Okay... I'm listening to some rather depressingly haunting violin music (from the Red Violin infact) and it's making me a bit philosophical and sad. But I'm sure that won't affect this chapter... I don't think O.O

Anyway enjoy the latest chapter and do try to review more... the lack of reviews is saddening; but a great many thanks to anyone and everyone who has reviewed.

Kaseykc

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A Pink Apron? – Part Three

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(Narration)

It had been more than a week and a half since that day when John had returned to 221b Baker Street to find a pink apron-clad Sherlock declaring dinner was served. It had been more than a week and a half since John had inadvertently hurt the detective's feelings and had then been rebuffed when he'd attempted to apologise to the still sulking man. It had been four days, three hours and roughly forty-four minutes since John had had a go at Anderson who had maliciously declared that Sherlock was nothing more than a deranged sexually-inhibited psychopath; and at a crime scene no less. It had been four days, three hours and roughly forty-two, no forty-three, minutes since Sherlock had quietly informed John to simply ignore the blathering fool since it was obvious that Anderson had been struck by a common, and most probably contagious, case of stupidity, and Sherlock hadn't wanted John to be infected with such apparent ignorance and ineptness.

Neither of them had dared to mention what had happened on the day that John had thus come to refer to as being the 'Great Pink Apron Catastrophe' and whenever they were standing next to each other there was always a healthy distance between them; a distance that hadn't been there before and John wasn't there now. But as much as John wished for it to suddenly disappear he daren't have a hand in removing it for fear of Sherlock's response; he'd hurt the man already and he didn't want to do anything else to upset or back him into a corner. It would make him seem like a villain and he wasn't a villain; no John was a good soldier, a good soldier who'd taken a bullet for a person who had already been dying when they'd been attacked by insurgents. John wasn't a bad person. He was just stupid. That wasn't his fault. Most people were stupid afterall.

So it came as a great surprise to the pair of them when they'd had to run from the small confines of the underground tunnels of London city; which they shouldn't have actually been inside in the first place but that's semantics, after the killer they'd been chasing decided to play a game of shooting, with real bullets. It was with the upmost urgency then that the duo ran as though their lives depended on it, and John was relatively certain that their lives did depend on their ability to run like an athlete; and zigzagging across the width of the tunnel was quite efficient when trying to avoid being shot. Sure it tired you out because you were basically doing three-point turns on a slippery surface whilst a madman was blindly shooting at you; but John knew from experience that it was ever so hard to shoot a moving target in the day, but in a barely lit tunnel it was damn-near impossible.

There was another, smaller tunnel that branched off from the one they were currently zigzagging about in and Sherlock didn't hesitate in running directly for it, with John following closely behind; it seemed that in such poor lighting their pursuer couldn't see where they were properly. Sherlock dived through the relatively small entrance, it seemed that these side-tunnels had your standard door-size entrances which made it both harder for the shooter to hit them and for them to get through the door without really slowing down, and turned around just as John came hurtling through it. And collided with him.

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(John's POV)

We're running, and I do mean running people, Sherlock's doing this weird zigzagging motion as he runs along this stupid bloody tunnel; he looks a bit like one of those fly's that buzz around but they fly in a weird zigzag motion. I don't particularly think my brain's in that good a mood if it's comparing Sherlock to a bug. Anyway, we're running and running and oh yeah, still running, with the guy we were chasing now chasing us; only he's done one better, he's got a gun. A real gun, with real bullets. And I left mine at home so we can't compare; which is Sherlock's fault by the way. He was all 'we don't need a gun this time John!' and 'we're not going to get shot at! Stop being dramatic!' Dramatic? Dramatic? Well sorry for my paranoia; I'm a realist if he hadn't noticed and it's like the only logical thing to think of when you're meant to be chasing after a guy whose murdered six people before Lestrade called Sherlock. Murderer plus dark tunnels equals worried John and ecstatic Sherlock; both of whom don't have anything to defend themselves with! God there are times when I hate him you know? Like now...

I had enough of running for your life, ahem I mean making a tactical retreat, in Afghanistan; I had enough of getting shot at too in fact. But this is Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, what does he care about what I prefer? What does he care about besides the case? Why do I care about the fact that he doesn't care? I shouldn't care about whether or not he cares, but I do... why?

Where is he? He's still doing that stupid zigzagging thing; I'm not going to admit to doing it myself... well, not in public at least. I spy him out of the corner of my eye; he's making a wobbly bee-line for one of the side-tunnels with those normal-sized door-frames. Seriously, who the hell designed this place with doors like that?

I follow after him, tactfully dodging a couple of bullets aimed my way; whether they're accidental or intentional I don't know and I'm not inclined to stop and ask Mr-trigger-happy. I can just about see him diving through the door, the light in these tunnels is about as awful as their architectural design; stupid architect. The flapping of his coat just as he careens through the door is the last thing I see of him as I quickly follow, fully intending to keep running as I'd expected him to be doing, only that wasn't how it ended.

No. Instead I bolted through the door, just as a bullet hit the frame literally a second after I passed over the threshold, and ran headlong into Sherlock who was stood facing the door. I'm guessing that I was running fast enough for Sherlock to feel like he'd been tackled by a less-than polite rugby player and as we crashed to the floor, far quieter than I had thought we would have, my head hit his chest and I splayed my hands out on either side of his head in that instinctual attempt to not hit the floor face first; which wasn't really possible since I had a Sherlock-cushion.

I didn't move. I didn't dare; where was the shooter? Was he standing at the threshold between the tunnels, looking in to see if we were there? Had he moved on, thinking we were further along the tunnel? Was he gone? Why was Sherlock so comfortable?

Damnit... I'm doing it again... inappropriate John, very inappropriate... but so is lying atop your flat-mate/colleague and not wanting to move off him. So much for ignoring this feeling right...

