A/N CAM won't be in this story. I find him annoying and Haylee agrees. He's stupid and I don't want him flicking my John.
The night John visits Sherlock was the night he was barbecued in the show.

Sherlock's POV

As I sit in my armchair, I can't help but think of how bored I am. The constant tapping of fingers and sighs harmonize together, creating music of boredom and annoyance. My parents are here and I couldn't be anymore agitated than I am now. My blasted mother didn't understand the simple concept of shutting up. I used to tell her that if she didn't close her mouth flies would crawl in there and make themselves at home.

"...which wasn't the way I'd put it at all. Silly woman. Anyway, it was then that I first noticed it was missing. I said, 'Have you checked down the back of the sofa?'" my mother says.

I fake a little nodding off gesture, hoping my mother understands I find her infuriating, but it doesn't work. My mother looks to my father who has always been less of an annoyance.

"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so."

Oh, how I wish I could leave this room. I glance towards the kitchen, silently praying that they would hurry up and leave me be.

"Keys, small change, sweeties. Especially his glasses."

"Glasses."

"Blooming things. I said, 'Why don't you get a chain – wear 'em round your neck?' And he says, 'What – like Larry Grayson?'"

"Larry Grayson," my father repeats.

I stand up quickly and button my jacket. I make my way towards my parents. I make a small effort at being polite and try to put a little something into the conversation.

"So did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" I ask.

I step up onto the sofa in between my parents in hopes to annoy them. Mother leans away from me and Father just stares at me messing with the paper on the wall. I flick through a couple of pages to make it look like I'm doing work.

Hoping to make them stop talking. Hope. Always hoping. But hope never comes through for me.

"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament…"

Hmm, how interesting. Could this have something to do with that case Mycroft wants me to work on?
"…some big debate going on," mother says.

The door bursts open and John walks through it. I immediately start blushing for no reason. Okay Sherlock. Breath. Don't let him know.

"John!" I say rather flustered.

I don't want him to see my parents. This is embarrassing. He does not need to meet my parents. He never needs to meet them.

"Sorry… you're busy," he says.

I stepped off the sofa and reached down to pull my mother up. She can't be here. No way. Not now.

"Er, no-no-no, they were just leaving."

"Oh, were we?" My mother asks.

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case…" John mutters.

"No, not a case, no-no-no," I look over at my mother, "Go. 'Bye."

"Yeah, well, we're here 'til Saturday, remember."

Just go away, preferably quickly.

"Yes, great, wonderful. Just get out," I say as I usher them to the door.

"Well, give us a ring," mother says pleasantly. More like annoying

"Very nice, yes, good. Get out."

Good they're gone. I try and close the door but the door refuses to close. I look down to see mother's foot preventing me from closing the door. Damn it woman. I pull the door open a little bit, not wanting to hurt her, but still wanting her to leave. I stare down rudely at her foot and than back at her.

"I can't tell you how glad we are, Sherlock. All that time people thinking the worst of you," she says quietly.

I look to John quickly and I'm relieved to find him over by the window, looking uncomfortable with his back to all of us.

"We're just so pleased it's all over."

I frown and try and slam the door on her foot so she'll move and leave, but she doesn't budge. Not one bit. Father looks at me with a pleasant smile.

"Ring up more often, won't you?" He asks.

"Mm-hmm."

"She worries."

"Promise?" Mother asks.

I sneak a look back at John and turn back hoping he doesn't hear me. I lean closely to my mother and smile sweetly. Hopefully they'll leave.

"Promise."

She smiles wholeheartedly and reaches up to stroke my face. Mother, one day I'm going to kill you.

"Oh, for Godsakes…"

I slam the door and it finally closes. I take a deep breath before turning to John.

"Sorry about that," I say impassively.

" No, it's fine. Clients?"

"…Just my parents." I say, blushing slightly.

"Your parents?" He asks flabbergasted.

"In town for a few days."

"Your parents?"

"Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of 'Les Mis'. Tried to talk me into doing it."

"Those were your parents?" He asks yet again, while walking towards the window to look out.

