A/N: Ok! Yeah there were a lot of things not yet concluded. I didn't have much time to write them down, but here's what I had in mind from the beginning. Now I have something to confess; I like writing adventures and mysteries. And I like Sherlock and John. And I like sexual tension, so! The rest of the story is that.

I wanted to fill the gap, did you ever notice that in John Watson's blog there were about two months without new entries? Last case post before the fall was the hound and then a hacking (we all know who that is, don't we). Remember I wanted to keep on with the blog and being faithful to the story, so here we go. Bear with me, please =D

I changed a little the summary, since I felt there were genres missing.

Thank you so much you all for all the reviews! You really make me happy!

CHAPTER TEN – Define 'Date'

Sherlock got up from bed around two o'clock in the afternoon. After last night's... events, he fell deeply asleep. He never heard John taking off to his own room in the middle of the night, and he certainly didn't hear when John's phone rang, being summoned to the hospital early in the morning. So when he woke up, everything was so fuzzy inside his mind; he could barely remember what day it was, the only thing he knew for certain, was what happened... with John.

He had fallen asleep on his back, arms by his sides, almost at the edge of the bed. He wanted tea. Badly. He changed to a sitting position and looked down at himself. He was shirtless, his stomach was sticky with a dry white substance now combined with his own sweat, his own semen... and probably John's as well. His trousers were still open at the front and there was a mess of fabric there. He had to support himself in his arms at the realization. It was really true, he and John had... touched each other last night, they had even... kissed. Sherlock's eyes couldn't be wider now, he was panting lightly, surprised.

It was true he wanted to be touched by John's hands, it was also true his body's quick and strong reactions when it was about John. It was true about the phone experiment that proved his arousal state being null when there was this lack of... feelings. Feelings he didn't held towards the people on the phone. There was no other possible explanation, he knew he felt something strong for John, he knew and was well aware of the fact that he actually... loved John.

He closed his eyes and entered his mind palace. He lay down on the mattress and evoked last night's sensations. They were all there; his mind had placed them all in a very organized way inside his palace. He realized there was a whole new room called physical contact and inside, there were lots of different shelves with ordered stuff. He tried to look in there for the connection between that room and the room sensations and he noted that the room called John was in the middle of it; and it had a lot of doors; one of them being for the room friendship.

He tried to classify all of that, but he felt at lost. It was as if he wandered around John's room and the sensations' room and the physical contact's room all by separate. He stepped in the middle of it and felt like screaming. He wanted to shout badly. So he did. He shouted in his mind; he was frustrated and confused. Right in his mind palace, his cry echoed around John's room. He knew that if he moved all of the files from John's room to physical contact room they would fit. But if he moved all of the data from John's room to friendship they would also fit.

He opened his eyes with a frustrated groan and got up. He walked to the shower, taking his time there. Half an hour later he was fully dressed in the living room, checking his email. Gladly, he found one from Lestrade.

'Please call me as soon as you can.'

He didn't even sign the mail, so Sherlock took off, he would go there rather texting, he needed something to keep his mind distracted, John wasn't leaving him in peace.

**..**

"I assume this is significant enough for you not signing an email... but you didn't go to the flat, so it's not rushed enough either." Sherlock put his hands in his pockets as he walked into Lestrade's office.

"It is." Lestrade never lifted his eyes from papers in front of him. "Close the door behind you, will yah."

Sherlock frowned and did what he was told. He had never seen Lestrade so troubled.

"It's a... very rare case indeed. It has to do with the drugs dealers you boys found the other day."

"We solved that case... there is nothing else to add to-"

"Now the case is personal, Sherlock..." Lestrade rubbed his temples and this time he fully looked up. "I believe the government might be involved in this one, so I cannot tell my people to track it down."

"Go on..."

"You see, the black market's head you tracked down wasn't the main leader there..." Lestrade handed a few papers to Sherlock; photographs of the 'new homeless gang' "...see that man in the bigger one, he is one of the guys working for the government."

Sherlock quickly glanced the papers in his hands. He recognized the man.

From time to time, he would lift his gaze to look at Lestrade. There was something odd in his behaviour today, he seemed... too troubled.

