AN: Ok, its 4:30 am and i've finally finished this fic. I started writing it at about just before midday yesterday, so I am very pleased with myself for finishing it with a day. Apologies for any spelling mistakes and grammatical errors.
Thank you to yogurt for their lovely little review. It makes me smile.
To TogsTwilightFans, i hope this chapter makes you as happy as your review made me. 3.
I hope you all like this chapter :) Remember that this is the second fic out of a series of three. I have written an outline for the third fic, which will be titled "Victory March". I will publish it as soon as I have finished writing it. Like this one and "It's Like Warfare", it will be written from one person's point of view, this time it will be Sherlock's. Happy reading! Love Rose.

"I've been expecting it."

John flinched at the response, wincing as though it was causing him physical pain.

"You have?"

John was taken aback, feeling shame creeping up on him. Please don't say yes, tell me that I heard you incorrectly, he prayed.

"To be honest John, I thought it would happen a lot sooner."

He closed his eyes so that she couldn't see the guilt that he felt so desperate to hide.

"Sarah, I'm so sorry."

Would she ever forgive him? He still needed her in his life, she was a valuable friend. She was there for him, to lend an ear when he needed one. That was what had drawn him to her in the first place.

"Don't be."

Sarah was smiling, her face lit with warmth. He could see that she truly meant it.

"There's just two things I'd like to say to you John, before I go."

"Yeah?"

Oh, smooth response John, he scolded himself. It had sounded absolutely pathetic.

"The first thing is, please don't let this get awkward between us. You are a wonderful, talented doctor and a great friend. I need you to keep being that for me."

She paused, as though not sure whether she should go on. So John took it upon himself to prompt her.

"And the second?"

To her credit, she showed no signs of being on the verge of tears and her voice was completely calm and steady.

"Thanks."

The comment threw him, he hadn't expected it.

"For what?"

He knew he had that stupid confused look on his face again. Sarah smile widened and her features softened.

"For the memories."

He stood there, spellbound with admiration for how strong she had been, as she turned and walked toward the street. She gave Sherlock a polite nod as she passed him, where he was still seated at the table. Angelo was trying to pretend he was not watching from his position at a nearby picnic bench, but he quickly and energetically returned the wave that Sarah directed at him. What did he do now, John asked himself? Did he go back to the table and go back to chatting with Sherlock? He wasn't sure if he could do that. It would feel too much like he was pretending that he hadn't just broken up with someone. It didn't seem very polite. It was at that point that Sherlock got up and began to walk towards him, as though he could read John's mind. John knew that was impossible and that Sherlock was just reading his body language, but the thought still crossed his mind every time that sort of thing happened.. Angelo would be the one who would clear everything away, John reasoned. Sherlock gave John a probing look and opened his mouth to say something, but John put a hand up to stop him.

"You don't have to ask. It's over. On good terms."

He added the last phrase after Sherlock gave him a dubious look. It didn't seem to erase any of the tall man's doubts.

"She asked me to make sure we remained in touch because I was a good friend. She also didn't fire me. I'd say those are good terms Sherlock."

Sherlock simply shrugged, which John took to mean something along the lines of 'whatever'. It was at that moment that Sherlock caught sight of a cab approaching and threw out an arm to hail it down. That man seemed to have so much luck when it came to finding cabs. Every time he needed one, there would always be one appear. On more than one occasion John had found himself wondering if it had something to do with Mycroft, but dismissed the idea. Surely Mycroft had better things to do with his time, and the time of his employees, than to make sure his little brother always got a cab when he wanted one. John followed Sherlock into the rear of the cab, which was quickly directed to Baker Street. John felt torn between the desire to be as close to Sherlock as possible and the feeling that he should keep his distance out of respect to Sarah. Unwilling to let Sherlock put his arm around him, John settled for simply holding hands as they silently watched London go by.

