Sherlock found himself on his living room floor. He blinked, quickly coming back to himself. Calming his breathing, he raised his head, taking in the silent flat. He sighed, putting his head down, he closed his eyes. "Sherlock... you're so beautiful... Sherlock...Twice...Sherlock... I love you... God, I love you." He tried to block it from his mind. He tried furiously to delete the feeling of John on top of him, touching him, inside of him. His hands had been hot and large, rough, as they clung to him. His lips had been softer than he had thought. The taste of him, of them mixed, was still on Sherlock's tongue.
He sat up and hissed as a burning pain stabbed through him. He almost fell back in surprise but then let it pass over him. He had been in much worse pain over the past three years. When he was able to stand, he went straight for the bathroom to shower. All the while, he cursed himself and John. God, why didn't he stop it? He mind no longer consumed by John had no problem in showing him it all over again, making him feel it once more. He lashed out and punched the wall right before he made the mistake of looking in the mirror.
His hair was everywhere, his pupils were still large from desire. But it was the marks over him that made him pause. John had run his mouth over his chest, leaving hickeys and bite marks from collarbone to hip. His heart started to flutter as he remembered that mouth on him. Clenching the vanity, he looked down and saw John's hand print clearly defined on his thigh. He growled as his dick twitched. Sherlock shut his eyes, his mind flashing John in front of him and he angrily got into a shower wanting to rinse off everything that happened.
Two hours later, Sherlock was pacing, Mrs. Hudson was making them something to eat downstairs. He clutched his phone, not knowing what to do. John had left before Sherlock had been functioning again, he had just left. Yet he had told Sherlock he loved him. Was that heat of passion talking, was that what everyone meant? Did it even mean anything? They had been fighting about John moving, about him leaving. Was John still going to move? He halted in his pacing abruptly and turned to open up another nicotine patch and place it on his arm. Sighing loudly, he flopped down on the couch and winced forgetting about his throbbing backside.
John would call, wouldn't he? Or text? Even if it were just to apologize or maybe they'd just scrape this under the carpet? Maybe it would be something they just shouldn't talk about? Should he text him and say Mrs. Hudson was making a casserole and he wouldn't eat all of it? He hated John! He hated what he was doing to him! It was ridiculous! He wasn't some weak, pathetic, emotional person!
He yelled trying to get it to delete. But he couldn't delete John. He didn't even want to. That was what upset him.
John meant so much to him. Sherlock found himself for the first time in months praying he didn't ruin their relationship, praying what they had done didn't mean the end to their partnership. He could erase it, he swore, he could just ignore it. He shouldn't need him, he shouldn't want this. John could leave, what did he care?
And yet that is what caused the whole thing. He had lashed out because he did care. He could picture it, had spent the entire night before picturing John in New York, with her, having children, getting married, living as a surgeon. He hated it! He wanted to storm and rage, so he lashed out at John and John had-John had kissed him and it felt like Sherlock still had a place with him. A large place, it had felt good. And the sex...
Sherlock clenched his jaw, his mind going back to his past experience. No one had gone down him before. No one had made him come undone like that before. Figures, he supposed, it would be with John. He found himself smiling at John saying, "Twice," he had been thinking about Miss. Adler. Thinking about her and getting jealous. Then his eyes widened as he started to recall more images.
Mrs. Hudson came upstairs, tray of food in hand and stopped, looking around she said, "Sherlock! What have you done to the place!" Sherlock looked around blankly seeing all the shattered objects and papers scattered around. He hadn't been able to concentrate on any of his experiments. "I got upset Mrs. Hudson." He tuned the rest of her rant out as he went over more images of John trying to predict how this was going to end.
When Mrs. Hudson continued, he only caught the end, his heart startled, his eyes snapping open. "... John to ask if he wanted to join us." Sitting up quickly, ignoring another twinge, he startled her and he snapped, "What? You called him? What were his exact words Mrs. Hudson?" Putting a hand to her chest in surprise at his reaction, he had in fact been ignoring her for several minutes now, she frowned at him and said, "He said, he was dealing with some things and that he wouldn't be around for a while."
