Sherlock always berated him for asking stupid questions, but now John just couldn't help it.

"What do you mean, it wasn't you?" he frowned. "Then who it was?"

Lestrade shrugged. "No idea. Maybe you should check his phone. Or ask him, when he wakes up."

"I think I'll choose the second option," John downed his tea and looked in the direction of sofa. "Although it could take a while, I think."

The Detective Inspector glanced at him sympathetically. "You could use that time to rest yourself, Doctor. Because when he wakes up, you're going to have your hands full. Trust me on that."

"Past experience?" the blond-haired man enquired curiously.

"Too many of them, if you ask me," Lestrade started to get up. "Now excuse me, but I should get back to work. If you need anything, just give me a call."

"Thank you, but I think we'll manage."

"As you wish. But I'll call tomorrow anyway, just to be sure that you're both okay," the Detective Inspector cast a final glance at Sherlock and left the room, John following him downstairs. At the front door, Lestrade turned and looked at the ex-army medic. "I've got to warn you, it can get ugly. I don't know exactly how much they gave him, but let's not forget that he's a former addict. So keep an eye on him the next few days."

"Will do. Thanks for your help, Inspector."

"Oh, it's nothing. You can always count on me. Evening, Doctor."

"Evening."

John closed and locked the front door and went back to the living room. Sherlock turned in his sleep, and now was facing the back of a sofa. John carefully straightened the blanket and then sat in the nearest chair, intending to hold vigil over his sleeping flatmate. But the fatigue soon took its toll, and the blond didn't even notice as he slipped into a deep slumber…


John woke up with a start and looked around in confusion, trying to understand what brought him awake so suddenly. And the reason presented itself immediately in the form of clear grey-blue eyes which were looking at him intently.

"Sherlock?" John leaned forward, wincing when the muscles in his back protested vigorously. "You're awake, thank God. How are you feeling?"

His friend, as usual, countered John's questions with his own. "How had I gotten home? I don't remember a thing."

"Lestrade picked you up at the river bank. By the way, care to explain what the hell happened?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and turned his head, facing away.

"Don't you dare to shut me out now, Sherlock!" John lunged forward and grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. The younger man hissed in pain and tried to push his friend away, but John was having none of that. "Look at me!"

The consulting detective sat up abruptly, and John, who wasn't expecting such a movement, instinctively let Sherlock go. As a result he immediately lost his balance and ended up hitting the floor quite painfully. Dazed from the impact, John watched, dumbfounded, as Sherlock silently got up, stepped over him and slowly went towards his room.

It took a few moments for John to finally snap out of his daze and get up from the floor. And then he stormed after his flatmate, catching the dark-haired man at the door of his bedroom. Hearing John approaching, Sherlock turned around and waited, his expression calm and almost serene. The ex-army doctor stopped short, as if hitting the invisible wall, and all struggle went out of him abruptly. They stood silently, just staring at each other until the moment when Sherlock blinked, wavered unsteadily and started to fall sideways. John reacted immediately by grabbing hold of Sherlock with one hand and pushing the door open with the other. Sherlock leaned heavily on him, and they slowly made their way over to the bed, John helping his friend to lie down and making sure he rested comfortably. The detective's fingers closed around the shorter man's wrist, preventing him from leaving, and John felt himself being pulled down insistently. He obediently sat on the bed and glanced at his friend questioningly.

Sherlock cleared his throat uneasily. "John, I need to tell you something."

"And I need to apologise."

"Apologise?" Sherlock frowned. "What for?"

"Back in the living room, I shouldn't have…"

"No, that's… okay, actually…"

"It is?"

"Absolutely."

"That's good. Now, you were saying?"

"John, I was thinking..," Sherlock began, but stopped abruptly, turning his head towards the door. "Is that my phone?"

The ex-army doctor strained his ears and immediately heard it – a distinct sound of Sherlock's phone, heralding an incoming call. The detective started to get up, but John shook his head disapprovingly and pushed his friend back onto the bed. "Don't be stupid, I'll get it for you."

"Thank you," Sherlock slid up the bed and sat with his back against the headboard.

By the time John got in the living room, Sherlock's phone already stopped ringing. Scooping the device up from the coffee table, the doctor glanced briefly at the screen and his eyes widened. There were a dozen missed calls from Mycroft, and the equal amount of text messages. Intrigued, John briefly toyed with the idea of taking a peek at them, and his finger already lingered over the 'Receive' button, but right at that moment Sherlock called his name impatiently. Snapping out of his reverie, John quickly went back to Sherlock's bedroom, deciding to simply ask his friend directly about the mysterious yesterday message.

