John was pacing, and Sherlock was fiddling with his phone, when he thought of it.

"I haven't seen Greg in two weeks," he said out loud. He usually stopped by the room every other day, just to talk. Sometimes even every day. But he'd been nowhere to be seen for a while now.

Sherlock looked up in a bored way. "I imagine he's busy, with his work, with Mycroft."

John was a little surprised at the contempt in Sherlock's voice, but that was how he talked about most things, so it wasn't that odd.

"What if something's wrong though?" John asked.

"Nothing's wrong, John," he said, looking at his phone still. "Don't worry about Lestrade."

John looked at Sherlock with his head tilted to the side. Why did he sound like he didn't want John to go see Greg?

"Yeah, you're probably right," John said. "Well," he added, "I'm off to the gym."

Sherlock looked up again. "Again? Didn't you go this morning?"

"Can't help it. It's becoming a compulsion."

"Addiction is unhealthy, no matter what the outlet is."

"I'm not addicted."

"Addiction," Sherlock rattled off, "is the condition of being abnormally or compulsively dependent on some habit."

John couldn't argue with that one affectively, seeing as he said the word 'compulsion' himself. "You're telling me working out is bad for me?" John asked defensively.

"When you do it this much, yes," Sherlock said. "Being dependent on anything is bad for you."

"Oh, so basically you're addicted to anything you're even mildly fond of, then."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's attack, the words apparently rolling right off. "You may be right," Sherlock said, "but striving to be like me probably shouldn't be a goal of yours."

John grunted irritably. "Right. Well, I'm still going. Bye."

He went out the door before Sherlock could say anything else, but then he stood there a moment and considered Sherlock's words. He did go to the gym every time he started thinking too much, and any time Sherlock was irritating him… and when he was just bored… maybe he was starting a problem. Maybe he needed to cool it.

But, in his mildly pointless irritation with his boyfriend, which he admitted to himself only silently was probably only caused by sleep deprivation, he didn't want to go back in and admit he was taking Sherlock's advice. So what to do?

He glanced at Greg's door.

He was pretty curious as to where their sub-warden had been for the past two weeks.

He resolutely knocked on the door. Greg opened it and John noticed he looked uncomfortable.

"John, hey," he said, not opening the door more than a crack. "What's up?"

John frowned. "What, is Mycroft here?"

"Huh? No, why do you ask?"

"Then… can I come in?" John asked awkwardly.

"Oh. Oh, erm, yeah." He opened the door all the way and John hesitated in the doorway.

"Erm… have I done something wrong?" John enquired.

"What?" Greg asked, sounding honestly confused. "No, of course not."

John believed it enough that he came in and Greg shut the door behind him. John sat in Greg's computer chair and Greg settled onto his bed. "It's just, you haven't been over in a while. Thought… dunno, that you might be mad or something?"

Now Greg rolled his eyes. "You live with Sherlock bloody Holmes and you think the reason someone would stop coming to your room is because you did something?"

John blinked. That did make a bit more sense, since John couldn't remember doing anything offensive, but he still wasn't sure what Greg meant. "What happened with Sherlock?"

Greg shrugged, leaning back on his bed. "Oh, you know. He's a dick sometimes. He was just being himself."

John was officially suspicious. "But Sherlock's himself all the time and you've never let it bother you before. Something must've happened. Something different than usual."

Greg was uncomfortable again, biting his lip and looking pensive. "It's nothing, really. Or, it might be nothing. I dunno."

"Greg… what happened?" John said more forcefully.

"I just… I didn't want to tell you in case I was wrong."

"Well now you're going to tell me either way, because you're worrying me."

Greg sighed. "It's just… I came over a few weeks back, and you weren't there, and I kind of grabbed his phone, because he was irritating me… and he was texting Irene. My ex."

John didn't know how to respond to that. "Well, he's allowed to have friends. I'm not possessive or anything." It was true, really… but somehow, it didn't feel true in this context.

Greg nodded. "He said he wasn't responding or anything, it's just… I know Irene. And if Irene decided she wants Sherlock… She usually gets what she wants."

John considered this for a long moment. "Well who says just because they're talking means that she wants him?"

"First of all, because she's a slut," said Greg bluntly. "She fucks everything that moves. And also… the text was her asking him to dinner. Does that sound platonic to you?"

John was quiet again, looking at the ground.