Sherlock was once again out of his seat and talking to himself, "Won't be around for a while? What does that mean? Will he come back soon or is he going to avoid me for weeks once more? God, John could be so frustrating!" Mrs. Hudson looked up from where she was making Sherlock tea with his supper. "Did you two have another domestic?" He turned to her forgetting she had been in the room. Sitting down he winced once more and then looked at a plate of food. John always loved Mrs. Hudson's cooking.
"I'm not hungry."
He ignored her once more as his mind went back to his ever present problem, John, and what he was going to do about him.
John sat down on his hotel bed. He had waited for Mary to come home, his bags packed, and had told her what he had done. He knew he couldn't go to New york, not with her, not after what he had done. He couldn't be with her after cheating on her. He needed to be honest.
She had frozen when she heard him. He hadn't been able to look at her, he really did love her, and he said so. She had replied, "Just not as much as you love him." When Mary said that quietly, she had leaned down, put her face in her hands and started crying, she really hadn't believe he would do such a thing. Neither had he. It was an awful half hour before she had told him to leave, he had, and she stood in the living room not looking at him as he departed.
Patrick had told him to choose, it was the hardest thing he had ever done. Being a real surgeon again in the last fifteen months, he found himself loving it. Actually helping people, sewing them up, cutting, fixing the problem, it was wonderful and he had found purpose in it. He had to take more responsibility in the hospital, he had to take more time to master his craft, time without the world's only consulting detective.
He didn't know what to do.
He had completely ruined Sherlock and him. Could he give it all up and focus solely on becoming a surgeon? Would Sherlock even speak to him again? God, Sherlock could just delete it all away, was this something they were going to ignore? And John had gone and told him he loved him, after years of not saying it, had just blurted it out. He sighed, flopping down on the bed.
He had really made a mess of things, hadn't he?
Two weeks later, John was walking down familiar hallways, his eyes taking everything in, trying not to cause too much attention to himself, trying not to be spotted. When he walked into the room, he breathed a sigh of relief. She sat with her back to him but as she turned around he froze at her glare. "Oh no! No, no no no! John Hamish Watson I am not your therapist, you do not get to march in here every week to talk about your problems."
He smiled at Molly, who he hadn't seen in some time and her shoulders dropped, "It is good to see you though. I've just been spending so much time with Sherlock and his moods lately that it's getting aggravating. I really am not your couples councillor." He shook his head, frowned and said, "I'm sorry. I suppose I'm used to coming to you over the last couple of years." She smiled looking a bit more like her nervous self. "Well, how are you doing?" He sighed loudly sitting next to man Molly was working on.
"I quit my job."
Molly froze in the middle of writing something on her clipboard. "What?" He nodded, "I just quit. Went in, gave Patrick my resignation and in two weeks I will no longer be working as trauma surgeon at St. Clara's Hospital." Molly gaped at him but quickly recovered herself and asked, "Is this about you and Sherlock?"
John closed his eyes. It was always about him and Sherlock, wasn't it? From the very first day it was John and Sherlock, someone wanting to know something about the man, they asked John. Where Sherlock was, what he was thinking, what he was doing; just ask John. John and Sherlock.
Looking at Molly he said, "When is it never."
Molly laughed. "So what's going on?" He wanted to tell her, but he wasn't sure how. They had slept together? John had forced Sherlock? He was in love with the detective? He could no longer find passion in his work. Not even saving a man yesterday from a gun shot wound had given him the high that he got from running after Sherlock in the wee hours of the night, chasing after a criminal. He was thinking about leaving London for work in refugee camps somewhere far away? He settled for, "It's complicated. I'm trying to figure where I'm headed from here."
She nodded looking serious and said, "I understand that," She started putting the corpse away, done now with her paperwork. "Heart failure?" He asked, helping her, seeing the chart. She nodded, closing the drawer, "Yes, actually...well... Sherlock is working on it. He seems to think Mr. MacGregor was poisoned. I'm waiting for test results." John nodded and tried not to think of him. He tried not to think that Sherlock was working this case and hadn't even texted him. Why would he, John thought to himself and stamped down the emotions that question tried to raise. "Coffee?" Molly asked, putting away her file. He nodded.