"I know this man." Sherlock handled the picture of the same guy that stabbed him in the arm. Since he couldn't explain the homeless situation to Lestrade, he avoided the details.

"Are you sure?" At the question, Sherlock just looked at him, Lestrade kept the stare. "Okay, I'll leave you to it, then. I will go to your flat soon, this can't be discussed by email and rarely phone..." again he rubbed his temples and fumbled a few papers on his desk. Sherlock made a quick scan on him. [Eyes] Sleepless night. [Lips] Haven't eaten or drank anything for hours. [Eyebrows] Excessive frowning. [Desk] He hasn't taken any case today yet. [Bag in the end of the room] He'll be staying here tonight. [Size and state of the bag] Make it two nights; tonight's the last one.'

"I'm leaving now. Anything else I need to know?"

"No, that would be all... and Sherlock!" he stopped in his tracks just with the hand on the door handle, not looking back "You may use help from Doctor Watson if you like, but don't let him write about it... everybody here knows about the blog. Don't let him write about the Netherland case either."

Sherlock nodded and walked outside.

In the street, the sun was luminous but not warm. The wind was chilly but not strong. He rode a cab home, but he couldn't let his mind rest; his eyes scanned all the time for anything that raised suspicion about being followed. Last night's matter was now deep buried, new thoughts taking place quickly. His mind tried to connect the dots fast.

There was something, inside his mind palace, a poster hanging at the entry. Every time he went there he saw it: 'I'll burn the heart out of you'. Sherlock couldn't place right there why that thought was glued in his mind now.

The cab stopped in front of 221B. Sherlock got out and opened the door. Mrs. Hudson was in the bakery, there was no one else around and he found the peace of the flat alarming. He thought he was seeing ghosts everywhere, almost paranoid. He walked upstairs slowly and opened the door carefully, everything he was doing was cautious.

When he was fully inside the flat, he sighed and walked to the skull on the mantle. It was staring at him with his immobile grin. He lifted it upside down and smiled when he found his secret cigarette, scotched at the bottom, near the forehead. He took it off and felt it in his hands. He moved it around his fingers and smelled it, taking a big gulp of air. A couple of seconds later, he was throwing it in the trash, crashed, but he didn't light it.

Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, sat in front of John's armchair bringing his knees to his chest and stayed there. His mind started like an engine once again today.

**..**

In a hospital cafeteria, John Watson sat in front of his lunch, completely unaware about Sherlock whereabouts today since he had left the flat early in the morning.

He had spent his day in peace. Sarah talked to him as soon as he got there; they both apologized for their behaviour yesterday. Sarah was predictable. A word he had learned to hate with Sherlock. Maybe he would have liked it before, but John Watson was a man of adventure, he loved the adrenaline that came with the unknown. He liked to be thrilled, he loved to come home and not knowing what was going to happen today... and that was Sherlock. Last night he had predicted part of his own feelings but not Sherlock's. He never imagined the man was going to act like that, he never thought Sherlock would ask to be touched – massaged. He would have never imagined Sherlock would appear in the pub, being there just to listen, for once. Sherlock was unpredictable, and that's what he both; loved and hated about him.

But, for being such an unpredictable man, he could also tell what Sherlock liked or hated. And he was very aware that the relationship he – now, maybe always – had with Sherlock wasn't a normal one. He could clearly see himself living, perhaps forever, with him... but holding hands whilst walking in the park... was something certainly not destined to happen. Going home and receive a warm kiss and a hug welcoming him wasn't happening either. Taking off early in the morning, with Sherlock in an apron making waffles and wishing him good luck, wasn't happening either. The sole image of that could make John hate Sherlock immediately.

Being in Afghanistan, he always thought about getting back to London. He didn't want to die there. He wanted to settle down. Inside his most lovely fantasies, he had a wife, she would have long hair and a good temper, they would have kids. They would turn a comfortable house into a home. They would love each other and their kids. They would grow old together and he would watch his kids growing, maybe one of them would like to share the soldier career, he would be proud of them. Then, he would die old and gray in the peace of his home. Sweet dreams those were.

