Sherlock recalled perfectly what he had promised to John. 'I won't click the link, I won't go on hotpages'. He honestly couldn't say if he had left himself a loophole by conscious decision or otherwise, but it was only now he had begun to seriously consider the matter that he realised that there was, very definitely, a loophole in the promise.

Sophia had put the video on several sites by now, so going on hotpages wasn't necessary. And he never really needed links.

He selected Search-Wise from his bookmarks and typed in 'Doctor Watson's Night of Fun'.

Ah. Unexpectedly, no luck. Dead links all round. John had been quite thorough in the first wave of his campaign to have the video taken down.

Sophia must have reposted it under a different name. He tried a few variations – 'Dr Watson's Night of Fun', 'John Watson's Fun Night', and so on and so forth, but the few links they did come up with led only to the accounts that John had managed to have closed or deleted. Finally, he gave up and searched 'John Watson sex tape'. There was a long list of pages discussing the matter, and finally a link to a video site imaginatively titled .

Whoever had reposted the video here had done so under the title 'horny doc waston bangs gf'. In this case, at least, Sherlock could tell that Sophia hadn't been the one to repost it. She, for all her faults, could at least be relied upon to spell correctly and use proper capitalisation. No, this was indicative of a larger problem, in that Sophia had spread the video around enough that other people were copying it, spreading it further, maybe even altering it.

Poor John.

The list of comments under the video was short, but the tone was much the same in all of them; largely onomatopoeic expressions of sexual appreciation, occasionally followed by coarsely worded compliments paid to either John or Sophia on their attractiveness (mostly Sophia) or technique (mostly John). Nothing really revealing though. Sherlock moved the mouse over the play button and...

He didn't hesitate exactly, but it struck him that this was rather a...large thing to do, somehow. Not in that he was essentially going back on his word, nor in that he was effectively taking on the matter as if it were a case, but...

He wasn't certain.

He clicked play.

The little screen of the in-browser player had been frozen on a blurred image that Sherlock could only guess was somebody walking in front of the camera. When enough of the video loaded for it to start playing though, the picture became quite clear. His first observation was that the camera was obviously a good quality one, and that Sophia had done a good job of setting it up. It must have been on a stand, about six feet away from, and slightly above, the double bed that took up most of the centre of the picture. There were two lamps, one on each of the small tables on either side of the bed, lit, and also light coming in through the curtains over the window on the left of the screen. With the yellow and cream bedclothes, the pale colour on the walls, and the muted sunlight, the effect was mellow and relaxing. Completely at odds with the nervous looking, red-faced man sitting on the bed.

John kicked his jeans out of the shot, looked up beyond the camera and said...something. The sound quality was poor and his voice was garbled. He smiled briefly, tensely, and flung his shirt after the jeans, then peeled his t-shirt up and off. Sophia's equally garbled voice came from somewhere, and then Sophia herself sauntered out from behind the camera, walked across in front of it and draped herself across the bed behind John.

She was, objectively, quite beautiful, Sherlock had to admit. Her wavy blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders and swayed as she moved. She was dressed in silky pink lingerie that hugged her hourglass figure, and when she lay down, on her side with her head propped up on one hand, she arranged herself to good effect, like a model. She glanced briefly at John, who had turned to say something to her, then looked back to the camera and made bedroom eyes at it. She was obviously enjoying being filmed. Far more than John was.

It felt like something tremendously important was about to happen, but he couldn't say what or why. Sherlock was watching so intently, tense and focussed, that he didn't even notice that John had come back into the house until the living room door opened. He looked up from the screen, heart giving a sudden jump in his chest, and John opened his mouth to speak when a warped giggle erupted from the laptop speakers.

John was across the room in an instant.

Sherlock tried to slam the laptop shut, no idea why because it wouldn't achieve anything, but it seemed important in the moment. John was on him before he could though, jerking the computer out of his hands and turning it to look. He only glanced at the screen before wincing. The laptop slid out of his hands and bounced onto the sofa cushions.

"Sherlock-"

"John, I think you should know, I-"

"God fucking damn it, Sherlock! You know I didn't want you watching it!"

Sherlock winced. John's face was red and his jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it could break. "I-"

"You told me you wouldn't, you as good as swore it! You know why!"

"I do, but-"

"But nothing. Nothing! I have no fucking privacy, Sherlock, none. Outside of this flat I am not John Watson, I am that guy in that video, and I fucking hate it. So I want to come home, here, to my flat, and not be that video guy. Do you get it?"

"...Yes."

A flash of relief crossed John's face, and he turned away.

"Everybody else has either seen it or at least knows all about it, and everybody is different towards me now. Maybe it'll go back to normal some time, maybe not. But I hate it, Sherlock."

"I know."

John slumped onto the sofa next to Sherlock, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. "Why were you doing it?" he asked wearily.