John and her went up a floor to the cafeteria, here, they sat down and John relaxed. "You know I kind of miss Bart's. It was so easy, a lot less stress and part-time actually allowed me to have a life." Molly smiled. "You know if you apply, you'll get rehired within the day right?" John smiled but didn't answer her. He didn't know if coming back here would help him. They were interrupted by a tall man. "Sorry," Both looked up and John couldn't help but smile behind his cup of coffee as he noticed the man couldn't take his eyes off Molly, "Sorry. I'm Tomas Fletcher, you asked for the test results for Mr. MacGregor." Molly sat up straight and said, "Yes. I thought they wouldn't be in until tomorrow." Tomas smiled and John instantly knew, as Tomas' eyes flickered to him unsure, John said, "Please sit down. My friend and I are just chatting."
Tom sat down looking relieved, saying, "I might have put a rush on them. I know you deal with Sherlock Holmes and he tends to have murder cases, so I thought it would be good to help out." Molly smiled at him glancing nervously at John and back to Tom. They stared at each other for a good thirty seconds before John coughed. Tom jumped and said, "Oh yeah, um, he was definitely poisoned. We've got it under a tropical-" He was cut off by Molly's phone going off and she nodded, "Yeah, Sherlock just figured it out. Thank you, you were such a big help." Tomas smiled at her and John stood up, Molly's eyes widened as he said, "I'm going to go. Why don't you stay here and have lunch, I know you haven't eaten yet." Tomas immediately said, "You haven't, me neither. What do you like?" John was just leaving the hospital when he received a text from Sherlock himself.
We need to speak. Rooftop. Now. SH
John swallowed, his heart rate speeding. Why was Sherlock on the roof? This blasted roof? He took a deep breath and ran for the elevator, then decided it took too long and went for the stairs.
He couldn't help it when the door banged open. Sherlock was on the ledge and John's heart stopped, his breathing hitched.
"What the fuck are you doing?" John yelled when he caught his breath. Sherlock turned and said, "I had to get you to talk to me somehow. You're being incredibly stubborn." John raised his hand motioning for him to come closer, edging closer to the man but staying away from the dreadful ledge. "Could you please get off the ledge? Right now!" John practically barked. Sherlock smiled and jumped down, walking towards him and the doorway. "No need to worry John. I will not be jumping off this roof any time in the near future." John grabbed his arm the second they were close enough and led him towards the door. "What are you playing at?" Sherlock raised a brow, "I only wanted to talk with you John. I saw you in the cafeteria and wanted this conversation to be private."
John took a few deep breaths and nodded, looking away he said, "I'm sorry. I am very sorry for what I did. I just-I just need you to know that." Sherlock raised a brow and said, "You're apologizing for us having sex?" John tensed, feeling anxious and said, "I'm apologizing for not stopping. For," he cleared his throat not looking at Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes widened and he cut John off, saying bluntly, "You think you took me by force? That you raped me?" At that Sherlock started laughing and John faced him, frowning, feeling like Sherlock wasn't taking this seriously. Then Sherlock's expression changed and he clearly looked offended.
"John, I might not have served in the military but I do know how to defend myself. While you know tactical fighting skills, I have emerged myself in several fighting styles, three of which I have mastered to the point where if it came down to you forcing me to do anything against my will, I would be able to break two bones before you got in a punch able to knock me unconscious. Honestly, John, have you learned nothing from me?" John just stood staring at Sherlock and then he let his shoulders fall with a sense of relief. Then he asked, "But you were well...sort of...crying. And you..you wanted me to stop." John coughed and cast a sideways glance up at the detective. It was the first time John had ever seen Sherlock look embarrassed as he said quickly after a few moments of silence, "Oh for god's sake's John, I was overstimulated."
They both glanced away from each other but Sherlock still caught John's smile, then John said slightly confused, "I just, I thought that you weren't interested in people." Sherlock got noticeably irritated and he started to pace, John could tell his mind was racing and when he did stop and look at him, Sherlock looked angry. "I'm not. I wasn't."
