John looked at estimate on the desk in front of him. It wasn't the full estimate, but it was based on the initial fire report. The contractor said they did this as a warning to give clients some general idea as to what they could expect. The number was more than John expected, but not by much. It was more than he had, and more than he could get before the work would be started.

He rubbed his palms into his eyes and sat back in his chair. They were going to have to go to Mycroft. Sherlock wouldn't like it but there wasn't another option unless they wanted to take out a bank loan. He groaned, realising he was going to have to actually talk to Sherlock about it again. They hadn't spoken more than passing greetings in three days and John had no inclination to correct that. And he knew that Sherlock didn't know how to. The more he pulled away, the more Sherlock shut down. It frustrated him that he always had to be the keep things together. It wasn't just his job.

He dropped his hand and looked over at his phone, he stared at it for a long moment before picking it up and sending a message to his husband.

Will you be in this evening? We need togo overthe assessment from the contractors.

A moment later there was a response. Have a case. Whatever you decide. – SH

John shook his head, feeling drained already. We need to discuss the financing of the repairs, not wallpaper. I need you to be there.

There was a long pause and John imagined Sherlock's frustrated face and the eyes rolling at the inconvenience of it all. It was Sherlock's way.

I will be there when you get back. – SH

John felt his heart sink. It was going to be a miserable. He considered replying with a 'thank you' but decided against it. Why should he be thankful that Sherlock was assisting in solving their problems?

He glanced at his watch - he had forty minutes before his next patient. John looked out of the small window and felt guilt mixed with the dread. He was going to go grab a coffee. He deliberated for a split second but it wasn't a serious debate. As soon as he decided his heart started thumping in his chest.

The thought of her made him feel good. He hated it, the guilt was almost overpowering in moments. But she was the only thing that made him feel good. John glanced at the picture on his desk. Sherlock had never liked that it was there but John always ignored the complaints. It was a picture of the two of them taken when they were on their honeymoon. They were in the bed in the small villa and Sherlock had reached out a long arm and snapped the picture. Only their heads and one of John's shoulders were visible, but they'd both been completely naked at the time. Sherlock had always been embarrassed by the notion that it was just out and sitting on John's desk. John had always found it humorous, nothing was visible after all, and it always made him smile.

He stared at it another minute and it brought none of the usual mirth. It didn't bring anything. There was an aching stab of guilt and he pushed it away without much effort. He grabbed his wallet out of his desk and headed towards the door.

She was making the coffees today and smiled at John when he walked in. He gave his order to the younger man at the register then stood at the end of the counter to wait for it. She smiled that amazing smile at him as she handed over his coffee. There was a surge of warmth through his chest as he exited the shop.

Tomorrow,he thought, I'm going to askhername.

Sherlock was sitting on the bed when John walked in. Grey eyes looked up but John could see nothing in them. He doubted he was giving of any emotional signs either. He didn't feel much - other than the dread. He didn't say anything, offered no greeting. He just pulled his coat off and set it over one of the chairs. He sat in the other one and rested his elbows on the table.

He eyed his husband for a moment and decided to get right to the point. "I," then corrected himself reluctantly. "We don't have enough money to cover the expenses. The estimates are more than I expected and I expected more than I hoped. We can't afford it."

"They cannot get into the flat until next week."

John nodded somewhat surprised that Sherlock knew that. "They're basing it on the initial report, what will have to be replaced because of complete damage and such. We," he paused again. "We're going to have to borrow money. Perhaps, Mycro-"

"No," Sherlock said sitting up. "I will not borrow money from Mycroft. He won't let us forget it. I won't owe him."

"We don't have any-"

Sherlock stood and glared down at John; the flare of anger was the only emotion John had seen there in days. A long finger unwound and pointed at him. "I will not-"

John took a deep breath trying to keep his temper, and was amazed that it wasn't necessary. He wasn't angry.

"Sherlock, youdon't have to do anything. This is ourproblem." He looked down at the table, at his fingers.

"I will not go to Mycroft," Sherlock insisted again. "I will not be in my brother's debt, John. It is not an option."

John held his hands up, "Fine then, Sherlock. What do you want to do? I'm open for suggestions. Do you have any pending cases with large fees, because if so, get on it. Maybe I can take a job at an A&E, work the overnight shifts and find some time to sleep in the early afternoon, after the surgery before the hospital. Granted that won't bring in the kind of money we need for months. Are you prepared to live in this," he gestures around the room, "for months and months while we save up the money to pay for the repairs and then wait while it's repaired?" He gestured again. "Maybe your brother could provide us with better accommodation but we can't call him."

"You're well aware of what Mycroft is like when I'm not in his debt! It will be exponentially worse if I am."

John felt deflated and just nodded.

"John?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head and felt Sherlock pull back, close off.

"Fine," John said. He rubbed his eyes again and stood up. "Fine, I- I don't know. I'll figure something else out. I'll- I guess I can go to the bank. Maybe I can get a loan for this. I don't know, Harry maybe. I doubt she has that kind of money but I'll ask her." He walked over to the small kitchen and opened the fridge. He wanted a drink, a hard drink. Scotch maybe, straight. A double. He shook the urge away. His sister was an alcoholic, he knew the signs. He grabbed the milk and one of their plastic cups. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him, drawing him. He ignored the urge to turn around, standing at the sink instead and drinking his glass of milk.

