John Sets Things Straight (in a manner of speaking)

Sherlock was a bit late getting back, but John didn't really mind. He knew that he was safe at the lab, working away on his bloody experiment, so he didn't need to worry about him. And the unexpected peace and quiet had given John a good opportunity to get a few jobs done. Currently the flat was about as clean as it ever got, he'd been to the gym, and he was three quarters of the way through a blog post that he'd been having trouble getting going with.

So all in all, by the time he heard Sherlock's characteristic crashing entrance through the front door, John was quite pleased with his afternoon.

This effect was lost when Sherlock slammed into the flat with a face like thunder.

"What's the matter?" John asked, putting his laptop to one side. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock waved off his enquiry with a frustrated gesture and stomped away into his bedroom. John could hear him bashing about a bit in there, then the wardrobe opening. He sighed.

A couple of minutes later, Sherlock emerged again, having taken off his coat, suit jacket, shoes and socks, and put his dressing gown on over his shirt. He swung into the centre of the room and came to rest, feet apart and arms folded, directly in front of John's chair, staring down at John with a look of alarming determination.

"Um...shall I make us some dinner?" John offered after a moment of awkward silence.

"John, I need to know where your loyalties lie," Sherlock said firmly.

"My...my loyalties? What do you mean?"

Sherlock stared assessingly at him for a moment, studying his face the way he did when he thought somebody was trying to lie to him. Then he let out a long breath and allowed his arms to drop to his sides, something more than tension draining out of him.

"I mean, John, about your girlfriends."

John frowned. "What about them? Which ones?"

"Future ones, John!" Sherlock cried, and strode off across the room, running his fingers into his hair in a gesture of frustration. "I want to know where your loyalties will be in the future."

"Well...I'm sorry Sherlock, I don't know. I can't tell what's going to happen in the future, can I." Sherlock threw him an annoyed look and slumped down into his own armchair. John decided to push his own irritation aside and lay it out a bit more plainly. "I think maybe you should try and make it clearer what you're asking me, because I'm confused."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in a show of impatience that John knew for a stalling method. Then his leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and stared John in the eye.

"If one of your girlfriends wants you to move in with her John, what will you do?"

So that was what he was worried about! Okay, John thought, what was the best way to explain it to him?

"It depends on the girl, I suppose. And the strength of the relationship. If it were strong enough that, say, I wanted to get married, I'd consider it, Sherlock. Of course I would."

Sherlock's face fell, and John felt mean, but reminded himself that he couldn't just blandly reassure Sherlock, not on something like this. He loved his friend but he wouldn't cave in just to comfort him.

"It's unlikely though," he continued. "I don't seem to do that well with girlfriends, or at least not lately. And it would take a hell of a lot to make me leave here. I really do like living with you, Sherlock, even when you're driving me mad."

Sherlock was staring at him curiously now, his expression mingling fear and confusion and hope. He hadn't heard what he'd wanted to hear, but neither had he heard what he'd dreaded, John supposed. He reached out one hand and leaned forward to touch Sherlock's elbow.

"You aren't my second choice or anything, you know. I want to be here, living with you. And if, someday, I decide I want to go and live with somebody else, because I want to marry them or whatever, then I will." Sherlock flinched and John pinched his arm to keep him listening. "But even if I move out, Sherlock, it won't mean anything has to change with you and me. You're my best friend. I love being able to join in with you when you work, and I enjoy the time we spend together. If I live somewhere else, all it means is I'll have to make sure it's an easy tube ride away from Baker Street."

Sherlock spoke, his voice unnervingly quiet; "You don't want to move away?"

"Not at this point, no."

Sherlock stared at John's hand on his arm for a long, silent moment, then shrugged it gently away and got to his feet. Looking down at John, he opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, gave an abrupt nod, and walked away, heading back to his room.

John listened to the door fall shut behind him, then slumped back in his chair with a sigh. What the hell had that been about? Sherlock had actually seemed worried, which was uncharacteristic at best and bloody frightening at worst.

Still, some part of John felt reassured by Sherlock's concern. It was easy to feel, at times, like he was alone in placing such importance on their friendship. But to see Sherlock so upset at the notion of losing John's presence in his life, it broke down John's occasional fears and left a part of him feeling calm.

But what had brought this on? He was fairly sure actually, and the thought made him frown. He would lay a bet that Molly's new tactic of trying to make Sherlock jealous by flirting with him had upset Sherlock. Maybe he actually thought that John and Molly were going out. In fact, given his silence on the subject of their tryst the night of the hospital shooting, he wondered if Sherlock had been worried about this matter from the first.

It wasn't like Molly to try and manipulate people like that, that's what bothered John as much as anything. But then again, the way Sherlock had treated her since he'd become aware of her crush on him, it sort of made sense that she could get away with a bit of revenge. John wondered if she realised, though, just how much confusion her actions were causing Sherlock. No, she couldn't know or she'd stop, he was certain. She had no malice in her. But she must have some other reason for doing it then, as he couldn't see her going to any lengths just to upset somebody. He sighed, and wondered if he should try and talk to her about it.

And then, what about him? The whole time he'd been talking to Sherlock, about girlfriends, about marriage, the thought had been whispering away in the back of his mind;

If we were together, you wouldn't have to worry about this. You'd be sure of me.

His state of mind had actually become a bit clearer to him recently. He was certain now that his feelings for Sherlock went far beyond the normal parameters of friendship, that what he felt was very definitely love. A devoted love at that, as he couldn't, truly couldn't, envisage a situation that would change it. He was stuck like this.

Did he want to be with Sherlock though, that was the sticking point. He'd never had a relationship with a man that had involved any more commitment than swapping phone numbers, or any more long-term relationship management than sneaking into one another's barracks for three nights in a row. His heart was all for it, and he knew he could deal with any flak he would get for being with a man. But what about sex?

Sex with men, at least in John's experience, had always been fairly utilitarian. He slept with men for release from stress, for alleviation from boredom, even to build trust among those he worked and lived with, all sound reasons in the context of a military post. And while he'd been friends with most of the men he slept with, romantic relationships and emotionally connected love-making had always been for women.

So without that previous context, would he even find another man sexually attractive enough to maintain a committed relationship?

As if in response to this train of thought, the door to Sherlock's room creaked open and the man himself emerged. He'd changed his clothes again, and now wore his pyjama bottoms and one of his seemingly infinite supply of clingy, thin t-shirts. The soft cotton of the clothes skimmed close to every curve of his body, showing off the long, lean lines of him to perfection, even down to the little seams John could make out on the tops of his thighs, where the legs of his underwear sat.

Yes, John thought. Yes he was attracted to Sherlock sufficiently to maintain a relationship. He really, really was.

Sherlock dropped bonelessly down into his armchair again and looked around the room vaguely. John watched him, waited for him to speak, adored him.

"Did you say something about dinner, John?" Sherlock asked with drooping eyes.

"I did. Are you hungry?"

Sherlock nodded, his lower lip sticking out a bit, making him look like a big, lanky kid.

John smiled at him and got to his feet.

::

So; John has sorted out his feelings but has managed to miss something quite important.

Molly knows what she wants but doesn't know how to get it, and is blithely unaware of the confusion she's causing.

And Sherlock is just totally lost.

Funsville!

I think Sherlock's pyjamas are much sexier than even the purple shirt of sex, so I put him in them to spark off John's revelation. I put him in them in Peach too, and they'll probably show up in my future stories as well, so I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

BTW, thank you to everybody who has left me reviews/comments. I really appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think. :)