Sorry for the wait but I've had essays and assignments. Thanks for the lovely reviews and I'm so relieved you thought I handled the romantic aspect well. And now a big announcement: the wonderful manager of Facebook page "I Believe In Sherlock Holmes/Moriarty Is Real" made me a COVER for this story! The picture is exactly what I imagined when I first began working on the story so I'm super happy. There's a LINK to it on my author page. And now that this story is becoming fairly big, according to number of reviews and hits, I hope I'm not presumptuous when I say that I welcome everyone who wants to do pictures, doodles, videos, anything creative for this story but please inform me of it in that case so I can enjoy them, too! :) Now, enjoy the chapter.

Chap. 21 The understanding

John would have lied if he said it wasn't a strange feeling in the flat that afternoon.

As he had promised, he had left Sherlock alone to work with the CCTV footage of the gangster but the silence that followed did little to stop his mind from returning to the moment when he seized Sherlock by the jacket and they kissed. It was different from any other kiss he had ever received. Yes, tentative and clumsy at first, but then the change had come and John had turned passionate, intense, and desperately wanting like he never had before.

John stood in the kitchen and held a cup of tea in his hand but never raised it to his lips. The lips that yet tingled from Sherlock's eager response.

He heard rapid fingers tap on a keyboard and fondness washed over him until he shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor pensively. Relationships had never appeared complicated to him, mainly because all his romantic involvements had ended before advanced feelings had developed on his part. But now John was clueless, worried, and unsure. Because he wanted this, whatever this was, to work with Sherlock.

For once John was selfish; for once he wished for happiness for himself and couldn't bear the thought of going back to being Sherlock's flatmate, assistant, and friend. John wanted to be so much more to Sherlock and even if the detective in the heated room had professed his want for a kiss, John had no idea how experienced Sherlock was when it came to relationships.

John took a small sip from his cooling tea before emptying the cup in the sink and abandoning it. He rubbed a hand over his face, surprised that Sherlock's scent still lingered on his palm.

Then there was the fact that he was bisexual at least, if not gay all the way. Sure he had been able to get it up when he had slept with women but was it still so? And to like blokes, eye them in pubs and feel them up, getting felt up…

John helplessly cringed, not because he was disturbed by homosexuals per se. Christ, what kind of hypocrite would that make him in that case, not to mention his sister was…

'Harry! Oh God, what will I say?' he thought and shuffled his foot.

No, whenever John Watson had seen two men holding hands, walking with arms around each others waists, sharing a kiss, he hadn't seen gays. He had just with neutral eyes observed two people in love. So in the middle of his identity evolution, John never felt distaste for being gay.

It was the very notion of him engaging in intimate activities with men other than Sherlock that made him lost his appetite.

Suddenly John desperately needed to talk to Sherlock, damn the case. He squared his shoulders and went towards the living room. A grumbling detective sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the white sofa of all places didn't meet his eyes as he approached him. Instead, Sherlock furiously wrote on the laptop and if John didn't have better things to discuss, he would have warned Sherlock about his crouched position which would make his back hurt soon.

"How are things coming on?"

Sherlock hissed in a displeased manner and raised his head to the doctor. "I've zoomed in on him and managed to make the image clearer. It's his hood and beard that prevents me from fully seeing the movements of his lips. I'm trying to reduce the shadows," Sherlock replied with a scowl marring his striking features and John put his hands in his pockets, staving off awkwardness.

"What did the deduction give you?" he asked and an agile eyebrow lifted the trouble from Sherlock's forehead.

"Other than his measurements and what Mycroft told us: scars on the knuckles on the hand that holds the mask, probably from hand-to-hand combats of some sort. Also, it was far too easy to notice how he is favouring his right leg whenever he stands still. He's not limping but his left knee hurts sometimes."

As Sherlock talked, John discovered the red shadow below Sherlock's jaw and his heart beat harder, as if his mark on Sherlock turned him on. Sherlock went on.

"But that's not why you are here, John. I would have told you this eventually. You are here to talk about our kiss."

"Um, yes, actually. Since you've got time, apparently," John began haltingly before taking a deep breath and starting over. All the while, Sherlock remained on the floor with collected dignity and had all his attention fixed on him.

"Just wanted to hear your opinion of our relationship now. God knows I fell pretty fractured at the moment, dealing with my…sexual orientation, a personal vendetta, and figuring out how I can make this work between us. Can't imagine what you're experiencing and that's the point, Sherlock. If I'm dating someone I need certain things."