"What are we going to do?" Sherlock asked.

Now you care,John thought with a flash of anger, but it didn't last. He rinsed the glass and set it in the sink before turning to his husband. "Apparently, we aren't going to do anything. I gave a suggestion and you shot it down, without discussion, so we've decided that we're not doing that. Yet you haven't offered another alternative, so I will come up with one. It's my roll here after all. Sherlock makes a mess, John cleans it up. Sherlock pisses someone off, John makes the apologies. Sherlock burns down a building, John sells his soul to pay for the damages."

"The building hardly burnt down-"

"Yes, Sherlock," John interrupted, "I think that's what you should stick with. I mean it somehow managed to keep you out of prison. The building hardly burnt down, only our kitchen is destroyed and the ceiling above it. The floor of our flat and the ceiling of Mrs. Hudson's and the wall. What's a wall? It's only load bearing and will require serious repair work. But it wasn't the whole building, you're right there."

John saw the quick flash of shame, Sherlock had genuine remorse over what happened. It amazed John, and then he realized that not once had Sherlock apologised to him, or to Mrs. Hudson. The anger flared again.

"John," Sherlock took a step forward and John held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. Sherlock lifted his arms in defeat and just stood there. "I don't know how to..." he trailed off and John knew what he was going to say. He didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to make it better.

"How about and 'I'm sorry, John'. That'd be nice. Or an 'I fucked up.' Hell at this point I'd probably settle for an 'I'm an idiot.' I don't know, Sherlock. Maybe realise that you aren't the victim in this."

"It's my home too," he snapped.

"Then why did you blow it up?" John snapped back. Sherlock opened his mouth but John spoke again. "Don't say it was an accident. Candles cause accidents, forgotten cigarettes, random ash from a fire. Those are accidents. Not what you do, not your experiments. You knew it was combustible. Instead of going outside, or hell to the roof even, you set it on fire in the kitchen. OUR KITCHEN. So yeah, it's your home too, but you destroyed it. Acknowledge that please."

They glared at each other for a minute then Sherlock slowly backed down. He didn't shut down, just eased out of his defensive stance and finally dropped back to the edge of the bed. For a second he looked small, and it startled John. Then Sherlock spoke.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't- I was unaware of the immediate consequence of my action, clearly I didn't not mean for this to be the result." The grey eyes were serious, this was a genuine Sherlock apology. He wasn't even finished with it, when John realised with a jolt that it wasn't going to be enough. This wasn't going to make it better. Sherlock continued, but John ignored it. And when Sherlock stopped speaking he nodded and met the expectant grey eyes.

"Thank you," John said, shortly. "I wish that made it better. I really do, but it doesn't." Sherlock was terrified for a moment, then managed to cover it back up. John took a deep breath and held it, looking away, staring at the ugly picture of a country farm hanging above the small table.

"There are a whole series of problems here and your lack of an apology was only one of them."

"What else?" Sherlock asked, the desperation apparent in the voice. John wondered if it was also showing on Sherlock's face but didn't look back.

John sighed, shook his head, and then rubbed his palm on his forehead. He groaned before looking down at his shoes. "Well, besides our lack of money and our shitty accommodations, I dread coming here every night. I hate working all day, desperately trying to get this fixed, trying to fix everything and you are here 'investigating' a ninety year old murder. I hate that you come here at night and talk about secret codes that you helped Lestrade understand and the fact that Anderson is an idiot, and I worry about where we're going to be living in six weeks. I wonder if you even care." The detective's body straightened at that, stiffening. "This is our home Sherlock. Our problem. Our Life. Ourmoney. Ourmarriage." He looked up in the last second watching his words as they hit Sherlock square in the chest. He watched the impact as he muttered his last sentence. "And there's this girl," he added and watched as Sherlock's body collapsed in on itself. The walls went up, the devastation flashing in the grey eyes in the split second before there was no emotion at all.

They stared at each other and John watched the indifference flare into anger and then fear and become indifference again. "Who?" Sherlock asked and John shook his head.

"That doesn't matter," John said. "She isn't the actual problem, that's obviously it's between us." He gestured back in forth between the two of them. "There's a problem here."

"What's her name?" Sherlock asked and John just shook his head again.

"It isn't like that. It's complicated." He sighed. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "She works at a coffee shop by the surgery."

Sherlock looked away for a moment and then stood. "This sounds decidedly like yourproblem. I do not wish to discuss this."

"Sherlock," John said as the detective grabbed his wallet and headed towards the door. "We need-"

"I need to walk," Sherlock said meeting the John's eyes again. They stared at each other for a long moment, and John knew if he asked Sherlock would stay. His husband was asking his permission to leave.

John turned his head and looked towards the floor, nodding. "Be careful," he said. "And don't be too long. We don't have to, we can leave this for now." He looked up again as Sherlock opened the door. "I love you." There was flash of surprise in the grey eyes before Sherlock nodded and closed the door behind him.

John sank to the floor