First of all, I have a massive apology to make. I've apologised before but this one is a biggun. However, I have a valid excuse. My laptop completely died about two weeks ago. So I lost everything I had already written for this chapter and I had to wait for a new laptop to get here so I could start re-writting. I'm so very sorry and I will be more punctual in the future :)

When Sherlock woke up, he found his arm wrapped tightly around his flatmate's waist and their bodies against each other. John started to stir and Sherlock remained frozen where he was. He couldn't imagine John would be too happy if he woke up in their current position. However, he didn't move.

Sherlock observed the sleeping doctor and couldn't help but smile. John's hair was messy with sleep and his face was peaceful. His t-shirt had ridden up slightly so a little bit of flesh was on display and he had obviously kicked the duvet about in his sleep because it was hardly covering him meaning his thighs were exposed.

Sherlock felt himself get hot and he felt a weight in his stomach. He had to swiftly move away from John without waking him and out of bed when he realised he was getting aroused. He moved all too quickly and became dizzy. The fact that he had drunk nearly two bottles of wine the night before didn't help. His head felt like someone had filled it with concrete then used a hammer to smash it. His movement shocked his body and he fell to the floor with a crash, making his head feel a hundred times worse.

"John?" He curled up in a ball on the floor after realising that standing took too much effort. "John!"

The other man groaned and shuffled about so he could see Sherlock. "What are you doing?" he said sleepily. He closed his eyes with exhaustion.

"John, I'm dying." Sherlock ran his hands through his curls and clutched his head. He very rarely got ill despite his habit of hardly sleeping and his poor diet. He very rarely got aroused as well so today was proving to be one a little less normal to what the man knew.

"Oh for God's sake, Sherlock. You're not dying you're just hungover. And I'm not bloody surprised." It took John every effort to swing his legs off the edge of the bed and compose himself enough to stand up. He yawned and ruffled his hair with his hand before trundling out the room.

When he returned five minutes later Sherlock had pulled the covers off the bed and wrapped himself in them, still lying on the floor. John handed him a glass of fizzy water and two tablets of paracetamol. "Here, take this"

Sherlock eyed it suspiciously. "It's fizzy" he stated.

"That's because I put something in it to settle your stomach. Drink it. Doctor's orders." Sherlock took a swig before pulling a disgusted face and swallowing the tablets. "Now get out of my room. I have to get ready for work."

Sherlock moaned and clambered to his feet, using the edge of the bed to sturdy himself. He shuffled his way out of the room and closed the door and as he did, he turned back to John who hadn't waited until Sherlock was fully out of the room to start removing his clothing.

Once Sherlock was downstairs, he collapsed face-first onto the sofa, still with John's blanket around himself. He shut his eyes and evaluated the morning.

He had quite obviously started to become aroused when he was pressed up against John in bed. That hardly ever happened. It wasn't that he found sex repulsive or anything, he just never desired it. His brother used to tease about Sherlock being a virgin which was far from the truth. Sherlock had indeed had sex, with both men and woman whilst he was at university but it was purely for the experience, he had to gather data in order to be able to understand other people's motives. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy it because at the time his body had taken his mind and his pleasure sensors were too strong to not feel its benefit but he never seeked it out recreationally.

He had never even felt much attraction to other people. He understood how they could be seen as typically beautiful but he never found himself lusting after them. That was until now. Sherlock had always been aware that John was different to other people. He was perhaps the only person he truly cared about and he felt empty without him for three years. He had always had a desire to be near the doctor and was the one person he let invade his personal space without being invited. But it was only now that Sherlock had become physically aroused in his company. Perhaps it was due to the moment Sherlock swore to himself he would separate John and Mary, it wasn't because Sherlock was afraid of losing his friendship, it was because he wanted John for himself. He wanted to replace Mary in every sense of the word. He wanted to be the one to share a bed, to be intimate.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted when John came downstairs and made his way to the kitchen. "Tea?" he shouted from the other room.

"Mmmm" Sherlock made an inaudible mumble, knowing that John will fill the kettle enough for two anyway.

A few minutes later John placed a mug on the coffee table next to the sofa that Sherlock was sprawled out upon. John took his seat in the armchair across from the sofa.

