A/N : Many thanks to my beta and friend Christine.

Also thanks to you, lovely Guest reviewer, for giving me feedback on my story. Please continue to do so - I appreciate it very much.

Of course, I am always open to other/more reviews as well :-)

Chapter 10

Sherlock seemed to have fallen asleep again. His breathing was even and his eyes were not moving. His heart beat was also slowing down again. The conversation and the emotional upheaval must have exhausted him.

Had he really just heard Sherlock saying that he would not lose him to Mary again? How the hell had he meant that?

John stood up and walked over to the window. Rain was splashing against the windows, London was fading away into grey fog and rain and he thought back to everything Sherlock had said since he had woken up yesterday.

His friend had been more open since he had returned "from death" and was talking more about their friendship and his emotions than he ever had before. However, the last two days seemed to have taken his openness on a whole new different level.

John still suspected the painkillers behind Sherlock's unusual emotionality. Still, he hadn't felt embarrassed by Sherlock's statements and they had rather warmed his heart.

Sherlock was back and he definitely wanted John to be in his life one hundred per cent. But this last sentence before Sherlock had fallen asleep again hung back in John's mind.

Sherlock had thought he had lost him to Mary right after his return and that there was supposedly no space left for him in John's new life. John knew he had made it quite clear after he had truly forgiven him that he wanted Sherlock back in his life.

Was there any chance that Sherlock thought of losing John in a whole different way than John had ever thought possible? He finally allowed his mind to follow down the trail of thought he had never dared to think about before.

John knew precisely that Sherlock was much more emotional than he led other people to believe. He also was aware that Sherlock showed no interest in women at all and was most likely gay.
But was Sherlock also able to fall in love with someone? And could that someone be him? If he considered all those sentences he heard in the last twenty-four hours from a romantic perspective, they were only that: romantic and heart-warming.

And what about myself? He couldn't help but think.

After already having decided that he was going to stay with Sherlock permanently, would they ever talk about this? Can I even imagine kissing him and living with him like a couple?

And then: Am I really considering this? Do I feel for him like that?

He had to leave the hospital and think. Despite the rain, he decided to go for a walk. It was time to think about this properly.

London's streets were somewhat deserted in that abhorrent weather. He decided to walk back to Baker Street. Twenty minutes in this weather certainly wouldn't kill him.

John wasn't oblivious to the fact that he had always denied he was gay or bisexual. He still was quite sure he was not. But Sherlock had been the most special and important person in his life from the day they had met and no one, not even Mary until recently, had ever become more important to him than Sherlock had.

Yesterday, when Sherlock had been brought into the hospital, John had suddenly realized that Sherlock truly was his soul mate. That wonderful week in Cornwall had confirmed it. The days after their holiday had left him no time and space for analysing their week together thoroughly, but now John was sure that there would never ever be someone beside Sherlock. He would never marry because there was simply no space left in his mind nor his life for someone else.

They had slept in a bed together and it had felt natural. Comforting each other after bad dreams or bad days felt natural. Hell, they had almost lived like a couple anyway during that week. They had even held hands in that pub. And that had felt natural, too.

Sherlock was only back in his life for three weeks now, but John had never been so sure about anything else in his life:

He truly loved Sherlock and he only now realized he loved him in every single way possible. He had never loved any other man before, but also he had not yet met anyone like Sherlock. Perhaps he had been the one he had been waiting for?

He had never had something against being gay or gay people in general, he just hadn't considered that "label" for himself yet. Could one become gay for only one other person of the same sex?

In the end he decided it didn't really matter.

He had almost reached Baker Street and decided to do some food shopping on the way home. They were out of tea and groceries.

After having finished the shopping, John finally closed the front door of Baker Street behind him and couldn't help grinning. He was in love with Sherlock.

How come he had never, ever realized that before? Had those feelings always been lingering under the surface and he had denied himself thinking about it? Had almost losing Sherlock again unleashed them? Or had this week in Cornwall caused all that? The intimacy, the new vulnerability and openness Sherlock had shown?

He didn't know and frankly, he didn't care. With a new spring in his step, he ran up the stairs.

Mary had searched through every single English newspaper website she knew, she had also googled news about Sherlock Holmes for two days now.

There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. If she called one of her London contacts now, they would know she was behind Sherlock's death, should it become public knowledge. She had to wait for Moriarty to contact her first. Where the hell was he hiding? The TV broadcast was now more than five days ago and usually he wasn't being slow nor patient.

Did he plan anything major for England again or was he just showing off with this short broadcast?

