Chapter 10

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"Did you kiss him?" Mary asked, practically tackling John when he came through the door.

"No," John said, hugging her and smiling.

"What?" she pushed him away. "John… You coward…"

"I wouldn't say that," John said, trying to suppress his grin. "Not tonight, at least."

She frowned. "John Watson… What are you not telling me?"

Now he couldn't hold back a wide, smug grin. "He kissed me. Well, maybe 'snogged me senseless' is a better expression..."

Mary stared at him for a full five seconds. Then she squealed. "He did? Was it good? Did you take pictures?"

John started laughing. "Yes, of course, I was going to stop him to take out my phone! Silly. But yeah… It was pretty amazing."

"Arh…" Mary pouted. "I'm so jealous… Why can't I have my own gorgeous porn star?"

John's smile fell. "You… You're still okay with it, right?"

"Of course I am," she said, raising one hand to stroke his cheek gently. "I mean… John… You should see yourself… So happy. You're practically sparkling. I want you to have this. I do." She leaned in and kissed him. "I just want you to share it with me, okay? Tell me about it? Let me in on your happiness."

John nodded. "But if you ever do get jealous… Please tell me, right? I really don't want to hurt you."

"Don't worry," Mary said, pulling him in for another hug. "If I ever do get jealous, you'll be the first person to know. When you wake up in the night to the searing pain when I chop your cock off…" She giggled.

"Oh, that's a relief," John said in a slightly-too-high voice, but he chuckled and pulled her to the sofa. "How much detail do you want, then?"

"All of it," she said, snuggling up to him. "What was he wearing? What did he say? Did he use tongue?"

…

The muscles in John's face were starting to protest a little at the goofy smile he'd been wearing all day, but that didn't stop him from replaying the kiss over and over in his head. After he and Sherlock had finally broken apart, beaming at each other, they had walked back to Baker Street, close but not quite touching. When they stood by John's car, Sherlock had invited him back into the flat, but John had excused himself, saying that he needed to report to Mary. Then he had taken Sherlock's hand and told him to text when he had time to meet again, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't feel like he wasn't important, just something to spice up their marriage… Yet when Sherlock's lips were on his again and John's hands tangled in his curls, it was clear that they both knew that wasn't true. This was just as much about them.

John had to shake off the feeling of those soft, curved lips against his skin time and again before another patient walked in, and it was a relief when it was finally time for his break. Today, too, that was spent glancing at his phone, but now he wasn't collecting courage to text - just thinking what he'd say. Sherlock wouldn't mind being disturbed by him, of that John was fairly certain after last night. But wouldn't he think it too silly if John told him he couldn't stop thinking of his mouth? And wouldn't that make it sound too much like John was only interested in his body?

Yet he couldn't say something too empty, too much like small talk. He was genuinely interested in what Sherlock would be up to today, wanted him to know he was thinking of him, and preferably also find out when he'd see him again. Finally he settled on: 'Boring day at work. Are you doing something interesting? Don't forget to eat.'

The answer came only a few minutes later: 'Tomorrow. Noon. Marble Arch. SH'

John chuckled. Well, that did tell him what he wanted to know, but he'd hoped for a little more conversation, so he texted back: 'What are we going to do?'

'Look at places. SH'

John blinked at his screen. It wasn't that he had been expecting a detailed description of what Sherlock wanted to do with him (though if the smile he had given him last night was any indication, that could have been quite interesting), but he hadn't expected this either.

'Places?' he sent.

'Yes. SH'

John smiled. Apparently Sherlock was busy, so he'd better eat his lunch and let the man surprise him tomorrow. It was almost embarrassing how much he was looking forward to seeing him again. Perhaps he could convince Mary to watch another film that evening…

Yet when Mary joined him for lunch, she reminded him that they had already made plans for that night. John had forgotten all about Bill's birthday, and though he was sure it would be good to see his old mate again, he couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that they wouldn't have time to watch Sherwood.

It must have shown on his face, because suddenly Mary giggled and reached over to ruffle his hair. "I'm sorry, John. But you can't sit and moon over your boyfriend all the time. We do have friends and obligations."