"I...I thought I could find some way to...get at her. Make her take it down."

"Wouldn't work," John said. Sherlock wasn't so sure, but he didn't say anything.

"I just...you can't watch it again, Sherlock."

"I won't watch it again, John."

John stared searchingly at him, and Sherlock felt a pang of guilt, but managed not to show it. John sighed deeply.

"Out of everybody, it'd be the worst if you saw it."

"Why?"

John grimaced. "Because...it's you, okay? I don't want you to see me like that. I'll deal with it myself. I'll work something out."

With that, John rose to his feet and headed for the door, slowly and tiredly.

A creeping feeling swept over Sherlock, and in an instant panic started to rise up in him. It felt like something awful was about to be put in motion, but he had no idea what. Jumping out of his chair, he called John's name, unnecessarily loudly, and John stopped in the doorway and turned.

"Will...will you stay?" Sherlock asked haltingly.

"Stay...what do you mean? Do you mean stay up with you? I need to sleep, Sherlock."

"No. No, I meant stay here."

"In the flat?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Of course I'm going to stay." John sounded confused, and he rubbed his hand over his face. "Sherlock, I...you...look, I'm not going to leave my home because of something like this. Don't start thinking like that, okay?"

"Yes. All right. Goodnight John."

"G'night."

And John left the room. Sherlock heard him creak around in his room, then his usual going to bed sounds. He was still standing in the middle of the living room floor, stock still, right where his feet had landed him when he'd jumped out of his chair, when the shadow in the hall beyond the living room door changed in such a way as to indicate that John had switched off his bedroom light.

He remained rooted there, deep in thought, until long after John had gone to sleep. Because Sherlock was sure of one thing in this case, only one important factor that could break it open; John was keeping something from him.

::

The next morning, John made Sherlock a boiled egg for breakfast, and a piece of toast, and failed to say anything at all when Sherlock quietly ate both. His face was pale and drawn, his movements sluggish, and if Sherlock hadn't know that John had spent his full eight hours in bed with the lights off, he would have suspected him of having spent the night out on a bender.

"Do you have some work today?" Sherlock asked into the ringing silence of the flat, and John nodded. He didn't say anything.

"All day?" Sherlock asked.

"Ten 'til four," John replied, flat and quiet.

It was rather upsetting to see John like this, weary and drained. He looked like a different man, sounded different even, to the vital, willful man who Sherlock shared his home with. It wasn't just tiredness, Sherlock suspected, but emotional drain as well. John had spent so much of the last week and a half being angry and betrayed and embarrassed (and heaven alone knew what else) that he had worn himself down. Sherlock knew full well that he couldn't really do anything for emotional injuries. It was John that could be relied upon to work out things like that, but he couldn't very well deal with it himself in this case.

"What are you going to do today?" John asked disinterestedly.

"I think I'll write up the drug mule case. They want me to appear in court so everything will have to be set out on paper."

"Hm," John grunted in response.

"Tedious," Sherlock said.

John left the house at half past nine, coat collar pulled up against the chilly wind as he walked down Baker Street to the tube station.

And Sherlock, to his own surprise, sat at the table with his laptop and worked on dumbing down his case notes for the court hearing for hours. He was like a man possessed. Lestrade would be delighted with him. The prosecution would be over the moon. The criminal wouldn't stand a chance, but even they might be impressed.

It was sickening.

It was only as he was reading through the data at around three that afternoon, everything spelled out nice and simply for the goldfish, that he realised the reason for his unusual focus in such a mundane matter.

He was trying to distract himself.

He had managed to avoid dwelling on John's conundrum last night, but the confusion over it had been like a spectre at his back all day, nipping into his thoughts whenever he let his mind relax. And now...now he was going to have to consider the matter seriously.

What could John be keeping from him?

Was it something to do with the video directly? Or something related to it? Sophia? John's behaviour?

Did John enjoy some sort of bizarre sexual practice? Something distasteful?

No, that couldn't be it. If that were the case, at least one of the many people who spoke to or jeered at John about the video would have referenced it.

In that case, could it be something to do with John's relationship with Sophia that only Sherlock would be able to correctly contextualise?

No, because between the comments Sophia left on the videos and on John's blog, and the fact that she had posted the video in the first place, it was fairly obvious what the state of their relationship was. And even had there been some big clue to an imminent break up or similar, again, somebody would have said something.

People were nosy creatures, and liked to have knowledge over others. Sherlock was quite sure that that was why so many people protested over his deductions. It was envy that they hadn't known as much about one another as he did. It seemed natural, to most, to taunt other people with information held over them, even between friends and lovers, even...

Wait.

Wait just one moment.

Sherlock cast his mind back to various encounters over the last week, searching for a clue.