She also couldn't help thinking about John. He must have realized by now that she was in some way connected to Sherlock being shot. He hadn't contacted her since nor had she contacted him. She actually missed him.

If Sherlock had stayed away, they really could have become happy. But after that holiday she had suggested for the both of them, John had seemed distant and distracted, even during her feigned illness. Whatever had happened during that week, it had changed John.

Mary loved the apartment she had rented in Rome. She had bought some new clothes and had dyed her hair. She wouldn't be easy to recognize if she was found. If Sherlock had survived the shot, which she still highly doubted, he would come and find her, that she was sure about. But by then, she would be familiar enough with Rome to outwit him.

She thought about calling London's hospital to find out about Sherlock's life or death and came to the conclusion that that was the only way to get confirmation about her success.

From Baker Street, there weren't too many options if one had to get to the hospital fast after being shot in the heart.

Sherlock woke up again in the late afternoon to find his parents sitting by his bedside. His eyes also searched the room for John but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Mom, Dad," he rasped.

"Water, please," he tried again with a slightly clearer voice.

"Of course, son," his father said and poured some fresh water into the plastic cup.

Sherlock reached for the cup and took some small sips.

"How are you feeling, Sherlock?" His mum inquired, her face showing sorrow and worry.

"I've been better, but it will be alright. Where's John? Did you meet him?"

"No, we haven't seen anyone except Mycroft and that two cops outside. Sherlock, this job of yours will kill you one day, why don't you just stop this detective business?"

Sherlock sighed.

"Because it's what I do, mother. And I enjoy it. It's not the job that will kill me, it'll be John's girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend."

Both of his parents' mouths fell open.

Perhaps that had not been the best way to tell them what had happened, it was still the medication speaking out of him. Unfiltered.

"Sorry, but it's true," he added remorsefully. "Didn't Mycroft tell you that?"

"Not in all detail. And John saved your life?" His mom asked.

"Yes, but it's a long story. Mycroft can tell it. But basically, John is no longer with her and he saved me. He's also moved back into Baker Street."

"Good," his dad acknowledged to Sherlock's surprise, which must have shown on his face.

"Well, you are better when he's around. The last two years alone didn't do you any good, and neither did the years before you met him. How come we've never met him?"

Sherlock didn't really know how to answer that. Before he had left, he didn't want John to know too much about his childhood and his past. Mycroft's meddling in their lives had been enough.

But now he found he did want John to meet his parents. Where was he anyway? He guessed he must have left when he had fallen asleep again, but that had been hours ago.

"I'll call him now, if you really want to meet him. Give me my phone, Dad, please."

In that very moment, the door opened and John stepped in.

He instantly saw the visitors and stopped.

"Oh. Shall I come back later?" Sherlock instantly saw that John felt like an intruder. But John was just as important – if not more important – than his family. He certainly wasn't intruding.

"No, come on in," Sherlock said, still analysing John's expression. God, he was tired and wanted to go to sleep again. The pain in his chest was lingering and aggravating. He knew it would be a long time until he was completely healed and he had been shot only yesterday. But still, lying in this bed, not being able to move, was dreadful.

Something in John's eyes had changed since this morning, he concluded his musings. He had to think about this later.

"John, please meet my parents. Mom, Dad, this is John."

"Your…parents? Wow, I am very pleased to finally meet you both, Mr and Mrs Holmes."

A large smile on his face, John came over and shook both of his parents' hands.

"Finally we're meeting the famous John. It's very nice to see, Dr Watson, and finally put a face to the name."

John didn't seem to know how to answer that and smiled back warmly at his parents instead.

But he was practically beaming when he finally turned to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"How are you?" He asked, still smiling.

"Tired again, the pain is uncomfortable but the doctor said I am doing okay for the day after having been shot."

"It seems you do."

Still, that odd new smile.

"But I also think it's time for you to rest again. Visits are still very exhausting for you. Would you join me for some coffee in the cafeteria, Mrs and Mr Holmes? I will come back after that, Sherlock, I promise."

Sherlock knew John was right. He needed to rest. But it was good to see his parents and John finally in one room.

"Bring Mom and Dad with you, when you return, will you?"

John took Sherlock's parents to the Cafeteria and got tea and some cake for all of them. When he returned to their table, he found the couple talking animatedly about something but they stopped immediately when he approached the table.

"Am I interrupting?" John couldn't help asking.

"No, not at all, Dr Watson." Sherlock's mother confirmed but John wasn't convinced.

"Please call me, John." He said, unsure how to proceed after the clear dismissal. He was quite sure they had been talking about him before he returned to the table.

"Thank you, John, but only if you call us William and Violet."