But then, his first week in London he met the detective. The first time he described him as mad and charming. He knew from the beginning Sherlock wasn't safe. After a couple of days living with him, his mind was slowly replacing the lovely fantasy. He no longer wanted to snuggle next to a loving wife in lazy afternoons. Instead, he wanted to solve cases and be constantly fighting over eating habits with his friend. He no longer wanted to sleep spooning a soft body in his arms; now he wanted to sleep in the bedroom above Sherlock's, he wanted to wake up in the middle of the night with violin music –or anti-music, according to his moods. Or worse, being awaked to go into another adventure (oh, how Sherlock hated that word). He didn't want the established relationship anymore, the lovey-dovey thing; he wanted to tease and be teased and argue with those who thought they were in a romantic relationship and to be exasperated every time it happens... yes. He wanted his life with Sherlock. He didn't want it to change.

And last night's events... John couldn't stop thinking about those. Would that ever repeat? He had no idea and he, even if that sounded stupid, loved it. 'I must have a serious brain damage...' John thought, he grinned for himself as he rubbed his temples.

"John?" Sarah asked. She sat in front of him with her tray of food. He was with this stupid grin all over his face.

"Yes..." He cleared his throat and tried to pull on a normal face. "Yes?"

"You weren't listening, were you?"

"I am really sorry, Sarah... my mind was somewhere else..."

"That's happening to you a lot lately." She stated looking at him, he lifted his gaze and they both smiled. "Is this about your flatmate again?"

John frowned at her. "I don't think about him all the time, you know, I have other business too." 'LIAR!' his mind screamed.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked, supporting her chin on her palm and smiling, she even seemed a bit flirty. Surprisingly, John didn't like that now, he even found it... annoying.

"Oh, about the new supplies that came in today. I signed them as the substitute doctor, but yet I found something strange about the drugs for the ontological department".

"How strange?"

"I'm not sure... but I thought supplies for therapies were more... expensive."

"Mh, I saw those too and thought about the same... well..." she was about to say something else, but they were approached by some colleagues who tot closer to lunch with them. They talked about the patients today, mundane stuff. John was just listening. His mind was plagued with Sherlock's voice, and the things he would be saying if he was listening to this conversation: 'Bored!' 'People are stupid'. After living with Sherlock, everyone else actually seemed to be boring.

John started a little game he was beginning to enjoy in these boring situations. He eyed everyone very quick and then looked somewhere else. Then, he tried to remember what he had caught with the quick scan. He found out one of the doctors had a big admiration for Sarah. He was peeping her way all the time. He also observed two of them having the same shirt than yesterday and, oddly enough, they were sharing the same cologne. John shook his head and stood up, dismissing himself politely under the excuse of having patients waiting for him.

**..**

After a long day at the hospital, John entered the flat around eight in the evening. The place was dark, but Sherlock's silhouette was completely defined; he was curled up on the leather armchair, with the faint light coming from the window, John saw how his eyes were closed and he had a frown in his features.

"John, define date." Sherlock spoke suddenly, startling him.

"I thought you were asleep..." he took off his jacket and threw it at the back of his armchair.

"Can't, have much brain work to do. Define. Date." Sherlock demanded now, jaw clenched, eyes still closed.

John frowned and forced out a little laugh "Uh-hm... Date. Two people who like each other going out to uh... do something they both enjoy?"

"You had a different definition before."

"I can't recall everything exactly the same way."

"Well you might."

"I am stupid, remember." Sherlock opened his eyes and sighed, never looking at him.

"Well, put your jacket back on. We're going on a date tonight."

Sherlock got up with a jump and arranged his scarf and coat quickly. John was with a very confused expression looking at him.

"A date." John couldn't help but an incredulous smile.

"Yes! A date; you and I. Problem?" Sherlock didn't wait for an answer and ran downstairs, leaving the door open, sure John would follow. The doctor stood still for a couple of seconds in the flat, his brows down and his lips furrowed to a side. But as predicted, soon he was following Sherlock, who was waiting for him outside. John noticed Sherlock's tone. It was that tone; the tone he usually wore when something was going on, and he had to figure it out quickly. The tone which predicted a long night of collecting data.The tone which advised John to have patience.