"I'm not mooning," John protested. "I'd just made other plans… for us..."

"Us?" Mary asked, raising an eyebrow. "You mean you, me and... Sherwood?"

"Well... Yes..." John squirmed. "You seemed to like watching the ballet film together..."

"Oh, I did," Mary said, her smile turning wicked. "But we can't just do that every night. It would get dull."

John raised his eyebrows. "I really don't think it would."

"When we've watched everything he's made a dozen times? He's not that good." Mary said, almost not laughing.

"He's made a lot of films," John pointed out.

"And not all of them are... brilliant," Mary countered, giving him a look.

"Fine... But still, it wouldn't get boring just yet," John insisted.

"We're not blowing off our friends to go home and watch porn," Mary said, lowering her voice. "But if you behave I'll let you google some pictures tonight when we get home."

John chuckled. "Fine, I'll behave. After all I get the real thing tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?" Mary frowned. "What? You've got another date? Already?"

John bit his lip. Was it too much? Had he taken her words too literally? He was being rather insensitive, perhaps, showing so much enthusiasm about dating someone else... "I... I could postpone it if you wanted to do something together... Or you could come with us..."

"Don't be silly," she said, laughing. "It's just... He must be really smitten."

John couldn't help blushing. "Of course not," he muttered. "He just... wants to go somewhere."

"With you." Mary took his hand and squeezed it. "Because he likes you."

"Yeah, but he's not smitten," John said with a laugh.

Mary just smiled and shrugged.

…

Once they had arrived at the party, John had forgotten all about his other plans. By the time they got home it was rather late, and though he briefly considered claiming those pictures Mary had promised him, he was just too tired. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep.

Yet it was still early when he woke up. Feeling... excited. It was ridiculous, really. He wasn't exactly a teenager going on his first date. And yet he lay turning restlessly for a while before deciding to get up so he wouldn't wake Mary.

He took a long shower and then prepared breakfast, but when it was ready, it was still hours before noon. Before he'd see Sherlock. Suppressing his frustration, he put everything on a tray and took it to the bedroom, hoping that Mary wouldn't mind being woken up early if it was for a good breakfast together.

Mary groaned and pulled John's pillow over her head. "What time is it?" she muttered.

"Time for breakfast! Good morning," John said, putting down the tray.

"Can't be... We only just got home..." Mary whined.

John chuckled. "It's not that early."

"Feels like it..." Mary turned her back to him, groaning. "Or maybe my head's just imploding."

John sat down on the bed and petted her hair. "At least have some tea. For me."

With a dramatic sigh, Mary flung the pillow to the floor and sat up. "Fine," she grumbled. "Just... Turn down the light..."

"Turn it down?" John repeated, amused. "I'm not going to eat in complete darkness..."

Mary glared at him, but reached for a cup.

John giggled. "How much did you have to drink?"

…

John was almost dizzy from turning around so often, uncertain from which direction Sherlock would show up.

He had arrived early, but now it was five minutes past noon. Far too early to text and ask where Sherlock was - and yet he suddenly felt nervous about the fact he hadn't gotten any more messages. How could he be sure Sherlock hadn't forgotten? And if he had, would they still be able to see each other today?

He checked his phone again for the time; six past.

"It's exactly 45.3 seconds later than last time you checked."

John jumped and turned around, to where Sherlock stood towering over him. "God," he muttered, shaking his head as his heart was hammering in his chest.

"Not quite," Sherlock said, smiling.

John snorted. "Have you been watching me for a whole minute just so you could creep up on me?"

"I was watching you because it made me happy." Sherlock's smile wavered a bit.

John blinked and studied the taller man's face for a moment, but he didn't look like he was kidding. "Come here, you," he said, pulling Sherlock down by his neck and crashing their lips together.

Sherlock made a strange, strangled sound. Then he wrapped his arms around John, kissing him passionately.

John smiled against his lips and stroked his neck, taking his time to enjoy the kiss.

"Hello," he said when they finally pulled back.

"Hello," Sherlock said breathlessly, smiling again.

