Later in the day after a short nap, a shower, and several cups of tea John is reading in his chair.

Sherlock had been lounging on the couch until a phone call takes him to his bedroom leaving John in silence though trust it won't last.

John is deep in the sentences of his book when a prickling sensations jars him. Startled and a bit confused he looks around. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he spots Sherlock inches from him just staring.

"For fucks sake Sherlock," John curses, "you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Sherlock says nothing as he moves closer.

John doesn't like the way the man is looking at him. "Bad news?" He questions hoping it will explain what is going on.

Still nothing and now the taller man is leaning into John's personal space. His eyes dart around John's face as if looking for something.

"Sherlock," the doctor asks nervously, "what's going on?"

"How did you know?" Sherlock finally speaks moving away from John.

"What?" John is confused.

Sherlock glares, "the eyes! How did you know about the eyes?" He snaps.

The doctor is still uncertain what Sherlock is asking. "What are you talking about?"

In a second Sherlock is back in his space and even closer. Their noses are brushing as the taller man invades. "The boyfriend confessed he took her eyes because they were his favorite part about her."

John feels his stomach drop and all the blood leaves his body.

"How did you know?" Sherlock growls gripping John's shoulders tightly.

"I...I..." John stammers being overwhelmed with foreign emotions. He's starting to feel sick with the onslaught before realizing the things he is feeling aren't coming from him but Sherlock.

That is definitely new. John had only been able to feel his familiar emotions but here he is receiving waves from the other man so much stronger than anything John has ever felt.

"Can you back off a bit?" John's voice is strained and he's having trouble focusing with everything bombarding him.

Sherlock of course does the opposite he presses even closer, if that were possible, and grabs John's face. "How did you know?" He repeats.

John doesn't hear him, as soon as the man touched his face he's pulled into a vision.

Sherlock is sitting on his bed in his room with the phone against his ear.

"We've brought him in, you were right, he confessed to everything." Greg's voice can be heard.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Obviously."

"Oh and we asked him about her eyes, why he cut them out," Lestrade says, "and he said it was his favorite part of her."

Sherlock narrows his eyes before standing, "what were his exact words?" He asks.

"I have it written down here," there's the sound of shuffling papers, "so he said he loved her eyes so much he didn't want them to leave, they were his favorite part about her."

Sherlock's eyes widen and he looks at his closed door.

John blinks as he comes back and is startled that Sherlock is still centimeters from his face. "Sherlock can you please back up?" He snarls.

The other man slowly backs off but remains close.

With the space John can finally force out the emotions that aren't his, they don't fade completely but there is a separation. Now he is certain that something about Sherlock heightens his abilities, there had been half-thought suspicions but he wasn't certain. He had a connection with the genius and it is going to be impossible to keep anything a secret.

"You shot the cabbie."

John nearly stops breathing.

"You shot the cabbie and saved my life but how you knew to be there in time is what baffles me," Sherlock says, "don't bother denying it, I already know."

John is staring holes into the other man, still stunned.

Sherlock moves closer, he moves slowly. "It took me a few days to confirm that you are indeed the one who shot the cabbie. It was your gun that gave you away. You tried hiding it but I easily found it. Taking a bullet fired from it I wasn't at all surprised to find it matching the one from the cabbie." Sherlock explains, "Now I could take this information to detective inspector Lestrade but I'd rather hear the truth from you. So John..." he pauses, "how did you know?"

John swallows thickly at a loss of words. He had never attempted to explain himself since he was a child knowing that no one would believe him. But now he is confronted and he doesn't know how to proceed.

Sherlock is hovering inches from his face, his eyes penetrating John's very being. "John." He whispers.

John takes in a deep breath. "It's hard to explain." He says.

"Try." Sherlock orders.

"You won't believe me." John tries.

Sherlock glares. "John."

John balls his fists and squeezing his eyes shut. "I have dreams, visions. I see things that happen, that will happen, that have happen. They're unpredictable and come at any time, I can't control them. But ever since I moved in with you I'm more sensitive, I've been seeing and knowing things I couldn't before. That's how I knew about the eyes, when you were talking about it I heard what he was thinking. I've never been able to do that!"

Now that John had found the words they are just falling out. "I've watched men die but those were men I knew since I met you I now watch people I've never met die. I hear murderer's inner thoughts! Before, I knew I was different but now I'm pretty sure I'm going insane!" He finishes and manages to open his eyes.

Sherlock's glare has vanished and an indescribable look has replaced it. His eyes are still fixed on John but unmoving and staring. Without a word he turns and walks out of the flat.

John stares at the more empty space not quite believing it. The sound of the front door shutting jars him. Shooting up John runs to the window to see Sherlock hailing a cab. Still shocked his brain isn't connecting and cannot fathom what had just happened. He stares down at the street until his mind can fully understand the situation.

He had just confessed his most strictly, kept secret to a man he had only known a month and that man had just left without a word. What did that mean? Sherlock wouldn't just leave without a reason and it wasn't the first time he had left without a word.

John drifted away from the window, thinking about making tea but even the calming effect tea usually had didn't seem worth it. John wanted to sleep so that he be unconscious for whatever was to come.

You can't really keep things a secret from the man who lives off of solving stuff, John was silly to think he could. Though to be fair he's never had to deal with someone so observant.