"John, I don't want to go fishing. Do you even know how to fish?"

"I don't want to fish either, but if I'm in this city for one more bloody second I might turn to homicide," John grumbled as he loaded the supplies he's bought with Mycroft's money into the car he'd bought with Mycroft's money. John didn't drive. They didn't give driver's cards to men with PTSD, and Sherlock Bloody Holmes was one of the few men John knew who had a license in seven different countries.

"I thought you've already turned to homicide," Sherlock said in a way that was just so very him that John resisted the urge to grab and hug him.

"Yes, but I always had good reason in the past. I won't have good reason now."

"I think being trapped somewhere you don't want to be is a good reason," Sherlock said.

John looked over at Sherlock for a long moment, not sure how to respond to that. Finally he just opted to ignore it. "I hate your hair," he said.

"Irene likes it. I don't really get a vote at this point," Sherlock said with a wince.

"Let's talk about fish," John said.

"What? Why?" Sherlock asked, taken aback by the sudden change of topic.

"The idea is to not think about anything related to Paris for the next two and a half days. That's the goal," John said. "You think you can do that?"

"No."

"Me neither, but we'll try. That's why it's a goal," John said, leaning back in his seat.

"Do you even know how to fish?"

"I learned… I'm not very good at it and you'll get to see a fish drag me into the water, I'm sure, which is why I brought extra changes of clothes," John said.

"What are we going to do with the fish?" Sherlock asked.

"On the hypothetical and highly improbably chance that we're actually able to catch any…. I really have no idea… give them away?"

"You really aren't prepared for this trip, are you?" Sherlock asked.

"I told you, first thing I could think of to get out of Paris. I didn't care after that, and I had to use bloody Google translator to understand the stupid thing."

"Do you actually know where we're going?"

"Not a clue, why you're driving."

Sherlock found himself chuckling. "I've never been fishing before."

"Not practical for a Consulting Detective?"

"No practical for anyone besides a fisherman, but that's hardly the point."

"What did you do as a child?"

"A lot of things. Childhood is a very long time period in a person's life," Sherlock said.

"I mean, did you do normal kid things like go to the park or the zoo, or a circus?"

"Did you go to the circus?" Sherlock asked, glancing over and John who shrugged.

"Not really my thing."

"Afraid of clowns?"

"No," John said, giving Sherlock a look, but Sherlock was smiling… just a bit, but it was enough. "Contortionists freaked me out, and we couldn't afford it anyway."

"Did you go to the zoo?"

"Of course, loads of times, did you?"

"Of course, a perfectly good place for observation, of lower animals and humans," Sherlock said.

"How about an amusement park."

"Also a good place for observations," Sherlock said.

"I meant did you go to one?"

"A few times."

"Did Mycroft take you?"

"I've deleted it," Sherlock said, his hands clenching the steering wheel a bit too tightly.

"No you didn't. Something embarrassing happened and you don't want to tell me."

"There's no way you can possibly know that," Sherlock spat.

"You don't need to hold on that tight to the steering wheel," John pointed out innocently. "So tell me, what happened."

"No."

"No? That's it? Just no?"

"Yes."

"No, Sherlock, come on. You've got to tell me."

"I don't got to do anything, John."

"I'll trade you."

"Trade me? Trade me what? For what?" Sherlock asked, his speech picking up speed as he got agitated.

"I'll trade you, one embarrassing story of mine for one of yours, back and forth. No embellishing to make it better and the other gets to pick which story. Do we have a deal?" John asked.

"Quid pro quo, then?" Sherlock asked. He went silent, really thinking about it before he nodded. "Alright, deal."

"Good, now tell me your story about the amusement park."

"No," Sherlock said.

"We made a deal."

"You go first."

"Why?"

"How do I know that you won't renege?"

"You don't trust me?"

"Not on this, no," Sherlock said, looking over at John. John could tell this is exactly what Sherlock would do.

"Fine, but if you renege then I'm not speaking to you for the rest of the weekend."

"You don't mean that," Sherlock said.

"I absolutely do," John said. Sherlock studied him, and John could tell by the unsettled look on the consulting detective's face that he knew John was serious. "So, what story do you want to hear?"

"You know which one I want," Sherlock said.

John groaned loudly. "Come on, not that one."

"John, this was your idea," Sherlock said with a smirk.

"Fine, you complete insufferable ass," John said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "So…" he said, trailing off a bit. He really didn't want Sherlock to know this story. He was going to be teased with it at such awkward moments. People already thought they were a couple.

"So?" Sherlock asked, smirking as he drove.

