Sherlock told his story in an even voice, concealing the excitement he felt about finally getting to tell it. John, on the other hand, did not even attempt to restrain himself, as exclamations of amazement and appreciation continuously toppled out of his mouth. As he talked, for the first time in months Sherlock felt a familiar warmth spread through his body, all the way to the tips of his ears and down to his toes. It seemed to radiate directly from John's eyes into his very soul.

Mary listened as well, with rapt attention and a faint smile adorning her lips. She was quite beautiful, and Sherlock naturally noticed the brief glances she stole at John, reveling in his happiness. Try as he might, Sherlock could not find a reason to dislike her. And why was he even trying? John wasn't his. Had never been his. He had never even referred to him as a friend before. His lip curled in a small smile as he remembered John's earlier shouts. "Best friend," he had said.

Sherlock talked for over an hour, making brief pauses at the most suspenseful moments to casually take a sip of his tea. After conveying his impressive plan and its execution in as disdainful a way as possible, he stood up to leave.

"You must come visit us again." Mary insisted. She was positively beaming at him. As he left, Sherlock couldn't help hating her a little.


They were a mess of tangled limbs in the darkness. Sweat dripping off their hot bodies as John buried his hands in Sherlock's hair, pushing him downwards, pleading "Sherlock. Sherlock, please."

"John," Mary's voice cut through the darkness. John sat up in his bed, uncomfortably aware of his erection. "You were having another nightmare." Mary whispered gently, her eyes still closed, and guilt dropped like rocks down John's stomach.

"Yes," he mumbled hoarsely, turning his back to her. "Sorry to wake you."

She curled up around him from behind and gave him a soft kiss on the shoulder.