Sherlock sighed and John knew if they were home, he'd be flopping down on the couch. "I didn't even consider it until recently. Now." John nodded. "Have you ever..." John stopped when Sherlock glared at him. "Tell me, you did not believe Mycroft when he claimed I was virginal?" Then Sherlock sighed loudly, turning in a circle. "Really, John?" John couldn't do anything but defend himself, "How am I supposed to know Sherlock?"
"It's unimportant. Tell me how long you've been in love with me."
John froze, and Sherlock's eyes brightened. "I had a feeling when I jumped. You were too emotional about a simple friend dying." John was shaking his head and he barked out, "Stop. Don't talk about that." Sherlock then did stop but John could see the gears in his mind working and Sherlock asked the one thing John didn't want to hear, "Who was the man you fell in love with before me?"
John let his eyes close and he leaned against the wall. He could feel Sherlock come close to him, invading his personal space and when he opened his eyes, Sherlock was right in front of him. "You had me fooled you know. I deduced you lost someone close to you the day we met, but after all of your statements of being straight, I truly did think you wouldn't stray from women. Tell me John, it isn't in any report, otherwise Mycroft would have found out."
John took a deep breath and spoke slowly, the memories he realized while sharp, no longer caused much emotions when he thought about them. He smiled slightly at the realization, it was a relief and made him sad for it at the same time. "His name was Erick King. We met the first day of my training and went to Africa. We fell in love and had a relationship for almost a year before he got out, he got wounded. He came to London and I had another two months to serve. That's it." Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Don't lie John, it doesn't suit you. Tell me all of it." John glared at him and said, "You first." John took a deep breath when Sherlock remained silent and turned away from him, he seeing another man, a younger one.
John started again when he knew Sherlock wouldn't speak. "I didn't want to want him. I do fancy women Sherlock. I figured it was a war thing. It happens. But it got serious and we ended up making plans for when we were out. Two months before our contract was up he got shot. I was the one who saved his life." John blinked and then sat down, leaning against the wall. Sherlock took a few moments and then sat next to him. John stretched his legs not feeling any pain for the first time in weeks. "He went back and I wrote, I didn't get a response but I figured they got lost, or I didn't have his address right. Two months later I went to London, went to his place," he sighed and said, "and I found his wife. I found his two year old daughter. He said, it was a war thing. That we were good but he loved his wife. London was too much after that, so instead of working at the hospital, I went back, figured I could make a career out of it. I heard they divorced. She caught him cheating one two many times. Last I heard, a few years ago he moved to Scotland."
Sherlock rested his head back letting the new information sink in. "I'm sorry." John smiled and chuckled, "It was a long time ago." Sherlock nodded, "It also explains some of your trust issues, especially if he was your first love. You always remember them, even if the memories aren't very pleasant."
John nodded, "Your turn."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and asked, "Are you moving back?" John swallowed, thinking about it. "Tell me Sherlock." He said instead. Sherlock huffed but surprisingly started speaking after trying once more to change the subject. Sherlock spoke almost detached from what he was saying, "Victor Trevor. I, being a difficult and stubborn child as I've been told, decided against my mother and brother, instead of going to Oxford, I spent my first year of university in Cambridge."
"Course," John said smiling. Sherlock continued, "He was the only one who could get past my family connections and well my personality." Sherlock stilled, remembering his teenage years. He swallowed and said, "I was seventeen when I entered university. I...I suppose I wanted to be popular, have friends. University was a way to start over, without Mycroft interfering, he was only starting his political career then. Victor became a close friend, then we became more. I wanted to please him, you know." Sherlock looked down, his voice quiet, "He was my first friend. I would have done almost anything for him, had he asked." Sherlock laughed, "And did he ever ask. Mostly for little things, tickets here, trips there. But while I might have caught on quicker had I not been emotionally involved, I still caught on. He admitted to not spending the money I gave him on his debts. Instead, he spent it on cocaine, I habit I knew he had, in fact, I used with him occasionally at parties, another reason I didn't catch on as quickly. I spent many of those days with my senses dulled."
