Sherlock closed his eyes.

His breath was steadier now, John's arms were warm through his t-shirt, and the scent of John's clean hair, clean skin, were as calming as they were intoxicating.

John's voice was soft. "You want to move this out of the bathroom, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded, his head brushing against John's. "Yes. I'm sorry, John..."

"It's fine, Sherlock." John's arms squeezed once, then fell away slowly as Sherlock went to unfold himself and stand.

He moaned slightly as he straightened, limbs stretching and protesting. "How long have we..." He looked at John as John stood up, also wincing.

"I have no idea." John shook his head. "But I'd wager it's been a fair while."

Sherlock sighed. "I... I shouldn't have..."

John held up a hand. "No. No blame-game, Sherlock. You thought you could handle... this." John gave him a small smile. "Let's just... go to sleep. Alright?"

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Will you... sleep next to me, still?"

John's smile widened into a grin. "If you want, yeah."

Sherlock nodded. "I would very much like that."

John held out his hand, and Sherlock took it immediately, feeling slightly better already.

They climbed into Sherlock's bed, John lying on his back and Sherlock curled against his side, their legs tangled together and arms around each other. Sherlock rested his head on John's chest and shoulder, listening to his heartbeat.

"John?"

"Mmm?" John's voice was sleepy and deep, and Sherlock felt his lips quirk at the sound.

"Thank-you. For... that. What you... did, what you offered to do, that was... good."

John chuckled, the sound vibrating his chest. "Sherlock, go to sleep."

Sherlock took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

When he woke back up, John was still there beneath his head, breath deep and slow. He was snoring softly, and Sherlock moved carefully, not wanting to wake him yet.

He washed his face and brushed his teeth, looking at himself in the mirror. He frowned, thinking. Why couldn't he just stop thinking about everything that had happened before? He'd been able to delete so many things from his memory - why couldn't he delete this?

When he stepped out of the bathroom again, he saw John had rolled over and was now holing the second pillow, his face rubbing against it slowly. Sherlock smirked, then grabbed his notebook.

He sat down at the window seat, looking out over the grounds. The sun had just come up, and he was watching the shadows moving across the grass as it began to rise higher and higher. He made a few notations, fingers ticking off notes every so often. He would close his eyes, hear the melody in his head, before scribbling something out and re-writing bits. He hummed just quietly enough so that John wouldn't hear him, shooting occasional glances John's way, just to make sure he wasn't waking up yet.

After most of an hour had passed, John began stirring. Sherlock put his notebook away, standing up and sliding onto the bed as John opened his eyes.

"Morning, Sherlock." John's voice was rough, and Sherlock closed his eyes as he sank down next to him, wrapping himself in John's limbs.

"Morning."

"How'd you sleep?" John was planting soft kisses on the top of Sherlock's head, and Sherlock buried his face against John's chest, inhaling deeply.

"Well enough. You?"

John laughed softly. "About the same, so..." John cleared his throat. "How are you?"

Sherlock frowned, even though John couldn't see him. "Fine."

"No, Sherlock, I meant... after last night. How are you?"

Sherlock pulled up a bit, looking into John's lidded eyes. "I'm..." He sighed. "I'm frustrated."

John's hand came up and brushed some of Sherlock's hair back from his face. "In what sense?"

Sherlock glared at him. "Don't be thick, John, you know perfectly well what I'm saying."

"Sherlock, if you mean that you're... embarrassed-"

"If I meant that I would have said that."

John licked his lips. "Alright, fine. You're not embarrassed. You're frustrated."

Sherlock nodded. "Thank-you."

"Just... stop being so bloody hard on yourself." John trailed his fingertips over Sherlock's cheek, his eyes staring intently into Sherlock's eyes. "I mean it."

Sherlock closed his eyes, losing himself in John's touch and John's voice and John's scent and everything that made John John.

"Alright."

"Don't just say it, Sherlock. I need you to mean it."

Sherlock opened his eyes again at watched John. He cleared his throat gently. "Very well. I'll... try."

John gave him a half smile. "Good." He sighed, closing his eyes again. "It's Sunday, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded against the pillow. "Is... Harry coming today?"

"Yeah." John rubbed a hand over his face. "Christ, I don't even know what to tell her about... us."

"Why tell her anything?"

John giggled. "Because she's my sister - she'd find out the second she saw me, and at least this way she can't say I'm keeping anything from her." Sherlock hummed, noncommittal and soft, and John pulled him a bit closer. "And how about you? Mycroft joining you today?"

"Probably." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Never misses an opportunity to meddle, my brother dear."

"What d'you mean?"

