"Anything wrong?" He asks Sherlock as Sherlock sits on the armchair in front of him.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Sherlock shrugs.

He sees something different this time. Gone was the rude obnoxious arsehole Sherlock he saw ten minutes ago. He sees a teenager whose eyes are older than his father's. Bags under those old eyes. Pale skin - paler than before. Tighter skin. Sickly colour. Even Sherlock's posture changed. Sherlock looks exhausted. Sherlock looks tired. This is the Sherlock he saw that opened this house's front door earlier today before Sherlock the arrogant came.

Everything is clearer.

Sherlock is pretending to be okay. And for the life of him, he doesn't know why. He calms himself. He doesn't want to get angry. "Anger dulls one's judgment," Sherlock told him some time ago.

He hates the fact that Sherlock is right. As always. But right now, he focuses on his friend right in front of him. He just notices now (now that he subtracted anger) how Sherlock tries to avoid his gaze. Sherlock really looks worn out. And he feels guilty about everything he did to Sherlock.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Jo-"

"And please... PLEASE don't lie to me."

"I am okay." Sherlock answers with soft eyes.

"You're not."

"John-"

"I have a proposition, Sherlock."

"A proposition?"

"Yes, and I want you to say yes."

"Why would I do so?"

"Say yes, I stay. Say no, I leave forever."

"Yes," Sherlock answers instantly and... 'Desperately? No. Impossible... Open your eyes John. He doesn't want you to leave... But this is Sherlock... Exactly.'

"We tell each other the truth and nothing but the truth for twenty-four hours." He tells Sherlock.

"Been in a courtroom lately?"

"I just watch a lot of shows about lawyers. So, do we have a deal?"

"I already said yes anyway, so..." Sherlock shrugs.

"Alright. So may I start with... Are you okay?"

'Why must that be the first question in the deal?' he thinks as he looks at John.

Sherlock looks hesitant. He is surprised to see Sherlock struggle with an answer. He already knows what Sherlock will answer. A person who is really okay won't take this long to answer such a little question.

He hears Sherlock sigh, "No."

He did not expect Sherlock to actually tell the truth. "Why?"

"Because I am not okay. I won't elaborate further without questions, John. I won't be informative."

'He IS being honest. Fuck. Better treasure this twenty four hour arrangement.'

"Do you still think of me as your friend?"

"It depends on you."

"Please explain."

Sherlock crosses his arms and looks at the floor. "It depends on how you think of me."

"If I tell you that you're my best friend, what would you think?"

Sherlock raises a brow at him. Of course. He mentally rolls his eyes. Sherlock probably knows how hooked he is. Sherlock is a drug to him. And Sherlock probably knows that.

"Look, Sherlock... There are really two reasons why I came here."

"Okay..."

"One and the major one is to talk to you..."

"Yes..."

"The other is to tell you that my parents are having dinner and they want me to bring my best woman and my best man."

"Gavin?"

He sighs, "Who?"

"Gavin Lestrade. He's a man and... good at it." Sherlock shrugs. He would have laughed if it wasn't for Sherlock being blind right now.

"It's Greg. And no, he's not my best friend."

"Oh Mike Stamford, I see... Well, he's nice. Though I'm not sure how well he would cope with all-"

"No Mike's great but he's not my best friend." Sherlock looks at him, tilting his head for answers. "Look Sherlock, my parents are very busy hard-working people and this is one of the rarest opportunities that I ever get to sit down with them at dinner together with the two people I love and care about most in the world..."

"Yes." Sherlock keeps looking at him.

'Sherlock? What the fuck? You should know that you're one of them.' "Mary Morstan.."

"Yes..."

"And..." 'Fuck. This is harder than telling Mary that I love her...' "..." 'Fuck. I should man up and say it to his face!' "... You."

Sherlock blinks a lot of times and stays still.

He cannot believe it. He just can't. John 's words echoes in his brain. A lot of times.

"... with the two people I love and care about most in the world... ... ... Mary Morstan and... you."

He is still John's friend. How can John be asking him? Him?... This is him we are talking about... John is really asking him... The Freak?... John thinks of him as a friend.

He tells John how flattered and surprised he is...

He tells John that he never expected this respect and he is a little daunted by the face of it...

"Sherlock."

He promises John that he would do his very best to accomplish a task which was, for him, as demanding and difficult any he had ever contemplated.

He thanks John for the trust and privilege John placed in him. And indicates that he was, in some ways, very close to being... moved by it.

"That's getting a bit scary now."

And now he realises that he said none of this out loud.

Sherlock starts to be conscious with the world again and finally looks at him. It was weird seeing Sherlock extremely surprised. He probably got mind-blocked or something...