"Thanks. Now, Violet, I presume you have questions about my girlfriend shooting Sherlock?" John asked. He wanted to get over this certain subject as soon as possible. Mycroft had told him outside Sherlock's room that he had conveniently left this point out in his narration.

"To be honest, yes. And we'd also like to know how you happened to be in Baker Street at the exact right time to save our son, John. Frankly, it seems a bit odd," William admitted.

"Do you know the story behind Mary at all?" John asked. If not, this would certainly take longer than a cup of tea.

"Mycroft told us the basics, yes. But he had to leave and we only came to the point when Sherlock was admitted to the hospital. He also left out the detail that it was your ex-girlfriend who shot Sherlock," William explained. John couldn't help but be fascinated by the resemblance of his eyes to Sherlock's. They were exactly the same shade of clear, green-blue-grey than Sherlock's.

But he could think about that later, right now, he had some explaining to do.

"Right. Sherlock called me not long before Mary arrived at Baker Street. He told me that Mycroft's men had lost track on her and that they had no idea where she was. I was at the clinic at that point. But after Sherlock ended the call, I was not able to concentrate on my patients any longer and took a cab to Baker Street. I found him there, lying in a pool of his own blood, unconscious." He paused. "It felt like the Fall all over again," he added quietly. "I felt like I was too late, again."

"But you weren't," Violet interrupted. "You came at the exact right time to save our son. It seems he owes you his life because of your instincts."

"It wasn't exactly instinct, you know," John tried to explain. "I don't really know what it was, but I knew that I needed to be with Sherlock immediately after we had ended that call…. It felt like the worst seconds of my life all over again when I found him…"

"You really love our son, don't you?"

John felt trapped immediately. How did they mean their question? Love him like a friend or a lover? He decided to admit it, however they had meant it.

"Yes, I do. He is the most important person in my life."

"You are the most important person in his life, too, you know," William said quietly. "And we would like it very much it things between you stayed this way. You're good for him, John. When he returned from his two-year absence he was miserable. Of course he didn't admit it but we could see in his eyes how lonely he must have been without you."

"So that's why you weren't at the funeral. You knew," John interrupted, now feeling like the only person who hadn't been privy to the secret.

"Yes, Mycroft informed us on the day of The Fall. We weren't too happy about you not being involved at all, but our sons were quite clear it was their decision and that it had to be this way. And it does seem that you have forgiven him."

"He has explained, yes, but it took me awhile, to be honest. I punched him in the face first," John admitted, not daring to look them in the eyes and eyed his cup of tea instead.

William laughed. "I would have done the same if he hadn't told me."

John was surprised about Sherlock's parents. They seemed warm and amiable and very unlike their sons. He wondered how Mycroft and Sherlock had become the people they were today. Or at least the person they once were, in the case of Sherlock. Lonely and distanced.

Half an hour later, they returned to Sherlock's room. His friend was asleep and his face showed that he was in pain. The morphine drip was not very high but John suspected that Sherlock wouldn't want to risk a new addiction. At least he hoped it.

William and Violet said their goodbyes and promised to come around Baker Street when Sherlock was home again. They lived out in the countryside and only came to London very rarely, however they would return to visit Sherlock the next day before they left the city again.

Sherlock's room was quiet and John sat down at Sherlock's bedside again, quietly holding his hand. It was dark outside now and almost seven in the evening. He had to return home soon but he would stay until one of the nurses threw him out.

The doctor had said earlier that the wound was in the very early healing stages, but so far looked promising. Sherlock would not be allowed to get up or move for at least five more days. Returning home was out of question for at least two weeks.

The doctor had also instructed him not to cause any distress to keep in control of Sherlock's heart rate. It was important to keep the heart beat stable until the internal scar tissue around the heart had healed sufficiently.

John realized immediately that he could not tell Sherlock about his newfound feelings until he was better. It would be very hard to hide this from Sherlock but he would try.

He had needed this long to realize what he felt, he could wait another week or two to speak with Sherlock about it. If he ever dared to, that was. It would be hard enough to keep the secret, but he did not want to risk Sherlock's health for one second.

Sherlock stirred and after a couple of moments, he opened his eyes. They instantly moved to John's.

"Hey," John greeted him softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Still tired," Sherlock rumbled. "And in pain."

"You could increase the morphine a bit, I guess."

"Perhaps tonight. I want to keep my head clear when I'm awake."

"Right. Your parents will return tomorrow before they're going home again."

"I hope they were bearable. Sorry I was so tired earlier."

"Your parents are lovely. I like them. I invited them over to Baker Street once you've settled in again."

"You did?"