Yes John. My parents. I have them. Everyone does. I sigh and look to John with an embarrassed face.

"Yes."

"Well…That is not what I…" he said, chuckling.

He looks at me and the memory of our kiss springs from the dark recess of my mind. I look down, blushing a brilliant scarlet. I've been doing that quite often. He chuckles again.

"What?"

"You're…I mean they're just… so…" he breaks off, searching for the proper word to describe them.

Wow, John. I didn't expect you to be rude like this. Normally I'm the one to insult people. I glare at him, silently challenging him to finish his thought. Just say it John.

"…ordinary," he finally says.

I was taken aback. He liked my parents? Weird. Most people don't. He smiles genuinely at me. John stop. I don't want to blush all night. I find it quite repugnant.

"It's a cross I have to bear," I say sarcastically.

He chuckles and slowly walks around the room before coming back to the same place he was in. Counterproductive John. Honestly, if you were just going to go back to the same place again, why would you move in the first place?

"Did they know, too?" John ask dejectedly.

He had to bring this up? We were doing such a good job avoiding it. I look down to my feet.

"Hmm?"

"That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek."

I fidget around a little bit before responding.

"Quite possibly."

"Ah! So that's why they weren't at the funeral. I always thought it was because they couldn't bare the pain of losing their son."

"Sorry. Sorry again."

"Mm." He looks at me with a hard glare.

"I see you've shaved it off, then. I didn't notice that it wasn't there when we kis… when we last saw each other."

"Yeah. Wasn't working for me," he replies, ignoring my slip up.

"Mm, I'm glad."

"What, you didn't like it?"

"No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven." I say smiling.

"That's not a sentence you hear every day!"

He walks around once more and ends up at his chair. He sits down, grunting on the way.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Yeah, not bad. Mary and I had a talk and we worked things out. We are all good now," He said smiling.

"Right… yeah… good."

"About what happened last night… I'm sorry."

"John. It's fine. That happened ages ago. Just forget it."

"Okay… sorry," he says.

I notice he's clenching him hand again. Time to change the subject.

"Look at my rats, John."

"Rats?"

"My markers: agents, low-lifes, people who might find themselves arrested or their diplomatic immunity suddenly rescinded. If one of them starts acting suspiciously, I know something's up. Five of them are behaving perfectly normal, but the sixth…" I say,pointing to the photograph of the man.

"Wait, isn't that the guy from the Tube car? If not, it certainly looks like him."

"Lord Moran, peer of the realm, Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment. I did not recognize him from the Tube car until now. Thank you John."

"Yes! You're welcome! That's definitely him."

"He's been working for North Korea since 1996."

"What?"

"He's the Big Rat. Rat Number One. And he's just done something very suspicious indeed."

I turn to go and sit at the desk where my laptop is to show John the video again. John stands takes his coat off, laying it on his chair. He makes his way towards me and looks at the screen.

"Still odd that he didn't get off. There's nowhere he could have gotten off?" John asks.

" Not according to the maps."

"Hmmm."

"There's something… something I'm missing, something staring me in the face."

"Any idea who they are – this underground network?"

I look at some photos of Lord Moran walking along the Houses of Parliament. It says he just came from Westminster station. This bothers me so much. How did this man not come back?

"Intelligence must have a list of the most obvious ones," John says cheekily.

"Our rat's just come out of his den."

"Al-Qaeda; the IRA have been getting restless again – maybe they're gonna make an appearance." As John rambles on I get a hit. Something I've been looking at and it finally struck me. I jump up triumphantly.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! I've been an idiot… a blind idiot!"

"What? Don't get me wrong, I love it when you insult yourself."

"Ignoring that. Oh, that's good. That could be brilliant,"I say pacing across the room.

"What are you on about?"

"Mycroft's intelligence… it's not nebulous at all. It's specific… incredibly specific."

"What do you mean?"

"Not an underground network, John. It's an Underground network."

"Right… what?"

"Sometimes a deception is so audacious, so outrageous that you can't see it even when it's staring you straight in the face," I say replaying the video of the man getting into the Tube for John.