Sherlock opened his eyes to observe John who was contently sipping his tea. The man was wearing a white shirt with a tie which hung untied around his neck so he was ready for work. Sherlock couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to wrap the shorter man's tie around the palm of his hands and pull him closer to his body. He weighed up the pros and cons if he were to do just that. Obviously, at this stage, the cons outweighed the pros. John probably wouldn't take to his flatmate blatantly coming on to him.

Sherlock smiled as he decided that over the next few days, he would plant the seed of doubt in John's head and hopefully have him feel the same way Sherlock feels for him, killing two birds with one stone, Mary would be out of the picture and Sherlock would have John in the way he wanted.

Sherlock had obviously been staring at John for a little too long because the other man was looking at the detective, his eyebrows furrowed. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

The detective nodded and stood up. He made his way over to his flatmate and reached out for his tie. He smiled sweetly as he tied it for his friend then ran his fingers on the inside of his collar, folding it down over the now tied tie. He looked into John's bewildered eyes before standing up, straightening himself out, and making his way to his bedroom leaving John a little shocked.

Over the next few days, Sherlock's behaviour became increasingly weird. He seemed to invade John's personal space more often and hover there for longer. When taking a cup of tea from him, Sherlock's hand would brush over John's a little more than it should and John would constantly be catching Sherlock staring intently at him. And weirdly enough, this didn't make John feel uncomfortable.

Originally he put Sherlock's behaviour down to not being able to leave the flat and doing what he loves but now he's linking it with Sherlock's drunken ramblings a few nights beforehand.

John was stood at the kitchen counter making a slice of toast when Sherlock came up behind him a bit too closely and reached up into the cupboard above their heads, stretching out his body against John's back. Once he found what he was after, Sherlock placed his chin on John's shoulder and reached round in front of him to seize the piece of toast John had just prepared then placed it in his mouth before walking off.

John sighed and placed another piece of bread in the toaster to replace to one Sherlock claimed as he turned around to confront his flatmate.

"What the hell is going on?" He leaned against the counter, a little flushed from Sherlock's display.

"I don't know what you mean" Sherlock said as his tongue flicked out to lick a drop of jam on his upper lip.

John had to turn his gaze towards the floor as he felt himself become a little hot under the collar. What the hell is happening to me? He thought. "Yes you do. You've been acting weird for a while now."

"In what way?" He innocently took another bite out of the toast.

"Personal space invasion, the staring, and how about just coming and going into the bathroom while I'm in the shower? It's a bit weird."

"It's not my fault you don't lock the bathroom door."

"I shouldn't have to worry about my bloody flatmate bursting in there while I am."

"Why do you care if I'm acting 'weird'? Why don't you just ignore it?" Sherlock took a step closer to John.

"It's pretty damn hard to ignore" he shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

"Why?" Sherlock continued to move closer to John who became unable to string together a sentence once Sherlock had his chest practically pressed up against his. "Do I make you nervous, John?"

Yes. "No".

"Are you sure?"

No. "Yes"

"Really? Because your heartbeat just increased tenfold. I wont even mention your pupils." Sherlock had his hands either side of John on the countertop.

"Sherlock, please move away." Come closer.

Sherlock was now a few millimetres away from John's lips. In one swift movement, he could steal a kiss from the other man but a vibration against his thigh made him pause. It was John's phone which was in his pocket and pressed up against Sherlock's leg. The shorter man tried to wiggle out of their position to get to it but Sherlock didn't move making John's mission a lot harder. When he eventually got to his phone, he answered it and brought it up to his ear.

"H-Hello?" He stuttered. Sherlock hadn't moved away meaning that with every movement of John's lips the probability of them brushing against Sherlock's ever so lightly was increasing.

Sherlock could hear that the voice on the other side of the phone belonged to Mary. The corner of his lips curled wickedly before he closed his eyes and firmly pressed them against John's who let out a panicked squeak. He reached up and took the phone away from John and hung up then pressed his hand against the side of his head where the phone was previously sat.

John was frozen where he was stood. What the hell is happening? What the fuck do I do? He thought.

He was alarmed when he felt Sherlock's tongue flick against his bottom lip. The action made him involuntary moan and melt into the kiss. He open his mouth, letting Sherlock's tongue roam inside and get tangled with John's. John intertwined his hands into Sherlock's messy curls and pulled him closer, completely lost in the moment.