"I wonder why you've never invited them before, honestly," John asked.

"I didn't want them to meddle in our lives," Sherlock said quietly.

His parents had seemed nice and he didn't think they would do much meddling.

"You don't believe me," Sherlock added instantly.

"They seem very nice, Sherlock. I didn't have the impression they would want to influence your life," John replied hesitantly.

"Not any more."

Sherlock wasn't sure how to explain to John why he didn't want his parents to take a huge part in his life again.

Also, John seemed different than in the morning.

When he had woken up, John had pulled his hand away from his and the odd, happy smile that had enlightened his face this morning was gone now.

Or did I just imagine that? Bloody morphine.

John was waiting patiently for him to relate about his parents. That's what he loved about John, among many other things, obviously. He didn't push him when there was no need. Unlike his parents when he was young. He decided if he could not tell John, he couldn't tell anyone.

"I am at peace with them nowadays, but when I was young they always pushed me in a direction. They wanted me to become like Mycroft, go into politics, become a lawyer, et cetera. The teachers told them I was highly intelligent, but unsociable, and they put me into a boarding school to become more "sociable." It didn't work, as you can imagine. I never wanted to go into politics or law school. I was interested in chemistry and solving crimes. When I told them, they were very unaccepting. They said I was wasting my potential and did not support me when I went to study chemistry after school. I had no friends there and the students at the boarding school had learnt to keep out of my way. I used them to learn deduction and that was enough for me. There was not one person amongst them I even wanted to make friends with. They were all stupid."

He paused. John didn't interrupt and seemed to digest the information he had just been given. He suspected his friend felt sorry for his childhood.

"Don't feel sorry for me, John. It's alright. When I started as a consulting detective, they weren't happy, but they started to accept that I wanted to live a different life. When they learnt that I was solving murders and crimes and that Mycroft supported me, they eventually came around and accepted it. I decided to forgive them a couple of months before I met you. But I don't want them to be in my life every day, you understand?"

John nodded.

"I rather think they want to be part of your life and they understand you quite well, now. I didn't get the impression they wanted to change you," John said.

"Perhaps. We'll see tomorrow, when I'm hopefully not as tired as today."

He already felt tired again and yawned. Breathing was still very painful.

"You're healing, Sherlock. Close your eyes and sleep. I'll stay until you're asleep and come back tomorrow, alright?"

"Don't you have to work, John?" He realized he had taken over John's life again, with him being in the hospital every day.

"I quit. That's why I was gone earlier. I will look after you when you're allowed to go home, I already spoke with the doctor," John said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You did?" was all that Sherlock could say.

"Well, if you want me to look after you, that is," John replied with slight unease now.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

"Thank you, John. I would appreciate it very much."

One week later, Sherlock was nearly going round the bend in his hospital room. He still wasn't allowed to stand up or move much and when the tiredness had become better, he was bored out of his skull.

John's visits were always the highlight of his day but he could understand that his friend could not spend twenty-four-seven in the hospital room with him.

Mrs Hudson had come to visit as well and he realized that she had always been more a mother to him than his real one. When he told her that, she had burst into tears. He didn't quite understand because he had anticipated such a statement wouldn't make her sad.

When she finally stopped crying, she hugged him and told him that she loved him, too.

Perhaps he had said the right thing all along, then.

He still didn't know what to make out of John's behaviour.

He was warm and affectionate as always, but he also was sure that his friend was hiding something from him. Was he rethinking his decision about staying at Baker Street?

Had he heard from Mary and just didn't want to upset him? Had he made plans with Mycroft for Mary behind his back?

As soon as he felt better or was fit enough to go home, he would find out. Life was too short to be left out.

John found it increasingly difficult to hide the nature of his new found feelings from Sherlock.

He tried to be as friendly as possible without giving himself away. He was still sleeping in Sherlock's bed just to feel more close to him. Sherlock hadn't said anything about it anymore. Perhaps he had forgotten or didn't find it important any longer.

For John though, it was important. He thought about Sherlock's return to Baker street. He needed to go back to sleeping on the couch until Sherlock was better. His old bedroom was currently out of the question as it was too far away from Sherlock's.

He thought about ways to address his feelings to Sherlock. He had no confirmation whatsoever that Sherlock really felt the same way. He just hoped that he did - otherwise things would become really awkward.

There was no significant news on Mary. She had been seen on a CCTV camera in Paris at Gare du Nord, apparently having arrived there with the Eurostar train. She had worn a wig with black hair and a worn jeans and jumper. It hadn't been easy to recognize her, but the software had recognized her facial features quickly. She had not been seen since and they had no idea if she had stayed in Paris or moved on into another city. Or another continent.