"I'm not sure I want to ask... but when you say date..." Sherlock was walking fast, his eyes searching for something anxiously. He seemed in a constant rush, John had to jog a little to catch up. "Sherlock... Sherlock!"

"Move faster John, we're getting closer now." Sherlock kept on walking. By the direction they were heading to, they weren't going downtown, they were going somewhere near the bridge.

When they both got to a desolated place, Sherlock eyed everywhere, then loosed his scarf and put it inside his coat pocket. John was still confused. Sherlock lifted an eyebrow to him "We just need to get some attention."

"How exact-"

"Punch me."

"Come on! Again?" John threw his arms in the air.

"It's the most effective way! Punch me!"

John sighed and he planted his fist on Sherlock's stomach. The blow wasn't harsh, but since they needed attention, Sherlock made a whole show and fell to his knees, dramatically. John placed himself behind him and put his arm around his neck and asked near his ear. "The fuck are you doing?"

"Behind you!"

Sherlock took John from the front of his jacket and threw him to the ground, on his back. When he did that, John saw a blade sparkling in the dark. Everything was fast. When he looked up he saw Sherlock behind an unknown man. He had the man's arm behind his back, holding him still by his wrist. The expression in the man's face was painful. The knife was on the pavement.

John took the knife and got up, quickly covering Sherlock's back with his own. He heard how Sherlock interrogated the guy, his voice coming out between clenched teeth.

"Whom do you work for?"

"I was just looking for money, sir. My wife and my-!"

"Why were you following us?"

"Sir! I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Yeah you do. Now talk!" Sherlock growled out. John heard a loud shout coming from the man. He turned his face to look at Sherlock, he saw how he had the arm in an almost impossible position; the man's fingers were almost touching his own nape.

"Sherlock?"

"Not now, John!"

"Sherlock." The tone was worried now. The detective turned his head to look at their surroundings, they were being encircled by a gang of homeless, Sherlock smirked.

"I thought you would never show up." Sherlock threw the guy carelessly to the floor and shook a bit the sleeves of his coat. Three bigger guys came from the bunch of people, lifted the man off the floor and took him away.

"I'm forever indebted to you!" Another man spoke getting closer to Sherlock. They gave each other a solid handshake.

"I need any information you can get from that man. I need him alive... and in prison." Sherlock arranged his scarf back around his neck.

"Yeah, consider it done. We'll keep you updated." The tall man who was talking to Sherlock eyed John and lifted his brows.

"Oh, Doctor John Watson." Sherlock said with his hand extended to him.

John got closer to them and stretched his hand to the tall man, "Nice to meet you... erm..."

"Louis!" the man said, taking John's hand and giving it a firm pressure and a single shake, "...this guy here saved my little daughter," he added, tilting his head to Sherlock.

John nodded with a smile.

"I will be waiting for news, Louis." Sherlock said already pacing away.

"You can count on that!" with a smirk and a gesture from Louis, the gang disappeared as fast as they've appeared.

John shook his jacket a bit and glared at Sherlock, who was already a few metres away. John had to jog again to catch him.

"So... a date." John smiled with a headshake.

Sherlock let out a little laugh, "we were doing something we both enjoy, John", he smirked, looking into John's amused eyes.

"Are you going to explain?"

"What do you want to know?" he said, pacing away, this time his walking had slowed down.

"Everything? First, have you eaten today?"

"I didn't have the time. I needed to think."

"Well, you can think while we eat. And whilst we are at it, you're going to explain everything what happened today and all this... gang thing." John made a gesture with his hands.

"You do have to know a couple of things, John." Sherlock's tone lowered, "we're in a new case... and confidential. You can't post this on the blog."

"Oh... the Yard?"

"Exactly."

**..**

When they got to Angelo's, John noticed how the Italian man didn't tease him for being Sherlock's date. They came here so often now, it was almost a common thing, predictable, even. The restaurant was good. Besides, they could eat there for free if they wanted. But Sherlock always left money on the table as they left. Sometimes, even covering more of what they've eaten, except for a couple of times when they had to go in a hurry.