"So about two months before I got shot some of us had a bit of leave to go into town. I don't even know where they got that much alcohol, but they just kept filling my glass. Just over and over, shot after shot. Normally I'm careful, but it had been a God-awful day with surgery, and I'd be able to sleep in once morning rolled around. I didn't even want to think. They kept pouring and I kept drinking. I don't think I've ever been that drunk."

"Get on with it," Sherlock said.

"I'm telling it, not you," John said, scowling.

"Fine, just continue," Sherlock said.

"I would have been done with the story by now if you didn't keep interrupting."

"Fine, just keep going."

"Fine, well, the other men in my unit set it all up. They had wanted to see just what they could get me to do if I was drunk, really drunk. They decided about what they'd try to get me do and they set everything up before hand, I found out later. I was dead drunk, and they told me that there was a woman who was flirting with me. They helped me up and sent me over… and one thing led to another and I started to kiss her…" he said, trailing off, wincing at his pieced together memories and the pictures he'd seen.

Sherlock started to grin. "You made out with a man."

"Yeah, so I was drunk off my arse."

"John who's always so very straight, made out with a man."

"Shut up Sherlock. If this gets out to anyone, and I mean anyone I will kill you in your sleep."

"I'll have to tell Irene."

"No, shut up, you can't tell her!" John snapped. Oh she would looooove that.

"Aren't I supposed to tell her everything, aren't we in what you'd call a relationship?"

"I wouldn't call it a damn thing except twisted beyond all reason."

"Hm… interesting word choice."

"Sherlock, you've got to keep that story to yourself," John said.

"Yeah, yeah I won't tell."

"And you won't casually snap it out when you're annoyed at me during a case when Lestrade's around? And you won't use it against me when your brother's around? Or Samford? Or Molly?"

"Mycroft probably already knows."

"Sherlock, focus. I get enough looks just walking next to you all the time. I don't need this one story getting out. I'll never get a girl again," John said.

"Fine, I won't tell."

"You promise?"

"Hm?"

"Promise Sherlock, will you promise you won't tell?"

"I promise."

"Good, now tell me your story."

"Fine," Sherlock said. He kept his eyes very focused on the road in a way he hadn't before. He didn't want to see John's reactions. "When I was twelve I bothered Mycroft into taking me to the amusement park. I wanted to observe people and there was a new ride I wanted to try," Sherlock said. "A roller coaster," He said.

"And?" John asked, being far too encouraging.

"Mycroft took me on the ride, and I got sick," Sherlock said.

"That's it?" John asked. "You were twelve and got sick? That's nothing."

"It's not nothing, John!" Sherlock snapped, and John was taken aback. "My body's just supposed to be transport. I'm in control of it. My mind is in control. I shouldn't have lost my stomach like that. I'm supposed to be stronger than that," Sherlock said.

John felt like he was walking through ha verbal minefield. It was nothing, it was normal, but for Sherlock it was a very personal failure, something he'd buried and felt ashamed of. Sherlock hadn't been in control of his body… damn, John did not want to talk about Irene Adler. "Well, you don't do it anymore," John said, brushing it off. "You're obviously in better control of yourself. Better it was then and not now. You can get away with mistakes like that when you're twelve," he said.

"Right," Sherlock said. He seemed… well a bit comforted. Damn, it looked like John was going to need to enlist help about this later. Not Mycroft. He'd probably been the one Sherlock had gotten sick on. Irene then… damn.

"Yeah… so your turn… what story do you want to know?" John asked.

"The Angela story."

"Christ, that one? It's so dull."

"It's the one I want. You won't let anyone tell me and I want to know," Sherlock said stubbornly.

John sighed heavily. "Just… Just… Sherlock, it's not interesting. The reason why I didn't tell you before was because you'll call me stupid."

"I call you stupid anyway."

"Yeah, but this was… hell, it was really stupid and not at all observant of me, and I was fifteen. It's really not worth it."

"I'll be the judge of that… now tell me," Sherlock ordered.

"You've gotten a lot bossier recently," John said.

"I've been taking lessons. Now start talking."

John scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "Okay, so I was 15 and I was taking two classes, back to back in the middle of the day. The first class was first year French, which I was taking with a class mixed of upperclassmen. The next class was just Lit, and it was just my grade. So, there was a girl named Angela in both classes. The Angela in French… well I fancied her a bit. She was older, fit in with the other upperclassman. I didn't know that she was in my grade, but it wouldn't have mattered because she was still far out of my reach. We were kind of friendly, but mostly I just focused I tried not to fail my tests."

"Keep going," Sherlock urged when John stopped to take a breath.

"Just shut up and don't interrupt or I'm not finishing. Got it?"

"Got it," Sherlock said and then promptly shut up.