"It's, er, good to see you." John's eyes lingered on Sherlock's face.

"I know." Sherlock let his fingers brush gently over John's cheek, then turned away abruptly. "We better get going," he said, as he began walking away from the park. "We're almost late for our first meeting."

"Meeting?" John had to do a little skip to catch up with him. "What are we doing?"

"I told you," Sherlock said, flagging down a cab. "Looking at places."

"We're going sightseeing?" John asked, frowning.

"In a sense," Sherlock said, getting into the cab, giving the driver an address in Islington.

"In what sense?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.

"We'll be looking at possible locations for my studio," Sherlock said, smiling and turning up his collar as the cab pulled into traffic.

"Oh." John stared at him for a moment. "That's... that's brilliant. But are you sure I'm the person you want to take along for that? I'm not in the business... Someone like Angelo could probably give you better advice..."

"Why would I need anyone in the business?" Sherlock asked, looking puzzled. "I'm in the business."

John chuckled. "So why do you need me? I've seen some films, but I don't have a clue what makes a good studio."

"I do," Sherlock said. "Just leave that to me."

"Right," John said. "You're really taking the step then? After your project?"

"Definitely. I've talked to George and he's agreed. Once this film is released, my brand will be strong enough to carry a label. I've got the financing secured. The only thing left to do is find proper premises."

"That's great," John said, smiling. "If you can put all your time into your own films, the porn industry is going to know golden times."

Before answering, Sherlock put his hand on John's shoulder to steady him as the cab did an abrupt swerve.

"I am hoping to recruit and train new talent," Sherlock said, once he was sure the driver was, once again, focused sufficiently on the traffic. "I intend to spend more time behind the camera. While still keeping up the quality, of course."

"Oh." John understood Sherlock's choice, but felt a little disappointed there would be fewer films with him. "How exactly do you train people, though? I mean..."

"Much like you'd train other actors," Sherlock said. "Any fool of the street can grunt and shag. But knowing how to woo the camera, make the viewer invest in their character... That is the craft we will focus on." He chuckled. "I will challenge them to turn on their audience without nudity or physical contact between characters. Once they master that, I can work with them."

"Can you still enjoy porn? I mean, without thinking of it as work?" John asked.

Sherlock considered this, smiling a little. "You know... I don't think I've ever enjoyed porn in the... conventional sense."

"Oh." John considered this for a moment, wondering what it was like to only watch those films from a professional point of view. "But... There must be something you think of to... well... reach certain effects at the right time?"

"You mean how I become physically aroused when filming?" Sherlock's smile widened slightly. "I just do."

"Just from the... mechanics?" John asked.

"I tell my body what I need it to do," Sherlock explained. "Just like running, walking or dancing."

John smiled. "I suppose that that amount of control over your body does explain why you're such an amazing dancer..."

Sherlock's smile wilted. "Dancer?"

"Yes..." John hesitated. "Mary chose something to watch last Thursday. Relevé."

"Oh..." Sherlock frowned. "I did not realise it was still... available..."

John shrugged. "It was. And it was really good. Mary loved it."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "I... I take it you were... less enthused?"

"Oh, there were some amazing bits in that film," John said, smiling a little. "I guess James just doesn't do it for me, but watching you dance..."

"Be objective, John," Sherlock interrupted. "Would you have felt the same about the character if you had not met the man?"

"Oh, James was a lot more... pleasant, than when I met him," John said. "But still... He's not you." He blushed, but looked straight at Sherlock.

"He was a darling back then," Sherlock said. "Too bad it didn't stick."

John raised his eyebrows. "Did you two... I mean..."

"Did we what?" Sherlock asked, leaning over to look at the building they were approaching.

"You know..." John said, but apparently they had arrived, as Sherlock reached for some money to pay the cabbie. Once outside he started walking immediately, so John once again had to rush to keep up. He wondered what to make of Sherlock's reluctance to talk about this. Surely something had happened between the two men, then. Did Sherlock regret that it had ended? Or had the break-up just been too bad to think about?

