Shadow from one or another. He was staring at the blood, jotting down whatever he saw. He marked it with a number and pushed it aside. He slipped another one under his scope and examined it.

He angrily pushed himself back and almost swiped everything off his work space. He wasn't seeing anything. To him every Shadow was the same. There was no difference. He wiped his face with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. He relaxed when he felt John's hands on his shoulder massaging them. "Can you take a look at these?" he asked.

John leaned over his shoulder and looked at the slides. "What are we looking for?" he asked before moving in front of Sherlock and looking into the microscope.

"I'm trying to differentiate the Shadows blood to see if that could give us a hint at who's doing this," Sherlock explained.

John nodded and started to focus on the slides. He went through all of them slowly, occasionally backing up and shaking his head. He spent twenty minutes before turning around and shaking his head. "I can't find any difference," he told him. He tapped the counter as he stared at Sherlock. "Maybe there's only one Shadow at these scenes."

Sherlock's eyes went wide and he looked up at John. "Say that again," he said slowly.

John grinned and knew he helped spark an idea. "Maybe there is only one Shadow at these scenes," he repeated.

Sherlock grabbed John's head and kissed him before standing up. "Brilliant," he sighed. "Why didn't I think of that?" He went over to the file and started looking through them. "Now we know its two people committing these crimes."

John cocked his head to the side and followed him. "How do we know that?" he asked.

"Well, we know that two people were tied up to a chair," Sherlock started, "so there's one person that had to tie the other person up. One of those people tied up is a Shadow; we know that because only one body is found at the scene. Now, we also know that the Shadow is being force to change because of how frequent the murders are. So, someone has to tie him up, and then force the change on him. The second person."

John opened his mouth before shutting it quickly. He shook his head with a smile. "Brilliant," he let out. "Absolutely brilliant."

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