"I'm sorry," Greg muttered. "I really hope I'm wrong."

"But that still doesn't explain why you aren't talking to him," John said, still looking at the ground.

"Sure it does," said Greg. "If he's honestly cheating on you, I don't want anything to do with him." John actually flinched at the mention of 'cheating', but Greg didn't notice. "And, even if he isn't," Greg added, "I don't particularly want to chat with him if he's chatting with her. She broke my heart in a thousand ways and he's talking with her, or at least letting her talk at him, like nothing's wrong. It just pisses me off. He can be friends with her if he wants, I guess, but I don't want anything to do with him if that's the case."

John nodded. "Okay," he murmured.

"Are—" Greg chuckled. "I was about to ask if you're alright, but that's probably a really stupid question."

John gave a dark chuckle in return. "Yeah, not feeling so 'alright' at the moment," he muttered, but he didn't really know how he was feeling in the first place. His anger was gone though, he knew that. Jealousy was there, obviously. He felt sad too.

But really, more than anything, he just felt tired. Really, really tired. He rubbed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

"Well," John said, standing up, "Thanks for telling me."

"I don't feel like I deserve a thank you for this," Greg mumbled. "I just feel really bad now."

"No, I'm glad you told me. It's better than me being the idiot that doesn't realise what's going on right under his nose."

Greg nodded again. "But I might be wrong, you know. It might be nothing. She might just be texting him and he's totally ignoring it."

John nodded again. "Okay. Well, got to go," John said, but he wasn't sure where he was going. He went out the door as Greg looked at him sympathetically, and John shut the door a little harder than he meant to. He opened the door again. "Sorry," he said, "didn't mean to slam it."

"It's okay," Greg replied, his voice still subdued. God, John just didn't want his pity at all.

John stood in the vacant hallway, not sure what to do. He looked down at his gym bag. He really didn't want to work out now, he knew that. He was over being mad at Sherlock over the spat… so really, his only option was to go back to the room. But what would he say? How was he supposed to breach that? 'Hey, Sherlock, I only wondered if you were secretly two-timing me with Greg's slutty ex. No offence if I'm wrong.'

John didn't have much time to think about it though, because his body was on autopilot back to the room and before he knew it, he was opening the door. He set his bag down.

"Did you realise I was right?" asked Sherlock, that beautiful, know-it-all smirk on his face. John looked at him sadly, feeling his heart wrench painfully. John looked at his whole body—but mostly at his face—like he might never see him again and he needed to try to memorise it. Sherlock's smirk was gone fairly quickly. "John, what's wrong?" he asked, concern spiking his voice.

"Erm—oh, nothing," John said, trying for a smile. "Just decided I'm too tired for the gym."

Sherlock didn't look totally convinced. Or, he didn't go back to his work, which showed in itself that he was concerned.

So John went over to Sherlock, taking a seat in his lap.

"I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled. "I love you too."

John remembered when it was hard for him to say. Now it wasn't. And John believed him, of course. Sherlock loved him.

But then why, when Sherlock said it, was there a sinking in his gut?

"I love you so much," John said, and he bit his cheek when his eyes started to burn. He kept the betraying tears from showing themselves much.

But Sherlock noticed, of course. "John, what is it? Tell me."

John took a deep breath. "Just worried. You know, like always."

Sherlock sighed. "You'll worry yourself to death at this rate."

"I know," John said. "I need to sleep."

"Yes, you do."

John got up and took off his shoes and shirt, getting under the covers.

"Want me to join you?" asked Sherlock.

"Erm, no, it's okay. You look busy."

"Nothing important," Sherlock said, setting down his mobile.

"What're you doing on there anyway?" John asked, though he was telling himself not to.

Sherlock only shrugged. "Sleep well," he said.

John swallowed hard and nodded, turning and facing the wall so Sherlock couldn't see his face.

And John listened carefully as he heard more clicking, as Sherlock messed with his phone again. Again, his heart have a painful jolt.

He'd have to talk to Sherlock about it eventually, he knew… but right now, it hurt too bad to consider talking. He just needed to sleep. Then, maybe, he could be reasonable about it. Maybe Sherlock wasn't even talking to her at all right now, and Greg was wrong about the entire situation.

But he doubted it.


This chapter made me really sad to write. Just sayin'. Sigh. I'm a mean writer, doing this to John. :[