"Much like your sister, he'll know something the moment he sees me. It's infuriating."

"I dunno, I always thought it was... kinda nice, really, being able to confide in someone. Even if we thought we hated each other some times."

Sherlock's nose crinkled. "We never... confided."

John's expression was an interesting cross between a smile and a frown. "Then what did you do?"

Sherlock gave him a half shrug. "Blackmail."

John's expression sobered. "You... you never... not even once?" Sherlock shook his head. "Wow, OK then."

They lay together in silence for several moments before finally Sherlock shifted up. "We should... get ready, I suppose."

John nodded. "Yeah."

They dressed quietly, watching each other most of the time. John would blush slightly as Sherlock's eyes roved over him, and Sherlock would look down as he allowed himself a small grin.

They walked down to breakfast, though neither was particularly hungry. They each had a slice of toast, eating quickly. Then they said their goodbyes until after visitation, and Sherlock watched John walk outside, to the table that Harry was no doubt sitting at, beaming and happy to see her brother.

"Hello, Sherlock."

Sherlock turned to see Mycroft standing a few feet away. "Mycroft."

Mycroft's eyes scanned him quickly, and he quirked an eyebrow. "My my, Sherlock, so soon?"

Sherlock felt his face heat and he glared. "Shut up." Then he turned and stalked towards the doors. He heard Mycroft behind him, gait unhurried.

"Perhaps what I am about to tell you is for the best, then, seeing as your... amorous intentions did not pan out as well as you'd hoped."

Sherlock said nothing, but he could hear his teeth grinding as Mycroft spoke. They walked out towards the gardens, Sherlock finding a bench and sitting down quickly, trying to stop his face from betraying his emotions.

"Alright, what is it?" Sherlock's voice was low, teeth still clenched. "You're unusually pleased with yourself right now, which means I'm probably not going to like where this is headed." He glanced at Mycroft, who gave him a look of smug satisfaction.

"Have you heard of Whitecross Halfway House, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and realization hit. "No."

"It's a lovely place-"

"No, Mycroft, please. Don't."

Mycroft's eyebrows raised. "Are you, in fact, asking me for something? Well this is certainly a change, I must say."

"Don't. Don't transfer me, Mycroft. You can't-"

"I assure you, as the one who is footing the bill for this, I can, and I have."

Sherlock's mouth hung open slightly as he stared at his brother, anger and hurt and utter disbelief all warring for control over his face and brain. "Why?"

Mycroft looked down at his hands, perched on the handle of his ever present umbrella. "The... incident, with Mr. Moriarty and Ms. Adler had me thinking that... perhaps your location was a bit too well known to the public."

"You said you took care of that."

"And so I have."

"By transferring me?"

"If I told you that this was in your best interests, would you believe me?"

"Mycroft-"

"Has it ever occurred to you, Sherlock, that you and I are on the same side?"

Sherlock glared. "Oddly enough, no."

Mycroft nodded slowly. "And if I told you that your... Dr. Watson, would also be transferred, then how would you feel about it?"

Sherlock sat back for a moment, regarding Mycroft. "We're to be transferred together?"

Mycroft shook his head. "I cannot make that happen."

"Then I refuse-"

"Sherlock Holmes, listen to me." Mycroft was staring at him now, eyes boring into his. "If I were to transfer you both out of here at the same time, would it not perhaps raise suspicion? You two are practically joined at the hip as it is. The last thing I want the staff to realize is just how deeply... involved, you two are."

Sherlock's face flushed again. "Well, as you so kindly pointed out-"

"If you're already trying, Sherlock, it's only a matter of time. And you're not known for your subtlety."

Sherlock took a deep breath, closing his eyes and nodding. "How long?"

"I don't know yet. But for you, soon. I should think within the next two months."

"And... how long after, for John?"

Mycroft was silent a second too long, and Sherlock opened his eyes, a hand reaching out to grab Mycroft's arm. "Mycroft, how long?"

"At least a month after you leave, Sherlock."

Sherlock released his brother, turning away and standing up quickly. His hands found his pockets, pulling his coat around his tighter, like his favorite blanket when he was a child, offering security and comfort.

"Is there nothing else you can do?" Sherlock congratulated himself when his voice didn't quaver. He kept his back turned until Mycroft finally spoke.

"You'll be allowed visitation. You can meet him either Saturday in the town they go to, or Sundays here at Clouds."

Sherlock turned back. "Not both, though."

Mycroft shook his head. "No, not both."

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. "Fine. But tell me when you know precisely when I am to be... transferred."

Mycroft gave one curt nod. "Of course." He stood up, facing Sherlock. "What will you tell John?"

Sherlock said nothing.