The majority of reactions from people who had seen the video, at least the ones that Sherlock had witnessed, had been from strangers or distant acquaintances, who had merely made some impolite comment towards John and then wandered off, pleased with their own daring wit.

In a few cases though, Sherlock had been able to see the reactions of friends, and John's responses in turn. Mike, Lestrade, Molly, even Mrs Hudson; all of them had watched the video, in whole or in part, and had spoken, however briefly, to John about it. And unlike other people's comments, John had listened to them, and had spoken to them. What had he said? What had he done? What had he felt?

Anger and betrayal and embarrassment, yes, but also...after that initial flurry of emotion had passed there had been some sort of questioning. What had John asked them?

Mike had been asked if he had watched the whole thing, and had confirmed that he had only seen the beginning.

What had he said to Molly? 'Anything you want to say to me?' And she had apologised. Perhaps that was what John expected, but perhaps not. He remembered the doubtful look that John had given her while she was explaining that she had thought the video was a joke. Had he expected something else from her?

He'd told Lestrade off, there were no two ways about it. He'd been more overtly angry with him than with the others, but that was possibly because Lestrade was in a greater position of trust, both as a police officer and a closer friend. Sherlock remembered the long, thoughtful stare John had given him after the initial snapping and snarling was over with, the uncomfortable glance he had sent Sherlock's way. It had been like he was waiting for Lestrade to say something else...but Lestrade had already admitted his mistake and apologised, and John wasn't the sort to demand grovelling, drawn out apologies. So what had he been waiting for?

Sally's comments had been met with appropriate dismissive scorn, but she again had received that waiting quiet, the stare that challenged her to add...what?

And Mrs Hudson, the way he'd let her rattle on, making excuses, as if he wanted to hear what she said even though it was so easy to get her to shut up or chase her away.

In every instance, John had been waiting for something from the people who watched the video, something they hadn't said, something he knew was in there but nobody had noticed. Sherlock could see it clearly now, the patterns of tension and near-relief when he had been having these conversations; John had been waiting to see if they had registered the...whatever it was, and had calmed when he realised that they hadn't.

And in every case he had either checked to see that Sherlock's attention was on something else, or had looked at him to make sure he wasn't reacting to the conversation in any unexpected way.

Because John knew that if Sherlock saw the video, or if he was even given a hint by somebody who had, he would see this whatever in it and he would...

He would what? What could be in this video, this intimate, unstaged scene between two lovers, that was so subtle and yet so important that John would fear it being noticed? Was it something about John himself, or Sophia, or his sexual desires or his health, or, or...Sherlock couldn't even guess. The potential was tremendous and almost frightening. Not just that John was so very worried about something, but that he was trying to hide that something from Sherlock.

John tried to hide many things from Sherlock, but he rarely succeeded and, beyond a moment of annoyance that by now seemed largely a matter of form, never really got upset when Sherlock found things out.

So what could this be? What was more stressful than having a video of oneself having sex with an ex posted online as an act of revenge?

Was John in danger?

Of course he wasn't. If he was he would have dealt with it or asked for help, he wasn't stupid.

Was there something wrong with his health?

John was derisive of people who put off dealing with health problems out of fear that they might be diagnosed with something serious. There was no way he would hide anything important in that field.

Was it somehow something about Sherlock?

Now there was a line of reasoning with some potential. John was ridiculously protective of Sherlock. If Sophia had made some comment about him, some nasty little word in John's ear, anybody else watching the video would see it as a normal event in the scheme of things. But John would want to protect Sherlock, to prevent anyone else from passing the comment on to him, to prevent Sherlock from seeing it first hand. John knew better than anyone else, better even than Mycroft and Irene and Mummy, that Sherlock could be hurt and hurt deeply. John would put himself in the line of fire to keep Sherlock from being hurt.

Could that be what this was about?

It made rather a lot of sense, but what could Sophia possibly have said or done?

And what if it wasn't the only possibility? What if there was yet still something Sherlock was missing?

Sherlock hated missing things.

There was nothing for it; no matter John's good, solid reasons for wanting him not to, he was going to have to watch the video.

::

We're finally getting there! I know a lot of you saw this coming, but I do like a build up, as those of you who read my previous stories know.

I hope you're all enjoying this, it's quite a tricky one to write but I want to get the pacing just right for what I have planned.

On another matter, do any of you out there reading my stuff play Team Fortress 2? It's a really fun video game, fighty yes, but also with lots of humour and clever characterisation, and a greats series of comics and animated shorts to go with it (and, of course, a large slashy fiction and fan art following). I ask because I got into it a few months ago and, when this story is finished and I've done a bit more of The Blue Prince, I'm going to have a crack at writing some TF2 fan fiction. I'd love it if some of the readers who like my stuff would take a chance and join me as I jump the fandom chasm (though naturally I'll hop back over to the Sherlock side fairly regularly).

Anyway, take care and see you next week :)