"What happened last night?" John pulled Sherlock inside, holding the larger body close to his. Even though the day was warm, Sherlock shivered as violently as if he had spent the night in a snowstorm. John hushed him, pulling the blanket off the back of his chair and wrapping Sherlock in it. The detective gasped at the touch but tugged the blanket closer, wrapping it tightly around himself.

"What do you remember, Sherlock?"

"You getting angry with me, and then...I went outside..."

"So you spent the night outside? But then why are you covered in blood?"

"I don't know. I remember...nothing...after leaving."

"Alright. It's alright, Sherlock. Come on, come sit down." John led Sherlock like a frightened child, exerting little force to push him down onto the chair. "I'm going to make tea, and you're going to drink it, yes?"

Sherlock nodded, his eyes staring blankly in front of him, recalling shadow-filled nightmares. John sighed, putting a kettle of water on to boil. Sherlock had always been a bit odd, but this was a bit much, even for him. He would have missed the knock on the door except for Sherlock's body jumping slightly and his eyes widening in panic. "Stay, Sherlock. You stay there." John held a hand out, commanding him to obey. John opened the door, making sure to keep a blood-covered Sherlock hidden. "Ah, Governor Lestrade! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this morning?"

"There's been another murder, John."

"Oh god, no..."

"I'm afraid so. John..."

"Who...?"

"John...just remember that we're here for you."

"Who was it?"

"Don't get upset."

"Who was it, damn you?!"

"Molly. The Hound killed Molly, John." John gasped, leaning heavily against the door. His vision was quickly turning black and he felt like he could be sick.

"Molly? Molly's dead?"

"Yes, John. I know how fond you were of her."

"Fond?! Damn it Lestrade, I almost..."

"The engagement ended years ago, John. I think she forgave you."

"But now...I-I'll never know for sure."

"I'm sorry, John." The elderly man put a comforting hand on John's shoulder. "I came to ask if Sherlock would look into it."

"We'll be there in a few minutes, Lestrade."

"John..."

"Gregory, she was my friend, my partner! I think I owe her more than just leaving her body to strangers!"

"Don't force yourself, John."

"I'm not. She was brave then, I can be brave now. At least brave enough to wait and mourn in privacy."

"If you insist." Lestrade removed his hand, putting it back in his pocket. He looked up at the sky with a wistful smile. "Today was supposed to be a beautiful day. How quickly the sunshine and clear skies seem so inappropriate."

"They've always been inappropriate, ever since the Hound was born." John looked down at his feet, feeling very unsociable. "Good day, Lestrade."

Lestrade nodded, leaving John alone. As soon as the Governor was out of sight, John silently shut the door with numb fingers. Molly was dead. Lovely, sweet, kind Molly. Molly who always had a kind word. Moly who loved him even though he had broken their engagement. It was his sister all over again...

"John?" John looked up, his body reflexively moving to care for the only person he had left.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"You did like her, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your heart rate picked up when you heard about her."

"Of course! I was upset!"

"But it picked up even more when you mentioned your engagement. Your heart was beating its fastest then."

"What's your point, Sherlock?"

"My point is that you did love. This means you'll be able to let me go."

"Not this again," John groaned, leaning against the wall. "Why are you trying to make me hate you?"

"Because you should. I never asked you to like me."

"No one asks to be liked, Sherlock. It just happens."

"Such sentiment." Sherlock said the word as if it was something distasteful that he was desperate to get off his tongue."I have no place for it."

"Then I suppose I'll just have to hold onto it for you."

"I'd prefer to not leave you with something so pointless once I leave."

"Sherlock, shut up." John bowed his head, feeling like he now had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "You're so determined to leave me, so what I feel is of no concern of yours. Until you leave, as you often like to remind me, I'm going to continue taking care of you so that you'll be in good condition for Lady London."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but closed it at the look on John's face. He saw that the doctor suddenly looked like he was 90, all the woes of the world swimming inside those eyes. Sherlock stood up slowly and approached the other man just as slowly, giving John time to move. When he was standing in front of John, Sherlock raised a hand and hesitantly cupped John's cheek. "John...stay with me tonight."

John chuckled weakly, looking away. "Don't joke. It's not funny."

"I'm not. You should know that I never joke. I mean it, John. Come to my room tonight."

"Sherlock, please..." John shut his eyes tightly, leaning into the hand on his cheek before it would undoubtedly be pulled away. "This is cruel."

"Just think it over. I'll go clean myself up then we'll go see...the body. Think it over then. No matter what you decide, my door will be unlocked tonight." Sherlock gave John's cheekbone a gentle swipe with his thumb before pulling away to go wash the blood off. John let him go, but his fingers itched to reach out and pull Sherlock close. He took in a shaky breath, fighting to hold himself up on jelly-like legs.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Tonight...make me forget. Let me know only you."

"Yes, John."

"Something's different about her, Sherlock. It's so much more…" John moved his hands as if he could pull the word from the air.

"Messy? Of course. Your killer has an apprentice, or else he has just gotten careless. Look at the way the jugular has been torn. She was very much alive when the killer went after her. See these jagged marks along here? She was moving. And a different knife was used, one with a more jagged edge. That, plus her struggles made the wound very messy, as you would put it."