John was speechless. Sherlock continued casually, "He ended up smearing my name greatly. Told the dean I had a habit of drugs. He also made his distaste known about my sexual performance quite publicly a party or two." John's stomach dropped at that but Sherlock didn't give him any time to reply to that bull. "It ended at the end of the year when he tried to claim I cheated on exams. I had a few other encounters, one night stands, women and men, all of it was when I was high, but it was the cocaine that he introduced me to that stayed with me. I used occasionally, everyone knew, it wasn't until graduate school when I dropped out, I had found heroine as well, by then. I started injecting and it was a completely different high. Perfect. Mycroft found me in France when I was twenty-three and put me into rehab. I went back to Oxford, got my masters and then started working in London. It was boredom that was my downfall. I went back to ease the pain and then I met Greg. He was tracking an importer and I knew who he was. That's when I started working at Scotland Yard. It was only a few years later when Greg found out that I was bingeing that he and Mycroft both cornered me into rehab once again. I've been sober ever since, roughly. You should know John, I acted quite a bit back in those days. I wasn't myself, I tried to be different and the person Victor knew in Cambridge wasn't who I am."
Sherlock cleared his throat and said, "So now that we've gone over our histories, tell me why you were in the hospital. I've behaved and haven't gotten the file from Mycroft."
John nodded saying seriously, "You need to know that I lost more than just Erick. While I was positioned as a doctor, I saw more action than most do." John tried to collect himself and said, "When I was twenty-five, three years after I re-enlisted, my station was blown up. We lost fifteen people, I was in the middle of it, broke a few ribs, it was nothing for me but for the others... I tried to help them but it was impossible. They burned and others were under rubble. I still hear their screams now and then. Two years after that I volunteered to go out with my friends and collect some of the wounded on the front lines. We were in heavy fire and I lost two medics before we even got there. The car got bombed, only three got out besides myself. Jack, my best friend died there. We had served beside each other the entire time, but I knew him since we were just boys."
John swallowed and Sherlock waited patiently for him to start again. "And then there was Henry."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed at his tone and he asked, "Henry?" John tried to read Sherlock but couldn't and nodded. "Henry Alexander. God." John chuckled remembering him and rubbed a hand over his face before looking up to the sky. "Henry was a lad really. He was a good man, we were in Afghanistan and I was his supervisor. He was young and really everyone knew, even before I did. At first, I couldn't handle it, remembering Erick and what he did. But the more I shoved him away, the more he continued to pursue me. After a while," John laughed and Sherlock's eyes narrowed even more, "it was a very nice ego boost I have to say. Henry was twenty-two and I was thirty-one then. For six months he kept telling me, he was in love with me. And after a while, I ended up sewing him up from a stray bullet grazing him, I admitted to both of us that I had feelings for him. We hit it off, really well. I tried not to be too jaded but nothing really good had happened to me for some time and Henry was innocent, barely lived at all. He really had a light in him that just made everyone around him brighten. I was seriously considering going into a relationship and it scared me, I was too old for him. I pushed him away a lot. It was when we were on a patrol going to another camp that he called for me."
Sherlock was looking ahead, staying silent but when John stopped, he turned and John could hear the slight intake of breath. He hurriedly calmed his expression and cleared his throat. "I remember being irritated. His tone was full of emotion. I was upset that he wouldn't let go. I was too old for him, too damaged. He was wasting his youth on me... When I turned, I could see it on his face. Terror. And immediately that's what I felt. It took only a second and I lost him." John put his hands on his eyes and finished, "He tripped a wire to a landmine accidentally and it blew me to the ground and he died instantly. Another two soldiers in the radius got wounded pretty bad but survived." He got a hold of himself slowly and blinked clearing his eyes.