Yet before John could return to the subject, Sherlock started talking about the building they were about to enter, and why the natural light that fell in through the windows could sometimes be used for a more intriguing effect of the shadows.

"There are some smaller rooms for offices and editing," he explained as they entered through the large double doors. "But this…" He made a sweeping gesture around the large empty space that ran the entire length of the building and over half its depth. "This will be for filming." The ceiling was at least three storeys high, and above the door two rows of windows let in slanting beams of shimmering sunlight.

As Sherlock strode to the middle of the room, he began explaining how as many as four sets could be in use at once in just this room. "And there are two smaller ones above," he said, gesturing towards a spiral staircase in the furthest corner. "I'm putting skylights in those," he said. "If I'm taking the place."

John smiled at his enthusiasm, but Sherlock's eager grin vanished as he spun around to face the man who had just appeared from one of the many doors along the back wall of the large room.

"Sherlock Holmes," the man said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, as he strode towards them, holding out his hand.

"Sebastian," Sherlock said curtly, taking it.

"Howdy, buddy. How long's it been? Eight years since I last clapped eyes on you?" the man said, clasping Sherlock's hand between both of his, shaking it vigorously.

"Eleven," Sherlock muttered as he pulled his hand back and gestured to John. "This is my friend, John Watson."

"Friend?" Sebastian looked at John for the first time, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yes," John said, meeting his eye almost defiantly as they shook hands. He hadn't expected Sherlock to know the person they were meeting, but there was something about him John really didn't like. It was all too obvious that he was just playing a role.

"So…" Sebastian said, focusing back on Sherlock. "You said you needed the building for a… studio?"

Sherlock nodded.

"What kind of studio?" Sebastian looked around the vast room, as if expecting to see some kind of clue.

"You know what kind of studio," Sherlock said, also looking away. "You've been following my career for the last… six years."

Sebastian's head whipped around and he stared at Sherlock. Then he laughed. "Right… You're doing that thing…"

John raised his eyebrows, thinking that was an odd way to refer to Sherlock's work, but then Sebastian directed himself to him.

"We were at uni together. This guy here had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick," Sherlock muttered.

"He could look at you and tell you all your secrets. Your preferences. Who you'd been shagging." Sebastian shook his head slowly. "We all hated him, of course."

"I've seen him do it," John said coldly, crossing his arms so he wouldn't give in to the temptation to punch the posh prick. "And I think it's an extraordinary talent. Must be, too, if it makes someone who hates him watch his films for, what was it again, six years?"

"Just…" Sebastian sputtered. "Just for a laugh… Because I knew him… It was funny…"

Sherlock made a strange little sound and as John looked over, he could have sworn he was fighting back a grin.

"A six year long laugh," John commented.

Sebastian wasn't looking quite as smug as he finally changed the subject to the reason they were here. He seemed rather in a hurry as he told Sherlock everything he needed to know about the building, but the actor kept coming up with questions, asking them almost lazily.

Finally Sebastian huffed. "You've obviously done your homework. You seem to know as much about this place as I do, so why don't I just get out of your way? You can contact me when you are ready to sign the papers."

"If," Sherlock corrected him.

"Don't we need to lock this place when we're leaving?" John asked.

"Just close it," Sebastian said, taking out his phone to check something. "It'll lock automatically." Without looking at them, he did a sort of wave and headed for the door.

As it closed behind him, Sherlock chuckled. "So… We are, in fact, locked in here right now…"

"Whatever will we do," John said, grinning.

"Oh, the door opens from the inside," Sherlock said, keeping a straight face for several seconds before grinning and reaching out to pull John close. "But… Only if we want it to…"

John giggled. "Are we really doing this?"

"Doing what?" Sherlock asked, and then bent down to kiss him.

…

When they left the building, Sherlock immediately hailing a cab, they were still rather giggly.

"Let's hope the next meeting isn't with another ghost from your past," John said.

"Why?" Sherlock asked. "Ghosts are so much easier to dispel."

"But who knows what state we'll be in tonight if they leave us alone everywhere." John grinned.

"I promise you'll still be in one piece," Sherlock said. "I do need to focus on finding the right building. But surely there's no harm in a little fun in between."