"But Sherlock, with the other ones...they were just…"

"Yes, it seems you're killer actually tried to consume Miss Hooper. The stomach is torn open and it seems that the…" Sherlock leaned closer, lifting the upper flap of skin. "...kidney, heart and the right lung are missing, possibly consumed or kept as a trophy. In his haste, he snapped all of the thoracic bones. Certainly a very unorganized operation." Sherlock stood up quickly, clapping his hands. "What an interesting man this Hound is! He's changed the game, John! Something about her warranted a different death!"

"Sherlock!" The detective turned around, shrugging when John glared at him. "Timing, Sherlock."

"John, this changes everything!"

"This changes nothing. She's dead, Sherlock. Have some respect, at least for a few days. She deserves more than to be overlooked like one of your finished experiments!"

"John, not now."

"Yes, now. I do not condone this kind of behavior, Sherlock. You will learn to have some respect for these people, because that's what they are."

"Were. They were human. Now they're corpses,"

"Shut up, or I will never forgive you." Sherlock opened his mouth but then closed it with a pout. He crossed his arms and glared down at the ground. John felt a small sense of guilt that he had lashed out at the detective, but Sherlock needed to understand. "Let's go home, Sherlock. I'm suddenly feeling very...tired." He was disheartened at Sherlock's silence, so he quickly gave the detective an escape route. "Of course, Mrs. Hudson might not have made my bed so I might sleep elsewhere…"

"Mrs. Hudson made your bed, John. It's ready and waiting for you to crawl into it and roll around...as you so enjoy doing," Sherlock whispered. John took a deep breath, feeling a burn come to his cheeks. Damn it, he was surely blushing! He stood, brushing the dirt off his pants.

"Then come. Let us return so I might see how well my bed has been made." John gave Sherlock a coy look as he passed, his fingers lightly brushing over Sherlock's long ones. Sherlock looked away, but his fingers briefly tangled with John's, giving the doctor a small sense of hope.

John had gone through five cups of tea, anxiously fighting to stir up some had gone upstairs an hour earlier and John had heard the severe lack of a door being locked. He desperately wanted to go upstairs, to push open that door, to take and thrust and caress and kiss. He wanted to hold and cherish and keep for the rest of his life. In his heart, he had dreamed of silvery gray eyes looking at him with love, but his head knew that this would never be. Sherlock planned to leave, to solve this crime and then abandon John and Baskerville without a backwards glance. He took a deep breath, downing the rest of his tea. If Sherlock wanted to leave, then this would perhaps be the only chance John would ever have. Before he even realized that he had stood, he was in front of Sherlock's door, his hand poised to knock. Now that he was here, his hand trembled. "Come in, John. The bed has been made to your liking." John took a deep breath, reaching down to click the latch and push the door open. His eyes slowly moved up and he felt the air leave his body at the sight.

Sherlock lay back in bed, his dressing gown spread out like satin wings. He wore a form-fitting pair of pants and a purple shirt that seemed almost like a second skin on the detective. Sherlock sat up on his elbows, his eyes raking over John's body. "Will you come to bed, John?"

"S-Sherlock...please, don't."

"What are you talking about, John? What do you not want me to do?"

"Don't...toy with me, Sherlock. You must know...surely you must know that I...feel sentiment for you."

"I know, John. That's why for tonight and tonight only, I will indulge you and let you do whatever you want. I admit that I too am also curious about...things like that."

"Things like making love?"

Sherlock nodded. "I have often heard it spoken about, but I have never quite understood why people feel the need to lose control, all for a brief moment of pleasure."

"So what's changed?"

Sherlock sat up, slowly pulling himself closer to John until they were face to face and Sherlock was only a breath away. John felt the detective's breath on his lips and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the silvery whirlpools looking back at him. "I came to Baskerville. Suddenly, I feel this strong...desire."

"Please...don't destroy me completely."

"I make no promises, Dr. Watson. What I can promise is that I will analyze your body as thoroughly as I analyze my world."

John felt his knees go weak and he closed the distance between them, taking his first deep kiss from this man. His fingers tangled in those inky curls and tugged lightly. "M-my first kiss."

"Now then, Dr. Watson, let us begin the experiment."

John had never felt so content than he did in that moment. He and Sherlock had done so much. He knew that he had been analyzed so thoroughly that the detective surely knew everything about him, down to the innermost secrets of his heart. He stretched an arm out, seeking to pull Sherlock closer once more, but froze when he felt only cold sheets. He sat up, looking around in confusion. "Sherlock?" He listened closely, but there was only silence and the faint chirping of the early-morning birds. He stood up with shaky legs and wrapped himself in Sherlock's dressing gown. "Sherlock?"

"John...please help me." John almost tripped on the body at the base of the stairs. He stepped over Sherlock's legs, looking down at him in horror.

"Sherlock, this blood…"

"I don't remember what happened last night." Sherlock grabbed onto John's arm, holding him close. "Please don't let me go."

"Never. You're safe now, my dear one." John wrapped his arms and the edges of the overly large dressing gown around Sherlock's naked, blood-covered body. He nuzzled against Sherlock's hair, ignoring the blood that had crusted into the strands, and gave him a gentle kiss. "You're safe."