There, waiting for their food, Sherlock thought intensely about the new case. John was staring, not really wanting to disturb his thoughts. Sherlock didn't seem to mind the stare. When the food arrived, Sherlock just looked at the plate with a blank expression.

"Eat." John said grabbing his fork. Sherlock made a quick gesture clenching his lips.

"What do you want to know?" Sherlock took his fork as well and started to eat slowly. He took every piece of the plate carefully, separating the vegetables almost by colours and categories. John peeped and smiled, he always found that incredibly amusing... and childish.

"Okay. First. Who was that bloke?" John asked, gulping down.

"That man works for my brother. I don't really know who he is. Remember the man chasing after us?"

"Yeah. The alley's stuff." John never lifted his eyes off his food, moving it with his fork. He heard Sherlock clearing his throat. Obviously, it was the first time for Sherlock being in this situation: 'the talk after...'

"The alley's stuff." Sherlock repeated.

One of the first times they talked, John took a hold quickly on how Sherlock's voice variations said a lot. Almost as much as actual words. Now Sherlock was talking in that purred, throaty voice, letting him know that he had something important to say, but didn't want to rush the issue. John didn't know how to explain it. But most of the time, he could figure a lot from the man in front only through his voice. If Sherlock did it on purpose or not, he never knew.

So John darted his brows up, but didn't say a word, Sherlock swallowed his mouthful and continued. "That time I told you about Mycroft. You must know, John, my brother's brain works like mine. His deduction's skills are impeccable. But I reckon telling you; he is also too lazy to follow a lead. He would prefer to be seen as mistaken before going out to the field to prove he's right..."

"Yes, I recall you told me that... several months ago."

Sherlock nodded, "That's why he always hires people to do his dirty job."

"What does this have to do with the Yard?" John asked, taking a gulp from his glass of juice.

"I don't know yet, John... Lestrade mailed me today. At the Yard he said this was a personal matter. He couldn't involve his agents, since it has something to do with the government. He thinks it's about the plants' black market. Do you see now?" he said, gesturing a circular movement with his fork in the air.

"No, not really..." Sherlock rolled his eyes, "but wasn't Mycroft who gave you the case in the first place?"

"John, that's what I'm trying to figure out... Mycroft wanted me there, in the case... us."

At the last word escaped his lips, Sherlock snapped his head up. He opened big eyes and stared to a point behind John's head.

"Sherlock?"

"He wanted us in the case, John- he wanted you to go to Netherlands, he wanted you away... Why?"

"Why would Mycroft want that?"

"John, I need you to tell me everything Mycroft told you two days ago." At that, John frowned and tried to remember.

"Well... first thing he told me was you're a very important personality..."

"Personality...!" Sherlock snorted at that. It was a sad laugh. John got it right away: 'he said personality and no person'. John cleared his throat and continued.

"And... you are far more important than you think you are... after that, he counselled me to leave Baker Street... saying we both could get killed."

Sherlock just looked at John, stopping his chewing. Searching for an expression, anything. When John's face remained expressionless, he asked "What did you answer?"

John made a little smile. "That I'm not going to leave you... leave Backer Street..." when he saw Sherlock smiling too, he added almost in a whisper "That sounded much less lamer yesterday..."

They looked at each other, giggling shortly and soundlessly.

**..**

As soon as they stepped into 221B, John immediately opened his laptop. The thing today with the therapy supplies was really bothering him. He wanted to know the real prices, so meanwhile he searched in the Internet, Sherlock got into his blue robe and sat on the large couch. He needed to think.

"Let's see... the data we have..." Sherlock muttered and John answered with a 'mm-hmm'. He was now absorbed on the screen, so he wasn't paying much attention to Sherlock, but the detective kept on talking anyway. "We know Mycroft wanted you away, we also know how we solved the case; the drug was made with a composition based on tulips bulbs... we could never get the names of the other drugs. We also know the leader wasn't really the leader but an accomplice..."

"Sherlock..." John got up from his usual armchair and took the laptop to Sherlock's lap. There was a site with the prices for the supplies for cancer treatment, a big list of plants based chemicals. He sat down next to Sherlock and he moved himself closer to the screen.

