Prologue

Things were normal at two-two-one-B Baker Street. Normal as far as its residents were concerned. They were back to working on cases, in fact one had presented itself only that morning.

His hair was a dark shade of auburn, and freckles littered his face. Specks of crimson-brown blood filled in the spaces in-between them; this boy of no older than 15.

John finished his examination and stood up with a sigh.

"Well?" came the impatient voice he had come to know and love.

"He didn't get these bruises during the attack; it could have been a few days beforehand."

The usual celebration of Sherlock's brilliance came next. The detective punched the air, spinning around on his heels to clap Lestrade on the shoulders. Donovan and Anderson had called the superintendent down to hear his theories on the case.

"Oh beautiful!" he exclaimed, Greg regarded him with his usual dumbfounded lack of understanding.

"What is?" he asked incredulously, greying eyebrow rising in intrigue. Sherlock turned quickly, pointing at John.

"Well?"

The smaller man jumped a little, pointing at himself.

"Me?"

Rolling his eyes Sherlock sauntered over to him confidently and put an arm around his shoulders and leaning in so that their cheeks almost touched.

"Yes you. What do you think?" he gestured to the body in front of them.

"Well, the bruises are obviously from a separate incident..." John trailed off, licking his lips and chewing his cheek nervously. He didn't like this, being the centre of attention, put on the spot so to speak. He liked watching, no, loved watching Sherlock make deductions – but he didn't like his penchant for making him do them instead.

"Yes, obviously. So what does that tell us about the suspect?"

"It could be someone else?"

Clapping his hands together as he pulled away from John, Sherlock sent him a subtle wink.

"Precisely! The bruises; we assumed they were sustained during the attack that resulted in his death. They are consistent with assault – so his homosexual admirer was automatically suspected. There were no girls who were similarly obsessed with him, though it seemed unlikely that the other boy would let it develop into anything ending in rape. Maybe he was jealous of his new girlfriend and killed him in a 'crime of passion'? However, what if these bruises were sustained another time? Who is to say that he was not hit at some other point prior." Pausing for breath, Sherlock drank up the blank expressions of all those around him, all those except John whose bedroom eyes coupled with the mouthing of 'just you wait' would have been enough to throw him off mid flow.

"Now, consider the previous allegations against his father; he was convicted of molestation and assault correct? Well then, what if, for argument's sake it was not the father but the mother? The same mother he now lives at home with? She made her husband take the fall for her – maybe out of fear, or some other leverage she held over him. No matter; the bruising pattern suggests someone of typical female build, around the same size and weight as his mother dear. This time she took it too far, he could have wandered out here with severe internal bleeding and have died here without her knowledge. If he had lived longer I have no doubt we'd see another, more intense bruising."

Looking around, he noticed John biting his lip; they would need to get out of here soon if the stirring in the pit of Sherlock's stomach was anything to go by.

"There uh, there is evidence to suggest he suffered from internal bleeding; we need to wait for the coroner's report though." John confirmed his hypothesis distractedly, and with a smile Sherlock patted Greg on the back, taking his partner by the arm and waving half-heartedly as they walked away.

"You're welcome." He called without waiting for a thank you.

They had been the attention of a lot of media coverage since their 'big reveal', but at home Sherlock and John were the same as ever.
First the kettle was brewed, John staring into the bowl of hard candies on their occasional table. He wanted anything to distract him from his day, from the world they lived in.

That distraction came in the form of Sherlock walking into the room wearing nothing but a towel; he'd just showered by the looks of things and stood in front of John like some kind of presentation, a representation of everything important in his life.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, John's breath hitched as the towel dropped to the floor.

Yes, things were normal at two-two-one-B Baker Street. Normal as far as its residents were concerned. They were back to working on cases, in fact one had presented itself only that morning.

But now Sherlock had another mystery to solve – how to get John undressed quick enough to satisfy them both.

Perhaps today would be interesting after all.

Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed, and to those of you who continue to enjoy my fiction.
It's been such a journey writing it, and some of you have been here since the very beginning. I'm working on a few shorter JohnLock ficlets now if you're interested.

As always, have a wonderful day and don't hesitate to drop me a message. It's been a real pleasure!
Mayora~