John scratched his neck and started to march back and forth before his flatmate and the computer. "Relationships are about compromising, giving up certain aspects of your life for the sake of the other but it's usually worth it. I consider myself hopeless at it when it comes to my previous girlfriends but on the other hand I've always been ready to follow and adjust when you beckon. Are you prepared to do the same for me, Sherlock? Go to restaurants, not only after solved cases, and talk about things people like me like to talk about? To tell me anytime you leave where you're going so I don't worry and can't find you? To not do too hazardous experiments or provoke armed criminals or take unnecessarily dangerous risks? Not that I want to suffocate you or force you to change who you are, because it's that daring, brilliant man I…came to like. But I'm not keen on losing you to insane ideas. Especially without knowing a part of you."

Sherlock straightened his back and put his hands on his hips but his face remained enigmatic. John admitted, "Please don't feel like you have to protect yourself from me, unless you really want to, of course. Tel me how you feel about stuff, share your feelings with me. I want honesty over fear of hurting my feelings."

Wow, John felt more deep and sincere than he had ever been with a girl. But then again, Sherlock was a special person. The person in question tilted his head and several curls bobbed with classy elegance.

"Concerning our relationship; I enjoyed kissing you so I hope we can do that again. As for the rest, it's all new to me but I trust I can learn. Only one thing," he said surely and nodded at John. "You have a responsibility as well to stay alive and well."

John stumbled on the reply he had formed in his mouth and instead sank down to sit on his haunches before the detective.

"But how are you right now, Sherlock?" he wondered gently and watched him begin to tap the fingers against the kneecaps.

"Absolutely fine. Though, the change in my chemistry is quite strange but natural and inescapable. Testosterone hormone, oxytocin; they all make me feel…good." Ice-blue eyes searched John's face and then the moment was gone and Sherlock shifted. Back to business, then. As Sherlock bent towards the laptop and John got up, something started to vibrate in his jeans pocket, near a very responsive part. John jumped and quickly retrieved his phone.

"I won't bother with Sherlock more times today but I still demand answers so you will have to give them to me."

Mycroft sounded exasperated and slightly nasal as if he was pinching his nose. Of course Sherlock recognized the voice and peeked up so John chose to stay in the room.

"Afternoon, Mycroft. What can I do for you?" John said tentatively.

"I'll have you know I could get into trouble for the stunt you pulled. Having my own brother misuse my name to access sensitive material! Of course it's too much to ask of you, John, to stop him from these outrageous ideas!"

"Now look here," John grumbled unceremoniously and frowned, "it was all we could do to make some progress on the case. We needed data and we got it, no harm done."

"Neither of you have the authority to enter CCTV centers. You could at least have had the courtesy to ask my permission first, not to mention let the man I'm paying to look after you actually look after you!"

Sherlock must have heard Mycroft's livid voice for suddenly he was up on two steady legs and loomed over John to eavesdrop. John sighed and was glad Mycroft couldn't see the flush he felt creeping up his face upon Sherlock's intoxicating presence.

"Okay, okay, we're sorry, alright! But we couldn't stay at home doing nothing; not when you won't give us news."

A dramatic pause, then, "We had to let Mrs. Stewart go. She has nothing to do with this. And Mr. Stewart is sober now. He is demanding a lawyer. We've found nothing illegal in his computer nor in his history apart from buying a weapon and all the crimes he committed last night. Depression, anarchism, and drunkenness are not illegal. We will charge him but either he's somehow hiding information from us or he isn't the man who hunts you, Dr. Watson."

A hiss escaped Sherlock whereas John slumped against the back of the sofa, his voice going hoarse. "What do you mean? He hates me so much he remembers my name! He wants revenge! There must be… His hands can carry gasoline, the AK74m he had is probably from the Balkans. Maybe…maybe he's planned it and hired a criminal league from there."

He was grasping at straws, and felt as he was slowly losing his balance but John began to look past the initial chock. A cool hand wrapped around his hanging wrist just as the collected politician gave a cough. "I have assigned the best of my people to delve further into Mr. Stewart's life. I only wanted to inform you of what we might have to prepare for."

"We found Samir's gangster," John rushed out and glanced up at Sherlock. The man looked tense and grim, so different from only minutes ago. "We saw him buying the mask in a shop. Sherlock's deducing him now. Anything new about that angle of the case?"

He didn't care for the desperate tone he had. After all that had happened, John wouldn't dismiss the whole case because of one possible backlash.

"I expect a report by midnight on his observations. And before any of you two protest, yes by the way I know Sherlock is there; I hear him breathing next to you, I will share my news with you in return. Apart from knowing the basic characteristics of the man who threatened Mr. Ghaddar, we know nothing. It seems panic may confuse and disturb some people's memories. We overestimated Mr. Ghaddar's ability to determine accents because he hasn't recognized a single example we have played for him."