"Finally!" Sherlock reached out, snatching the phone out of John's hand and started sorting out his calls and messages. Mycroft's were obviously deleted without looking, judging by the expression on the younger man's face; but there were the other two which the detective chose to acknowledge, firing the answering texts off in quick succession. Finishing his task, he glanced up and noticed the uncertain expression on the older man's face.

"What is it, John?" Sherlock asked calmly, placing his phone on a bedside table.

"I was just wondering..," John paused, then seemed to work up his courage and plunged onward. "Sherlock, yesterday, when you've left after receiving the message… Who sent it to you? And don't tell me that it was from Lestrade, because I'm already know that's not true."

Sherlock looked at him for a few moments, then grabbed his phone and started flicking through the received messages. Finally finding the one he was looking for, the detective showed it to his friend.

Get out of the flat. I'll sort everything out. MH

"You actually listened to him?" John asked, perplexed.

"It seemed the most rational thing to do at that moment," Sherlock admitted, albeit grudgingly.

"So he knew all along..," John said thoughtfully, and then snapped his mouth shut, realising that he outed himself completely.

Too late. Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"Mycroft… paid a visit after your departure. Apparently, our initial meeting wasn't incidental. Your brother seems to have control over everything. Except you, maybe."

Sherlock's face remained impassive. "I'm surprised he told you. He rarely discloses his secrets."

"Well, I think I surprised him yesterday," John admitted, feeling relieved by Sherlock's obvious acceptance of the situation.

"Yes, that was quite an interesting… experience," Sherlock turned his attention back to the phone, searching for something. "Although I have no inclination to repeating it ever again."

"Neither do I," John agreed easily.

They were silent for the next several minutes – Sherlock still looking at his phone and John just looking at Sherlock. There was only one subject left unclear, and John already opened his mouth to ask the final question, when Sherlock finally seemed to find what he was looking for.

"That's why I ended up on the river bank," he commented, passing his phone to John. "Have a look."

Just a little something to cheer you up. Look at the attachment. M

"Moriarty?" John guessed, handing the phone back, and Sherlock nodded curtly. "And the attachment?"

"A warehouse in the outskirts of London. Two operatives from the Black Lotus inside, intended on settling scores. Shan is dead, apparently, and they decided to avenge her."

"Then who send the message to Lestrade?" John asked, frowning.

"What message?" Sherlock matched John's frown with his own.

"The message in which he was asked to come and pick somebody up. And that somebody turned out to be you, Sherlock."

"Interesting," was all that Sherlock said, hands already coming into the steepled position in front of his lips.

"Don't even think about it," John warned, noticing the familiar spark in his flatmate's eyes.

"Don't think about what?" Sherlock said innocently.

"Don't think about whatever… you're thinking about. Not going to happen."

"You're no fun," Sherlock complained, throwing his phone on the bed.

Right at that moment, John's own phone rang in his pocket, and the doctor pulled it out. Lestrade' number appeared on the screen, and Sherlock, who managed to spot that, immediately snatched the phone out of John's fingers.

"Hey!" the blond said indignantly, but the detective already pressed the button and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello, Inspector… Yes, that's me. No, John is right here… Well, I just wanted to say 'hello'. Fine, the recovery is progressing… Thank you, I will. Any news on your side?" Sherlock's face lit up after Lestrade's answer, and John rolled his eyes. "Really? I'll be there in half an hour… Thanks for your concern, but I'm absolutely fine. Okay. See you soon."

"You just had to do this, hadn't you?" John huffed in exasperation. "Sherlock, you need to rest at least two days to fully recover."

"Nonsense, John," the detective resolutely got out of bed and went to the wardrobe. "You know full well that work for me is the best cure. Now don't just sit there, get dressed! We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Hopeless," John muttered under his breath, but nevertheless went to his room and changed his clothes.

Sherlock was waiting for him in the living room, all but tapping his foot impatiently. "At last!" he commented, pulling his gloves on.

"Are you sure you up to this, Sherlock?" John asked worriedly, noticing how pale Sherlock looked.

"Pretty sure. And besides, you're going to be near all the time, so I've nothing to worry about. Especially after the yesterday's events," the detective winked at his friend.

John sighed long-sufferingly. "You're just going to rub it into my face every time, aren't you?"

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it pretty soon. Now, let's go, we have a case to solve!" Sherlock grinned, turned on his heels and fled out of the room.

"I think I'm used to it already," John mused aloud. "God help me."

"John!" Sherlock bellowed from downstairs.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" John shouted, hurrying after his friend…

Life with Sherlock Holmes wasn't going to be an easy thing. But it clearly promised to be quite interesting, and that's all that mattered for John Watson. He finally chose his side and was determined to stick with his choice till the end. And God help anyone who would try to stop him...

So, that's the end of story. Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed and put this story in favourites and on alerts. You were my inspiration and the reason to keep writing. THANK YOU!