"I'm certainly not complaining. Where are we going now?"

"Greenwich," Sherlock said, leaning back in the seat. "I don't know much about this place. Only went on the market yesterday."

"Well, can't wait to see it," John said. "How many places are we going to visit?"

"That depends… I've got five more lined up, but we're only doing the last three if I haven't decided on one of the others by then."

John nodded. "As good as the one we've seen looked, I kind of hope the rest will be even better. Just so you don't need to buy from Wilkes."

"I'm not going to let the fact that the man is an intellectual midget prevent me from securing the best location," Sherlock said, frowning slightly.

"Of course not," John agreed. "I just don't like the idea of that guy earning more money to strut around with."

"Money's all he's got," Sherlock said. "His colleagues avoid him, he's never had a relationship that lasted more than six months and… his goldfish died last week."

John snorted. "How on earth can you tell?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I've been at his office, talked to his secretary and stole his wallet." Sherlock produced said wallet from his pocket and handed it to John. "He's having it stuffed."

"The fish?" John stared at him. "Do people even do that?"

"I don't know about people," Sherlock said. "But then again, I'm not sure Wilkes ever qualified as one."

John was still laughing when the cab pulled up in front of what looked like an old, cheap and very neglected office building. He raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure this is the right place? I don't know much about how a studio is supposed to look, but..."

"Oh yes," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off the building as he got out of the cab. "Very sure."

As they walked over to the boarded up door he leaned closer and whispered: "I don't really think I can use this one, but when I heard about it, I was too curious to resist…"

John frowned, wondering what they were about to see.

Sherlock pounded twice on the door, then took a step back and looked up. A moment later, a young man stuck his head out one of the broken windows. "You have to come round back," he called to them. The head was replaced by an arm, gesturing to the narrow side street to their left.

John looked up at Sherlock and shrugged, then turned to follow the man's directions.

Several cardboard boxes lay strewn on the ground, having, it seemed, been pushed aside so that the smaller door could be opened. Sherlock tried the handle and the door opened with a loud, slightly ominous screech.

"I think you're wasting your time on this one," John whispered to Sherlock.

"Oh, I don't think so," he said, practically skipping as he hurried inside.

They were at the foot of a narrow stairwell, the only light coming from the door behind them and two small, dusty windows on the landing above them.

"Hello?" Sherlock called, looking up. "Mr Knight?"

"Not so loud," John muttered. "Something will come down."

"Mr Holmes?" The voice sounded from above. "I'm up here. Hang on. I'll come down."

Sherlock smiled at John, winked and then began ascending the stairs. "No," he called. "That's okay. We're coming up. We're here to see the building after all."

Slightly confused and suspicious of the state of the stairs, John followed him upstairs.

On the second landing, an open door led to a long corridor, with doors on both sides. The young man, who wore a faint beard and had rather striking ears, was waiting for them at the end, wringing his hands nervously. "Mr… Mr Holmes," he stammered. "You came… And…?" He looked at John, frowning.

"John Watson. I'm just tagging along," John said, smiling and wondering why Mr Knight seemed to be so nervous. Perhaps he had lied in his description of this place to lure people in, and was afraid of their reactions. Yet Sherlock didn't seem angry or disappointed in any way.

"I'm Henry Knight," the man said, nodding at John.

Sherlock walked forward, holding out his hand to him. "Thank you for letting us come on such short notice," he said. "I understand that this building used to belong to your father. Hubert Knight?"

"Hugo," the young man corrected him, taking the offered hand. "Yes, he… He had his lab here. Did most of his later work right here…" He pointed at one of the doors. "Right… There…"

Sherlock gave his hand a single shake and then turned abruptly, heading for the indicated door.

"What kind of work did your father do?" John asked Henry.

"Oh, he did many things," he answered, following Sherlock hesitantly. "Worked in chemistry and biotechnology. He converted this place into a lab after he sold a patent to NASA."

John blinked and looked around at the yellowed wallpaper, which had come loose in places. "Are you… rich?"

