"I knew he could be a massive prick, but I never expected him to be such a cockblock," Greg said next to him, not bothering to keep his voice down, his hands still on his arse.

John hummed in agreement, pressing himself against Greg because he had an itch that would not be getting relief anytime soon thanks to his insufferable flatmate.

"Yeah, there's no way we can fit three of us in there. Should've expected as much. He used that trick to get rid of my most tenacious girlfriends."

"He expected that to work on me?" Greg asked incredulously. "Does he not know me at all? I'm wounded."

"Must be desperate, poor bloke."

Sherlock stopped pretending to be asleep and rolled on his back, piercing them both with his long suffering stare.

"Are you done?" he snapped.

"Uhm, we haven't even started actually," John replied. "But if you're too busy rolling around in my sheets, I guess we can take this to the downstairs bedroom. I heard rumours it has an enormous bed."

"Or we could just go to my place," Greg offered, looking pointedly at Sherlock.

"Fine. Since you two are being so unreasonable," Sherlock said and dramatically pulled the blanket off before standing. He was still fully dressed thankfully and left in a strop, stomping all the way down. Greg huffed and stepped away, which John understood because despite the show they put up for Sherlock's benefit, seeing his sad attempt to sabotage their lovemaking did work on some level.

"How can he manage to make me feel guilty about this? I'm the one dating you. I'm your boyfriend. It's no like you two were even together before," Greg muttered and sat on the bed, then let himself fall back as if drained from all the energy he'd had in spades justinytes prior.

"He's making me feel guilty too, if it's any consolation," John said and sat next to him, a hand on his thigh because he still craved contact even if his sex drive had been successfully interrupted. "I wish I knew what was going on in that head of his, what he really wants out of this… I mean, you saw him just now. He said… no, he implied he loved me, told me he could make me happy and that he wants a relationship, but you saw his face, right? I'm not imagining things?"

Greg looked confused by what he was trying to get at, but John was loath to tell him outright and influence his opinion just in case he was wrong.

"Well," Greg started uncertainly, before his voice suddenly became huskier. "If things were reversed and I just saw you and Sherlock stumbling in and ripping your clothes off one another, and kissing… I'd be mad with jealousy, I guess. And… erm… a little turned on to be honest. Just a little."

John sniggered at Greg's embarrassed look and cuddled closer, lying down next to him and letting his hand drift up higher, hoping that maybe they could rekindle things to their resume their original plan. Greg shuddered under his touch, hopefully in a good way, then cleared his throat before continuing.

"But I wouldn't be as composed as Sherlock was just now. Is that what you meant?"

John nodded. Maybe Sherlock was just very good at hiding how he felt, maybe he didn't feel the same way people in love usually felt, and maybe he didn't even want the same things normal people did… it was all very confusing and after all, even John realized he didn't love Greg and Sherlock in quite the same way. Were they just confusing deep rooted friendship or even brotherly love for romantic love? No. Maybe not. Because as much as he'd disliked the way Sherlock had just snogged him out of the blue, he had to admit the kiss itself had been… good. And you'd have to be blind not to see how attractive Sherlock was… John shook his head. Despite everything, he couldn't quite picture himself tumbling into a bed with Sherlock.

"Sorry. I'm just very confused right now."

Greg hummed, the sound like the rumble of a mountain under his ear as John canoodled even closer with his head on his chest.

"I guess we could make the bed squeak like mad and see what Sherlock's reaction is in the morning. It worked with Mrs Hudson and she's another floor down so there's no way Sherlock can miss it, or misinterpret it."

"I wish we didn't have to pretend to make the bed squeak," John grumped but his flatmate had really killed the mood for good this time.

"It won't take a lot of work though," Greg said and bucked his hips once before letting his weight fall back down with a mighty squeal of the old springs beneath them.

John laughed and tried it too, feeling ridiculous but getting similar results. The next ten minutes were spent in the same childish activity, only interrupted by their efforts not to laugh too much in case they gave the game away. By the end, they were tired out enough to fall asleep peacefully in one another's arms.

John almost forgot their plot the next morning as he walked down to the kitchen. It was early enough that Greg was still sleeping and he hadn't wanted to wake him by tossing and turning until it was a reasonable hour, so he went in search of a nice cup of tea downstairs, but finding a grumpy Sherlock lurking in the shadows of the kitchen instead.

"Morning, Sherlock. Slept well?" he asked out of habit, if he could even call it that with a two year gap in between.

"Rubbing it in, are you?"

John blinked owlishly at his friend who was obviously a lot more awake than he was, so it took him a couple of minutes to connect the dots.

"Oh. No. Not at all. Why? Are you jealous? You could have joined in, you know."

John tried to keep his voice light despite tackling the heart of the problem, then he spied Sherlock's reaction. His initial grumpiness wasn't out of the ordinary for a morning without interesting case in view after all.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I have no interest whatsoever in Lestrade, nor any of his body parts."

John was relieved at that bit of information. Two cocks in one bed were more than enough for him, thank you very much.

"So if it was just me?" John needled, needing to get to the bottom of this, to know what Sherlock really wanted.

"If it's what you wanted," Sherlock said, brushing it off before fiddling with his microscope.

"No," John said firmly, stilling Sherlock's hand with his own. "I need to know what you want from me, what you expect if you really want a relationship or whatever. What you say and what you do… you're confusing me, so I need you to spell it out for me."

