"So he's forgiven? You're friends again?" Harry asked and John placed the mobile on the side table. He nodded. They were, weren't they? And Sherlock was forgiven. Of course, he was. After what he'd done. Forgiven for his exit. And forgiven for his dramatic return. The ex-army doctor sighed and thought back to the day when the lanky detective had crashed back into his life. He had given up. Naturally. After all, John was only a man. And after more than two years of wishing and hoping, he had given Sherlock up. He'd started going out again. He'd started dating again. And he'd even subscribed to a well-known dating site. Which was where he had met Carlotta, 37, a real stunner who would not have cast him a second glance in real life. Online however, they had become friends. With an unveiled, underlying tone of sadness, she had told him about her family, had joked with him, and John had sympathized. He had shared stories from work with her, memories of Sherlock, humble dreams for the future.

Mycroft had suggested they meet. And frankly, John should have smelled the rat there, but the politician's text had merely read, 'You should meet her in person, John. Talk,' and the doctor had not thought past that.

Their first (and only) date had been a first night at some small company, and John nearly fainted when he saw his date. Tall, dark, mysterious. Very pale, very slender, and John couldn't help noticing the woman's hair which was an elegantly tamed mess of auburn curls. Her eyes were blue and piercing, and if she hadn't given him the warmest of smiles, John would have felt reminded of the scrutinizing stare of his former flat share. There were, of course, differences. The lack of sharp cheekbones for once. Carlotta's face was much less defined and much more feminine than that of the world's greatest detective had been. And she was wearing a dress. It was black and slinky, long-sleeved, a bit on the bag side at the front (only more attractive), but leaving her milky back completely bare. She held herself perfectly, and she was nice. She had a sensual, raw voice, not unlike Sherlock's but, no, John had forced himself to believe, not like his at all. So they drank and talked and enjoyed each other's company, and then she took him home. Not in the literal sense, but they shared the cab to Baker Street, and she walked him to the door.

"A bit like the old days," she said and looked the street up and down, and John agreed, "Yeah, first dates and all," at which she laughed.

"Well … thanks for tonight," he said glancing at the cabbie who was watching them with unhidden curiosity and fishing for his keys, when, quite unexpectedly, Carlotta bent forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips. John put a hand around her slim frame and she shivered at his touch.

"I'll better be going," she smiled and licked her lips, gently pushing John away who was pressing against her, "the cabbie's waiting – for a fare or for a show, anyway …"

John chuckled and felt her wriggle away when her lower belly brushed his hand. He would have made nothing of it (yet), had Carlotta's breath not hitched.

"Goodnight, John," she hastily stammered.

"No! Wait!" John caught her wrist and added his worst fear, "You're a guy!"

"Problem?!" was the reply. She sounded almost cocky, John thought. Well, she was, wasn't she? And she was trying to walk away, so John pulled her back roughly and pushed her against the fence.

"Ow!"

"What kind of game is this?"

"JOHN!" she scowled and kicked at him, at which the doctor kneed the impostor.

"Don't John me," he declared with authority and was about to hit the pretty face when he realized he couldn't. Those big blue eyes watched him in a strange mixture of shock and remorse.

"It's not a game," she whispered almost inaudibly because the cabbie was shouting abuse at John whilst offering rescue to the lady.

"Shut up!" both Carlotta and John shouted back, and when John finally looked at Sherlock, he was laughing, and so was the detective. The cab pulled away, and the two men sat down on the steps in front of 221B.

"You kissed me," John stated, and Sherlock shrugged, "You kissed back."

"So that's it then? You're alive. Just like that," John knew he sounded bemused, and Sherlock knew how deeply hurt his friend was.

"John, I'm … sorry," he said rearranging his dress.

"You'd better be," John replied.