Sherlock paused in the open door way of 221 Baker Street, breathing in all of the familiar scents—Mrs. Hudson's baking, muted traces of chemicals, gun powder— "John. You'd been going to the shooting range."

John shrugged behind him. "I got bored. Are you actually going to go up or just stand there all day. I'm tired and my leg hurts—yes psychosomatic. Screw you."

Sherlock turned a raised eyebrow on him and smiled smugly. "We can have that discussion later." To his delight, John gaped and flushed tomato-bright and was left at the bottom of the stairs while Sherlock climbed above.

"She—Sherlock!"

He waited until John had thumped up the stairs, hurrying, using less cane already, and closed the door to turn and pull of his scarf and coat slowly and deliberately. "I asked you at one time, John, if you liked what you see. Following, we shared a bed, worried about one another, fought, and made up. These are all things one typically sees in the early stages of a relationship. Flirting, you might say. Not to mention, there has been a sort of tension between us. And if I notice it, then it must be fairly obvious to everyone else, considering how I am with emotions. Therefore, I should like to make the proposal that we ha—"

"GOD! Shut up! Shut UP!" John screeched, having finally found his voice. He turned a brighter red, one that Sherlock had not thought possible.

He tilted his head. "Or am I wrong? Have I read everything all wrong. I thought you..." He shrugged then and hung his coat. "Tea then?"

"I...!" John blurted out, catching his attention once more.

Sherlock looked him over. "You're put off. I was too forthcoming."

"I just... Jesus..." John dragged a hand over his face and groaned. "I don't know if I'm ready for this..."

Smiling slowly, Sherlock nodded. "Very well. I can be patient."

"Like hell you can..." John muttered. He hung his coat and kicked his shoes off by the door. "So what happened to Stephen?"

"Subject change... Ezard is safely hidden away somewhere. Mycroft stashed him and Yasim somewhere they shall be safe. Perhaps even return to England some day, though I doubt it. T.I.A. is done for and it shall never resurface. Mycroft's taken care of it."

"Isn't that a scary thought."

Sherlock settled onto the sofa. "Indeed."

"So everything's back to normal."

"It would appear."

"Well. Good. That's. Good." John settled himself down in his usual chair.

Sherlock waited.

"Damnit, Sherlock. Why did you have to make things different."

"You were content with things the way they were? When did 'things' change then?"

"They..." John broke off, flushing. "They... didn't per se..."

"So how long have you been attracted to me?"

"Jesus! Do we have to talk about this now?"

"When else would you like to talk about it? Before or after you get a chance to get involved in another ill-advised relationship with a woman you are only using to distract you? Before or after you get the chance to run away from me and avoid the topic entirely?" he said archly. "How long, John?" He waited, eyes tracing the lines of John's profile.

"Since before... But then... I realised... When you... When you died, I really realised it. I suppose."

"Explains the return of the limp. And the presence of it still," he said quietly. Steepling his fingers, he crossed his legs. "Your realising that you have feelings for me has set things off from our 'normal.'"

"Why do you have to analyse it, for pity's sake..."

"John. All you need to do is answer the question and then we can move on. This...dithering around is helping neither of us."

"Do you want this?" John asked incredulously.

He threw him a look. "Do you think if I did not, then I wouldn't be pursuing it?"

"You'd want to... with me?"

"If you mean have sex, then I think, yes. I would like to give it a try."

"Sherlock... If I say 'yes,' then there's no 'giving it a try.' This would be..."

"Like any other relationship where if it doesn't work, then we shall obviously go back to the way things were," Sherlock snapped.

"If we can."

"That would depend on you."

John's face darkened. "Considering that you've just found out about thi—"

"Not just, John. Looking back, all of the information now makes sense."

"Yeah, but I'm not information, Sherlock! Nor are my feelings!"

"Of course not." Sherlock shrugged, watching John's fingers grip the arms of the chair tight. "But that's the way I process things."

John sighed gustily. "I don't know if... This probab—"

"You're willing to live together uncomfortably?"

"It'd be more uncomfortable after a failed attempt at sex or—or—fuck." John pressed fingers to his temples, face screwed up.

"Yes. Let's." Sherlock stood and walked over to place himself in front of John. He leaned over and put his hands on John's shoulders, then sliding them down his arms to cover his hands as he knelt. "I want it."

John shuddered. Allowed Sherlock to pull him to his feet, cane forgotten as he was pulled towards Sherlock's bedroom. John planted his feet and shook his head. "No. Mine."

Nodding his consent, Sherlock changed directions and drew him up the stairs and then pushed him down on his own bed.

"Jesus... I can't... I can't believe..." He stared up at Sherlock unbuttoning his shirt with large eyes.

"What do you want."

"You," John blurted, hands suddenly scrabbling over his jumper to pull it off.

"How."

He flushed, dropping the jumper over the side of the bed. "Let me take you?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

Sherlock smiled at him. "John. You're the one that's uncomfortable with this."

Looking up with a little bit of an awed expression, John's face bloomed with understanding. "You'd let me do whatever I want."

He shrugged. "As long as it's not going to hurt either one of us. Yes."

John growled and reached forward, pulling Sherlock down by the loose fronts of his shirt, flipping them so that Sherlock was pressed into the duvet.

"Do it," Sherlock demanded, breathless.

John pushed Sherlock's shirt off and finally dipped his head to kiss his lips.

After they'd both reclaimed the ability to breathe, Sherlock rolled onto his side to face John. "That went well."

John laughed.

"Again?"

"Give a man some time to recover."

"Implying there will be a repeat performance."

John turned his head and smiled at him. "Yes. Yes, I should think so."

Sherlock sighed and smiled widely. "Excellent. This was enjoyable. I would enjoy it many more times, in many more ways."

Huffing softly in the darkness of his room, he rolled and nestled himself against Sherlock's side. "I should have known you'd be insatiable..."

Laughter rumbling quietly in his chest, he splayed his hands against John's back, counting the knobs as they went up and down. "You satiate, John."

"I think that's the kindest thing you've ever said to me," John murmured, eyes already shut as he drifted to sleep.

Sherlock hummed, a smile playing about his lips. Fully forgiven and post-coital was perfect. He counted the lines on John's ceiling until he too drifted off into slumber.