Henry nodded and smiled a little, stopping in the door to watch Sherlock as he darted around the room, examining everything. "Yeah… He left me a lot of money as well as several minor patents…" He glanced at John. "Do you… Do you mind if I smoke?"

John shrugged. "This is your place, so go ahead, I guess."

While Henry fumbled for a cigarette, Sherlock suddenly disappeared down behind one of the long metal tables, emerging a moment later with a dusty yellow binder. Bringing it over to the window, he began flicking through the papers, which were stiff and stained with age.

John thought he saw a mischievous twinkle in Sherlock's eyes and for some reason suspected he'd better keep Henry Knight talking. "I can't help but think this house has been vacant for a while," he said. "Is there a reason why you are selling it now?"

Henry coughed nervously, then, without answering, lit his cigarette. Only after several deep drags did he speak: "My father had an... accident." Another deep drag. "Here..."

John frowned. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to be insensitive."

Henry shrugged. "It was almost 20 years ago. It shouldn't bother me anymore, except... They never really told me how it happened."

"Of course it still bothers you," John said. "It's your father. And not knowing how, after all that time... That's horrible."

"Frankland," Sherlock said, still looking at the old papers.

Henry Knight gasped, almost choking on the smoke. Once he was finished coughing, he gasped: "Excuse me?"

"He was working with Robert Frankland," Sherlock said. "He was making some rather unusual contributions to your father's work. Published several articles on the subject years later. Never mentioned Harold Knight, though..."

"Hugo..." Henry muttered, but Sherlock went on:

"Dr Knight was working alone that night, comparing some samples that Frankland had lent him. He must have gotten distracted or tired. Tried heating up the wrong vial and it exploded." Sherlock looked around to the mess near the corner of the room, where the faded paint on the walls seemed scorched in places. "The blast blinded as well as shocked him. He must have been flailing... Knocked over the Bunsen burner and set fire to his coat. He was dead before the smoke detectors went off." He gestured vaguely to the old devices mounted on the ceiling, then went back to reading.

Henry was gaping at Sherlock, his cigarette forgotten in his hand.

Gently, John put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Are you alright?" he asked. "That was probably... a lot to take in..." He glanced at Sherlock. "How do you know?"

"It's obvious," Sherlock said. "I'm sure the report back then could have told you the same. If Frankland's lawyer hadn't had it sealed."

Henry's mouth moved as if speaking, but no sound came out.

"Maybe you should sit down for a moment," John said, leading Henry to a rather wobbly looking stool.

"Yes..." Henry said, sinking down.

A moment later Sherlock came over. "I'm sorry," he said, not looking sorry at all. "The price is good, but Gareth would never let me buy this place. We won't be taking up more of your time." He held out his hand to Henry, who just stared at it. Sherlock shrugged and turned to John. "Shall we?"

"Sherlock, you have to explain where you got all that information. You owe Henry at least that," John said, shaking his head.

Sherlock sighed. "I just looked around," he said. "Combined with what I know about the work the two men were doing at the time, it was easy to put together. Frankland just didn't want the story getting out back then. He thought he could finish Knight's work on his own. Take the credit. Only... He never managed it." Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself and gave John an impatient look. "We're running late for our next appointment," he said.

John frowned and turned back to Henry. "Will you be okay?"

The young man nodded, staring across the room at the scorched bit of wall. "Yeah…" he muttered. "Fine… Have a nice day…"

Before he had finished, Sherlock was already out the door, hurrying towards the stairs.

John hesitated. "I could bring you home," he told Henry. "I'm sure Sherlock can handle his appointments on his own…"

"It's fine," he said, waving his hand feebly. "I need a moment. Just go…" He looked up at John and then added: "Thanks."

…

"What was that all about?" John asked as he joined Sherlock in the waiting cab.

"Huh?" Sherlock said, looking up from the old papers he was scrutinising.

"With Henry," John clarified, raising his eyebrows. So Sherlock had taken something from that binder. "Did you just go in to rob and traumatise the poor man?"

"You heard him," Sherlock said as the cab pulled away from the curb. "He wanted to know what had happened. He needed… closure…" He looked down again, turning one of the papers over.