Mycroft sounded displeased and that combined with the depressing news had fury ignite John's fuse. "Bollocks, Mycroft!"

Sherlock removed his hand from John, cautious, but remained by his side as John went into bashing mode.

"I bet you lot scared away the remnants of his memories with your interrogation methods! He's just a man whose family was threatened and he had a gun pointed at his face several times as he was forced to poison his friend! Samir was fucking right to be terrified so don't you dare condemn him for being human! I don't know if you're aware, but it's bloody hard to concentrate on accents and shit when someone is pointing a gun at you! I for one know, you know, the big war and…"

"John," Sherlock interrupted and John fell silent apart from breathing hard and the hand that clutched the phone trembled. A thin finger tenderly wound itself around John's little finger, comfortingly and oh was Sherlock already good at relationships and knowing exactly how to handle the ex-soldier.

Mycroft used a subdued but formal tone now.

"I meant no offense, only presenting the current facts. It seems we have to rely on Sherlock's skills and my agents to discover more. Mr. Ghaddar will be let alone now. I will take care of the disturbance concerning the CCTV centers. Have a good day."

Instead of saying bye, John huffed dispassionately and hung up. He then found himself leaning into the back of the sofa and wove his fingers into Sherlock's unmoving ones.

"Sorry for getting upset," he confessed with shame but a tug at his trapped hand made him look into Sherlock's burning stare.

"Surely you are joking, John. Why would I want you to apologize to me for putting Mycroft in his place?" a dry drawl came from the smirking man. John exhaled and let his defensive shoulders down before grinning back. Then, on a whim as if nature itself urged him to, he stood straight and lifted his face to give Sherlock a hasty but warm peck.

When he opened his eyes, Sherlock stood perplexed with pink roses blossoming on his cheeks.

"John, I feel something."

John raised his brows. "Oh?"

The detective nodded slowly and licked his lips before continuing. "I feel hungry. Will you prepare some dinner, please, since I'm busy looking at the footage?"

Okay, so maybe the man still needed a few lessons in appropriate responses to a kiss, but John couldn't deny he thought Sherlock utterly adorable and fantastic in that moment. "Yes, Sherlock," he smiled.

The next morning, hours before the crack of a wintery dawn, Sherlock woke up with his duvet bunched at his feet instead of being tightly secured around his slim frame. He recognized the effects John already had on him by starting a relationship.

Before the very much deliberate kisses yesterday, Sherlock had always wrapped himself in blankets and duvets every night, as a way of reducing the levels of the stress hormone cortisol which otherwise would trouble him since he rarely was touched by people in an intimate way. Every human needed closeness and embraces but blankets were an acceptable substitute for Sherlock. It was a natural urge Sherlock wouldn't bother try to tame, particularly because it made him feel good and functional.

Now on the other hand, he had John so his body had responded to the suddenly superfluous cover. Sherlock smirked and sat up on the side of the bed, wincing slightly as his bare feet made contact with the cold floor. It had been a long time since he had felt this great, with a dinner warming his system, an invigorating sleep, and knowing he finally had John's affections.

Of course he had understood that John had made it clear the afternoon yesterday that he expected both of them to work on the relationship like normal people did but Sherlock was confident he could master the role as a, well, boyfriend.

Sherlock stretched his neck and a pulse shot through him as the side of it throbbed lightly. The side where John had left a mark Sherlock had discovered with a small shock when he had brushed his teeth in the evening.

A relationship was new to Sherlock, but instead of discarding his feelings as dull and low, Sherlock found himself thrilled and excited, like when he borrowed Lestrade's police ID for the first time. A new world lay open in front of him, ready to be explored and it helped somewhat that John evidently wasn't that experienced, at least when it came to close relationships with men. And in contrast to other males, John fascinated Sherlock to no end and made him interested in not keeping a distance from sex.

Suddenly Sherlock thought he had used enough time pondering upon his current situation, and began to rise and prepare for the day. A while later, he entered the kitchen, dressed in a suit and eager to see John and continue the work. The doctor looked up from his toast and grinned widely, whereas Sherlock pretended to be unaffected and reached for his cup of coffee on the table.

"Slept well?" John wondered and gave him a certain look that made Sherlock suspect he should be blushing.

"Yes, John. I would ask you the same, but the smooth skin between your brows, your straight back and the faint lines on your left cheek from the pillow rather gave you away."

"Ugh, too early in the morning for deductions," John groaned but there was amusement in his eyes. Sherlock took a seat and drank his coffee.

"What's on the agenda today?" John asked as Sherlock moved the unread newspapers towards him.