I lift my head slowly, very slowly; I'm half-afraid of seeing Sherlock's face and half-afraid of seeing the shooter pointing the gun at us both. My eyes search the tunnel, or what I can see of it, before they finally reach Sherlock's face. Oh his face... oh...

He looks... surprised... intense... lustful... no that one can't be right... it can't... can it? He's Sherlock, he only gets that sort of look when he's got a new case or a new experiment to do; he doesn't look at me like that... or has he looked at me like that before and I've never noticed?

I can feel his hands around my waist, one of them is resting on the small of my back and the other is on my hip; it's like he's holding me to him, keeping me against him. Oh God... I want to be against him... I want- no! Stop doing that John! Bad bad!

He moves slightly underneath me, oh my God Sherlock... don't do that please... I might regret my actions later on otherwise. I can feel his own hip pressing against mine, like we're aligned; ignoring the obvious height difference people, oh God... this feels so right, and I just want to press back and make him feel what I feel, I want him to know how I feel. I want him to reciprocate. I want to kiss him, but... I shouldn't... I wouldn't... I couldn't...

But that doesn't stop Sherlock; nothing much does after all.

Oh God yes... about time...

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(Sherlock's POV)

Oh... you again... why are you even here and why do you think I'm going to waste my time explaining to you what I'm doing? Well...

We're running, me and John that is. We were following the murderer; John still thinks he's only a suspect since we have no 'evidence' but I mustn't get too annoyed with him, after all not everyone thinks on my level and though John thinks on a level higher than most it's still lower than mine; and that's not derogative at all is it?

I know John's behind me, only one or two steps since he is a fit and healthy man regardless of his leg; oh is he fit... Anyway, I know he's behind me and that he's copying my method of avoiding the precariously close bullets that are being fired in our general direction by our 'suspect'. I wonder; is this enough 'evidence' for John to believe me now?

I zigzag towards one of the small, side-tunnels that we passed on the way down here; there are quite a number of them so all I need to do is choose one that the murderer won't focus on. Not that difficult but I am running around and trying to make sure John is still running behind me without slowing down so it's a tad bit more difficult; and I'm not making excuses before you say anything!

I've found the right tunnel so I focus on the door and head straight towards it, I know John is following; there's a slight change in the sound reverberation made by his shoes on the concrete floor that indicates he's moving closer to one of the curved edges of the tunnel. I launch myself at the door with more than enough force to open it but I'm in a hurry and I'm sort of preoccupied so excessive-force is justified by extenuating circumstances.

I spin around, abruptly stopping as I fully intend to slam the door shut just after John gets through only I'm not quick enough for an army-trained soldier; and especially not one who was literally a second ahead of being shot if that newly missing chunk in the door-frame is anything to go by.

John comes flying into the tunnel, into me, and I can't help but be overwhelmed by the sheer momentum; I feel as though I've had a run-in with an entire rugby team nevermind a single player. I don't know if John realises this but he's a lot stronger than he looks. It's almost arousing actually... alright, thinking such a thing when he's sprawled out on top of you is a less-than wise thing to do Sherlock. Do have some sense.

Oh! But sense is overrated and I've been having some sense for the last month or so and it's caused nothing but bother for me! I want John! I don't want to be sensible anymore! Sensible is for Mycroft, that's why he was the golden boy and I was the misfit! And I happen to like being the misfit! Stop seeing sense Damnit!

I've only just realised something; when we landed on the floor after our collision my hands have automatically found the most comfortable of spots on his body, almost as though they've slotted into place and am I poet or something because I'm not normally so... flowery and such with words... 'slotted into place...' please, it sounds much like what a teenage girl would write in her diary about her crush... but it fits in this matter so I might as well stick with it; afterall I do feel like a teenager when it comes to John. No-one else has the same capacity to elicit such hormonal and uncontrollable responses from me; no-one.

He's looking at me with a partially confused expression on his face; but there's something else in it something primal I think. Something that looks akin to the look I see in the mirror when I think of John in the mornings... lust... I thought he wasn't interested in me? But then... why the lust?

There's a stone in my back; it's a viable excuse for what I'm about to do so hush, and I shift my body slightly. I'm still watching his face and he's still staring at mine; I can see that I've got a response from him and it's one that seems to be in my favour. He's responded positively; well, if that slight shake that ran throughout his body and the dilation of his pupils are anything to go by. What should I do?

He looks like he's fighting with himself, classic pro-and-con internal-conversation; I've had them many times whenever Mrs Hudson made off with the skull... blasted woman I do wish she'd leave him alone. It seems I've got to take the initiative here and- wait, isn't there a murderer somewhere around here? Oh yeah there is... but I can't hear him anymore and the door's swung over and is essentially closed now so I think the danger's passed.

But this opportune moment hasn't and I'm not going to let it pass too; not yet, not without a fight.

I shift again, this time more purposefully and I feel his entire body shake and he moves too; now I can feel him, all of him, against me and I want to grab his head and kiss him and bite him and do so many things to make him mine but my hands are sort of busy around his waist and I don't think they're all that inclined to move from such a lovely position.

He groans and I smile at him, a smile that finally shows what I'm feeling; everything, the lust, the want, the need, the love, the pure sexual-drive. All of it. And I know he can see it because it's returned I consciously drag one of my hands from around his waist up and grab the back of his head. I pull down and his head comes willingly closer to mine and I know I'm smiling so widely that I feel like my face is about to split in two but I really... really don't care about anything other than John and his lips that I can just about touch with my own.

Oh God... I've waited so long for this...

...So long...

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TBC...

Alright; quite the cliffie I must admit but you've got to agree when I say... WOW... I mean WOW! O.O

Please review and tell me what you think ASAP (I want reviews! NOW!)

Kaseykc