"Look… seven carriages leave Westminster, " the video switches to the next station, "but only six carriages arrive at St James's Park."

"But that's…it's impossible," he stutters.

"Moran didn't disappear… the entire Tube compartment did. The driver must have diverted the train and then detached the last carriage."

"Detached it where?! You said there was nothing between those stations."

"Not on the maps, but once you eliminate all the other factors, the only thing remaining must be the truth," I say, pointing at the screen to show John what I was seeing.

"That carriage vanished, so it must be somewhere."

"But why, though? Why detach it in the first place?"

"It vanishes between St James's Park and Westminster. Lord Moran vanishes. Bonfires are starting to pop up everywhere."

"What do bonfires have to do with anything?"

"Everything John. What's the date, today's date?"

"Hmm? November the…My God." He's got it too. My John. We are the best damn consulting detectives around. Well, the only ones. But that's only because ordinary people are idiots and didn't think to come up with something as genius as consulting detective. I slowly walk towards the wall of information.

"Lord Moran… he's a peer of the realm. Normally he'd sit in the House. Tonight there's an all-night sitting to vote on the new anti-terrorism Bill. But he won't be there. Not tonight. Not the fifth of November," I say smiling.

"Remember, remember."

"Gunpowder, treason and plot."

-

Mr. Shilcott's head pops up on my laptop screen, wearing his ridiculous hat, while John and I are frantically searching through maps and papers on the kitchen table.

"There's nothing down there, Mr Holmes, I told you. No sightings, no ghost stations," the man said.

Oh please. I know I'm right about this. Just check the bloody video and take a long look at some maps. It's not that hard. I turn the laptop so John can see the screen too.

"There has to be. Check again," I say irritably.

Mr. Shilcott goes to look at some of the papers on his desk and John looked at maps with that cute little thinking face I adore. Sherlock, get your head out of the gutter.

"Look… this whole area is a big mess of old and new stuff. Charing Cross is made up of bits of older stations like Trafalgar Square, Strand…" John said, before I interrupted.

"No, it's none of those. We've accounted for those."

Come on John. Get your head in the game. I take the map in my hands to get a closer look.

"St Margaret's Street, Bridge Street, Sumatra Road, Parliament Street…" I look at Mr. Shilcott to see if he recognizes any of the names. He currently has a bauble from his hat in his mouth and its making me disgusted because I put that hat on my head. He removes it from his mouth and looks at me excitedly.

"Hang on, hang on. Sumatra Road. You mentioned Sumatra Road, Mr. Holmes?"

He leaned to the left to look for a book and then came back,"There is something. I knew it rang a bell. Where is it? There was a station down there."

"Well, why isn't it on the maps?" John asked.

"'Cause it was closed before it ever opened,"

"What?"

Mr. Shilcott held up a book of London's underground network and showed it to us.

"They built the platforms, even the staircases, but it all got tied up in legal disputes, so they never built the station on the surface," he said as he pointed to the spot of what he was talking about.

"It's right underneath the Palace of Westminster," I muttered.

"And so what's down there? A bomb?" John asks.

I stand up and started making my way towards the outside of Baker Street. Not worrying about if John would follow me or not because where I go he follows.

"Oh…" I hear John mutter, along with the sound of him turning the laptop off. And then footsteps.

"Where are we going?" John asks.

"Parliament. We have a bomb to defuse."

John and I walk briskly along the road next to the Houses of Parliament and head to the stairs leading down into Westminster station. We make our way down to where we need to be and stop.

"So it's a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb," John asks timidly.

"Must be."

"Right."

John takes his glove off and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He dials the numbers before I can say stop.

"What are you doing, John?"

"Calling the police."

"What? No!"

"Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament."

"They'll get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient."

I stop at a locked maintenance entrance. I take out a crowbar from my coat and start wrenching the gate open.

"And illegal."

"Just a bit."

I finally get the gate open, shove John through, and pull the gate closed. John pulls out his flashlight as I pull out mine. I hear John stop and I am certain he's checking his phone. There's no point. There's no service down here.