"And you thought you'd just take those in return?" John asked, gesturing at the papers. "Bit not good, Sherlock."

"What?" Sherlock looked up at him again. "He won't miss these. Everything will be disposed of anyway, once he manages to sell the building. Most likely, it will be demolished. There's nothing worth saving. Except these."

"You could have asked him if it was okay," John said. "What are they about, anyway?"

"The project Knight and Frankland were working on," Sherlock said. "They were on the brink of developing this new polymer. For medical equipment."

John frowned. "Why did you take it? If Henry sells it, the development can be continued…"

"They'd never make it work," Sherlock said, leaning back and smiling smugly. "But I can…"

"Really? People who study these things for a living can't do it, but the great Sherlock Holmes will solve all their problems?" John rolled his eyes.

"I'll do no such thing," Sherlock said. "I need this for the new filters I'm working on."

"Filters?"

"For the lights," Sherlock stated as if this explained everything.

"Right," John said. "Was that why you came here? You suspected you'd find something like this?"

"I was hoping it hadn't been destroyed in the accident."

"How do you even know they exist if they've been hidden in there for twenty years?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock said, his smile stiffening a little.

"Your… craft?" John repeated.

"My-croft," Sherlock said, articulating carefully. "My brother. Back when I was leaving school to embark on my career, he made one last desperate attempt at luring me back to the world of academia. He introduced me to Robert Frankland, hoping that I could help the man fill in the blanks left by Dr. Knight's untimely death."

John blinked. "Your brother's called Mycroft? What was wrong with your parents?" he asked.

Sherlock snorted. "A lot."

"Right." John frowned a little. "So you actually met Frankland."

Sherlock nodded. "Briefly."

"And yet you found out what had happened to Hugo Knight?"

"I found out today what happened to… Hugo Knight," Sherlock said. "Why is that so important?"

"Why is it important that you told someone how his father died after he's been wondering for twenty years, needing it to come to terms with things?" John asked incredulously.

"It happened two decades ago, John," Sherlock said, studying him. "It was an accident. It's not like I solved the murder of the century or something like that."

"It still means a great deal to Henry," John pointed out. "No one else has been able to give him this. But you act like it was a necessary evil to get to those papers."

"Oh…" Sherlock stared at John, forgetting to close his mouth. "I thought you… didn't approve of me… telling him…"

"I do," John said. "But leaving him right after that without a word of explanation, with his dead father's notes in your pocket… Not so much." He wondered if Sherlock really didn't get it.

"I had to tell him," Sherlock said. "To distract him while I secured the right papers. There was no sense in hanging around afterwards. I doubt I could have said anything that would not have made matters worse."

John shook his head. "You're incredible. And I'm not sure that's a good thing, in this case. It does feel a bit wrong to be using Knight's invention for porn rather than the medical purposes it was developed for."

"It was never actually developed," Sherlock said. "But while Frankland was getting me a coffee, I got a look at his files and later based the material I used to make those tubes I showed you on their ideas. But it's too flexible for filters. And for the uses they had intended. So I needed Knight's notes." He held up the papers. "The thing is… If they had actually made it, they would have learned that the material reacts to heat in a way that makes it unsuited for medical use, but perfect in…" He grinned at John.

"Filters," John muttered. "So that's why you think you could make more out of the notes than anyone else. You've done it before."

Sherlock nodded, smiling again.

"So do you actually consider buying the next place we're looking at, or are you just out to steal something else?" John smiled a little.

"I'll let you know," Sherlock said with a cheeky grin.

…

"I'm beginning to think you're a kleptomaniac," John said when Sherlock produced an ashtray from under his coat as they got into a cab after their next visit. The place had been richly decorated and as he and Sherlock had been waiting for its current owner on a lush red sofa, John had been thinking it was clear enough why this place was on Sherlock's list, although it was almost too obviously made for porn settings.

"They won't miss it," Sherlock said. "Like most things in that house, it may look expensive but it's just a cheap copy."

"Not taking that one, then?" John concluded.

