It took me a bit longer than I'd planned to get this posted because the site's 'Manage Stories' section had technical issues. (pouts)

A/N: Gosh, it's been ages, hasn't it? (winces) I'm so, so sorry for not posting this one for so long! I've been battling this MONSTER of a writer's block that seems to be behind me now. (Yay?) Sooo, the celebrate series three that's FINALLY upon us (BEEEEEEEEEEEAMS), here's a new bit. (grins)

Before getting there, though… THANK YOU, a thousand times over, for all your reviews and love! They're seriously precious to me. (HUGS) So thank you!

Awkay, so… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll find this worth the wait.

IN THIS ONE: John attempts to be there for Sherlock in the aftermath of Irene's first death. What did we miss out on?

A Chemical Defect – 'A Scandal in Belgravia'

It was three in the bloody morning and John couldn't sleep. For once it wasn't because of some insufferable ruckus Sherlock was making. Somewhere along the way he'd grown so accustomed to his madman of a flatmate's antics that the pure silence filling 221B Baker Street was keeping him awake.

(John immediately made a mental note to never, ever let Sherlock in on that little discovery.)

In the end, at three forty-five, John finally gave in. With a deep, suffering sigh he crawled out of his very much wonderful, comfortably warm bed and began to make his way towards the living room. A safe guess, considering that it was where he left Sherlock roughly four hours earlier.

And indeed, that was where he found Sherlock. Sprawled on the couch with a infuriatingly unreadable look on his face. One of the detective's hands was on the younger man's stomach, the fingers drumming irritated patterns. The other was clutching the genius' phone as though the item had been the man's soul lifeline.

John frowned, trying to understand. Was Sherlock waiting for a call, for a case perhaps? Or a text? What…? And then it dawned on him.

Oh…!

The realization filled John with sadness and something he wasn't strictly proud of. He debated with himself for a while before speaking. "You're waiting for a message from her, aren't you?"

Sherlock gritted his teeth so hard that it had to hurt. "She's dead. It'd be idiotic of me to expect a message from her, now wouldn't it?" Those eyes barely flickered towards him before focusing on the ceiling once more. "Go back to bed, John. I'm thinking."

A wave of deep sympathy filled John, pushing aside all else. This was one of those very few occasions when he came to the stunning realization that he, in fact, saw and knew more than the world's only consulting detective. "Well… That much is expected", he murmured, blatantly ignoring the earlier command and slumping to a armchair. "She was certainly the kind of a woman that gets into one's head."

"What, exactly, gives you the impression that I'd have any sort of a desire to talk about her?" Sherlock bit out instantly.

John had been to a war. It took far more than some harsh words from a friend to deter him. He did, however, give the younger man a few moments before moving on. "I have no bloody idea what, exactly, it was that you felt for her. Actually, I'm almost certain that it doesn't even have a name. But I do know that she had an impact on you." There was a pause. When no audible or visible reaction came the doctor continued. "What you're experiencing right now… I know that it hurts. And I'm sorry."

Sherlock was silent for a mighty while until there was something that could've as well been a sob or a scoff. John didn't look to check which. The genius earned that much privacy, especially when he was so painfully out of control over himself. During those infuriatingly long moments John took his laptop and opened it in hopes of coming up with something productive to do.

"Now that you're done with the useless sentiment, are you going to leave me alone?" was the eventual voiced comment.

John, who'd been about to start typing, paused for a moment. He wondered long what the correct answer might be. In the end he shook his head with a small smile, coming to a conclusion that being right wasn't entirely significant here. "Nope." His fingers began to fly over the keyboard. "I'm not planning on leaving you alone, Sherlock."

He could actually feel Sherlock's eyes on him and tried not to be unnerved by the piercing, nearly all seeing stare. Then, with a sigh from either the taller man's clothing or the couch, the feeling of being a bug under a microscope vanished.

Silence filled the flat once more, save the soft noise of John typing. Neither man spoke for it felt that no further words would've done the situation any good. Sherlock's cell phone didn't make any obscene noises.

According to the clock on the computer's screen, which John kept glancing at what felt like every five seconds, the former soldier had been typing for an hour and fifteen minutes until there was a new sound. Unable to recognize it he frowned, then lifted his gaze. What he discovered brought a soft smile to his face.

Still on the couch Sherlock lay perfectly still, the heavily guarded cell phone having slipped to the floor as the long fingers grabbing it had gone slack. The young Brit's chest was rising and falling evenly, accompanied by a soft, small sound John couldn't remember hearing ever before. Sherlock was fast asleep.

John did his best to keep himself awake but in the end he lost the battle. Putting away his laptop he yawned and stretched, then took a slightly more comfortable position on the chair. He fell asleep to the sight of his best friend finally having some much needed rest.

When John woke up only a couple of hours later he groaned, futilely attempting to appease his back that expressed loud protests against his chosen place for slumbering. Instinctively glancing towards the couch he discovered that Sherlock wasn't there anymore. It wasn't until a couple of seconds later the quiet tunes of violin music met his ears.

John yawned, about to get up until he noticed something.

There, almost right at his feet, was a steaming hot mug of tea waiting for him.

Scene completed.

A/N: Awww…! (smiles) There can never be too many fics with John taking care of Sherlock. Sherlock NEEDS to know that John cares for him as deeply as he cares for the doctor.

Awkay, before I get all sentimental and giddy… (snickers)

It'd be so, so fantastic if you left a tiny note to that box down below before you go… (glances hopefully) Also, don't forget that requests are ALWAYS appreciated and accepted with open arms!

I have seen the first episode of series three (AMAAAZING STUFF!) and I have high hopes that quite soon I'll see the second one as well. Sooo, I take requests for that/those as well. I've already got an idea or two cooking up… (smirks)

Until next time, ya all, with whichever story that may be!

Take care!

amanda: It means A LOT that you think they're in character and that you've enjoyed the bits thus far so much. (grins from ear to ear)

Heh, it'd sure be interesting to know the story behind the skull. Hmm, perhaps one day I'll allow my head to cook up a story for that curious thing. (smirks)

Massive thank yous for the review!

Snow White: You can't even imagine how happy you just made me! That's exactly the kind of a relationship I've been aiming for because the way you put it is how I see them. They're DEFINITELY my favorite fictional duo EVER. (beams)

Gosh, I truly hope that you'll enjoy what's to come just as much!

Monumental thank yous for the incredible review!

Sarah: I think that's summing it up perfectly. (smiles) Those two are such dears!

Huge thank yous for the review!

Oriongirl: Okay, I'm pretty much beaming and blushing and here. Such kind words! (hugs)

I'm overjoyed that you've liked what you've read thus far so very much. I REALLY hope that what's up ahead won't end up being a disappointment, either.

Colossal thank yous for the amazing review!