Despite the gloom, John was astonished to see a light blush dust his cheekbones, so it was probably more out of embarrassment than annoyance that Sherlock wasn't meeting his eyes, staring mutinously at his microscope and the stained kitchen table instead.

"Sherlock?" he asked more softly. "You know you can tell me anything."

Sherlock swiveled on his chair towards him, keeping his head down and a tight grasp on his hand.

"I don't want to lose you," Sherlock all but mumbled. "I don't want you to leave."

"I'm not going to."

"You will. If you and Lestrade stay together long enough, you'll get married and go live in a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, and adopt a poodle or whatever."

John couldn't help a laugh from escaping at the ridiculous mental image.

"We really wouldn't."

"You say that now, but that's how it always goes."

"Wait, is that why…." John narrowed his eyes at his friend. "You don't actually want a relationship with me. You don't actually want me, you just want me around."

The blush returned with a vengeance, but Sherlock never got embarrassed by getting called out on one of his lies so why was he?

"I do. Want you, that is. I have these… urges, sometimes, around you. Like when I kissed you. That was… good. I enjoyed it. I don't usually, but that was good. It made me think I might… want more. One day. Maybe."

His eyes must have gone ridiculously wide when he realized why Sherlock was being so contradictory lately.

"You mean… that nickname…"

John had thought Moriarty had just been poking fun at Sherlock's "married to his work" excuse. Okay, the self-named sociopath would rather ignore his "transport" most of the time, and he didn't get along with anyone long enough to contemplate something as demanding as a relationship, but that still left a wide array of options, and there had to have been teenage experimentation, there had even been the outrageous flirting with The Woman… Sherlock wasn't made of stone, however much he would like to. Surely he couldn't really be a virgin? Not at his age and looking like that…

Sherlock huffed.

"I might never want to. It's like sleep or food, I guess."

"I've been told I was dishy before, but not quite so literally," John quipped because the whole thing was just so ridiculous. "But okay, I understand better where you're coming from now. So, if I promise I'm not leaving, you're okay with me and Greg? You won't pull off a stunt like last night again? Because we would really like to get a leg over one of these days."

"What was all that noise for last night then?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

"Payback?"

Sherlock snorted and suddenly pulled on his hand he had kept a grip on, yanking him forward until they were inches apart.

"It's moment like these that you give me these urges. It's your fault, really, if you think about it."

John's breathing hitched. Those eyes, that voice… God, they should be outlawed. His own body had to be giving away how he was feeling right now because Sherlock smirked and pulled him down to press their lips together in a chaste kiss that made his heart skip several beats as if it had slipped on a sleet covered pavement. It only lasted a few seconds before Sherlock let him go and resumed fiddling with his microscope, but not before he called out over his shoulder.

"You can stop hiding now, Lestrade!"

John whirled around to find a sheepish Greg entering the kitchen. He didn't look angry or anything so John relaxed just in time to be greeted by a warm all-enveloping hug and a peck on the lips.

"I was right. It is kind of hot," he murmured in his ear before raising his voice. "So the wanker just wants to snog you now and then, eh? I'm okay with that."

John felt Sherlock still beside him although he couldn't see him, his eyes too busy scanning Greg's face for any sign of doubt.

"You're serious," John concluded.

"Yeah. I don't think I could have dealt with you two going at it like rabbits, but if all he wants is teenage romance when he actually remembers he's human…" Greg shrugged. "I'm okay with it if you are."

John glanced between Greg and Sherlock, still not quite believing this was happening to him.

"Alright. I think this can work out. But anyone one of us can call it off whenever they want, okay?"

"Obviously," Sherlock said while Greg just nodded.

The first was still ensconced in his microscope while the latter began scouring the cupboards in search of food. His boyfriends.

"Still a bit weird," John muttered as he left for the bathroom, in need of some time alone more than the shower itself.

When he returned, there was tea and toast ready for him, but he was surprised to see that even Sherlock was having breakfast while he and Greg argued about a case. An old one by the sound of it. He watched them as he ate quietly. He forgot sometimes that those two had known each other a deal longer than he had, and they actually got along well, or as well as Sherlock got on with anyone. At least they were comfortable with one another, and with him. Greg could actually move in with them and it wouldn't be such a fuss, on the condition that they changed his bed upstairs. Not now, of course. He shouldn't get ahead of himself. There was still a chance everything would fall apart at the first spot of trouble, but he was hopeful.

Greg's phone rang, pulling him out of his musings and by the now familiar frown on his face, he was being called in on a scene.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked with hopeful eyes.

"Not sure. I'll call you when I know more."

"When you're stuck you mean."

"If I'm stuck," Greg groused then ignored Sherlock, turned towards him and swooped down to kiss him goodbye.

Then he was off, his hurried footsteps disappearing down the stairs until the front door slammed shut.

"At least you chose someone useful," Sherlock remarked and John smiled because that was as much approval as he was going to get out of him. It was almost a shining endorsement. He couldn't wait to tell Greg.

Notes: Thank you everyone for your support! I can't quite believe I finally managed to wrap this one up but I'm glad it's done! If you find the ending a bit abrupt, some of you may know that's the way I roll since I don't really do fluff, but there will be a companion piece someday written from Sally's POV as she tries to figure out what's going on at Baker Street :D

PS: I'm a tiny bit disappointed no one noticed all the chapter titles are composed of THREE words. Ah, well...