"What are you doing?" I ask, not looking around at him.

"Coming," he sighs.

We walk through many tunnels and walkways and we climb down the ladders. At last we arrive at Sumatra station. I shine the flashlight along the track besides the platform looking for a train. But there's no sign of it.

"I don't understand."

"Well, that's a first!"

"Shut up 's nowhere else it could be."

I turn towards the track and close my eyes. I quickly go into my mind palace in hopes of figuring this out. Where had it gone? Where would it have gone? I think and think until I come to the conclusion. Simple really. How could I have not gotten it? So stupid and human Sherlock. I open my eyes and run towards the end of the platform with John on my tail.

"What?" I hear him say but I am too locked up in my mind to notice. I jump off the platform and on to the tracks

"Hang on. Sherlock?"

"What John?"

"That's… isn't it live?"

"Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails," I said, smiling at him.

"'Course, yeah. Avoid the rails. Great," he says jumping down onto the tracks.

"This way."

"You sure?"

"Sure," I say before walking a couple meters and reaching what looks like the missing carriage.

"Ah. Look at that," John says.

"John."

"Hmm?"

I shine my flashlight to the vent on the top of the tunnel noticing that it has several small devices that seem to be explosive or explosive like on the sides of the vents.

"Demolition charges?" John asks.

We climb into the carriage and find that it's empty. Wow this is disappointing. Nothing here. A bit fishy though. I spot cables going down the walls and on the backs of the chairs.

"It's empty. There's nothing," John says happily.

"Isn't there?"

I lift the cushion in order for John to see it. John points his flashlight right where I am and his face looks up in surprise and fear.

"This is the bomb," I say.

"What?"

I lift the cushion all the way up to make him observe the explosives.

"It's not carrying explosives. The whole compartment is the bomb."

I go around to every single cushion as does John and every one of them has a single explosive under it.

While John continues to lift the seat cushions, I take a look around the carriage to see if anything is wrong in this carriage. I start to get frustrated when I can't find anything. There has to be something wrong. I glance down and see that a floor panel is loose on the aisle.

I bend down and force the panel open. Underneath is what seems to be the largest bomb on the train. John takes several deep nervous breaths, I know this is hard for him. God I feel so bad for taking him on this case. I put the panel up against the side of the train. I look down and then look up into Johns eyes to already find him staring at me.

"We need bomb disposal."

"There may not be time for that now."

"So what do we do?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, think of something," he says rather harshly.

"Why d'you think I know what to do?"

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets."

"The flattery is nice. Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?"

"I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor."

"And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all," I say angrily.

I look down at the timer that displays the time 2:30.

"Can't… can't we rip the timer off, or something?"

"That would set it off."

"You see? You know things."

"As well as you know things. I just don't know about bomb defusing John. I didn't think it was important."

"How could you think that bomb defusing isn't important!"

" I didn't think I'd be in the situation."

"Oh damnit Sherlock!"

Out of nowhere the countdown on the clock begins to tick down and John groans. Oh damn. I need to shut it off.

"Er…"

"My God!"

I start to pace. I need to think if a way to save John.

"Er…"

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"Please just…"

"Why do you never call the police?"

"WELL, ITS NO USE NOW!" I yell at him in a voice that sounds vaugely like a five year olds.

I look down at the clock. 2:15.

"So you can't switch the bomb off? You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police."

"Go, John, " I say pointing towards the way out, "go now."

"There's no point now, is there, because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this…other people will die!"

I glance down again. looks down for a moment and then looks back up to me and starts to point at me.

"Mind Palace."

"Hmm?"

"Use your Mind Palace."

"How will that help?"

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!"

"Oh, and you think I've just got 'How To Defuse A Bomb' tucked away in there somewhere?"

"Yes! "

I wait for a second and put my fingers up to my head. Could I save John?

"Nope. Not in here."

"Think."

"Think. Please think," John pleads.

I groan. I can't do this. My poor, sweet John is going to die and it's going to be my fault. I am the worst person to ever live.

"Oh my God," I say, taking off my scarf and dropping down to my knees.

"This is it," John whispers.