"You dying Sherlock. That was just one thing out of many. My getting shot was just one instance which triggered years of PTSD. When you died," John looked at him and both were serious as John said, "When you died, so did I. I lost a piece of myself, telling me it was going to be okay. My leg got bad, my memories worse and I was prescribed some Valium." Sherlock's brows went up. "It went from Valium to Oxycontin and it got bad fast. Pills," John smiled at Sherlock and continued, "Always thought I'd end up like Harry as an alcoholic and don't get me wrong I drank too. Drank so much that I don't drink too often now. Then about six months after you died, I tried to commit suicide." Sherlock's hand snatched his and John squeezed it reassuringly. "I cut my femoral artery and it was Molly who saved my life. She tended to stop by a couple of times a week, even when I was too high to be proper company. I was addicted, addicted bad, most of the time I didn't even know what day it was. Anyway, Molly saved my life, she was right outside apparently, she got to me within twenty seconds and I was admitted to St. Clara's three days later into the Psychiatric Ward. That was where I met Mary, who was my doctor. Greg took my gun in case I'd attempt it again. It took me months to go off the pills. It was hard and I owe a lot to Greg, Mary and Molly for helping. Even Harry and I grew closer as I withdrew."
Sherlock stared at John intensely and before John knew it, he leaned in and kissed him. John cupped his face deepening the kiss. When they withdrew, John leaned his forehead against Sherlock's, "You confuse me Sherlock. I need to know what you want. Is this okay?"
Sherlock leaned away and scrubbed a hand over his face. He stood and John kept his eyes on him. Pacing a bit, Sherlock turned and faced him. John stood and Sherlock spoke, "You have to understand. Emotions, they're not something I do John." John smiled but Sherlock was serious. "I was weak. I was pathetic. Back in University I tried, I truly tried to be normal, to live a life that normal people do. I learned fast John, a lifetime of people either being annoyed or disappointed with me taught me not to let them in. Somehow, you made me care. You made me want to be better. I let you in and I had to disappear for three years because of it. You made me weak and I can't do that again. I can't go through it again, John."
John nodded, "Neither can I Sherlock." Sherlock stuffed his hands in his pockets and said slowly, "When I hunting them down, I...I lost a bit of myself as well. I became what Moriarty wanted me to become. I became him. I didn't try to get them imprisoned. I killed them. I was an assassin without even getting paid. I killed forty-seven people without any form of mercy. The only person I came into contact was Miss. Adler." John's eyes widened. "She's alive?" Sherlock smirked and nodded, "While I appreciated your concern, I always knew she was alive. We met in Moscow by accident. She helped me a year ago, she was the one who contacted Mycroft and let him know I was alive. I knew you were jealous of her." At that Sherlock gave a small smile and John tried without success to hide his embarrassment.
"Besides her, the only true contact I had was killing. I hated what you would think of me and my actions. You once called me a machine-" John winced and immediately tried to speak. Sherlock put up a hand and replied, "It's okay. You were right about me during the past three years, I didn't feel a thing. There was no emotion except for myself, wanting to go home, to go back. I hated Moriarty more everyday." Sherlock blinked rapidly, looking like he was holding back his own tears. "I scared myself John, at how far I could lower myself. He took everything I ever cared about and destroyed it. I let you lot in and I lost and now..."
Sherlock turned, running his hands in his hair and his eyes welling up. "John, I'm going even farther, you're not just a friend now and I can't go there." He turned back to John who looked shattered, Sherlock let his hands fall back down and both men remain silent.
Finally, John spoke, "I understand Sherlock. I do. I know you better than anyone else. But I can't go back. I'm not like you, I can't just delete it. It happened and I want you as more than a friend. It's taken me years to come this far, to admit this, and I can't take it back." Sherlock once again asked, "How long? I've tried finding out the signs, the reactions, I can't." John smiled sadly and chuckled without any humour, "I don't really know. Sometime between Irene and the baskerville case I think, maybe before. I didn't want to acknowledge it, I didn't want to feel it. You are a hard man to fall in love with." He gave a deep breath, letting out everything. He had kept so much of it close for so long. He felt lighter as if maybe, now, finally, he could acting start moving on.
John moved his leg slightly, it didn't hurt. After a few minutes of silence John looked back to Sherlock. "I'm going to leave London for a bit. I've been thinking about working at a refuge camp, probably in the East. It should be just enough stress for me." He smiled but when Sherlock didn't, he cleared his throat and nodded.
"Right then. I should go."
"Don't."
