The few of you who still care about me, have probably forgotten all about this and I wouldn't blame you. I'm a horrible author I know.

There's nothing I can say to excuse my delay apart from my own unorganisation, but its the Summer Holidays now so hopefully I should be able to get a few more of these out.

Still don't own Sherlock.

Reviews would be lovely.

#51: Dancing
Sherlock doesn't move when John squeaks, but asks in a disinterested tone, "What?"
"I love this song."
Sherlock raises his head, when John doesn't continue.
"Sherlock? Dance with me?"
The detective's eyebrows shoot into his mop of curly hair, "Have you met me John?"
John smiles, and holds out a hand, "Yes, and that's why I want to dance with you."

#52: Rage
"Fuck you John! You spend far too much time worrying about what other people think, and more specifically what people think of us. No one cares what we do. Whether we solve cases together or not. Whether we live together or not. Whether we sleep together or not. No one really cares! So if you are so worried about what people think of us," his anger had devolved from the shrieking physical anger of before, and was now a spitting emotional anger that was so very rare to see in the emotionless man, "Then feel free to leave."

#53: Touching
"Fuck, John."
John raised an eyebrow, "Obviously." he carefully ran his fingers through Sherlock's curly hair, clenching his fingers to get control of the other man, "Less talking. More kissing."
The detective's lips against his skin with a sense of urgency, and Sherlock's fingers were cold as they slid up John's torso, shivers gracing his spine. Between the kisses, Sherlock's voice was a breathy whisper, very different to his usual commanding tone, "Gladly."

#54: Pride
"Well obviously he wasn't alone. There are two glasses missing from the cupboard assuming that it follows a pattern, and both sides of the bed... are unmade. So, he probably had someone round before he died. You should dust for finger prints."
Lestrade glanced at Sherlock, who gave the slightest nod, and the police officer strode toward the CSI.
Sherlock began to walk out the door, steady footsteps directly behind him. "Nice work John."
And that was probably the proudest Sherlock had ever been.

#55: Demands
"Sherlock come and look at this. I need your opinion on something."
The telephone crackled as John sighed, "I'm at the supermarket Sherlock."

#56: Surprises
"And Sarah said I could visit he-"
Sherlock's mouth crushed against John's cutting off his speech and breath, his tongue running over the other's lips. He pulled away slowly, an uncharacteristic blush creeping over his cheeks and John stared at him.
"Never mind."

#57: Panic
"No John no!" Sherlock's voice has risen to a hollow shriek, his yell horrific as the doctor's body crumples to the ground.
And Sherlock moves faster than he ever has, to the other side of the room, to be beside John who's breaths have shortened to gasps. The bullet wound in the chest, having pierced his lung preventing him breathing and the blood pooling around him a horrible shade of red that will haunt Sherlocks memory forever.
Suddenly John's fingers are scrabbling across his body, looking for Sherlock's hand, taking hold of it in a desperate grasp. Sherlock tries to think of something to say, but his mind is blank and all his mouth can form are sobs which choke out in horrible stutters. But between gasps, John, dying on the floor can say, "I love you," before his hand goes limp and the light in his eyes darkens.

#58: Ring
The light glinted gently off the gold band in Sherlock's fingers as he peered closely at it, scrutinising it with all his skill to ensure that he was definitely happy with it.
When John wandered into the living room from his bedroom, Sherlock flipped the box closed a shoved it very obviously into his pocket. John looked at him, quirking an eyebrow, but so used to his eccentricity that he said nothing. Sherlock took a breath, then stood, "Come along John. Let's go out."
"A case?"
Sherlock smiled, "No, a surprise."

#59: Childhood
Neither John nor Sherlock particularly enjoy talking about their childhood.
John blocks out a lot of his childhood. His father was away more often than he was home, and Harry and himself could be quite a handful, especially when trying to support them by working two jobs. They would often get home from school to find their mother in a drunken stupor. She'd take out her anger on John. Small quiet innocent John who would do anything to protect his sister from their mother's hand. He would often go to his school with bruises up his arms but they were just from rough and tumble with Harry, or so he told all his teachers.
Sherlock had been pampered. But of course, whilst Mycroft had a large number of friends and brilliant achievements, Sherlock spoke to no one and was bored by the tedious lessons he suffered through. He needed adventure. A tension in his body coiled up until the only way of releasing it was to feel some pain. Pushing his body to the furthest lengths it could go. Starving himself or making himself bleed. Just to feel something.

#60: First
It was the first time a case had gone very badly. For once, Sherlock's intellect hadn't been able to save the people before the terrible occurred and neither Lestrade's sigh of "It's alright. We'll get him next time," nor Mrs Hudson's kind words of "Never mind dear. I'll put the kettle on," were enough to pull him out of his stupor.

It was also the first time John touched Sherlock in a way more than a friend. With a nagging persistence that there was something. Something, although small, very powerful and very important. It was the first time, but most certainly not the last.

Oh and if there are any from this chapter, or previous ones which you wanted to see extended do let me know, and I'll get round to them now i have lots of free time.

Thanks.