" I'm sorry,"

"What?"

" I can't ... I can't do it, John. I don't know how. Forgive me?"

"What?"

"Please, John, forgive me ... for all the hurt that I caused you. I was selfish and I'm sorry."

" No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick."

"No."

"Another one of your bloody tricks."

"No."

"You're just trying to make me say something nice."

"Not this time."

"It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like…"

" I wanted you not to be dead."

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for."

"If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and…you'd still have a future…with… oh my God!

"What?"

"There's an Off switch."

"What?"

"Look, right there," I say, pointing at the small switch on the side of the bomb.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Turn it off you idiot!"

I grin, then squeezes my fingers down the side of the device and flick the switch. The timer flickers from 0:34 and 0:33. I did it.

"Oh thank God," John mutters.

"John… come here."

I stand and hold my arm wide open. He walks over to me and wraps his arms around my neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put you in danger. I shouldn't have done it. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course I forgive you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't I forgive you?"

"Because I'm a total dick and I shouldn't have put you in danger."

"No, it's okay. Everything's fine."

"I hope you realize I'm using this against you forever."

"You're a complete and utter cock. I'm going to kill you."

"Oh, please. Killing me… that's so two years ago."

I see flashlight beams approaching through the open door. John pulls away from our hug.

"You did call the police?" John asks.

"No I texted George. He called the police."

"His name is Greg."

"No… no… I'm quite certain it's George."

John chuckles and lets out an exasperated sigh. Three armed officers approach us, flashlights shining from their raised rifles.

"Hello boys. You two alright?" the officer on the left asks.

"Obviously," I reply sarcastically.

"Well okay. We just need your help catching the attempted terrorist," the officer on the right says.

"Actually, do you mind if I head home? Sherlock should be able to help," John says.

"Yes, of course. I'll escort you," the officer in the middle says cheekily, a broad smile on her young face.

John's POV

I unlock the door to the flat Mary and I share. I turn around and wave to the officer in the car.

"Thanks for the ride home Kate," I yell.

"You're welcome," she yells back.

She reaves the engine and drives away. I open the door and walk through the threshold.

"Mary? I'm home."

"John, what took you so long? All you needed to do was pick up your jacket," Mary's voice drifted from the living room.

"Yeah, sorry. Sherlock needed help on a case. National Security. Bomb under Parliament," I say, walking towards her.
When I reach the living room, I see a look of shock on her face.

"A bomb? Under Parliament?"

"Yes, but don't worry. Everything's fine."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Well, there was a brief period where I thought I would die, but Sherlock fixed it."

"Wait. John. Did you just say that there was a brief period when you thought you might die?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Why is it whenever you're around him you have an even bigger chance of dying. How am I supposed to deal with that?"

"Mary, he's my best friend. I can't just leave him."

"YES! YES YOU CAN!" Mary exploded.

"WELL I WON'T!"

"WHY NOT JOHN?! HE'S RUDE AND HE CONSTANTLY PUTS YOU INTO DANGEROUS SITUATIONS WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT!"

"BECAUSE I CAN'T JUST LEAVE HIM! ESPECIALLY AFTER I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD FOR TWO YEARS! You know how bad that was for me and to have him back is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Excuse me? Best thing that's ever happened to you? IM NOT THE BEST THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO YOU!?"

"No… wait… Mary… that's not what I meant...wait... I'm sorry."

"No John. Just leave. Don't come back until I hear an apology. An actual apology John Watson."

"God it's like you're my mother right now."

"EXCUSE ME?!"

"IM LEAVING NOW!"

"GOOD RIDDANCE!"

I rush out the flat, slamming the door on my way, hail a taxi and make my way to Baker Street. Hopefully, Sherlock is back.

I wake up feeling more horrid than before. I feel a sting and I realize that Sherlock is hovering over me caring for my cuts. He looks at me with compassion in his eyes.

"John. What have you done?" He asks.

*flashback*

I walk into my old flat feeling terrible. I look around to see if Sherlock is here but I find nothing. I desperately need to talk to someone.

