A/N: first of all... I'm so sorry for the delay! A lot happened and I didn't have the time to sit down and write a proper chapter for you guys... But don't worry, I'm back! And on the plus side, I started to plan out the rest of the story, so I expect to update more frequently now!
Second: thank you for all the comments and kudos! I love, love, love to hear from you guys, so please feel free to leave something behind!

Chapter 14: Catch Me If You Can

Take me by the hand
Take me by the hand
But please don't want to know me
Cause I'm a little bit scared of life
And vulnerable is all you need
To know, so play pretend, play pretend
Oh, won't you play pretend?

Catch me if you can – Walking on Cars

John woke up with a long arm wrapped around his chest and a head full of curls on his shoulder and he couldn't suppress a smile. It was the best possible feeling in the world. He knew he had to get up soon, or at least shift away before Sherlock would wake up and noticed their new sleeping arrangement, but he allowed himself to lay in Sherlock's arms for a moment longer. The heavy weight of his arm felt comfortable and the familiar smell of Sherlock's expensive shampoo was soothing. God, he had missed that smell.

This was the third morning in a row John had woken up like this. After Sherlock told him he was afraid to sleep alone John had decided it would be best to sleep in the same bed and it was the best decision he had made so far. Not only did he get the chance to be close to Sherlock and keep an eye on him, but Sherlock had slept like a baby from the moment they laid in bed together.

Every night started the same. They lay down together, a decent amount of distance between them. John read some articles from one of the medical journals he had bought and Sherlock just lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling. The first time he did that, John had wanted to ask what he was thinking about if everything was alright. But when he cast Sherlock a glance, he saw him drifting off slowly with a small smile on his face, completely relaxed. With Sherlock gone, John turned the lights off and went to sleep as well, only to wake up the next morning with the detective firmly pressed against him.

With a sigh, John decided it was time to get himself out of Sherlock's embrace and get up before the detective would wake up. He shifted a little, turned on his side facing Sherlock and took the hand of the detective and tried to put it on the pillow next to his head. This had worked quite well the previous mornings, but when John tried to pull his hand away so he could get up he noticed that Sherlock somehow got a grip of John's hand. John expected Sherlock to wake up right after, but he didn't. He tried to free his hand, but Sherlock wouldn't let go. The only thing he could do was lay down and wait for Sherlock to wake up.

John took a long, good look at the sleeping man next to him. Sherlock's features were soft and relaxed, his mouth a bit open. It made him look years younger and John wished that there was a way he could always see him like this, so at peace and unguarded. He was beautiful. Even after all these years, after all these battles and wars Sherlock had fought he was the most attractive man John knew. He would give anything to run his hand through those dark curls, to caress his sharp cheekbones, to kiss…

Johns's train of thoughts was abruptly disturbed by two silver-blue eyes looking into his own. He hadn't noticed Sherlock was awake and suddenly it felt quite hot. For how long had he been staring? Could the detective deduce what he was thinking about?

John tried to regain his composure and cleared his throat. "Morning," he said softly, trying to keep his voice under control.

Sherlock didn't respond right away. His face was still open and relaxed, the corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly as he gave John a small smile. "Good morning, John."

"Did you sleep well?"

A yawn overtook Sherlock before he could answer. John smiled back at him. "I take that as a yes."

"I did. You?"

"Yes, thank you." Suddenly, John was aware of the fact that he and Sherlock were still holding hands. "Uhm… Sorry," he stammered and pulled his hand away. For a second, he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in Sherlock's face. Before he could say something, John got up from the bed. "Coffee?"

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, his face unreadable. "Yes, please," he answered, his voice much softer than John had anticipated. He decided not to dwell on it and walked out of the bedroom.

Half an hour later, Sherlock sat on the sofa and was staring outside the window, his cup of coffee forgotten between his hands. He listened to the of the newspaper John was reading and sighed.

These last couple of days were so peaceful and quiet that they made him wonder if he was finally on the right track again. He even dared to say he was starting to feel better. His recovery went quite smooth, he didn't have so many dark thoughts and flashbacks as before and living again at 221B Baker street was comfortable. And the best part was that John was there to keep him company. Sweet, caring, brilliant John, who gave Sherlock everything he needed at this moment without being overly concerned. A comforting hand on his shoulder, a reassuring smile, a warm embrace, he provided everything without question.
John had been there from the moment he knew Sherlock was back and had never left his side since. And during that time, Sherlock had noticed a change in John's behavior. Earlier, he would keep things at a distance, hold back on the touches and apologize or excuse himself if he felt like he had invaded on Sherlock's personal space. But now, he was more comfortable around Sherlock than he had ever been.
Sherlock had expected that all of that would fade away once they returned at Baker street, but the opposite was true. It even felt more natural between the walls of their old apartment than at the hospital. He knew that it all was temporary and that John would leave him to go back to god knows where, but he didn't seem to be preparing to leave anytime soon.