"The house itself is lovely," he said. "But I'd have to replace the wiring before it could ever be used for sets. And the plumbing would have to be fixed within a year or two. It's not worth it."

"I guess that makes the choice easier." John smiled. "Shame about that sofa…"

"You liked it?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

John chuckled. "I guess I found it... inspiring..."

"I suppose I could buy it," Sherlock mused, leaning a little closer.

John smirked and turned his head towards him. "Maybe you should... Think how beautiful someone with pale skin and dark hair would look on all that red..."

"I see your point," Sherlock said, tilting his head a little. "What would you do? If you had someone like that on a sofa like that?"

John licked his lips. "How badly do you want to find out?"

"If you don't want to tell me," Sherlock said with a small shrug, "you could show me?"

...

"Well, that was new," John said, unable to hide a grin where he stood on the pavement, watching the car drive away. "I'd never been thrown out of a cab before."

"I'm guessing you've never straddled a man in the back seat of a cab before either," Sherlock said, leaning down to kiss John's neck.

"No... Can't say I have. I'd do it again, though..." John chuckled and pulled Sherlock down for a proper kiss.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, returning the kiss with such passion that a young couple actually stopped to stare for a moment before quickly crossing to the other sidewalk.

John giggled even more as he let go of Sherlock. "Maybe we shouldn't be standing here in the middle of the street."

Sherlock looked around, then took John's hand. "This way," he said, pulling him along. "If we cross through the park, we can catch a bus and still be almost on time."

"Almost." John laughed and let himself be dragged along.

Sherlock chuckled and, as they passed through the iron gate of the park, let go of John's hand, putting an arm around his shoulders instead. "Do you have any more delays planned?" he asked.

"Depends," John said. "Are you planning to be extremely irresistible again?"

"It's not like I can turn it off and on..."

"So there is something you can't turn on?" John asked in mock surprise.

Sherlock didn't reply, but sped up. Then suddenly he grabbed John with both hands, spun him around and pushed him up against the trunk of a large, wide oak. Bending over him, he growled. "I don't know, John... Can I turn you on?"

John huffed out a breathless laugh that hopefully didn't sound like a moan. "What kind of attack was that?"

"Attack?" Sherlock purred, bending even further down, his lips barely an inch from John's. "Are you implying I should stop?"

"Most... most definitely not," John managed to say, before he pulled Sherlock even closer.

"Good..." Sherlock whispered, his lips almost touching John's. "Because I really don't want to stop..."

John reached up to cup Sherlock's face and finally kissed him again, pressing into Sherlock's leg between his own.

This time it was Sherlock's turn to moan and he pushed in against John, pinning him against the tree as the kiss deepened.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, John was vaguely aware of the fact that they were outside, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, when families with children might walk by, and that they should probably stop this before it got out of hand. But he didn't want to lose Sherlock's mouth on his, and his hands were lowering of their own account, sneaking into the coat to pull Sherlock's shirt loose from his trousers.

Sherlock shifted to give John more room to work and, in the same movement, managed to pull his coat further around them. "John..." he moaned into the kiss, his long fingers brushing over the front of John's jeans.

John whimpered. "We... shouldn't... Oh..."

Sherlock pressed softly with his palm, then seemed to hesitate. "John..." he muttered, pulling out of the kiss. "You're vibrating..."

"Stronger men would be trembling if you did that to them," John breathed, before catching Sherlock's bottom lip again.

"No, John," Sherlock said, a note of mirth in his voice. "You're vibrating..." He moved his hand over and fished John's phone out of his pocket, holding it up in front of him, so he could see Mary's name flashing on the screen.

"Oh." John stared at the phone for a long moment before he took it. "Hello, Mary?"

There was a long pause. Then Mary sniffed. "I'm sorry, John," she whispered. "I thought this would work but... I can't..."

"Mary? What's wrong?" John frowned, his thoughts of continuing what he and Sherlock had been doing all gone. Mary really sounded upset about something.

"Come home, John," Mary sobbed. "Please..."

"I'm on my way," John said. "Just need to find a cab and then I'm there. Don't worry."

Mary did not answer.