Sherlock sat hunched over on his desk, his eyes hollow and body tired after a sleepless night. He was scrawling notes into his journal.

Sherlock/John (perhaps should I call it Johnlock? Shorthand sort of thing) Behavior Log - Day One

Last night's tragedy will psychologically wound John in ways I am incapable of understanding. However, it's timing seems to be intertwined nearly flawlessly with our goals. In the eve of Mary's death, John's unstable heart will be begging for the presence of anyone who would selflessly console it, preferably a close friend. As of recently, John has stated that I fit into this category not only as a trusted companion, but as, in his words, "a best friend." I hope to find that my lack of understanding of human nature does not play a troubling role. I often find that the flaws of human nature do not apply to me, that I am above the immense weakness that can be called love. Because in truth, love only leads to sensitivity, and therefore error. I will not let any personal feelings block me from the ultimate goal of this endeavour. Although my opinion of John Watson is very high, I cannot endanger him by adding genuine emotions to the mix. For now, John is vulnerable, and I will use that as an opportunity to work my way into his heart fond feelings.

-Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock leaned back and sighed deeply when he finished his notes. The sun was beginning to peek into the window of his bedroom, the early signs of daylight flooding his exhausted eyes. But he refused to show a single sign of his weariness to John though, he needed energy.

He tucked his notebook behind his dusty books, a place where John would never look. John finding his notes would certainly end in disaster. Sherlock jumped up from the chair and made his way to the kitchen, his bathrobe strings wagging behind him. He yawned as he put together a cup of coffee, then, after moving the jar of toes he had been looking for, he sat in his armchair. And now, he will wait.

After Sherlock's third cup of coffee, John had still not emerged from his room. There was no hurry, as Sherlock had been spending his time planning how to win over John and act like a human. Not surprisingly, this process is not a brief one.

The past night had been miserable, what with John vomiting uncontrollably and such. Sherlock was heavily considering the possibility that alcohol was not the only thing that accounted for John's condition, but he did not dwell on this. Why wasn't an important question while he was fearing for his friend's life. Sherlock sighed as he vividly remembered carrying John through the Baker Street door, the only signs of his consciousness being occasional groans and gagging. It was a dreadful experience for Sherlock, one that had haunted his night sleep away.

He grimaced as he continued to recall the night, him carrying John to his former bedroom, and sitting next to him on the bedside, until his sleep resembled being peaceful. After a while, John's breathing became normal and he slipped into sleep. Sherlock took John's ice cold hand in his own, and gently placed it on his own cheek, keeping it there motionlessly for a few seconds.

That was simply to assure that he had a pulse, Sherlock thought defensively. I can't let anything that resembles emotions in the way of what is important. Sherlock's eye twitched slightly, deeply uncomfortable with that rare feeling of self doubt that dwelled in him.

Sherlock was beginning to feel the buzz of the five cups of coffee kicking in. Sleepless nights were not uncommon for him, and coffee served as a good remedy. Sherlock was beginning to grow tired of waiting, but nonetheless sat patiently on his chair, his deep thought passing the time.

Eventually, Sherlock heard a creaking noise coming from John's room. His attention shot up, and he stared intently at the door for a few seconds. After a moment, the door opened very slowly. A disheveled John Watson, whose hair was sticking up wildly and still wearing his jumper from last night, stumbled through the door, blinking from the morning light pouring into his vision. His eyes caught Sherlock's.

"What happened last night?" John muttered, clearly not fully awake. He gazed around the room, then nearly fell over. Sherlock rose from his chair and rushed over to support him. He put his hand on John's shoulder, leading him to a place to sit down. "I...I think I must have been dreaming. I feel kind of dizzy." He leaned onto Sherlock, who was beside him with his hands balancing John. "What am I doing here, Sherlock?"

"Here, come sit down," Sherlock said, guiding a dazed John to his armchair. He sat down, and seemed to get a bit of his sense back after a few seconds. Sherlock pushed a glass of water over to him, which he downed in a few large gulps. John rubbed his head for a few moments, no doubt aching in the immense pain of hangovers. Sherlock sat down on his own chair, and eye contact was established between the two men.

"So," John said, a lot more conscious than before, "What happened last night?" Sherlock let out a barely audible sigh. He had no idea how to tell John. Sherlock recalled the lessons he had taught himself on being a normal human and consulting someone in grief. So, here goes nothing.