"Well, anyway… so Angela in my Lit class was also in my grade. I was paired with her sometimes, but only at a table. We didn't really talk, but I thought she was really boring. She had ideas about the material that I'd already moved past. They were really basic. I didn't think she was very smart and she was one of the people who made the class boring. Anyway, one day, in spring, I was telling the French class Angela about something I had learned in the Lit. Class. She gave me this weird look and said: "But John, I know this… I'm in your class, remember?""

"What?" Sherlock asked and the promptly shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together. John glanced at him, but knew it was an accident, so he continued.

"See… there weren't two Angelas. There was only one. I just saw her so different in each class that I didn't connect them as being the same person." John stopped and winced. "Okay, tell me I'm and idiot and get it over with."

"You're and idiot and get it over with."

"Shut up!"

"What you told me too! Although it's interesting that you were really that unobservant. You're normally a lot better than that. And you said you fancied that girl too? You must have really been stuck in your self-centered phase."

"Oh sod off, Sherlock. This is why I didn't want to tell you. It's a funny story but you're just going to think how dumb I was."

"It is a funny story… but I don't think less of you John… you were fifteen right. If you did it now I might… know I still don't think I'd think less of you."

"Seriously?"

"You're worth more than you think you are," Sherlock said.

"Oh… well, your turn to tell a story."

"What do you want to hear?"

"I want to hear about the first time you kissed someone," John said.

"That's what you really want to hear about."

"Come on, the first time sucks for everyone. I actually missed my first time."

"How?"

"Tripped over my shoelaces. We laughed it off later," he said with a shrug. "Now you owe me a half of a story as well."

Sherlock shrugged. "It wasn't very interesting," he said. "It was just Molly."

"I meant on the lips," John said. "Not the cheek," he said. Though he could hardly believe that was the first time he kissed someone.

"That's what I meant too."

"What, seriously?"

"I needed to be able to deal with Irene," he said. "I was staying with Molly while my injuries healed from jumping like that, and I practiced with her. I guess maybe it was embarrassing. She was really shy, but eventually she started to tell me what to do… and after that we just practiced a lot."

"I can't believe it."

"It's true."

"No, I mean you using her like that."

"She knew what I was going to do. I told. I gave her a choice, and agreed. It's not like she got nothing out of it."

"She really likes you, Sherlock, and you kissed her, hell you made out with her. That's not kindness."

"I can't say she'd still be interested. I was very bad, apparently. It took a lot of instruction and practice before I got good."

"Did you 'get good'?" John asked, partly disgusted.

"Irene thinks so."

"Why do you keep using her name?"

"Because I can't when she's around and that annoys me," Sherlock said.

"Figured," John said, shifting back in his seat.

"Was it really bad?" Sherlock asked for a moment after they'd both been silent for a bit. "Kissing Molly."

"I don't know. I don't think it would be. You can hurt someone like that… she helped you, lied to all of us, put herself at risk… you know how much trouble she could get into for this? She could lose her job."

"Mycroft won't let that happen."

"He will if you thinks that she's a reason why you're in danger."

"I'm not in danger."

"You are in his mind, and mine for that mine."

"I'm not, what makes you think that apart from Mycroft's meddling?"

"I don't think we really want to discuss this now."

"No, I think we do," Sherlock said.

"Fine, because like we touched on before, you can't stand to lose. You lost to her, and you've been slowly slipping back to your old drug habits since that happened. You flipped out over cluedo, and you let Moriarty get to you… badly. You were aiming for an explosion, but you came here… and now you just keep losing, over and over. You're going to figure it all out one day, where he phone is, how to get it… but can you really come back after all this. Do you still just think of your body as transport?"

"Yes?"

"Really?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He looked honestly puzzled.

"You're not going to be the same. I'm not sure it's bad for you to have a lover of some kind, maybe once in a while. It probably won't be unhealthy, but by the time you get back she'll have battered all to hell your sense of yourself, which was battered just by her winning. And Mycroft will still look at you like you're a puppy he needs to protect… you really think this is going to make things better?"

"It's not about better."

"It's it? When you get back the media kicks right back up: detective returned from the grave. It's going to be worse even. Are you going to be able to deal with that and the Yard, half of which still thinks they were right? Hell, a lot of them were put on probation because of the whole mess. Myrcoft will smooth some things out because he'll be worried about you… but it's not going to be all better. And there's more."

"Oh, of course there's more," Sherlock said, stopping the car as they'd arrived. He got out, grabbing the gear. John got out, grabbing the other half of the things. They'd be staying at a cabin nearby the lake. They'd start fishing in the morning. For now they just needed to get their things inside.

"You're in love with her."

"No, I'm not," Sherlock said automatically as they took the things inside the little cabin.

"Yes, you are," John said.

"No I'm not. She's just a puzzle, just a game," Sherlock said.

"Bull," John said blankly.

