John should have known that revealing Sherlock's survival prematurely via his blog at the consulting detective's suggestion would bite him in the ass. The morning after posting the entry (which also happened to be the morning after Sherlock shared his bed with him in an entirely non-sexual way), his phone rang and he barely had the chance to greet Lestrade before the D.I. was nearly growling at him on the other end of the line.

"I thought we were going to wait until Monday's press conference to reveal to the public that Sherlock is alive and well?" Lestrade's voice sounded somewhat forced as though he was seriously restraining himself from screaming at John over the phone. John blearily rubbed his eyes and sat up a bit, unable to help the smile that crossed his lips when a sleepy Sherlock nestled closer to his side.

"Sherlock told me it would be alright as long as I didn't mention in the entry how he is still alive and what he's been doing over the past three years," John explained. "I said all of their questions would be answered soon enough when you give your press conference and that they should wait until then."

Lestrade sighed. "John, listen… I know your intentions weren't bad ones, but you really should have warned me first. When I got to the Yard this morning, I was bombarded with phone calls from the public and the press demanding answers. I had to tell them all to wait until the press conference, and the press in particular didn't take too kindly to that."

"I'm sorry, Greg. You're right. One of us should have run it by you first before doing anything."

"Well, what's done is done. Is Sherlock there? I have to speak with him about Monday and how things are going to play out."

"He's here, but he's asleep."

"Sherlock is sleeping?" The genuine shock in Lestrade's voice brought a grin to John's face. Sleep had always been a very small matter where Sherlock was concerned. There were a few instances John could remember quite clearly where he had gone nearly four days without proper sleep. He would take small cat naps during that time, but even for a normal person, that wouldn't be nearly enough. How Sherlock could function with so little rest was beyond him.

"Dead to the world, the poor sod. Figuratively speaking, of course. Should I have him call you back later?" John questioned patiently, his free hand absently sliding through Sherlock's hair. The younger man hummed quietly at the contact and leaned into the touch, a tiny smile spreading across his lips as he slept on. He looked so innocent.

"Yeah, please do."

John promised he would do so and uttered a brief goodbye to Lestrade before hanging up and setting his phone aside. He turned onto his side so he could curl up against Sherlock's chest, arms wrapped around the taller man's waist. He was just starting to doze off again due to the warmth before he felt Sherlock's fingertips trailing gently along the back of his neck. He looked up into Sherlock's eyes and smiled faintly, a hint of shyness in it.

"You were awake all along, weren't you?" he asked. For someone who slept as seldom as he did, Sherlock was certainly very good at faking it.

"Of course I was."

"Then why didn't you take the phone from me and talk to Lestrade? It was obviously important."

"The answer to that is quite obvious, I'm sure."

John thought about it for a moment and grinned when he figured it out, propping himself up on one elbow so that he could look down at his… friend? Boyfriend? What were they to each other, now that their feelings were out in the open?

"You thought I would get up and leave you alone to speak with Lestrade after handing you the phone, didn't you?"

"A bit… and I would much rather you stay. You're quite warm, after all."

"You, too. But seriously, I wouldn't have gotten up and left the room if you answered the phone, Sherlock. I'm far too comfortable for that." To illustrate his point, John moved so that he was half resting on top of Sherlock, resting his face in the crook of his neck and laying a few kisses on the warm skin there.

Sherlock let out a quiet and appreciative hum, unmoving so that John wouldn't get the wrong idea and get off of him. Now that their feelings for each other were no longer secret, Sherlock felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Truth be told, he had felt that way for John for quite some time but being as inexperienced in affairs of the heart as he was, he hadn't been able to see it for what it really was until that day on the rooftop. Then, of course, he spent three years stewing in his own muddled emotions and trying to cope with them without actually having anyone to divulge them to.

"John," Sherlock finally said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, his voice low as though he were afraid someone other than John might hear him. "We kissed last night…"

"Well, don't sound so disappointed," John teased with a faint grin.

"Please don't interrupt, John. It's very rude."

"Sorry."

"We kissed and confessed our feelings for each other, but… what does that make us now that we have?" There was some apprehension in his baritone, as though he wasn't sure John's answer would be a positive one.

"I was wondering that, myself. 'Friends-with-benefits' sounds wrong, and 'lovers' sounds too sexual at the moment. So… 'boyfriends'?" John felt his face get hot as the word slipped out.

Sherlock considered the term for a comically long time, his brow furrowed in thought. Eventually, he gave a satisfied nod of agreement. Pleased that he would now be able to introduce Sherlock to people as more than just his best friend, John smiled shyly and leaned in to capture the detective's lips in a slow, careful kiss. Sherlock complied, closing his eyes and pressing so close to John that they may as well have been connected at the torso. John's body felt so right against his, strong but also slightly soft around the middle where some of the muscle he gained in the army had waned. Sherlock lightly grasped John's shoulders and pushed him over onto his back, carefully straddling his waist without parting their mouths for so much as a second.

Feeling the detective's weight on top of him, John hummed pleasantly. When he felt Sherlock's hips grind slightly against him though, he gasped softly against his lips and set his hands on his chest to gently push him away. He looked up at Sherlock questioningly, a little frown on his lips.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding confused.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Sherlock asked a bit snappishly, his expression set in a rather adorable pout. "I'm snogging."

"And frotting," John noted, blushing considerably. "I know you've never been in a relationship and this is probably exciting for you in a way—it is for me, too—but we need to take things slowly. I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for. Understand?" Sherlock rubbing against him had felt sinfully good, and his loins were already showing great interest in the prospect of more, but John didn't want them to have sex and then realize things weren't going to work out between them.

Sherlock frowned, but at the very least he seemed to understand where John was coming from. "Fine." Discouraged, he moved to get off of John but soon discovered that John had no intention of letting him get up. He quirked an eyebrow at him but when he saw the devious grin on his face, he blushed.