"I'm afraid I will have to look at instructions on how to read lips, and the basic lip movements in different language families before I surrender the video to Mycroft."

"You mean you didn't put down the information about which costume shop it is and the time for the gangster in your report last night?"

"Certainly not. When Mycroft is so quiet, I'll be the same."

"Sherlock," John reproached, "we need every help we can get to solve this, and preferably bind Miles Stewart to it."

"Says the man who yelled and cursed at my brother for his rudeness," Sherlock pointed out with an eloquently raised eyebrow and John actually had the audacity to look a bit remorseful.

"You don't think he's punishing us with silence because of me?"

Sherlock frowned and rustled the pages in his hand. "Mycroft is merely moping; possibly comfort eating, but as soon as he discovers something new he'll contact…" Sherlock trailed off and took in the large black letters with a stunned expression.

"What?"

The detective scanned the page for a moment before tossing it over to John and quickly finding his phone to check the pages of every large British newspaper. Each headline flashed before his eyes while he listened to John's incredulous exclamation. "Gunfight in Wild Wild Wales. But how could they possibly know…"

Distinguished War Hero visited by Police in the Night.

War Veteran vs. Aggressive Police: one wounded.

… Detective Inspector Lestrade who lead the operation was wounded when the panicked man opened fire…

Ex-wife of War Hero claims the Police was too Brutal.

…according to reliable sources, a London DI was shot after he had drawn his weapon and pointed it at the man…

With trembling fingers and his pulse increasing, Sherlock put down the phone in his pocket and was up from the chair within a second. As he stalked towards the living room he heard John scramble up and follow behind him. With sharp eyes and his jaw set, Sherlock turned on the television and crossed his arms.

Oh, God. It was all over the news programs; discussions on the Yard's methods, false facts like that the police forces had turned up outside Stewart's in the middle of the night and opened fire first, interviews with psychologists, soldiers, and Welch villagers who all disapproved of the police's action, and worst of all; a young reporter in warm clothes who stood outside the Nevill Hall Hospital in Abergavenny and informed the viewers in which section the injured police was supposed to be.

A heavy sigh startled Sherlock and he wrenched his eyes from the screen to see John standing still and looking angry.

"I guess that's why we haven't heard from Mycroft. He's busy over there," John commented and then turned his brown eyes to Sherlock. Sherlock contemplated calling Mycroft to demand why this had become public when his phone buzzed. This time, Sherlock knew the number.

"Why are you still in the hospital and using their phone? Shouldn't Mycroft's agents have gotten you out by now?" Sherlock hissed but was met with a tired and raspy protest.

"Figured you would have noticed the news by now. The agents have got it all under control, or so they've told me. I can't leave the bed to look out the window but the nurse told me the press vans are arriving. It's quite a spectacle."

"Stop joking, Detective Inspector, and answer my questions! Have the agents left you? Are you all alone in your room? Why haven't you been transferred to a secret place yet? It's only a matter of time before a journalist slips past the doors and finds you. You're not safe!"

"Calm down! I haven't gotten my morphine and I'm really not in the mood for your tone. I can't move on my own, Sherlock, 'cause there's a bloody hole in my belly! The agents said they're arranging something so they can get me out of here without discovery but I'll stay put until then. Really, Sherlock, you ought to have more trust for the men who work for the government."

Sherlock snorted and replied sarcastically, "You're telling me to trust those who might have leaked the information about you! Did it even occur to you that someone among them could have ulterior motives? Mycroft told me the night you were shot he would prevent this incident from getting to the news media but here we are with practically a lynch mob against you. Few knew what happened so that means someone leaked."

The other man didn't reply and when a picture of medals were shown and explained on the television, John promptly turned it off but remained there supervising him, which kind of felt comforting. Lestrade huffed, "Actually, everything indicates it was one of the Welsh cops who leaked. I told you they didn't like me. And now I'm more popular than I was that time in year 9 when I got one of the toddlers off the school's roof, though the papers aren't as kind now."

Sherlock put him on the speaker so John could participate, too.

"This is a matter of life and death! If Stewart indeed is involved in something bigger, he and others now know your name and location," Sherlock said impatiently and John drew closer and added, "We're just worried. Do you want us to come to Wales?"

Sherlock stared at the unassuming man who simply shrugged at him, as if to say he didn't give a damn about Mycroft's orders to stay in London if Sherlock wanted to go. Affected by the gesture, Sherlock stepped up to his side and pressed his elbow into John's arm.