And then, there was their new sleeping arrangement. Obviously, Sherlock had noticed their closeness during the night. He didn't mind in the slightest. In fact, it was the only way Sherlock managed to fall asleep. It felt comforting to have John so near to him, knowing that there was someone who kept an eye on him. He really had tried to keep his distance the first night. But when he woke up the next morning, his body pressed close against Johns, he felt so utterly relaxed that he decided he didn't care if John knew.
John clearly tried to keep Sherlock under the impression that they were sleeping separately by pulling himself away when he woke up and leaving the room before Sherlock would wake, but this morning Sherlock wanted to know what John would do if he couldn't leave. So he had grabbed John's hand. He expected John to try to pull his hand back, but he didn't. Sherlock had anticipated that John would get angry with him for invading his personal space, but he didn't. Instead, he had given Sherlock one of the warmest smiles he had ever seen.

It all made him wonder. Could it be that John felt the same about him?

Suddenly, his vision was blocked by John who was looking at him in concern. "What?" Sherlock asked, his voice a little raspier than anticipated.

"There you are," John said. "I was saying we should leave in 10 minutes." He narrowed his eyes a bit. "Are you all right? I told you about four times but you were completely lost in your own thoughts."

"I'm fine," Sherlock replied a little too quickly.

"What were you thinking about?"

The somewhat playful tone in John's voice didn't escape Sherlock. But he couldn't say what he really had been thinking, so he came up with an excuse. "About today's session," he answered eventually.

John's face grew more serious. "Do you want me to be there? I could wait outside the room instead of going to the café?"

"No need." Normally, Sherlock would've meant to sound snappy, but he couldn't. Instead, he gave John a hint of a smile. "It will be okay."

"Good. Come on, let's go." And there it was again, another reassuring smile and a comforting hand on his knee. Sherlock felt the warmth of John's touch radiate through his trousers, even if his hand was already gone. And suddenly, Sherlock knew he couldn't play this game anymore. It was all or nothing. After today's session, he would tell John about the way he felt, about the letter, about everything.

There was nothing left of the peaceful morning they had shared once they got back from the hospital that afternoon. The first couple of appointments had gone well. Dr. Wilson seemed to be happy with Sherlock's recovery, they had made an appointment to remove the cast from his arm and Patrick also seemed pleased with the progress Sherlock was making. His last appointment of that day was another session with Maggie. John was surprised to notice that Sherlock was in quite a good mood when he entered her office. But from the moment Sherlock walked out of the hospital, he had gone silent.

At first, John was concerned. He knew the cab ride wasn't the moment to ask what was going on, so he didn't speak as well during the ride home. But when they got back at the apartment Sherlock walked straight to his bedroom and closed the door with a loud bang, leaving John standing in the middle of the room, startled.

John decided to give Sherlock a moment before asking what was going on. He walked to the living room and sat in his chair with his book. He was surprised to see Sherlock come out of his room 10 minutes later. He didn't look up, but his attention was on Sherlock's movements. Sherlock stood still in the middle of the room at first, but when John didn't react he sat down in the chair opposite John.

"All right?" John asked after a moment. Sherlock didn't respond. After another minute of silence, John looked up from his book and took a good look at Sherlock. There was something about Sherlock John hadn't seen often before. He expected another difficult conversation, another reveal about what had happened to him. But something in his attitude told John this was about something else. There wasn't a sad look or a guarded expression on his face. No, Sherlock seemed genuinely nervous about something.

"What's going on?" John tried.

Sherlock looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. "We need to talk."

"Okay," John answered, confused. "What do you want to talk about?" The words sounded more harsh than intended and John saw Sherlock flinch a little in response.

John regretted the words immediately and tried to adopt a more friendly tone. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" He paused a moment to take a breath. "You can trust me," he added.

Sherlock's head snapped up. "I know," he immediately responded. Of course, he trusted John. He trusted him implicitly. But he was about to risk everything. "it's just… hard," he mumbled.

John gave him a small, reassuring smile. "It's okay. Take your time."

Sherlock looked down at his hands again and fumbled with the sleeve of his robe. John wanted to take his hands and tell him there was no need for him to be this nervous but he knew If he did that he would scare Sherlock away, so the only thing he could do was wait.