Their bodies pushed up against each other and rolled into their movements, their arousel obvious through their trousers. Sherlock pulled his mouth away from John's who was panting heavily and made his way down the shorter man's neck, nipping at the skin softly with his teeth. John's head lulled back and he tried to breathe normally which was impossible when Sherlock was sucking gently at his earlobe.

This is wrong thought John who was still victim to Sherlock. "Sherlock..." he panted.

"Mmm?" His baritone voice vibrated through John's chest, making his legs go weak.

John placed a hand on the other man's chest and tried to push him away. "Stop." He tried again and managed to cause enough space so he could duck out from underneath Sherlock. He swiftly moved away to the other side of the room and brought his hands up to his face, hiding his embarrassment. "What the hell just happened?"

"I think it's pretty evident."

"What!" John paced the room, his mind racing with confusion. "Oh my god. I just cheated on my girlfriend with my flatmate. Oh my god."

"John, please. Calm down"

"I will not! I – I can't be here. I'm s-sorry. I just can't" he wondered around the flat looking lost when he finally found his coat and stormed out.

Sherlock leant against the counter and sighed, placing his head in his hands. He overestimated everything. He thought he had done enough but he just ended up confusing John instead. He should have waited longer.

His head jerked up when John had re-entered the flat, still looking flustered and bemused. "I'm going to Mary's. Don't you dare think about leaving the flat, not before we've had Molly speak to Lestrade. And eat something. You've hardly eaten today. I swear to God I will know if you haven't."

Sherlock smiled. "You're not very good at storming out."

"That's because you're so damn difficult" he said before he finally left the flat.

John returned the next morning. He didn't talk about what had happened the day before. He only spoke to Sherlock when it was necessary and barely made eye contact. He was become more and more aware of the increasing tension between them and knew that they had to talk about what happened. But that embarrassed John.

He was embarrassed because he let his guard down. He had spent three years convincing himself that Sherlock was dead and he'd never see the man again. It had completely destroyed him. These past few weeks, he worked so hard not to let Sherlock know how much he needed him. Of course the detective knew to a degree how much John hadn't coped but that was all John wanted him to know. Perhaps it was the military man in him that refused to show weakness. But last night, John fell apart in Sherlock's arms. Not in the same way he had when he first discovered he was alive, there was some sort of dignity about that, but the way he clutched the taller man's hair and the way he literally breathed him in showed how lost he was. How much he wanted him.

And John was scared about that. Because he was believed he was falling in love with the man.

"John?"

"Mmm?" Both men were sat in their regular armchairs, John reading the paper, Sherlock sat with his steepled fingers, looking at John.

"I'd like to apologise."

John looked up and raised an eyebrow. "You don't apologise" he stated.

"I know. Usually I have no reason to or I don't care enough to. But I care, John. I think I crossed some sort of line and I'd like to let you know that it'll never happen again if you don't wish it."

"If I don't wish it?"

"Yes. If you wish to do it again then, by all means."

John brought his concentration back to the paper, rejecting the images of them giving it another try from his mind. "Have you heard anything about this Moran guy? The sooner we get you out of the house, the better." He tried to change the conversation. Something which was obvious to Sherlock who was now smirking to himself.

"Err, no. I believe he's gone into some sort of hiding. His last sighting was in London roughly two weeks a go. I believe he know's I'm here and is just waiting for the right moment..." he trailed off as he thought about something. "John? What's the time?"

"Erm, quarter past three. Why?"

In one fleeting movement, Sherlock jumped out of his chair and ran to his phone which was on the kitchen table. He looked like a child on Christmas running to be the first under the tree. Once he reached his phone, he rapidly jabbed at the number keys to make a call.

"Molly? Hello! How was Sommerset? No. Don't answer that. Listen, I need you to do something for me... Yes... Please. I'm going to give you Inspector Lestrade's phone number and you're going to-... oh... You already have it? Alright. Call him and very simply inform him that I am not actually dead... You can do it... He wont shout at you... Well, he might but-... Molly... Molly... You're not listening... Of course he wont believe you! Which is why you're going to tell him to go to 221b just to be sure. That way it wont be too much of a shock for him... Well it's either this or I'll just turn up at Scotland Yard and present myself... Yes John told me that wasn't a very good idea... Yes that was my original plan but that doesn't matter... Thank you, Molly. Goodbye." He hung up and spun around with happiness before running up to John with excitement.