"John…" Sherlock began, his tone grave. But it didn't sound right. "John," this time with attempted cheerfulness. That was even worse. "John...no, John. John…." he experimented with different tones of voice, as John sat before him, looking beyond perplexed.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Right. John," he said for the last time, then leaned forward toward John. "So what do you remember?"

"Hell, I don't know. It was all a bit of a daze, really, I'm not sure what was real or not. I remember someone coming into my house. Wait, maybe that was you. No I remember now. There were CIA agents, they made us leave. But why…?" John had no idea. Sherlock flinched ever-so-slightly, having difficulty getting himself to bring his next words.

"They brought news about Mary." With this, John's eyes widened and I look of deep distress spread across his face.. Sherlock could almost see his memories flooding back.

John's gaze became distant, toward the window but staring at nothing in particular, and said in a faint, tortured whisper, "Mary.. Sherlock, is it true? Is it really, really true?" The words hung thickly in the air.

"I'm very sorry John." John leaned over, his hands on either sides of his head so that Sherlock could not see his face. It was very barely noticeable, but Sherlock could see an unsteadiness as he looked past John's body. He was trembling. Sherlock couldn't tell if it was from anger or crying or something else.

Sherlock had spent a lot of energy to plan for a moment of grieving such as this, his plan laid out in a step by step strategy. But seeing John breaking down before him, his muscles unbelievably tense and still and his face not showing anything but really showing everything, all the files organized in his mind palace neatly labeled For Grief were shuffling away in the wind, leaving him a dull feeling of emotion that he could not understand, and even more unbelievable, he had absolutely nothing to say.

There was a very long silence. The two men sat across from each other. John was breathing deeply but not making any sort of eye contact, with his face still in the shadow of his shaking hands. Sherlock knew he had to say something.

"I know that you are probably quite sick of grieving, after all this. Sorry about that again," Sherlock said, leaning forward and putting his hand on John's knee. John looked up at him, and their eyes locked. His eyes had dashes of red in them, but there were no sign of actual tears. "I will support you how I can. You can stay here as long as you want to. I would like to help you however I can."

John looked surprised. "Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"What are you talking about? You're the not okay one here."

"You are showing concern… almost compassion. That's not like the Sherlock I have gotten used to. I mean, you're almost acting like a human." John's onslaught of grief had been partially replaced by utter confusion.

"Well I suppose tragedy brings out new things in all of us," Sherlock said with a brief half smile. "Now, how do you want to get better? Mrs. Hudson could make tea, I could play something for you on the violin, or perhaps we could to the see Gabe and see if there are any interesting cases we could start. What do you think?"

John cracked a small smile and relaxed his muscles a bit, leaning back a bit and releasing Sherlock's grip on his knee. "First of all," he began. "Calm yourself. I still feel like shit after last night, my head is throbbing. And seriously, who is Gabe?"

"Gabe Lestrade? The incompetent D.I.?"

"I should have known. And you can go out if you want, but I just to stay here and think." I didn't know he did that too, Sherlock thought, then corrected himself. "Right now all I really want is for life to make sense, and some Tylenol." Sherlock picked up the pain medicine beside him he had readied the night before, and tossed it over the John.

"Thanks," he said, swallowing three. "Now how about things making sense? Do you have that on your table too?" Sherlock chuckled, and John couldn't help but to laugh a bit. They laughed together, in a pained and forced way, but laughing nonetheless.

After the laughter died out, Sherlock said, "I will tell you what you want to know, if you think any information will comfort you. Other than that, I will help you however I can." Sherlock leaned forward and put his hand on John's. Sherlock's hand wrapped slightly around John's, and they rested together on the arm of the chair. He felt somewhat awkward about it, but John didn't seem to mind, he was still very confused. Their eyes met once again, their heads closer than they had been before. "I want you to be happy John. That means more to me than you can imagine."

For Sherlock, the strangest part was that he meant every single one of his words, far more than he had ever intended to.

Author's Note:

Holy buckets I'm sorry it took so long! School has had me losing my mind with stress. I will update as often as I can but with everything that is going on don't expect a whole lot.

But on a better note, I hope you enjoyed, please review, because reviews are my favorites things ever. And yeah, have a lovely day ^^