After a long silence, Sherlock suddenly spoke again. "Do you remember our goodbye at the airport?"

John swallowed, a rush of nerves ran through his own body. He suddenly had an idea of what was coming. He knew what Sherlock was going on about. The letter. How was he supposed to react? He couldn't say he knew because than Sherlock would know he kept it from him. But he also couldn't react surprised. The only right response was to come clean about his own feelings. "Of course," he managed to say, his voice a lot more strained than before.

Sherlock noticed it too and looked up for a second before returning his gaze downward. "Well, there… I've wanted to… I'm…" The words got stuck in his throat and he let out a frustrated sigh. Why was this so hard?

"Sherlock?" John managed to say. His voice was barely a whisper. He moved forward a little and placed his hand on Sherlock's knee. "It's okay. Just tell me what you want to say."

Sherlock looked up into John's eyes and felt a little less nervous. The look on John's face was so open and full of adoration that he again wondered if John felt the same about him. He was close, very close. He searched for some discomfort in John's face but didn't find any. He licked his lips before whispering. "There were some things I wanted to say back then. I…"

But before Sherlock could continue, he heard footsteps on the stairs. He narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. "Lestrade's here."

John looked utterly confused. "What?"

The knock on the door pulled both men back in reality. Lestrade came in without waiting for an answer. He looked ravished. His hair was a complete mess and he had dark circles under his eyes, his face serious and tensed. John was alert at once. This couldn't mean much good.

"You need help," Sherlock said before John could ask what was wrong.

"I do, we've got a problem. We got different reports of people within our police force who were threatened in the last couple of days. The threats were serious enough for us to start an investigation, but there had been a development. "

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Lestrade. "The one who sent the threats is following true."

Lestrade nodded. "Two of the victims were kidnapped. We have reasons to believe he is torturing them."

John felt something clench his stomach. This was not the kind of case Sherlock could be handling right now. He raised himself from his chair and stood up straight, hoping to catch Lestrade's attention to signal this wasn't a good idea, but he didn't have much luck. John swallowed. "What reasons?"

Lestrade sighed and took his phone. He looked down at it for a brief moment before opening the sound file.

The screams and sounds were horrifying.

There was a long, thick moment of silence. None of them knew what to say.

"Could It be fake?" John tried against better judgment. He already knew the answer.

"It isn't," Sherlock answered. With that, he stood up from his chair, rushed to his bedroom and closed the door with a bang, leaving John and Lestrade behind

They stared at the door for a long moment and John hesitated on what to do.

"I'm sorry," Greg began. "but I'm completely out of my league here. If I could I would go to someone else, but we are grasping at straws here. We need to act quickly."

"I know," John sighed and ran his hands across his face. For the first time since they went on cases together, he wished Sherlock wouldn't take the case. It would be too much to handle, John was certain of it. He knew he should tell Lestrade they would help him, but he couldn't.

Without thinking, he walked towards Sherlock's bedroom. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but he couldn't care less. He was going to try to talk Sherlock out of it.

He opened the door to the door to Sherlock's bedroom without knocking and entered. Sherlock sat on the edge of the bad and was tying his shoelaces. One quick glance was enough for him to know what John was going to say. "Don't," he said and stood up to face John.

John visibly braced himself. "Sherlock, I think this isn't a…"

"I said don't," Sherlock snapped.

"But…"

Sherlock interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "No. I'm going. End of discussion." He walked past John and was about to walk out of his room when John spoke quietly.

"Sherlock, please."

This made Sherlock stop dead in his tracks. John never asked, never begged. He turned around and walked up to John. He sighed and tried to find the right words to convince him. "Listen," he started in a softer voice." I have to prove to myself I can handle this. Do you understand? I have to do this. I know it's hard for you to understand, but it's something I need to do." He looked down at John and gave him a small smile. "You know it would be a lot easier for me if you would join me, don't you?"

John looked at Sherlock for a long moment. "Fine," he managed to say before Sherlock spun into action.

He rushed out of his bedroom, yelled at Lestrade they would take a cab and be right behind him, took his Belstaff coat and his scarf from the coatrack and rushed out of the door. He was already halfway the stairs when he turned around. "Come on, John!" he bellowed before rushing down.

John stood at the top of the stairs and sighed. He knew this was not a good idea, at all. For a moment, he hesitated and tried to think of a last-minute excuse to keep Sherlock from taking this case. But he couldn't. He didn't have the heart to do so. Instead, he did the only thing he could do.

He followed Sherlock and hoped for the best.