I feel tears in my eyes as I look into the mirror above the chimney. Is this what I've become? A train wreck who can't even keep his own fiancée happy?

I thought Mary was my hope but now I just feel useless and torn up inside. I can't see why she doesn't like Sherlock. I can't see why she has to pick fights when I was perfectly fine after the case.

I feel so angry at myself that I decide to do something stupid. It hurts too much. Maybe I can make the pain in my heart go away just for a few minutes and focus on another pain.

I lift up the skull on the mantle and find my razor. I'm so tired I can't even see straight. I bring the razor to my arms and slash. I can't even remember when I stopped. All I remember is blood, tears, and falling down.

*end of flashback*

"Sherlock is that you?" I ask hoarsely.

"No, it's Mycroft," he replies sarcastically, dragging a wet washcloth across my damaged skin.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"What happened?"

"What happened? You should know. I found you in the living room, passed out with blood running down your arms."

"I know how that happened. I was wondering why I passed out."

"My guess is exhaustion. You didn't lose enough blood to pass out. Care to explain what happened?" He asked, looking into my eyes with the same look of compassion.

"Mary and I had a fight. I felt angry, useless, and torn up inside because I can't keep my own fiancée happy let alone myself Sherlock. I'm lying to myself when I say I'm happy. I'm broken and I think everyone knows it."

"Shhh… don't think like that," he says quietly as he continues to wipe of the dried blood.

"No. I'm broken and I don't think anyone can fix me."

"You don't need to be whole. No one's perfect."

"Why can I never be happy? I thought I was. With Mary. I'm not happy, Sherlock. But I want to be happy. I want Mary to be happy. With me. Why can't this be simple?"

"Who said life was simple? When you signed up for life under the terms and conditions it clearly stated 'Your life is going to suck sometimes. You just got to deal with it.'"

"It never said it would suck all the time. If it did, I wouldn't have even signed up."

"Does your life suck all the time? Don't you have friends?"

"I have you. But that's basically it. Mary doesn't count as a friend. She counts as someone I'm supposed to make happy."

"You can't make everyone happy. It's not that easy."

"But my soon to be wife doesn't like you and I don't know if that's okay with me."

"I don't care if she doesn't like me."

"I know you don't, but I do."

"Why? Why do you care?"

"Because you're my best friend and she should like you. You and Mary will be in my life and hopefully for a long time but if Mary doesn't like you than it will be hell and I don't think I can deal with that."

"Do you honestly find it surprising that she doesn't like me? There are times when I don't even like myself."

"I just thought she would be different from other people. She tries to see the good in people but apparently she can't find any good in you. I don't see why she can't find good in you. You are perfectly likable once you get past the twat-like tendencies."

"No one has actually taken the time to look past all my horrible qualities except for you. And is there anything people find admirable?" He asks, the blood almost completely gone now.

"Your remarkable way of trying your hardest to solve something even if it doesn't have that much of an affect on people."

"John, that's basically my way of getting high."

"But it's still amazing."

"That's because you're easy to impress."

"Well Mr. Easy To Impress thinks its still amazing."

I look at him harshly, hoping he understands my message.

"Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"And here I was expecting a sarcastic comment."

"Nope. I'm too tired and achey for that. Otherwise I would comment away."

"Well, you're all cleaned up. I should let you get some sleep."

"Thank you. And thank you for not judging me on my bad decisions. You are a great friend even if everyone thinks you're a dick."

"You've seen my bad decisions. Who am I to judge?"

"Thank you anyways. Now if you don't mind, my old bed looks really comfy. Why haven't you moved it by now?"

"Haven't found the time. Do you want me to move it?"

"No. It's fine. Leave it."

"Now I have a question for you."

"Okay. Shoot."

"Why is it whenever you're sad you come here? I'm not good with feelings."

"Because it makes me feel at home. Because being with my best friend is better than being alone. I just need comfort and Baker Street provides that."

"How very sentimental of you."

"Oh shut up. I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight Sherlock."

He stands, grabbing the bowl of dirty water, and walks to the door. He turns around and smiles at me.

"Goodnight John."