"Congratulations, your presence has made Angelo positively giddy." Sherlock said, linking his fingers with John as they left the restaurant.

"I think it's more the combined our presence that put that grin on his face." John replied, giving Sherlock's hand a squeeze as their walking pace increased.

"Mm. I should make sure he doesn't try to steal you from me." Sherlock retorted, winking.

"As if I'd let myself be stolen." John replied, leaning in to Sherlock as they walked.

"True, you're mine. Bed?" They'd stopped outside Baker Street. John nodded in the affirmative.

"Sherlock! Can I please meet him yet? I've watched the show, I know it's him!" Mrs Hudson called as they tried to sneak up the stairs to their flat.

"I'm guessing I should just stay very still and very quiet so you can pretend I'm just a John statue?" John asked sarcastically.

"Shh. I don't want her coming up the stairs, the rain makes her hips bad. You can meet her tomorrow, or the day after, or whenever the inevitable squealing seems tolerable." Sherlock whispered in reply, continuing to hurry John up the stairs.

"Tomorrow boys!" Mrs Hudson called after them again.


"I think I'm going to go and look for a job tomorrow morning, Sherlock."

"Fine." Sherlock huffed "Why can't you just stay here all the time?"

"Because one of us needs to stock the fridge with something that isn't body parts, okay?"

Sherlock grumbled something unintelligible in reply, but John took it as acceptance, so reached up to kiss his forehead.

"Bed. Now."


"Okay, here's the plan: you go out, get a job, and be back here within the hour, okay?"

"Sherlock, give me my trousers." John sighed, slightly irritated but mostly with having to get dressed in the first place.

"No. Promise you'll be back." Sherlock pouted, his hand forming the shape of a gun next to the trousers.

"I'll be home soon, it just might take a little while." John reached to grab the hostage trousers. "I promise."

Sherlock handed over the trousers in defeat.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock pulled John back into the bed.

"Fine. One more hour."

"Two."


When Sherlock awoke approximately thirty eight and a half minutes later, stretching and feeling pleasantly sore, he reached over for John, who was absent.

"Bastard." He reached for the next best thing, just a little further to his left: his mobile phone.


When John returned about an hour after that, he found his keys missing from his pocket, having been removed in the trouser hostage situation earlier, and a note stuck to the door.

"I have a case. As revenge for you heartlessly abandoning me this morning, I'm not telling you where- SH"

John shrugged, and knocked on the door.

"Hi, Mrs Hudson, I'm John. Sherlock stole my keys, so I figure we can have that tea now?"


Half an hour later, John left Baker Street with a belly full of tea and scones, and an address.

Because if Sherlock had taught him nothing so far, he knew that Sherlock cared and Mrs Hudson worried enough for her to always know where he was.

John approached the crime scene. It looked like, well, he supposed it look like your average crime scene. Police officers, check. Passers-by milling around, watching it like a car crash, check. Consulting detectives? Yes, this was the right place.

Through some miracle John was allowed under the tape. He assumed it was something to do with Mycroft: Sherlock described him as a magpie or something of the like, always watching.

"Well of course she is, look at the second ring on her left thumb!"

By another miracle, John supposed this one was just good luck, everyone was facing away from him.

And then he made his move.


Hello there. I thought it had been a month, but it seems like it hasn't actually. How thrilling.

I'm gonna write chapter eight now, I think. Maybe. I'm not sure if I want an early night or not.

Whatevs. You'll get it within the week anyway.

I shouldn't be writing until June 18th, but meh I want to fail my GCSEs innit.

Mayeb it won't be withing the week.

Review and it probably will.

Threats with time, mwahahahah.

Sleep?