John shut his eyes, his hands on the door knob, his back now to Sherlock. He heard Sherlock move, standing right behind him. Sherlock whispered, sounding unlike his normal calm self, now his voice was shaking, "John, I don't want to be alone again." His hand tightened on the handle and John replied, "I can't just be your mate Sherlock." "These last couple of years, what pulled me through was coming back, getting my reputation back and running around London with you."
John turned not hiding his distraught expression. He grabbed Sherlock's jacket and pulled him closer, Sherlock responded and they kissing once more, this time passionately, desperately, without holding back. Sherlock's hands wrapped in his hair, clutching tightly and John crushed the taller man to him. When they pulled back both were panting. "I need you." Sherlock blurted out, his lips swollen. "I don't want to," He continued, "I truly have warred against myself for the past couple of months John. I wanted you at Baker Street, I wanted your attention, your time, your thoughts. I needed you with me and you weren't and something was wrong with that." Sherlock spoke fast, stumbling over some words and John found himself smiling. Sherlock had an awful habit of making him happy one moment, depressed the next and angry a moment after that. He needed to get this all straight.
"Decide." John said firmly.
Sherlock stilled in his arms and John held his ground. He was too old to play games, he didn't want to be guessing where they stood. He didn't want them to be together and then have Sherlock ignore it. "We are either going to be together or not. You know what I want but that doesn't matter. What do you want Sherlock?" Sherlock stared at him, frowning and replied, "It's...It's not that simple John."
John clenched his jaw but couldn't help pressing against Sherlock. "It is. You said earlier, you could look after yourself. You've killed, you've fought. I've seen the scars Sherlock. I've done the same, yes Moriarty used us against you. Used me. But he had a network, he couldn't be predicted and he's gone Sherlock. You're also forgetting something very important." Sherlock looked like he wanted to interrupt but John said, "I've chosen this. I chosen to be involved in the cases, I put myself in this position, every time I leave with you. I'm your backup, I'm the person that's supposed to help fake your suicide, I'm the person you tell."
Sherlock shut his eyes and John remained silent letting Sherlock think. His heart hammered and he tried not to let his emotions show. He thought that there was a greater chance at him leaving London than staying but he tried not to think too much on it. Finally, Sherlock opened his eyes and John knew.
After a few moments, Sherlock swallowed asked with a tone of worry, "So how do these relationships work exactly?"
John startled. "What?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and spoke more like himself, "I can't lose you. I hate it but it's the truth. I'm not very accustomed to being intimate with someone John. Out of us two, you obviously have the more experience, therefore, I am depending on you to guide me through this." John couldn't help it, he grinned, his whole face lighting up. Sherlock shook his head, "Stop that, it's not like this will be easy. I've been told by many reliable sources I am a very difficult man. That isn't going to change just because we will sleeping in the same bed." Sherlock then frowned, "We will be sleeping-" "Yes," John cut in laughing.
Then John said with a chuckle, "We will be sleeping in the same bed. I will demand you pay a little more attention then you normally do, no, we will not have a routine for sex. It tends to get boring if you have a routine. I've tried. When working on cases we will be very professional and concentrate first on them. That I can give you. And you can't always push me away." Sherlock took a moment but nodded and then asked, "You've only had two male lovers besides me, am I correct?" John nodded and then he started to feel a little a concern as he saw the gears moving. "Have you always been dominate?" He swallowed and then nodded stiffly to which Sherlock grinned fully at. "Interesting." John did not like seeing Sherlock's mind start to race over that.
Over the next couple of months, there were ups and downs and many awkward moments. But John moved back to Baker street, Sherlock had his colleague back and if Sherlock went into Scotland Yard limping slightly from time to time, or if a hickey shown somewhat proudly on his neck, well Anderson and Donovan made sure everyone knew. To which, Sherlock would deduce something equally embarrassing about them and John stayed silent hiding his smile to everyone but Sherlock. They still fought, Sherlock was still annoying ninety-five percent of the time and John was still the idiot to him most of the time, except of course when he was brilliant.
And if reporters asked them what attracted them to each other, well Sherlock was always quick with the answer, they simply had to be together.
In other words, life at Baker Street returned to, if slightly different, normal life once again.
