Bear with me here on this chapter please! There are multiple parts to it so somewhere along this chapter will be a line or something of the sort to separate the two POVs. first part is John, second is Sherlock, and the third is neither or something...there's a word for it...


Life with Sherlock was sometimes very frustrating. I knew what I agreed to when Sherlock and I...we...you know. When we got...together. It's still a bit strange for me to think that way even after 9 months of being in this relationship with him. God knows I love him, and I hope that he does love me. But even with the love, there are those times that I wish I didn't. No that's not right. I never wish that I didn't feel the way that I do, it's just...a lot to handle. Take this moment right now. Sherlock's lying on the couch, eyes closed, shutting the world and me completely out. I'm more or less used to him shutting me out. That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt a little bit, but right now that's actually not the issue right now. So Sherlock's laying there on the couch and he won't move. I realize that he enjoys just laying there, but he's got a room with a perfectly comfortable bed. (Trust me, I know.)

Whenever I try to talk to him, he simply murmurs "Not right now, John", shushes me and never opens his eyes. I honestly don't know if he's sleeping there in a weird trance or if he's thinking. I've been standing here in the doorway for about 20 minutes thinking about what to do with this situation. (Don't think certain things haven't crossed my mind, but I doubt Sherlock's in the mood right now.) Do I go and ask him what the hell he's even doing? Do I send him to his room like a child? Or, and I'm seriously considering this, I could always go and wake him up in a...unique way to say the least.

Yep. I've reached a decision, and I better do it now because I'm starting to lose the feeling in my left leg. "Sherlock?" I walked over to him and whisper in his ear.


This couch is quite comfortable. I would get up and go in my room, but I know that that's all John wants. The one thing this couch lacks would be the comforting smell of John. He smells...delicious, delectable. Like home, like warmth. Like all the things I never knew I wanted. That's the only reason I even consider going to my room at any time.

I wonder if he thinks I'm unaware of him. He's just standing over there in the doorway. If I'm keeping time correctly (who am I kidding? Of course my time keeping skills are right) then John has been standing there for nearly 20 minutes. His leg is most likely falling asleep or is nearing numbness. It's about time; I can hear his footsteps softly thudding and are coming closer to me. Mmm, he's whispering in my ear. It's almost hard for me to concentrate on what John is actually saying because his breath is so warm in my ear.


"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?" Sherlock responded trying to hold back a quiet moan.

John kissed him and ended it far too quickly by Sherlock's standards. "Do you really want to lay here? By yourself?" John was a little surprised with how quick Sherlock leapt from the couch and pulled him along.