"So in fact... you-you mean..."

'Oh fuck, he's stuttering...'

"Yes.."

"I'm your..." He nods at Sherlock. "...best..."

"... Man."
"... Friend?"

He did not expect that. He is surprised with Sherlock's reply. He thought that Sherlock knows how hooked he is... But the look of confusion in his face suggests otherwise.

"Of course you are. 'Course, you're my best friend," he smiles reassuringly. Sherlock is still looking at him like he grew three heads. "What do you think?"

"I think hearing the sentence is as rare as finding Scandium and Yttrium under my bed."

'Sherlock?' "Why?"

"Because I am, or rather, was no one's best friend."

"Why do you say so?"

"Because I am the most unpleasant... rude... ignorant... and all round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous. Unaware of the beautiful and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So no, I don't expect to be anybody's best friend," Sherlock snorts like the idea is extremely ridiculous.

He mentally curses himself. Here he was, telling everybody and anybody that Sherlock Holmes was - is? - his best friend... But he never told his best friend that.

"Well, here is reality in front of you. You're my best friend."

Sherlock closes his eyes and sighs in... relief? "Even if I am a narcissistic heartless uncaring self-centred machine?"

"I didn't mean that-" Sherlock opens his mouth. "Let me talk first... No, I didn't mean that. I got angry and used words that I know would hit your core. Words I would never say to your face and mean it. I used it to hurt you, not define you. I'm sorry."

Sherlock smiles for the first time since he came in this house. Sherlock genuinely smiles. "Does the same goes about me being weird and... and..." Sherlock clears his throat. "... being the Freak?"

He looks at Sherlock. And observes. Sherlock looks like he is preparing for the worst but he is trying not to show it. He admits that even he is doubting Sherlock is thinking of the worst. But he knows Sherlock. "Did I really tell you that?"

"Twice. Yes."

A wave of guilt overcomes him but he puts on a good face for Sherlock. "I would never think of you, or anyone, a freak, Sherlock. No one is a freak. We're all creatures and some are just more different than others. And that difference is what makes them more special."

He panics. Sherlock's eyes looks like it is starting to wet. Okay... Okay... They are visible now, the tears that are threatening to fall. Sherlock closes his eyes and sniffs and smiles smugly.

He is impressed at how Sherlock can easily stop himself from crying.

But why would Sherlock cry?

Didn't Sherlock know how important he thinks of him?

"So... The dinner?" he tries to change the topic.

"Will you ask my parents?"

"What?"

Sherlock sighs, "Ask my parents."

"Why?"

"For permission," Sherlock says like this is the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do it yourself."

"They won't react how you'd expect it to."

"How will they react?"

"Surprisingly different."

He notices how Sherlock won't give him a direct answer. 'Only lies have details.' Sherlock's voice enters his head.

"Okay... Let's go now..." He stands up and Sherlock follows him. "Where?"

"Back garden, probably."

"Alright then."

And they head on to the back garden.

He walks, Sherlock guides him with the direction of the Holmes Manor. Why the hell didn't Sherlock ever let him visit this place? It's grand and amazing. Beautiful. Sherlock doesn't see how lucky he is to live in this kind of place.

"Go straight to this room," Sherlock points at a room.

It is kind of like a place to have a ball. Empty, right now, but the place is well kept. They probably use this room every two days...

The glass windows are marvellous on the wall facing them.

"That door, there," Sherlock directs him.

He doesn't understand why he has to do this and not Sherlock himself. Momma's boy.

They go outside. 'Holy fuck.' He thinks. This place is like a goddamn park. There is a fountain and the woods is on the other side. 'How rich are the Holmes?'

He sees Mrs. Holmes sitting on one of the benches by the fountain, reading a book. The only thing missing from what she looks like is if her dress became floor-length, then she'd look like she's someone rich from the 19th century.

He hears Sherlock clear his throat and Mrs. Holmes looks up at them.

"Oh, hello, dearies," she closes her book and stands up. "What brought you here?"

"I just want to ask something..." Sherlock starts and gives him one look and he knows exactly what to do. He observes Sherlock, holding on the bench beside the one Mrs. Holmes is sitting on. Sherlock's knuckles are turning white from the pressure of the grip.

"Well, actually," he pretends to cut Sherlock off. "I want to ask you if Sherlock is... free this Sunday..."

"May I ask why?" she smiles at him.

"Well, my parents want to have dinner with me, bringing my girlfriend and my best friend," he pats Sherlock on the back. He looks in alarm when Sherlock flinches and did he just hear him wince? No... Probably his imagination...

Mrs. Holmes looks up at Sherlock. "Mummy?" Sherlock asks.

