Ohhh, another day another Chapter. I really like this one.

Idk which is more awesome. Possessive!Sherlock or Vulnerable!Sherlock

Enjoy this baby.

-ACR

(I dont own Sherlock)

"You have been wearing the same clothes for like, two days," John stared at Sherlock, who was laying on the bed, "Or more. I don't actually know."

"Two days," Sherlock sighed, pulling out his phone. He quickly sent a text to Mycroft.

Will be staying here for a while. Need new clothes. Please send them. –SH

John sat in the bed and looked at Sherlock, "I have a question."

"I have an answer," Sherlock sent the text and quickly opened up another one, this time to Lestrade.

How do we handle this? How do things get sorted so that I can come out of hiding? –SH

"At the pool with Moriarty that one time, you must have known he was going to be a big threat to us in the future."

"Yes," Sherlock hit send and looked up at John.

"So why didn't you kill him? You had your gun pointed at the explosives that would have saved the world, saved this… issue."

"Simple, John," his phone received a text, "I could have set off the explosives and killed Moriarty but that also would have killed me, and you, in the process."

"So? You pretended to die anyway."

"Yes, but I am alive. And so are you."

"True."

I'll send clothes. Should I just send all of your belongings, too? I guess I'm asking, is this a permanent move? –M

"So now we are here, alive, and Moriarty is dead. It was a game of chess, slow moving, but I won."

"A game? Really?" John frowned, "It didn't feel much like a game to me. It was life or death, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up at him, "Yes, it was. But who's life? Not Moriartys, not even mine. It was a game, John, for your life. I won it and now we're reaping the benefits, alive for another day."

John knew he was right. Sherlock fought for him all along. Risked the smearing of his name, didn't care when Lestrade arrested him. Only when he thought John didn't trust him, he began to panic. He had died for John to live, and John almost killed himself an hour ago. His head was spinning.

I will be staying. Permanently. Circumstances have changed. –SH

"And what about us now?" John asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the question.

"Us?"

"Sherlock." John pleaded with his eyes.

"I don't do boyfriend," Sherlock tapped mindlessly at his phone,"I told you that."

"I'm not saying boyfriend. Or any sort of title if you don't want it, but we need… rules. I suppose."

What sort of circumstances? –M

"Rules," Sherlock hummed deeply, "Rules… What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know." And he really didn't.

Circumstances that are my business and Johns. Send clothes by morning, thank you. –SH

He threw his phone aside and sat up, leaning towards John. He wrapped his hand around his friends blonde head, catching his fingers in his hair, and kissed him. It was soft, but it said everything without words. John blushed deeply and Sherlock pulled away.

"How about this. We do what we want with each other, and it's no one's fucking business."

Hearing Sherlock swear was almost arousing. John smiled, "Okay, but…"

"But?"

"But, I mean… I don't want us to see any other people."

"I don't see any other people anyway,"

"Yes," John frowned. He couldn't really explain it. He wanted Sherlock to remain loyal, but that went without saying, he would do it anyway. As for John, he knew he'd never have to date another girl again if Sherlock was here.

Sherlock understood, without any words. John wanted him to say it, though. He leaned forward again, sitting up onto his knees and pushed John down into the bed. He straddled him and leaned down, dashing his tongue in and out from between Johns lips, moving accordingly. His companion whimpered from underneath him, and he smiled slyly. He took Johns wrists and pinned them down rather forcefully, and continued to kiss him. After a few moments of heavy panting, he pulled away and met Johns eyes.

"You're mine, and you aren't allowed to see anyone else."

"Okay," John didn't need to think about it. The possession in Sherlocks words took over, and he fought his wrists to get a better stance. Sherlock looked startled by the sudden aggression and fell over when John pushed him. Then John was over him, pinning him into the bed, kissing him and pulling on his bottom lip. John moved his knee between Sherlocks legs and rubbed upwards softly. Sherlock let out a tiny gasp.

"J-John, stop," John ignored him, leaning forward to unbutton his white shirt. Flawless skin was under it, a chest that drove John insane. He put his mouth to Sherlocks long throat and slid is tongue across the skin, before biting a little too hard.

Sherlock moaned and his hands flew to blonde hair. John smiled and rubbed his knee between Sherlocks legs once more. Sherlock himself was quickly losing the ability to think clearly, which made fear begin to take over. He dug his long fingers into Johns shoulders and pushed with most of the strength he could muster.

John flew up a tumbled back onto his knees. He looked surprise, perching himself between Sherlocks legs.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock looked away and breathed deeply, trying to regain control. He put his hands to his face, mostly out of embarrassment, and sighed for a few seconds. John remained quiet.