"I take it you're happy?" He was a little taken aback when Sherlock placed his hands on John's knees and shook them excitedly.

"Molly's home from visiting her family and is going to call Lestrade like you said! Oh John, I am very happy indeed! I may finally be able to work again!"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. The man has to forgive you first."

The doorbell downstairs rang once making Sherlock freeze. "That can't be him already. Can it?" He ran across the room and threw open the door.

John sighed and followed him downstairs to the front door. Sherlock was like a new puppy. John didn't want him alarming Lestrade too much.

When they reached the front door, Sherlock opened it with enthusiasm which quickly left as soon as he realised it wasn't Lestrade at the front door. It was Lena.

"Lena?" John said from behind Sherlock who was now studying her intently.

She had no bags with her – a spontaneous visit. She wasn't even wearing a jacket of any kind – very spontaneous. She didn't smile or express an emotion of content when the door was answered – she's worried about something. She held a pair car keys in her hand – she drove from the airport, probably hired a car. The larger key of the set was held between her index and middle finger, sticking out between them like an extended knuckle – a defence tactic that she often took (a key to the pressure point of the neck could deter any attacker long enough to run). Something was wrong.

"Hello boys." She finally smiled but it wasn't genuine. It was for show.

"Lena" Sherlock acknowledged.

They both looked at each other for longer than necessary like they were reading each other. Sherlock stepped aside and let the woman into the hallway.

Once the door was closed, Lena looked at Sherlock and nodded.

"Where?" he asked.

"The building across from your flat. He can't hear us but he can see us so act as if you haven't seen your old friend in so long and look happy" she smiled. Her expressions weren't matching what she was saying and John was completely confused.

Sherlock smiled and welcomed her then invited her to go up the stairs. "Ladies first."

John and Sherlock followed as Lena walked up the stairs. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

"Cameras probably. Moran hacked into Mycroft's link which is why he can see us inside the building. I'll need to inform my brother of his lack of security."

"Mycroft has camera's in here?" John felt himself get hot, worried about how much Mycroft actually sees. "What's Lena doing here?"

"I'll explain later. Just smile for the cameras, John"

They got to the flat and Sherlock offered Lena some tea which she accepted. Before they could sit down, a tiny red dot appeared on the side of Lena's head. They were in full view of the window which was where their marksman was taking his aim.

Lena closed her eyes taking a deep breath and reached behind her to pull out a gun from the waistband of her jeans. "Shit" she whispered. "Bugger, I'm so sorry, Sherlock." She moved to point the gun towards Sherlock, pausing it before moving it to take aim at John.

"Whoa, what the fuck is going on?" John put his arms out as if to stop her but was obviously out of his depth.

Sherlock smirked. "It seems our friend Mr Moran hasn't been so idle."

"I'm so sorry. He threatened me and practically dragged me over here. He told me I have to kill John like you did to Moriarty because you didn't keep your promise." Lena was visibly shaking.

"Predictable." Sherlock took out his phone from his pocket and smiled. "Perfect."

"Sherlock! Are you taking this seriously!"

"Of course I am, John" he turned back to Lena. "Lena, you can shoot now."

"What! Sherlock!"

"Calm down, John"

"You cannot tell me to be calm right now!"

"Trust me."

"How can I trust you when you're telling her to shoot me?"

"Sherlock? Now?" Lena was having trouble holding the gun because she was shaking so hard. The red dot of the sniper was almost blinding her due to the fact it was now focused on her eye.

"Give it ten seconds."

"Okay." She exhaled slowly to calm herself.

"Would someone like to explain to me what is happening right now because I feel like the only one who hasn't a clue!"

The moment that the doorbell rang furiously was the moment Lena shut her eyes and pulled the trigger.

Sorry to have to leave you on a cliffhanger but I'll put you out of your misery soon. I expect the next chapter to be up by the end of the weekend. If not then I fully expect you to slap me.

Thank you all so much for reading this. I love you all.

Reviews are always welcomes :)