"What is this?" Sherlock eyed the site quickly. "Chemicals..."

"Plant based chemicals..." John corrected "today at the hospital, I had to sign a list for a new supplies arrival..." John got up and took a paper from his jacket's pocket and passed it to Sherlock "Yes! Here it is... I saved a copy just in case, 'cause I wanted to research the prices. They were so cheap it was suspicious."

"Cheap prices... John... you're brilliant!" Sherlock placed the laptop on John's lap and got up quickly. He took the papers given to him by Lestrade.

After hours comparing data – John had seen it coming – from both lists, Sherlock got to the conclusion that they were selling non approved drugs for the hospital. They were keeping somewhere, somehow, the original ones.

John stretched on the couch next to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, this is big." John muttered rubbing his temples.

"No wonder then, Lestrade didn't want to involve the Yard." Sherlock stretched on the couch too. "Tomorrow we are going to tell him this. Then you can go to the hospital to find out the name of the provider..."

"Right, yes. I have nothing planned for tomorrow. So I can go around doing everything you want me to."

"Good." Sherlock smiled, he knew John was being sarcastic.

"Right."

They sat in the usual comfortable silence now. Sherlock still had a few papers in his hand and was eyeing at them, checking for more data. Even though he knew they already analyzed everything there and in the Internet. They had to wait until tomorrow anyways.

"Sherlock?"

"Mm?"

"About last night..." Sherlock eyed John not moving his head. It was the first time he was in this situation. He had thanked for this new case to keep his mind busy. But he knew John, he also knew that he couldn't escape the inevitable, so he just listened, John sighed and proceeded, "... when I told you that I'm not gay... you told me you weren't either..."

"I'm not." Sherlock said, closing his eyes and supporting his neck at the back of the sofa.

"But you said girlfriends weren't your area, about a year ago."

"And that you remember exactly." Sherlock let out a snort. "It's true, though. Women aren't my area; they are needy, they use their sexuality to profit. They think they can have any man on their feet if they expose more skin to us than needed. Or if they wink at us..." again Sherlock was talking with that purred voice "...that just... repels me." He let out a quiet sigh.

"So that actually proves that you're not into women, then?" John was genuinely curious now.

"I don't want to be labelled, John."

"Labelled..." John repeated. That made sense.

"Why are you asking me all of this? Why do you care?" Sherlock changed positions so he could see John now, but he was still lazily sprawled on the sofa, papers still in hand "You're asking me that since the first day we're living together..."

John let out a sigh as well. He sat straight on the couch and then moved a little his torso to face Sherlock too.

"I was just curious, Sherlock. You don't see a genius every day. Besides... if I was to live with you I thought I had the right to know... you know, avoid surprises."

"Oh. So you think I'm a genius?" Sherlock smirked.

"I thought that... I still do... you do need an audience, though."

Sherlock glared and John smiled at the gesture. John supported his back on the couch again and took the book they managed to find. It had a lot of legally approved plants based chemicals. Sherlock shifted his position, supporting his back on the armrest, still with the papers in his hands. Then he threw his legs over John's lap. It wasn't the first time he did that, he liked it, in fact. He liked the way John supported his wrist under or above his knee, and then, with an unconscious gesture, he would rub his thumb there, or tap lightly with his fingers, or nail a bit.

As John felt the familiar weight over his own thighs, automatically, he rested his wrists on them, book still in his hands. Sherlock's lips lifted a bit when, after a couple of minutes, John started to scratch lightly on his trouser. Minutes after that, he was tapping, probably he was following a melody. Sherlock concentrated on the tapping rhythm, just out of curiosity, and discovered it was the Italian melody they were playing at Angelo's.

Sherlock's smile faded almost immediately when he remembered the poster hanging at the entry of his mind's palace. He eyed John again from above the papers in his hands. Now he seemed absorbed by the book. He knew this case had to do with Mycroft. But why he was constantly reminded of Moriarty... he didn't know. And that bothered him to no extents.

Apparently, tomorrow was going to be a very long day.