"That doesn't mean snogging is off-limits, you know," he said to the detective with a light laugh. Smiling, Sherlock took the hint and brought their lips together once more. No, he didn't suppose either of them would be getting out of bed any time soon.

Monday's press conference went about as well as John and Sherlock had suspected. That is, to say, not very well at all. The two had stood beside Lestrade throughout the whole affair, answering numerous questions, yet their answers never seemed to satisfy the press. Some of the questions were worded quite rudely as well, and it took everything in John's power to not tell the offenders off for those in particular. John had suspected the journalists to be outraged and scandalized by Sherlock's deception, but he hadn't expected it to be quite this bad. Thankfully, there were also several journalists in the room who believed Sherlock had done a very noble thing, and those were the individuals who got the most genuine smiles returned to them.

John was very thankful when the whole affair was over and he heaved a big sigh once the room had emptied out. Lestrade cursed under his breath and turned his head to look at Sherlock and John, a tired smile on his face. John reciprocated it; Sherlock looked as bored as ever.

"That's it, then," he said gruffly. "I've done what I can, so whatever comes next is entirely up to the two of you."

Sherlock stood up and straightened out his jacket before grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and putting it on. "I believe that will be the end of it, Lestrade. I have already received several emails from potential clients that look rather promising, so at the very least, I will be kept busy."

"Well, good. Even so, I'm sure you have made a few enemies with that stunt you pulled, so watch your back. The last thing we need is another Jim Moriarty running around blowing things up just to get your attention."

"Oh, that's bound to happen anyway," Sherlock responded with an inappropriately calm air about him. "There is no shortage of criminal masterminds, Lestrade. As it so happens, I have one keeping an eye on things to make sure they don't go sideways without warning."

When Lestrade fixed him with an obviously confused stare, Sherlock rolled his eyes and glanced at an amused John before elaborating. "My brother."

"Mycroft is a government official. How does that make him a—"

When Lestrade saw that John's shoulders were shaking a bit with the effort it was taking to hold back any laughter that threatened to slip out, that was when he understood. Mycroft had bent the law in Sherlock's favor several times in the past but because of his standing, he was able to get away with it. He had even assisted Sherlock in faking his own death, which would land anyone else a hefty sentence. Lestrade generally didn't trust the government as a rule, especially when they took it upon themselves to pry into official police business, but in Mycroft's case, he would tolerate it. He was Sherlock's brother, after all, and Mycroft had done him far more favors than any other government dog had ever done.

"Right. Well, run along then, you two. If any big cases come up on my end, I'll see if I can't let you in to have a look."

"Thank you," Sherlock said with surprising sincerity. He set a hand on John's shoulder and they left, making their way out of the police station and walking down the sidewalk a ways to hopefully hail a cab back to Baker Street.

"Thank God that's over with," John said with a smile. "I think everything's going to be alright from now on, Sherlock. You've told everyone the truth about what happened and where you have been all this time, so that has to count for something."

"How idealistic of you, John," Sherlock commented calmly. He managed to flag down a cab and got in, giving the cabbie their Baker Street address and relaxing as they pulled away from the curb. He was rather looking forward to going home and starting in earnest on his new experiment. Molly had sent him over a couple of specimens from Bart's and he was quite looking forward to busying himself with them until an interesting case came up. There were a few lined up on his website, as he had mentioned to Lestrade, but he wanted to wait a little longer and see if something more interesting didn't come up before even bothering with them.

When they got out of the cab outside of 221B, Sherlock paid the cabbie and made his way toward the door. John didn't follow him inside right away, pausing on the doorstep when he heard his mobile phone going off. It was still a new ringtone, but he recalled setting it as Lestrade's a few months prior. He swallowed a lump in his throat when Sherlock turned his head to look at him, his eyebrows raised slightly with curiosity.

"Are you coming, John?"

"I'll be up in a minute, Sherlock." John, to his credit, was able to smile easily and keep his voice even. Nothing was wrong. Lestrade was only calling because he forgot to mention something to him before he and Sherlock left. That was all… Right? Once Sherlock had retreated up the stairs to their flat, John answered his phone. "What is it, Greg?"

"Have you told him yet?" Lestrade's voice was low and oh-so-serious, and it was making him very anxious, indeed. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Have I told him what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, John. You know damn well what I'm referring to."

"Christ, Greg, no, I haven't told him and for good reason," John hissed, suddenly feeling very angry at Lestrade for bringing this up now when he had been in such a good mood before, now that all this business with the press was mostly behind them.

"John—"

"He can't know. He can't. It… it would destroy him."

"But it's alright for him to borderline do that to you, is it?"

John didn't know how to respond. He heard the D.I. inhale slowly and let it out in a slightly exasperated sigh on the other end of the line, and his jaw tightened as he mentally prepared for whatever the man wanted to say to him next.

"Look… I'm not going to force you to tell him, and I'm not going to say anything to him either. I almost did the day he came to see me—the day he came back—but I stopped myself because I knew it wasn't my place to say anything. In all honesty, I think it's wrong to keep it from him, especially if you two are together now."

"How did you—?"

"I'm not blind, John. Please, just take this as some advice from a concerned friend if you won't take it from me as a professional D.I. I care about you two a great deal, and if he finds out from anyone other than you, things could get nasty."

"Well as long as you keep your mouth shut, he won't have to find out at all. Goodbye, Greg. I have things I need to do." He really didn't, but he did not want to have this conversation anymore. It made him feel vulnerable; exposed; raw. Without giving Greg a chance to respond, he ended the call. Taking a few slow, calming breaths, he finally made his way inside and shut the door behind him.

With any luck, his worries hadn't followed him in.