A/N: Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews! I'm glad you are enjoying it! It's been really fun to write. One more chapter to go after this. Well, maybe two. Haven't decided yet, heh.

There will be more smut in the next chapter, I promise ;-)

There was also the matter of Scotland Yard. John was keen to keep news of his and Sherlock's more, um, complicated entanglement away from their colleagues.

Sherlock, as usual, was oblivious to John's concerns. It didn't occur to him to be, since he'd never been involved with anyone before. "Why would they be interested in what we do in the bedroom, anyway, John? It has nothing to do with the Work." He paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard in the middle of a blog post. "Well, I suppose the Work was the tipping point for this, but you know what I mean."

John made a hmmm noise and exhaled through his nose. "Right. Okay, um, Sherlock do you remember my blog entry for A Study in Pink? Where I said you were ignorant about some things?"

"Spectacularly ignorant was the specific wording, if I recall," Sherlock groused, tapping a bit harder at his keyboard.

"Well, you're doing it again."

"I beg your pardon?" Sherlock stiffened and stared daggers at John.

John sighed. "What I mean is, just because it's no one's business, doesn't mean they won't make it their business. They're all so gossipy — for some reason I thought maybe they'd be the exception to every other workplace in the world, but apparently I was wrong. We're already under scrutiny every time we go to a crime scene — let's not add fuel to the fire, yeah? Just keep a low profile and let them keep murmuring about Lestrade's cheating wife and Sally and Anderson's fling, or whatever it is they're doing."

Sherlock shuddered. "What did I say about uttering that name in this flat?"

"Sorry."

"I don't know what you think is going to happen, John. Once we have a case on our hands, my thoughts will be entirely devoted to the matter at hand."

John tapped his fingers again his knee. "Right. Well, we'll see about that, won't we?"

John supposed maybe he was still getting used to the idea of "being" with Sherlock. All he knew is that he wasn't ready for all of the "Ah, I knew it all along" and "I called it!" jokes he'd have to take. It was none of anyone's bloody business until he and Sherlock decided it should be.

Sherlock behaved as he always did when a juicy crime scene was waved under his nose — he blew out the door with John in tow, spouting potential theories as they raced there in a cab. It was all business when they alighted from the car and were let past the police tape. Lestrade strode up and began a more detailed debriefing of the scene.

This is all right, John thought. Perfectly normal. If you can call picking through a fresh crime scene normal, then yeah, this is normal. This is good.

But then they came to Sally Donovan. Smug, nasty Sally, whom John had wanted to slap more than a few times just to get her to shut her gob where Sherlock was concerned.

"Make it snappy, freak," she sniped as they approached. "Try not to step in anything, yeah?"

Normally Sherlock shrugged her comments off, or seemed to, but John had been learning that not all of it rolled easily off his friend's shoulders. Some of it sank in, forming a barrier that separated him from others. A barrier that John realized he was unconsciously trying to dismantle. To bring Sherlock a bit closer to the rest of the world.

Sometimes the sleuth came back at Sally with a witty retort. He loved having the last word and usually was able to craft the perfect tear-down to achieve that end.

But this time, it was different. And the most extraordinary thing was that he didn't say anything terribly different from what he usually said. It was the way he said it. The way he looked.

Sherlock paused and turned to devote his entire attention to Sally. John hovered off to the side and when Sherlock locked his eyes with Sally's, even John could feel it spark through his body. It was the look. An entirely new look that Sherlock had adopted. John had first seen it when one night Sherlock had passed him in the hall, and, unable to find the immediate words to tell John what he wanted, he just looked at him, his eyes sharp and intense and hungry, and John had Sherlock pinned against the wall a moment later, kissing him fiercely. It had set John on fire and soon he found himself grabbing the lapels of Sherlock's dressing gown with one hand, pulling the younger man down to his knees, his other hand fumbling open his trousers. And Sherlock had gone down so easily, so willingly. His long, strong fingers gripping John's hips and he'd opened his mouth and …

John shook his head, clearing the memory away before someone started accusing him of getting off on a crime scene. Focus, John. Sherlock, naturally, had caught it all and he turned from Sally for a fraction of a moment to meet John's eyes and his mouth quirked up ever so slightly.

Prior to all this, John had seen Sherlock turn it on. Adopt a falsely seductive persona to get information or access to something he wanted. Oblivious as he might be in some respects, he wasn't blind to the fact that he was considered a good-looking bloke and would use it to his advantage when necessary. It was effective and alluring, but not entirely authentic because Sherlock didn't have the experience to draw on in order to make it any more than a thin mask. The ruse didn't travel all the way up into his eyes. But that had all changed now. In the look, John saw every night he'd spent with his lover, the two of them exploring and working each other up into a frenzy until they collapsed with exhaustion. Basically, the man whom people had joked about being a machine had figured out how to ooze sex.

Knowledge is power, thought John, as Sherlock loomed over Sally. He's got the knowledge now and here comes the power …

Sherlock's eyes were hooded, his lip curled so slightly, and his voice dropped both in volume and timbre. He didn't touch Sally, but merely leaned in and murmured, "Oh, Sally, do try to be more creative in your taunts? We could have so much more fun if you would just make an effort." He then gave a little wink and swept off into the house in a flurry of coat and scarf.

John looked at Sally, who was blushing furiously and absolutely speechless. John could swear her breath had quickened. "Problem?" he asked mildly.

"Oh … shut up!" she finally spat out and stormed away in the opposite direction.

John caught up with Sherlock inside the house. "As if you weren't dangerous enough before," he murmured quietly to the detective. "You are positively lethal now."

Sherlock fixed John with a look that could only be described as devilish. "Problem?" he asked, adopting the same tone John had taken with Sally. He'd overheard. Of course he had.

"None whatsoever," John said, with a small, breathless laugh. He even let his hand graze gently over Sherlock's back before they turned their whole focus to the Work.