John had half-expected Mrs. Hudson to be waiting to interrogate them about their night as soon as they arrived back at Baker Street. He knew that she would normally be in bed now, but he wouldn't put it past her to wait up just in case there was a bit of gossip to find out. Thankfully she must have gone to bed for she did not appear when John unlocked the door. Suddenly, John had a memory flash across his mind, of something that Mrs. Hudson had said when John had first come to visit the flat that he now called home. It had been a long time since John had been able to call anywhere home. There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing it that is. Had everyone been able to see this coming but him? The bedroom upstairs would still be needed of course, because John wasn't going to just jump headfirst into a full on relationship with Sherlock. Not this soon anyway. He needed to take things slowly, sort his feelings out and get things straight in his head. Heading into the kitchen, John moved to turn the kettle on, but was stopped by a fast moving Sherlock.

"Probably is best if you don't use that kettle right now."

John did not want to know why not, so he just accepted that was the case. He bid Sherlock a good night and headed up the stairs with the intention of going to bed. He took his shoes off and placed them at the end of the row, neatly lined up at the base of his bed. He was about to remove his sweater, when he recalled that Sherlock was still wearing the sweater that he had 'borrowed' from John. Sighing to himself, John walked back out the door and descended the stairs. If he did not go and retrieve the sweater now, it was more than likely that he would never see it again. It had been nearly six weeks since John had lent Sherlock a skinny yellow and black tie, and John had given up on it ever being returned. He was sure Sherlock must still have it, but John would never be able to find it himself in the organised chaos that was Sherlock's wardrobe. He also knew that he would have little chance of success at getting Sherlock to retrieve it for him. The tie was lost, it was time to give up John, he said to himself. But there was still time to save the sweater. Then, as soon as he had procured his stolen sweater from Sherlock, he would head up to his own room and go to bed. Brilliant plan John, he congratulated himself. Upon reaching the landing, John halted, somewhat puzzled. All the lights were out in the living room. There was no television, no laptop, no violin. Surely Sherlock would not have gone to bed so early. Yet the only light that John could see apart from that lighting the stairwell, was the light the was peeking out from underneath Sherlock's closed bedroom door. John hesitated momentarily, before knocking on the wooden door.

"Just come in John."

There was none of the usual irritation in Sherlock's voice, which was slightly bewildering. But that was not John's concern right now. Right now, John's concern was that he ensured the safe and immediate return of his sweater.

"You can have it back if you do something for me."

Typical Sherlock, John thought with a hint of annoyance. Knowing exactly why he was here and having the audacity to ask for a favour at the same time. What on earth was Sherlock going to ask him to do at nearly midnight? It had better not be something difficult, or dangerous, because John was going to refuse to do anything that was. After all, it was his sweater that he was asking for. A sweater that Sherlock had taken without asking. Although his given reasons of stalling for time were rather adorable. Had John really just used the word adorable to describe something associated with Sherlock?

"What do you want me to do Sherlock?"

John tried very hard to keep any malicious note out of his voice and was glad to hear that he had been successful. He carefully observed Sherlock's expression so that he could detect anything suspicious. Okay Sherlock, let's find out what it is that you want me to do for you, John thought. What hoops am I jumping through tonight?

"Will you lie down with me for a little while? No need to talk, just lie there."

The request came completely out of left field. John had run dozens of scenarios through his head of what Sherlock might request and not one of them was anything close to this. The only emotion that he registered was shock.

"You want me to lie down next to you? That's what you want me to do for you?"

He could tell that the look on his face was one of incredulity. Sherlock's expression told him that he was completely serious and wasn't quite sure why John was doubting that.

"Yes. I thought it might be pleasant. Just for a few minutes."

Damn him to hell, he was wearing that hurt expression that he must know got John every time. Cursing the other man internally, John found himself lying down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling wondering why he was doing this. He almost wished that there was a mirror on the ceiling, so that he could see what they looked like, dressed in similar sweaters whilst lying on a bed. John had to admit, that is was actually quite pleasant. They had lapsed into comfortable silence and John found himself feeling pleasantly drowzy. You can close you're eyes for a minute or two John, then it will be time to get up and go to your own room, he instructed himself. With the sweater, he added as an afterthought. The bed was warm and cozy. It smelled familiar. It was a smell that John knew that he liked but he couldn't figure out where he knew it from. This was nice, just lying here next to Sherlock. John's mind began to drift off, into that state halfway between asleep and awake. Why was he lying here again? Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere else or doing something? John's final thoughts before drifting off to sleep was that there was nowhere that he would rather be.

