HFTS: So... how are you? I get the feeling that this is gonna be a once-a-chapter thing but... I'm really sorry for how late this is. I won't make excuses, especially considering how short it is, but just know that I'm not willfully ignoring this story.

The flat was quiet that night; Sherlock must have been on a post-case adrenaline-high crash. He was curled on the sofa with his back to the world, wearing a dressing gown and pyjamas that were too short in the ankle. He might have been dozing, but John wasn't sure if the man actually slept. The doctor was washing up his teacup, deep in thought about the warning he'd received. What if Sherlock had gotten close to uncovering this conspiracy – or whatever the hell it was – before? But that was ridiculous. Sherlock wasn't James Bond. If he'd found something as sinister as this he'd- he'd probably try to solve it himself to prove how smart he was. Dammit. But still… That didn't necessarily mean that Sherlock had ever known about it before his accident. An accident that had left him unable to recall pretty much anything from several years of his life. Shit. He was starting to talk himself into this lunacy.

"Oh come on, John, don't be so daft," he muttered under his breath.

"Don't be so daft about what?" Sherlock asked.

John jumped forwards in surprise, smacking his head on the cupboard. He grumbled, pressing his hand to his head, and swung round to frown at Sherlock. "When the hell did you get there?"

Sherlock shrugged. "You were thinking."

"Er. Yes, I do that sometimes," John replied. "What were you thinking about? You were quiet and... still."

"I thought another memory had reappeared."

"But?"

"It was probably just my imagination," Sherlock said, looking away. "What courses did you take at University?"

John raised an eyebrow. "That's a random question. Is this related to what you were thinking about?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm curious about you. Besides… people like this sort of thing. Idle conversation. That's how normal people get to know one another."

John raised an eyebrow, but ignored the comment. "I took Medicine, obviously, and all the minor courses related to that. I took a Literature class too but I gave it up to go into the army." John finished the washing and put everything away. "Anything else you wanted to know?"

"How long have we known each other?"

"I think it's been a week or so since your brother arranged our meeting at the cafe," John answered carefully. "Why? Are you having trouble-"

"It's nothing." Sherlock shook his head, walking away.

John frowned but turned back to the sink, pulling the plug. What was that about? Was Sherlock… remembering? Or maybe he was just imagining things. Why else would Sherlock ask about something like that though? "Get a grip," he muttered to himself, exiting the kitchen. He passed through the empty living room on the way to his bedroom, and Sherlock's absence was sorely noticeable. It was almost disturbing how much John missed him, even after a few minutes.

'Why don't you just tell him? Why are you keeping this from him? Did you change your mind about everything? Or are you just a coward?' he thought viciously, closing the door to his room. He sat down on the end of his bed, bracing his hands on his knees. 'No. No, that's not it. I haven't changed my mind… but Sherlock might have. He could have given up, or decided he didn't want someone as plain and boring as me. What if I told him the truth - that I wanted to be with him - only for him to remember that he didn't feel the same way.'

It was a depressing thought, one he'd been trying to ignore for months, but it was also very likely. He didn't know what state of mind Sherlock was in at the time of his accident. He didn't know if Sherlock had found someone else. And then there was the drug issue. At this moment he seemed clean, but how long could that last? If it was a serious addiction (and him being high while on a case made it clear that it was) then Sherlock could easily relapse. Surely, with his memory already a disadvantage, he wouldn't go back to them. Not on purpose.

John shook his head and got up to get his laptop. He needed to focus on something other than this. He stared at his still empty blog before resolving to post something. He had just had a huge adventure after all, might as well write about it. He could deal with the finer points of addiction and relapse later. He dully registered the doorbell ringing, but ignored it. He didn't really have the patience for visitors right now.

The woman who answered the door smiled at him and greeted him with a warm familiarity. She let him in without a moment's thought. When she received only a blank stare in return, she frowned. "Has something happened, Sherlock?" Harry asked. "You don't talk to me at all for months and then you-"

"We know each other?" Sherlock said quickly, stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah, duh. You know, I didn't think you were one for jokes. It's a pretty lame one anyway. 'Do we know each other?' Pfft." Harry led him into the lounge room and sat down, waiting for him to respond. As the silence became more pronounced, she grew worried. "Is… is something wrong? I thought, you know, as your future sister-in-law, we might be a little more relaxed with one another, but…"

"Sister-in-law?"

"I know it's a little early to be throwing around things like that but c'mon, you guys are perfect for each other." Harry shifted uncomfortably, noticing the way Sherlock was looking around. "You two… you didn't break up did you?"

Sherlock leaned forward, fixing his full attention on Harry. "When did I first meet your brother?"

"Uh, is this a test?"

"Humour me."

"Okay… It was, um, I don't know. I think it was two or three years ago. John was still at Uni, wasting time until he could apply for the military. How did he describe it? 'He slid into the booth across from me and said I was fascinating'. You sure know how to-"

"So we didn't meet a few days ago?" Sherlock asked abruptly.

"What? No, why would you- Sherlock? Why are you- What's going on?" Harry demanded, looking frustrated. "I thought we were friends- well, sort of friends in the you're-dating-my-brother way. Why did you just stop talking to me? Where have you been? Why are you treating me like I'm some stranger?!"

"I was dating John?"

"Stop it! This isn't funny! Did you two have a fight or something? John comes home and he ignores me. You stopped talking to me months ago; what the hell? Tell me what's going on!"

"I wish I knew," Sherlock told her. "A few months ago, I had an accident. When I woke up in the hospital, I had lost my memory. It's come back, slowly, but there are large gaps. Before coming here, I thought John was just my flatmate and you were his brother."

"John said you were flatmates?"

"No. John never mentioned meeting me before last week, much less that we dated."

"That's crazy. I saw how John was, talking about you. He was utterly in love with you. Why wouldn't he say anything?" Harry shook her head, slumping back. "After he left, you told me that he wanted to test how he felt about you. To make sure that he wasn't just… But he was in love. There was no way he could deny it. I mean, I haven't seen him lately. And he stopped returning my calls… But he wouldn't have just given up."

Sherlock looked her over, taking in the bewilderment Harry was displaying, and frowned. "If he wasn't interested, it would have been the perfect time to end it. He could have just moved out of my life while I was recovering. But he's living in a flat with me."

"This doesn't make any sense at all. Why would he seek you out, and then pretend not to know you?" Harry muttered.

"He didn't seek me out. Our meeting was arranged by-" Sherlock shot to his feet, scowling as he realised who was pulling the strings on this particular puppet show. "Mycroft!"

"Your brother? Why would-" Harry snapped her mouth shut as Sherlock raced out. With a sigh, she picked up her phone and started dialling. After hearing 'This is John Watson, I'm not here right now,' for the third time, she snapped. "GOD DAMN IT, JOHN. Fine, you can ignore my calls and texts but let's see if you can ignore THIS." Throwing on her coat, she strode out into the night and hailed a cab. John wouldn't know what hit him.

HFTS: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I felt this was the only way to end the chapter. And now that Sherlock's aware of the things he's forgotten, things might move along a little faster. I apologise if it seems rushed, but I hate to drag things out.