A/N: Merry belated Christmas or whatever doesn't offend you! That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? So, here's the new chapter. I have no idea what happened... I swear this was not at all what I had intended to happen this chapter but hey! It did, so please don't hate me? Anyway, off you go. Please enjoy!

Man or Mouse

Chapter 12: Irritation

John stood in front of the mirror. He had since pulled on some of his own clothes and was busily pushing his hair away from his face, anything to avoid looking at Sherlock who was gazing at him intently. There was something in the way he was looking at him. Something that wasn't quite right. John turned to him.

"What?" he asked. Sherlock blinked as if he had been in some form of trance and gave John a confused look. "Why are you staring at me?" Sherlock blinked again, seemingly not realising that he had been staring at all.

"I like you better the other way," he stated, rising from the bed and striding out into the kitchen leaving a dumbfounded John to gape after him.

When John entered the kitchen Sherlock was busy spreading jam onto two slices of toast and the kettle was whistling loudly on the stove. John walked cautiously, still unsure of his legs. Sherlock noticed him and pushed out a chair at the kitchen table which, John noticed, was clear of its usual burden of experiments. He sat and, to his surprise, Sherlock placed the plate in front of him and busied himself with the tea. John gave a gruff thank you around a mouthful of toast, not realising how hungry he'd been. By the time he'd finished, Sherlock placed another plate, this one laden with bacon eggs and sausage, in front of him. John looked up at the detective curiously.

"You are aware that you've not eaten for ten days?" Sherlock questioned. As a response John's stomach growled when the smell of the food hit his nose. Sherlock smiled and went back to cooking as John dug into his meal without further complaint.

After the fourth plate John couldn't eat anything more. He leaned back in the chair, fully content, and watched the detective. He was leaning against the counter with a small smirk on his face as he nibbled quietly on a piece of dry toast. He was being uncharacteristically nice. John wanted to question it but he was too full. He heaved himself from his chair, instantly finding an arm around his waist. John felt the blush creeping up his cheeks and his back stiffen. What was wrong with him? He tried to force himself to relax but with little success. Sherlock gave him a gentle nudge when John hadn't moved. He helped him to the lounge where he slowly lowered John to the cushions. John almost felt naked when the arm removed from his back. He missed the sensation dearly but said nothing. What could he say? 'Hey Sherlock, would you mind sitting down and hugging me for a while? I miss the feel of you touching-'

John's mind conjured an entirely different image. His cheeks burned bright red. Years with nothing better to do had granted John a very vivid imagination and once he got an idea in his head it stuck. The image stayed firmly fixed to the back of his eyelids causing a deeper blush to move over his features with every passing second.

"John?" Sherlock was in front of him again. "Are you alright?" He pushed a hand to his forehead, gasping as he came in contact with the skin. "You're burning up!" Sherlock retreated into the kitchen and returned with a damp cloth between his fingers. John had fallen asleep. Sherlock smiled fondly and placed the cloth over his forehead to try and reduce the fever. Sherlock couldn't help but gaze at him. His face was so relaxed, his features not worn by the obvious burden that constantly loomed on his mind. He looked almost childlike in his expression; innocent, carefree, happy. It was an expression that Sherlock adored. It was one that he hoped to see on John when he was awake.

What was this? Sherlock suddenly realised that he felt something. Something he had never experienced before. It was… strange. Not unwelcome but incredibly unfamiliar. It was itching at him like a flea would a dog. What is it? It was like a mixture of happiness and fondness but it was somehow more. He knew he cared about John but this was… different. He silently cursed as he tried to decipher his own emotional turmoil. What did he feel? What did it mean?

He was wrenched from his thoughts when a groan drew his attention to the lounge. John was tossing and turning in his sleep. His mouth hung open and his breathing was elevated, his face still a deep shade of red and his hands balled into fists at his side. Sherlock was about to call his name when John arched off the lounged.

"Sher-Sherlock," he groaned, throwing his head to the side. Sherlock tipped his head to the word. There was something in John's voice. At first Sherlock had thought him having another nightmare but now he was not so sure. As sweat beaded on John's forehead he muttered again, "O-oh god, please…"

That was when it clicked. Sherlock dropped his face as his cheeks reddened. John was having a dream about him. A most pleasurable dream. Sherlock took a deep, shaky breath and reached down. He pulled John into his arms and carried him bridal style to the stairs. John was still moaning and tossing and turning in Sherlock's arms and something in Sherlock did not at all mind. Sherlock pushed open the door and gently laid John down on the bed. When he tried to pull away he found fingers tangled in his black curls. Sherlock tried to remove them but the fist was bunched, tugging him gently down. Sherlock's heart sped up astronomically. He leaned forward, gently brushing his lips against John's cheek and his fingers along John's exposed stomach. He gave another shuddering breath against John's ear and run his hands up the underside of John's arms, following them until he reached his hands in his hair. He grabbed his wrists and gently squeezed.

"Let. Go," Sherlock whispered, his voice was much deeper than normal. Interesting, he thought though his mind was having much trouble processing anything at this point.

John's fingers released their hold. Sherlock laid his arms next to him on the bed, hearing a small unsatisfied whimper leave John's throat. A shiver ran down the detective's spine. Sherlock pulled the blankets up around John only for him to kick them off again and grope blindly for Sherlock. Sherlock jumped out of his reach, stumbling halfway out of the door. He looked back to John, his eyes roaming over his form for a moment. Sherlock saw the noticeable bulge at between the doctor's legs. He caught himself groaning needily at the sight. He bit his tongue and turned from the room. He looked down to his shoes trying to gather his thoughts and-

-finding himself much in need of a cold shower.

A/N: Oh my god, what even is this chapter? *facepalm of shame* Thank you for putting up with my stupidity and I'm approaching the end of this story. Thank you all so much for reading and a special thank you to those who take the time to review week after week. I love you guys and I hope you have the patience to survive a few more chapters!

Bye guys, see you next time!