CHAPTER ELEVEN

Wednesday night had an atmosphere about it, a feeling of the calm before the storm. Sherlock and John had tried to act as if it was just another day, that tomorrow wasn't important and feared, but there was only so much denial two men could take. They sat together yet apart. Sherlock hunched up in a ball, his knees to his chest, on his leather chair. John sat uncomfortable on the sofa against the far wall, his foot tapping the floor in spasms as the pair watched crappie TV and tried to avoid thinking about Sherlock's birthday and Moriarty, which of course neither of them could do. It was still early, at least by their standards. 10 PM. They were hours away from any sign. The post wouldn't arrive until nine the next morning, which meant they had a very long night of waiting and worrying.

John couldn't help but wonder what Merlin was doing right now, if he was doing anything at all. His insides clenched painfully at the thought that it might already be too late. They knew how sick Moriarty was. He could have already done something to the boy. He couldn't explain why or even when he'd begun to feel such a protective instinct for a boy he hadn't even met. He put it down to his friendship with Sherlock. It had come to feel like what was Sherlock's was his, and vice versa. Their lives had become so interwove that John couldn't even remember what his life had been like without Sherlock Holmes in it.

Sherlock tried to let his mind turn off, he tried hard to just let the ridiculous television show wash his thoughts away but it wasn't working. All his brain could focus on was the morning and what Moriarty was going to deliver. He'd grown more confident that that was what the madman was going to do. Send him something on his birthday; he just feared it would be his son's body. Rationally he knew it wasn't, it wouldn't make sense to do something so dull but it wasn't his rational mind that was working at the moment, it was his parental one. A part of him he hadn't even known existed and hadn't thought he'd ever allow to take over. But here he was like any father, worried for his son. He hated it. He couldn't understand why anyone would willing seek out the pain children brought.

John had told him that they brought more joy than pain and that was way people had them. Sherlock could argue that fact without the relevant data, having never even spoken to Merlin in the boy's life. He's seen him once, at Hunith's funeral, which he'd watched from a distance; a small twelve year old boy with raven black hair and pale skin. He'd felt a twinge in his chest at the sight of the boy crying in an older man's arms. Part of him had wanted to go there and look after him, just as Hunith had asked. But he'd known even then that he was the biggest danger to Merlin. So he'd walked away to keep him safe, to keep his promise the best way he could.

He looked up at the fireplace and heaved a heavy sigh. There were hours before the post arrived, too many hours. With a groan of frustrated Sherlock ruffled his curls and leapt to his feet. Fling off his red dressing gown and marching to the door to grab his coat off the back of the door.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Out?"

"Yes. - I need to… get some air."

John understood, the flat felt as if it was trying to suffocate them. Getting to his feet he moved to join his friend.

"There is no need for you to join me John." Sherlock announced blandly.

John stopped and stared wide eyed at the taller man. Sherlock always wanted him to join him. It was part of their routine, Sherlock went out and John tagged along, the fact that now Sherlock didn't want him hurt and John couldn't quite understand why.

"What?"

"You do not need to come with me John. - Why don't you go and see Sarah." Sherlock said heading for the stairs.

John found himself rushing after him, angry and hurt and beyond frustrated with the increasing distance between them. "Sherlock! Stop!" he yelled.

The man paused on the first flight of stairs and looked up at John. "Yes."

John just stared at his friend; taking in the cold blue eyes that where so strange to him. Sherlock had never looked at him like that before. Never. "I broke up with Sarah ages ago, which you would know if you weren't so determined to push me away."

"I'm sorry." the detective said softly as he took another step.

"Stop!" John ordered in a load booming voice.

"John." Sherlock sighed. "I don't want to talk; I want to leave, so please do me the common courtesy of letting me."

The doctor stared at him as the man continued down the stairs and towards the door. John had a very bad feeling that their friendship was on unsteady ground and he couldn't understand why.

He stood at the top of the flight watching as Sherlock pulled open the door and left, his heart thrashing uncomfortable in his chest and his gut tightened. It wasn't as if Sherlock had left him, he'd be back in an hour or so and they weren't even in that kind of relationship, He was straight and Sherlock was married, albeit to his work. But right now it felt like it did when he got dumped.

John was still staring at the door when Mrs. Hudson's voice floated up to him.

"Oh, Deary, another fight." her voice was warm and understanding as she shook her head. "Do you want to come have a nice cup of tea and a chat?"

John was walking towards the old woman's small flat before he even realised it. Once inside, he collapsed on her sofa and buried his head in his hands. He knew it was the stress, for both of them, and he understood, he really did. But right now he just wished Sherlock would talk to him like he used to.

A/N: Sorry the chapters so short

Thanks for reading though and review