When John awoke, he found himself in a state of mild confusion. He tried to absorb his surroundings as he tried to figure out where he was. It only took a few moments before he remember that he had ended up falling asleep on Sherlock's bed last night. Then he noticed that he was still fully clothed in the sweater and jeans that he had worn out to the park. A twinge of guilt stabbed through him, as he remembered how things had ended between himself and Sarah. He would have to call her later in the afternoon. She deserved a proper explanation after all that he had put her through in the past few months. Offer her the cliché of it not being about anything that she had or hadn't done, but being because of his own behaviour. John frowned. He was sure he had fallen asleep with the quilt underneath him, yet he was now unmistakably beneath it. Sherlock must have covered him with it some time after he had fallen asleep. John wondered if Sherlock had slept at all, or if he had just laid there all night next to him whilst he slept.

He could hear the television quietly playing in the living room. Judging by the program, John determined the time was somewhere between 8 and 9 in the morning. He dragged himself out of the bed and ensured that it was made up neatly on both sides before exiting out onto the landing. It was there that he came face to face with Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, good morning dear. Everything went well last night then I see."

There was that knowing smile again. It was clear that she thought that something far less innocent than falling asleep in the same bed had occurred. He wanted to point out that he was still wearing the previous nights clothes, until he realised that wouldn't necessarily support his argument. After all, if he and Sherlock had gotten up to something, it would be highly unlikely that John would be wearing pajamas. It would then follow that other than borrowing Sherlock's clothing, the only option available to John other than nudity would be to put on the same outfit until he had time to change. John knew which scenario he would be more likely to believe if he was in Mrs. Hudson's place. John contemplated how long it would take this set of rumours to filter through to the Metro. Worst case scenario was a matter of hours. By the end of the day, John was sure that everyone at the station would think that he and Sherlock had slept together. Great, the day could not get off to a better start.

"Yeah, for the most part. The play was cancelled, but Sherlock had organised a dinner. The evening was rather enjoyable on the whole."

He chose not to mention Sarah in his reply. Mrs. Hudson, the station, and the neighbours, did not need to know about him and Sarah.

"That's lovely dear. I was just coming up to give you the new kettle that Sherlock asked me to buy. I don't know what is wrong with the one you have, but he was quite insistent that I get a new one."

John hadn't even noticed the shiny metal object clutched in her hands.

'I'll take it into the kitchen. Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

He took the kettle out of the excited landlady's grip as she smiled appreciatively.

"It's no trouble love. Just remember though, I'm not your housekeeper."

With that, she turned and disappeared down the stairs. John made sure that he had a firm grip on the kettle before he opened the door to the kitchen.

"Just in time. I've made breakfast!"

John nearly dropped the kettle in astonishment when he saw the two plates of orange marmalade on toast in his friends hands.

"You made breakfast? You actually cooked?"

Sherlock nodded, his facial expression that of someone who was very pleased with themselves.

"Nothing fancy, but it is food. Edible food."

John smiled as he placed the kettle safely on the stove, before taking the plate that Sherlock was offering him. There was no room to eat on any of the tables, so they sat on the sofa instead. They ate in silence except for the crunching sound of the toast. When they had finished John had moved to clear the plates but Sherlock insisted that he just leave them perched on the side table for now. Settling himself back down onto the sofa, John had found himself naturally snuggling into Sherlock's chest. It was a familiar position except that this time John really thought about how pleasant he found it. He felt so secure and comfortable, with Sherlock's arm resting on his shoulder, listening to the steady heartbeat of the genius. On a compulsion, he looked up at Sherlock and found himself suddenly on the receiving end of an unexpected kiss. John returned the kiss with far more passion and desire than he had ever felt with Sarah. How could he have let himself miss out on this for so long? Sherlock stood up, bringing John with him. The tall man started to lead him towards the bedroom and at first he followed but then John hesitated, unsure if he really wanted to do this. He searched his mind, trying to find a reason why he shouldn't, but he couldn't come up with anything substantial. Fear of what others might react was the only thing that had a chance of stopping him. Stuff it, he finally said to himself. Everyone else is already going to think we've done it, might as well make it true. John allowed himself to be pulled into the bedroom before breaking free of Sherlock's grip. John would be in control of this situation. He smiled as he stared into those grey eyes, as he thought to himself that it was time for a new beginning.