Mrs. Holmes smiles sweetly. "Well, his father and I are going away because of some business problems. So, I wouldn't mind if my son would join your Sunday dinner..."

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmes," he smiles sweetly. He turns around to look at Sherlock and gives him an I-Told-You-It-Wouldn't-Be-That-Hard look. And Sherlock gives him a smile back. Sherlock looks at Mrs. Holmes again and then back at him.

"John, would you mind giving mummy and I a moment?"

He looks at both Holmes. "Sure," he walks inside the ball room.

He looks at the paintings on the walls. The Holmes ancestry... Some paintings of views... Some of Mrs. Holmes's work... 'Hold on... Is that?' He sees a painting, beautifully made and saw the signature. "Mycroft Holmes," he says out loud and he laughs loudly to himself.

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmes," John tells his mother. John turns around and looks at him and gives him a reassuring I-told-you-so look. So he smiles back. He sees - in the corner of his eye - his mother's hand twitch. He looks up at her and she gives him a look that means Come-Here-At-Once-But-Don't-Tell-Him-Forced-You-To-Do-So look.

"John, would you mind giving mummy and I a moment?"

"Sure," John says and politely walks away from them and walks towards the manor. He can feel his mother watch John as well as he. They both stare at John.

Violet slaps him on the face when they both see John walk in the manor, looking inside rather than at them.

"What were you thinking?!" Violet hisses. "I don't want you walking around outside the house and you agree to join them for dinner?! Are you even more out of your mind than you already are?!"

"No."

Violet slaps him again and he panics and looks at John inside the house. Glass windows, you know? He sees John looking at the paintings in the house and he sighs in relief.

Violet grips his arm hard and pulls him deeper in the back garden and into the maze. His wrist will probably bruise later.

When they are both safe from John's wandering eye, Violet turns around and slaps the fuck out of him. "Now, you will meet the Warners-"

"Watsons..." He gets slapped again.

"I don't care about their moronic name! Now you will meet these normal people and I want you not to be such a freak in front of them. They might link your surname with ours and I don't want my family's reputation falling to ruins just because you bear the same name."

"Alright."

She slaps him again, "I'll have your father beat you up tonight. Don't run off."

"After just threatening me of what's to come?"

"Because if you run off, I will kill you." Violet slaps him one more time and let's him go back to John.

He runs to the manor and enters the room where they held parties. John is laughing by himself at a painting Mycroft made.

"Enjoying the arts?" he asks.

"I can't believe Mycroft knows how to paint..."

"Got it from mo- mummy... probably... If you think I'm such a momma's boy, just you wait until Mycroft sees mummy." John chuckles and he smiles. He likes hearing John chuckle. It makes him feel like John enjoys his company.

"So, why'd you made me leave you and your mum alone?... Remember, twenty-four hours of pure honesty..."

"To be honest... we talked about you..."

"And?"

"She lets me go to your house on Sunday."

"I thought she already told us that?"

"Well with my parents, there has to be a more personal permission asking with them..."

"Oh..." John looks up at him.

His phone beeps. He has a million thoughts swarming his head when he sees it.

'Just heard from Violet.
I want the fireplace poker
and the house rake
beside the door when I
get home tonight. You
are in a serious case of
trouble. Siger Holmes.'

He sees Sherlock's face changes multiple times in a matter of seconds. Seeing Sherlock confused is rare. Something doesn't feel right but he cannot place what it is. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"We are in our twenty-four hour agreement." Sherlock answers.

"Yes..."

"And the truth? You want the truth?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes..."

"The truth is that I don't want to talk about it and it would be a great pleasure to drop the subject entirely."

"Oh... I... um... Okay... Listen Sherlock," Sherlock looks at him. "... I just finished doing two of the reasons why I wanted to come here... Having those goals accomplished, I think I just want to go home now."

"Okay..."

"Right..."

"Car will be here in five minutes."

"C-car? What car?" 'Did he just call a motherfucking car just to take him home?'

"Just a car. Don't worry about it."

"Oh-kay..."

That's where the two of them ends up now. Both sitting on the ground, leaning on the Holmes Manor gate behind them.

The car comes.

He enters and waves goodbye at Sherlock. He keeps watching and even kneels on the car seat to look behind him and he sees Sherlock, kneeling on the ground. His hand on the gate, the other on the ground...

John is gone. His legs finally falls underneath him. He holds on the gate. It's not enough. He cannot move anymore. He is tired. So tired.

His hands fall and he collapses on the ground. He closes his eyes as the soothing ground greets him in open arms.

He texts his mother - something he never does.

'Can't move. Am outside
gate. Will probably die
of cold, fortunately for
you. Will wait for father.
SH'

A reply comes a minute later.

'I hope he breaks you.
V'