Best Wishes to You and John Watson

John had to stare at the comment for almost three minutes before he finally understood it fully. Even then, nothing seemed to be adding up for the doctor. Sherlock Holmes loved him?

Then, of course, it was Sherlock. So, maybe love meant something completely different to the detective. John was smart enough to know that nothing would be roses and kittens from now on. It's amazing that Sherlock's response made things even more complicated than they already were. Like telling your best mate in the whole world that you're secretly in love with him isn't bad enough.

No, the universe decided to hit him with some more crap that he had to deal with. And while these thoughts were going through the rational part of his brain, the part that was controlled by sentiment was doing a happy dance. No doubt, Sherlock would mock him mercilessly for allowing himself to be controlled by sentiment, but John had gotten used to that by now.

His fingers hovered over the keys, contemplating his next choice of action. Sherlock probably had already deduced any of his possible reactions. He probably knew exactly what was going through John's mind. It both infuriated and fascinated him.

"Sod this," he muttered, shutting the laptop off with a vigor that was really quite unnecessary. But he needed to release his frustration on something. And beating Sherlock up would have repercussions the next day. So the laptop was the next target in line.

John shut the light off and pulled the covers over his head. He didn't care that it was still practically evening outside. He needed to sleep. To figure out how to work out this shitstorm that was being kicked up. But, he found that he had no regret in his mind.

It was perhaps, what surprised him the most. From his past experiences, drunk decisions did not generally lead to happiness. And almost every single one he'd ended up feeling some sort of regret with. Not with this. And he didn't have a clue as to why.

Maybe it just needed to be said. Maybe he didn't care what Sherlock felt in return, as long as he made his own feelings quite clear.

Maybe you're still jealous over Irene Adler, a tiny part of him whispered. The thought was rather quickly pushed away. He seemed to do that a lot when thoughts of Irene Adler entered his mind. It had been less than three months since that particular unpleasant memory had been created. He was quite eager to forget it now.

Still, it needed to be acknowledged. He wasn't going to go his entire life without thinking about The Woman, was he? Matter of fact, that's exactly what he was planning on doing. Tomorrow. He would deal with everything here tomorrow.


Sherlock was not a man of impulse. He plotted everything, deduced every last possibility. So, he was currently staring at his phone in utter disbelief. John's blog was pulled up, and his own comment had been posted.

He almost slapped himself for his stupidity. He'd been blinded by the… dare he say sentiment of it all. But, it's been said and done. His own feelings for the doctor were now plain and clear on the web. No doubt he would get so much crap from this at the yard. But, that thought barely crossed his mind. He was too busy deducing all of the different possibilities of John's reactions.

Number one was the least likely given how he was given the information. It was John coming downstairs right then to talk about it. Like that was gonna happen. Anyone else might have considered it, but not Sherlock. It was obvious that John was not willing to do direct confrontation with this issue. The blog post was proof enough.

Number two was the third most likely scenario. It was that John would just try to forget about it. Sounds unlikely right? Wrong. Sherlock had studied enough humans to know that sentiment made you do a lot of crazy things.

If John was insecure about their friendship, then this situation would be more likely. But Sherlock knew that he wasn't.

Now, the most likely one would be that John would try to sleep on this one. He'd seen the hesitant behaviors even in John's drunken ramble. He needed time to process what exactly had happened. Yes, that was the most likely scenario in this unlikely turn of events. Sherlock nodded to himself, already satisfied with his work.

He debated getting up and going to bed, but his brain was already racing. Tonight would not be a night of rest. This was further confirmed when a familiar moan echoed through the room. His phone lit up next to him, with a message. The moan/gasp sounded again, as another message popped up from Irene Adler. He glanced at the messages, seeing if they were of any interest to him.

This time they were.

Best wishes to you and John Watson.

So excited to see which one become the dominant…

Sherlock didn't even put in the effort to roll his eyes. That was too much like work. Instead, he continued to stare at the kitchen, allowing his subconscious to take over his thinking. Tonight he could safely retreat to his Mind Palace to think.


Two hours later…

Sherlock was still in the exact same position, eyes closed and deep in thought. He was particularly troubled by the Moriarty troubles. He was still out there. Somewhere. And Sherlock was not about to let his guard down to let the man in. He would rather die than let Moriarty get the best of him.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a thump upstairs, followed by a hoarse yelling. The panic in the voice was obvious. Fearing the worst, Sherlock dashed upstairs. He took the steps two by two, and almost crashed into John's door.

He didn't even wait to catch his breath before he opened the door. The fear that was coursing through him was not unlike his fear when John had the bomb vest on.

"John?!" he shouted, flicking the light on. John lay in a trembling heap in the floor. But the moment he saw Sherlock, he shot up. Blankets were shrugged, as John faced the detective.

Sherlock's breath came easier when he saw what had happened. John had just had a nightmare. He wasn't in danger. Emotionally fragile perhaps, and burdened with troubles, but not hurt.

"Sherlock?" John asked, nervously picking at a thread on his shirt. The detective had gone quiet and was just staring at him. Sherlock mentally shook himself and tried to deduce what to do next.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a step closer. John held his ground before he collapsed in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock gasped at the sudden extra weight but managed to stay upright. He pulled John upright, so he could look him in the eyes.

"What happened?" he asked again. John slid out of his grasp, and onto his bed.

"We… were at the pool… I was so scared… Every time I tried to… to stop you… you shot the vest, and you… you died." John hiccuped, tears beginning to drip onto his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make it all just go away. Sherlock slowly kneeled by the bed, wondering the best way to go about this.

He'd already figured out what had prompted this nightmare. It was so easy, an idiot could figure it out. John was scared of losing him. And the showdown at the pool was the most scared John had ever been for Sherlock's life. Simple.

"John… I…" Sherlock trailed off when he realized he didn't know what to say. Should he try statistics? Show the probability of either one of them dying.

"John, look the dream won't happen in real life. After all, the probability of Moriarty making his next move on you is slim, to say the least. And the odds of me dying are only increased above the average by about ten percent. I mean, it really depends on the case, but in most instances-"

"Sherlock," John cut in. "Bit not good," he said. He was grateful for the sliver of normality in their relationship.

"Right, sorry," Sherlock apologized. He wracked his brain for other ways to provide comfort. After a few minutes of silence, he finally just decided to ask.

"What do you want, John?" he asked. John gave a watery laugh and looked up at the ceiling. Sherlock quickly realized that his previous statement could have been misunderstood sixteen different ways, and decided to clarify.

"I mean tonight John. What do you want tonight?" he asked, licking his lips. John just stared at the ground for a while. Sherlock was about to ask again when John quietly responded.

"Stay with me." Sherlock tipped his head, trying to deduce John's tone. It wasn't pleading or desperate. It also wasn't romantic, or love filled. It was a favor. From a friend. And how could Sherlock deny that?

"Alright. I will stay with you tonight."


Not as much of a cliffhanger this time. Yay.

Next time… Moriarty learns of the new development between Sherlock and John and decides to take action.

R&R

NightLightning21