"Is not," Sherlock said, dropping the bags and throwing himself down the very uncomfortable sofa.

"It is," John said. "No matter how much you try to ignore your body it's still a part of who you are. Your body is just as much a part of you are your mind, and the only way you can not think that is if you believed in such a thing as a soul, which I know you don't. Also, you trust, absolutely, that your senses will work which are form your body. You don't trust your body but you trust your senses. It's too much of a contradiction and she's going to make you see yourself for things you've refused to see before."

"Are we done with the inane posturing."

"You're the one who wanted to have the conversation."

"No, not this conversation. I don't want the conversation, I just don't want you to be mad at me anymore."

"Sherlock… that one… it's too big for now."

"I don't care. I want it to be done," Sherlock said.

"It's something that will take time."

"I don't care," Sherlock said.

"Fine… you want to start, this start… you betrayed me, Sherlock Holmes."

"No, I didn't. I told you. I had to 'die' so you wouldn't actually be killed. Once the snipers left it didn't matter, but if Mycroft knew then I wouldn't have been able to go."

"Yes, but you got to Irene's instantly. The first day you arrived here you went straight to her. You didn't tell Molly to tell me, and you didn't call or email me or anything."

"I didn't think you'd appreciate being told I'm alive over an email. You'd think it was a sick joke."

"I almost shot Mycroft when he told me… but that's just it. Once he knew, why didn't you tell me? It wasn't his business to tell me. It was your job, your duty as my friend. You told me that I was your friend. Leaving their friends to mourn… that's not something friends do."

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. "I messed up."

"Do you actually feel like that?"

"A little," Sherlock said.

"We'll finish this conversation when you feel like it a lot," John said, plopping down on the sofa next to Sherlock. "Neither of us are ready for it, and we have to be up early for fishing.

"I don't want to go fishing," Sherlock said.

"Yes you do, you're curious."

"You're getting better," Sherlock said.

"You're giving me easy answers. Stop it. You're not making me feel better," John said, glancing over at Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged almost imperceptibly. "That doesn't mean that you aren't getting better, John."

"Just help me unpack," John said.

"How bad are you at fishing?"

"Pretty damn bad, but we'll muddle through the process. It's very possible one or both of us might end up in the stream, though."

"Well, that would at least be interesting," Sherlock said. John suddenly remembered why fishing might not be a good idea with Sherlock. If he was bored then it would be hell for him. If he was interested then he'd concentrate and probably enjoy the lack of movement. John rather hoped that Sherlock would enjoy himself. He'd hate to see how this weekend would turn out if Sherlock was bored the entire time.

A/N:

Dominant Masochists do exist (according to Wikipedia). They are in control, ordering their Subs just how to hurt them. I just think Sherlock fits this pretty perfectly. As for Irene, she's more Dom than Sub, but I feel there's probably a Dom/Sub sliding scale like the Kinsey scale (of sexuality). She's more Dom than Sub, but she's willing to be Sub for Sherlock sometimes. Sherlock's as close as it can get to complete Dom as any person. There's just enough lee-way for him to do what he has to, but that doesn't mean it always makes him happy. He likes wining more than he likes being in control.

Want to know something funny? I actually don't support the Irene/Sherlock pairing… well them getting together. It's more interesting if they never get together. I also support the idea of Sherlock as asexual/just honestly not interested. If, hypothetically, is Sherlock ever did fall for a woman, I'd think it would be Molly… just for reasons that would take a whole paper to explain, but it's mostly Benedict Cumberbatch saying things, and how Sherlock reacts to Molly in Scandal and The Fall.

My next project will be something I really don't believe in, but gods! Do I love the challenge! I think I should call my next project "Richard Brooke was Right". What do you think?

Sorry this chapter has taken so long. I've been waiting for my Richard Brooke project because I know it's probably going to be big… so I plan to do a short Harry Potter crossover… and it started to snowball… and then I saw a video and started a Moriarty/Moran/Molly story (well, technically just Mor/Mol, since Jim dies halfway through chapter one) . This one too is also huge and expanding. I expect it to be shorter than this one… but I thought this one wouldn't be that long.

Thanks to Zoffoli for the help finding a fishing place.

John's Angela story is actually my story… except I didn't have a crush on the girl, but I did think she was cool in one class and annoying and not very smart in the next. This went on until about a month before school ended… talk about unobservant!

I'm very, very tired now, so I'm going to post this now and stick the fishing part onto the next chapter. Sorry this update took me so long. I stupidly decided to take up other big projects. The other two stories will update tomorrow. Hopefully this one will update again on Monday or Tuesday. My writing schedule's rather grueling right now, especially for just fanfiction. If I can get this done before going to Russia, that would be best, though.

Thank you for reading, reviews very appreciated!