John had told Sherlock the news but he hadn't commented much. He suspected that she was still in Europe and if he didn't conduct the search himself, she obviously would not be found. He was getting restless and John could understand him. His wounds were healing and although Sherlock was still in quite a bit of pain, he wanted to get moving again as fast as possible.

Finally, two weeks were over and Sherlock was ready to go home. The doctor was satisfied with Sherlock's progress and released him into John's care exactly fifteen days after he'd been shot by Mary. It was now the middle of February and it was freezing outside. The temperature was below zero and a nasty wind blew through the streets.

Mrs Hudson and John had turned the heating up prior to Sherlock's arrival to make him as comfortable as possible. John only needed a t-shirt now at home instead of the usual warm winter jumper.

He had changed the bedding in the morning and added some more pillows to make Sherlock as comfortable as possible at home. He had bought fresh vegetables, fruit and some chicken to cook for his friend. The hospital food had been abhorrent and Sherlock had rarely eaten something at all.

The cab was waiting in front of the hospital's entrance. It had taken Sherlock almost half an hour to dress. Now he was being wheeled by John to the hospital entrance.

The two police officers had already driven to Baker Street for setting up surveillance there in case Mary chose to come back.

"I can walk from here, John," Sherlock said aggressively when they reached the main exit.

"No, you can't. I will help you into the car and God knows how I'll get you up these stairs at home. Stay put."

He understood that Sherlock didn't want to show weakness in front of others, but moving too much still was quite dangerous for his very recently healed inner injuries.

The taxi ride was quiet and Sherlock watched London flowing by outside the window. Despite the freezing cold outside he opened the window a bit to inhale the fresh air. John didn't comment on it but understood why Sherlock needed the air after two weeks in the hospital.

They reached Baker Street. Mrs Hudson came out of her flat as soon as she heard John turning the key in the lock of the front door.

"Sherlock, you're finally back home. John has prepared everything for you. I'll prepare some tea for you while you settle in. Welcome home, Sherlock."

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson," he said affectionately and John could hear that he truly meant what he said.

John cleared his throat.

"Now, let's get you up the stairs. Lay your arms around my shoulders, one step at the time. Lean on me as much as you need to. I know your muscles must be weak."

"Okay," Sherlock said quietly, as if he dreaded the stairs as much as John did right now.

Sherlock's arm felt warm around him and John's pulse increased rapidly by Sherlock's touch alone.

They reached the first step. Sherlock and John were squeezed into each other taking the first step simultaneously.

The first two steps went okay, then Sherlock broke into a sweat.

"We have all the time in the world, Sherlock. No need to make haste. Do you need a pause?" John asked quietly, trying not to make Sherlock feel worse than he already did.

"After the next step," he breathed quietly.

Fifteen minutes later, they had finally reached the flat.

John almost carried Sherlock right into his bedroom, where Sherlock fell into his bed, dressed in his coat and a warm jumper and jogging pants and trainers.

"Let's get you out of the coat at least, before you go to sleep."

"Too tired…." Sherlock whispered.

"I know." Carefully, John moved Sherlock and removed the coat from his body. His friend fell asleep during the process, so exhausted was he.

Had they brought him home from the hospital too early? John decided to check Sherlock thoroughly when he woke up again.

Three hours and a pot of tea later, John heard Sherlock move in the bed. He had left all doors open in case Sherlock needed something.

He went into the bedroom.

"It is so good to be in my own bed again," Sherlock said as soon John came into the room.

"Feeling better?" John asked.

"Yes, definitely. Thanks for bringing me home today, I could not have waited one day longer. Could we move into the living room, it's only noon after all?"

"Of course, I'll help you up."

When Sherlock was lying comfortably on his couch again and John had brought him the first proper cup of tea he had in ages, Sherlock cleared his throat.

"John. We need to talk."

That didn't sound good. Not at all.

"About what?"

"About what you've been hiding from me since my second day in the hospital."

Shit. So he had noticed. He hadn't expected this to come up for another couple of days.

"Why should I hide anything from you?" he tried lamely.

"Come on, John. I might be drugged but I still can deduce that you're hiding something important from me. Do you want to move out again? Is it something about Mary? Tell me, John. I can't stand this any longer. You've said so yourself: no more secrets. And only days after that you have one."

John sighed. The moment had come. Now or never.

"You're right. I'm hiding something from you."

A/N 2 : And... I guess the next chapter will bring our two favorite people to have "the talk".

I totally made up the names of Sherlock's parents, I could not find their real names on the internet.