"No! I'm sorry but I don't need you two getting into this mess, as well. I guess my superiors will breathe down my neck in a few hours so I've got my plate full as it is," Lestrade emphasized before he muttered, "Besides, the guys at the Yard have already called me to see how I am. They're arranging a press conference later to calm the reporters but the difficult thing is that the media always wants a scapegoat who gets the whole blame when the police blunders. I can't afford to keep being one so Sally will have to find a solution fast."

"Feed them Anderson," Sherlock uttered and the room was at once filled with chuckles from the DI.

"Well, I suppose if there's anyone who can bear the brunt of this, it's him," Lestrade joked whereas Sherlock had been completely serious. John interrupted before he had a chance to argue for his point.

"So you'll be fine, mate? I mean, those headlines were pretty nasty."

A labored breath sounded from the injured man. "Yes. I'm leaving soon to recover somewhere else, I've been promised some painkillers, and Stewart is still in custody. But there's one thing I need to ask Sherlock."

Immediately, the detective stiffened and replied with earnest, "I'm listening."

"Where are my grapes?"

Sherlock frowned in confusion but then he heard a muffled laugh from John and Lestrade sniggered. Ah, so he had been made the butt of a joke, but he knew neither of them meant any harm so he could let it slip without revenge.

"Come on, John. We have much to accomplish as it is already," he reminded and nudged John's side in an indicating manner.

"Okay, fine. Hey listen, Lestrade; if there's anything at all, feel free to call us," he told the man before they all said goodbye. John studied him searchingly as Sherlock went to turn on the laptop.

"Are you okay?" John asked at length when Sherlock had plopped down on the chair by the desk and pulled up his long legs so he could rest his chin on the knees.

"Wouldn't I have told you if I wasn't, according to our newly established rules?" he remarked and internally made a vow that today he would at least figure out which language the gangster spoke, preferably distinguish some of the words the man muttered to himself in the shop. When John unexpectedly didn't answer, Sherlock caught up with himself and rotated the seat so he could see the doctor.

Anxiously, John clenched his fists and his gaze strayed restlessly, never stopping at one point for long.

"I am alright, John. Do you want me to ask you the same thing?" the rather clueless consulting detective proposed gently and cocked his head to the side.

"It's…Christ, this is strange," John began, now fiddling with the hem of his jumper. "It's not rules you can't break, Sherlock. You have a saying in this, too, and you're not obligated to only do what I want. From what I've observed, and I know I probably missed a whole bunch of important details, not much has changed between us. We're doing what we always do, but with more intimacy thrown into the mix. But I'm getting more concerned for you, because it feels like I have a responsibility to make sure you're okay. You can say something if my attention is bothering you."

At the end, John had come closer and glanced down at him occasionally, while Sherlock inhaled John's cozy scent and wanted John's large but nimble hands on his face. This hunger for physical contact consumed him little by little but Sherlock didn't see it as a weakness, yet anyway.

"I like the attention. I only stated the obvious; I am fine or else I would have informed you."

"You worried awfully much about Lestrade just now, and two nights ago you were a wreck when we got the news about the shooting. I'm here, ready to listen or something if you need me, "John revealed silently and made Sherlock's skin prickle from the silken veil of utter privacy the doctor cast over them only by using his voice.

"Lestrade is in good spirits right now. I only want to work," Sherlock stated with a slack jaw and spotted a glint in the two brown wells above him.

"So work then."

A whisper which sounded too insinuating for the faint daylight which came through the windows. Sherlock's tongue was cotton and toffee, his need sky-rocketing.

"John," he mumbled and then decided he had waited enough. His hand shot out and slid around John's nape to bring him down some inches. Sherlock bent his head back and adorned John's lips, which were sweetened by jam, with a languid sweeping of his tongue before pushing his lips greedily, urgently against John's. It was he who let out the muffled moan but John who cupped his face and turned the kisses lighter and softer until he nibbled on the corner of Sherlock's mouth before leaving it all together.

Both men were panting and warmth along with chemicals made Sherlock's mind hazy and his body focused on something entirely different than working with the case.

"We'll take it slowly for a while, if you don't mind. We're both…unused to this. I must do the shopping," John breathed and then sent Sherlock a caressing glance before he turned and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. With a heating face and a stiff section at the juncture of his legs, Sherlock reluctantly returned to the laptop.

They're building on the relationship as well as slowly developing it into an intimate one(hurray!) but the case and mystery continue... A bit of everything in this chapter, so what did you think of it? Review, please. And for those who are interested in the effects of high and low cortisol levels, I recommend these links, without the spaces: http: / whyfiles. org/087mother /4. html

http: /en .wikipedia. org/wiki/ Cortisol#Factors _generally_reducing_cortisol_ levels