TWO

Ding!

John and Sherlock walked into Speedy's, jingling the bell on the door as they did so.

"One order of chips, thanks…" Sherlock called over to the familiar man behind the counter. "Drink?" He turned to John.

"Nah."

Sherlock tilted his head and grunted disapprovingly before asking for two waters.

John rolled his eyes as they took their seats at the table in the back. "Thanks."

Sherlock glanced up at John but looked back down at the table quickly. "So, you must be curious."

"Yeah. Explain."

"Well I wasn't completely lying before about having a case. It just so happens that I had just solved it and arrived back at the flat when I texted you."

He paused. John glanced to the side and back at Sherlock.

"And?"

Deep breath.

"And… this case involved a bit more hands-on involvement."

"MMPPHHHH." John snorted loudly with his hand over his mouth.

"Shut up."

"Hands-on?" John laughed. The chips arrived.

"SHUT UP. I was undercover."

"Yeah, but under whose?"

"Whose what- oh, grow the fuck up." Sherlock frowned and crossed his arms, tapping his foot wildly under the table.

John snickered. "Was she a pretty lady?"

Sherlock broke his composure for a moment, slightly remembering the last time John had asked that—"Yeah, but am I a pretty lady?"—and grinned. The smile faded fast though, and he averted his eyes to the ceiling in a failed attempt to seem nonchalant while he uttered his next words. "It was… a he."

John's eyebrow twitched.

"A he?"

"A man, yes."

A moment of silence went by.

"You know it's fine."

"Of course I know."

"Good, because I already told you it was fine five years ago."

"I know." Sherlock locked eyes with John and squinted.

They stared at each other for a moment.

"Anyway," Sherlock started but said nothing else.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

Sherlock had been fiddling with his napkin for the better part of five minutes. It had taken the shape of the Sydney Opera House napkins from John and Mary's wedding.

John opened his mouth, but no words came out. His slightly open jaw just hung there while he thought back to when they had planned the most important day of his life.

Sherlock had pulled out different options of folded napkins for the dinner, and Mary quickly persuaded him to confess to his viewing of instructional YouTube videos.

John stared blankly into space as he recalled the events that followed.

Mary had insisted he get Sherlock out of the flat on a case. Apparently Sherlock had received the same command. She had been so concerned that she would prove Sherlock right and come between their friendship that she took it upon herself to ensure that that absolutely would not happen.

John's eyes began to water and his lip trembled.

Sherlock reached out and put his hand over John's. John's brow furrowed and his tears disappeared.

"What are you doing?"

John must have looked alarmed because Sherlock snapped his hand back instantly. "Nothing. Trying to be a better friend. I don't know. Am I doing it wrong?"

John's face fell. "Of course not, Sherlock. But you can't get better."

Sherlock frowned slightly. "What?"

"Well, you're already the best, remember?" He grinned and leaned across the table to pull Sherlock into a quick hug, patting his friend on the back reassuringly. "Thank you."

Sherlock sighed in relief and hugged his friend back.

Sherlock and John spent the rest of the day playing games in the flat. They left sometime during the evening when John wanted to go to the pub.

Enough pints later to get John completely trashed—but not before insisting that Sherlock have a few drinks with him—they made their way back to Baker Street.

John clapped his hand on Sherlock's back a couple times and said loudly, "Yer alright, mate…"

"Yeah, John. You too."

"No, nooooo… Like alright..."

"You're immensely intoxicated right now, John. What are you talking about?"

"You're jussss… great… You right… all of youuu… all o you is right. Alright." He grabbed Sherlock's hand and started swinging it back and forth in rhythm with their steps.

"Okay, John, we need to get you home."

"Noooooooooooooooo…" John whined, tugging on Sherlocks coat sleeve and coming to a stop. "I don't want tooooooo... I don't wan go back there, Sherlock… can't…"

Sherlock sighed and looked at his friend. "What do you want to do?"

"Can't I jus… stay with you tonight…?"

"Oh. Er." Sherlock paused to think.

"Please?"

Sherlock met John's eyes with concern. "Of course."

They made it back to 221B around two in the morning, John feeling sleepier with every step.

As they walked through the door, Sherlock remembered there was only one bed now that he was living alone. "Uh, you take the bedroom, I'll sleep on the couch."

"Awwww, mate… so sweet…" John looked touched through his drunken state. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock sighed and turned around. "Yeah, I'm fine. Hardly ever sleep in the bed anyway."

"Aw, shucks… well heyyy Sherly, if you wanna you could jussss…" THUMP.

John tripped and fell over. Sherlock whipped his head around at the noise. "Christ. Come on. Let's get you to bed." He walked over and looped his arm around John's middle to help him up and into the bedroom.

Sherlock plopped him down onto the bed. John swayed back and forth while Sherlock picked various things up off the floor so John wouldn't trip over anything again.

"Shurrrrlock…"

Still tidying up.

"Shuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrlock."

"Yes, John, what is it?" Sherlock strode over and stood in front of John. "What?"

John stood up quickly but lost his balance, stumbling into Sherlock. Sherlock grasped John's forearms near the elbows to help steady him.

John looked up at Sherlock for a moment and then thrust his face forward. Their lips crashed together.

Sherlock struggled for a moment before finally deciding to break away. "John!"

John's lip quivered and tears appeared in his eyes. He closed them as he swung his head around, muttering apologies to his friend.

"John. John, it's okay," Sherlock said. His friend looked at him and stared into his eyes. He reiterated. "It's okay."

"It's okay," John repeated. He squinted in thought for a moment before crawling under the covers. "Can yeh turn the lightsoff on yer way out…" His words faded into snores.

"Of course, John." Sherlock flipped off the light switch and closed the door.