"We can't do this right now."

"Why not?" John grimaced, "You don't want to…" Sherlock met his eyes and John saw the traces of fear there, real fear. Oh.

"Just…"

"You're a virgin," John smiled, shaking his head, "I forgot. I'm sorry."

Sherlock looked so adorable John had to try hard not to laugh. He was a mixture of flustered and horny with scared and embarrassed. John wanted to just stay here, in his best friends weakness, forever.

"I'm so sorry," Sherlock was shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut. He looked so adorably frustrated.

"Don't be sorry," John moved and fell into bed next to him, "There's nothing wrong with it. I won't push."

Sherlock turned his head to look at him, trying desperately to regain composure, "Thank you for being patient with me."

"I thought you were dead for a year. I'm just happy to lay here with you."

Sherlock sighed and moved so his temple was pressed into Johns shoulder, "Okay."

"I-" John closed his eyes, "Nevermind."

"What?" Sherlock frowned, "Aren't we past not saying things?"

"It's hard," John looked out the window at the black sky, "I had so many things I wish I had said before you died. So many things I wished I could have done. And now you're here, I can't remember any of them. Just one, something I couldn't tell you. Something I couldn't tell anyone because I thought if I did, I'd never recover."

"What is it?" Sherlocks voice was like a whisper.

Johns hands shot to his face, rubbing his eyes and sighing, "I'm so in love with you. I'll never be able to love anyone more."

Sherlock smiled. In a way, this wasn't really new. Maybe he'd always known how John felt, in the back of his mind when he was trying to ignore it. But it felt different to hear him say it now, because he knew how he felt too. That's where the real fear was; his own feelings in place of where he had never felt anything before.

"I spent this past year by myself. Mycroft has this huge house in the country, where I could be all alone. He had all these violins sent to me, expensive ones, he even had a piano that I learned to play. And I played so much music, but I always wished I had my old violin back, every time. Its strings were familiar to me. He also had a library, so many books. I learned about everything, kept it filed in my head, all the things I didn't think were important before and now I have them memorized. I read philosophical journals, books about wars and history, even about… Bloody space," he laughed nervously, "Mycroft sent me evidence for federal cases, in America and here and wherever else. He only visited sometimes, just him, no one else. Our whole family thinks I am dead, after all. It was twelve months of being alone. Me and my work, me and pure knowledge."

"Sounds like Sherlock heaven." John tried to laugh, but it died in his throat.

"It should have been. At first, it was. I wouldn't sleep for days until I got things right, solved cases that were decades old. I only ate when I wanted to and no one was there to tell me I was being unhealthy, no stupid people there to irritate me." Sherlock let out a shaky sigh, "But I started to realize how alone I was, and how I didn't like it after all. Most importantly, I never stopped thinking about you. Mycroft sent me texts about some things. The first time you visited my grave, the first time you solved a case, when you started moving out my things. And I began to feel sad. Actually sad. He covered up how bad things really were, I now realize. Everyone is, to protect you, or make me not feel so bad. Mrs. Hudson lied to me, told me it took you two months to visit my grave, but I actually know it took you four."

John didn't say anything.

"I wondered why it took you so long, but I started to think you just didn't care to come. Mycroft told me you started dating some girl, and now I know he made her up. But I think he told me that to make me think you were moving on, when you weren't. In my head I was so scared that you had moved on, that you were over me and that I'd really never see you again. And if I did, you'd have forgotten me. The thoughts made me insane, I didn't want you to move on. About six months in, I took my one and only trip into a nearby town, and bought as many drugs as I could get hold of, and just spent the next few weeks smoking and injecting myself and snorting, for any side effect that could make me not feel any more pain."

John felt sick.

"Nothing really worked, as nothing ever had. I gave up on the drugs and slept for three straight days. After I did, I felt better. I ate real food and enjoyed it, I felt better. I spent another few weeks watching crap television, just until I felt emotionally secure again. Then I began burying myself in work again, cases. Solved so many of them. I stopped asking Mycroft how you were; I really didn't want to know. And then about a week ago, he told me you were engaged to that nonexistent girl. I didn't know if I believed him, it all seemed so out of character for you. I decided to come and see for myself and… Here we are."

"So, what are you trying to say?"

"Just as you spent so much time wishing you had said things, so did I. I used to think heaven would be being alone, and now I know that hell is any life without you."

John closed his eyes and found Sherlocks hand. He wrapped his fingers around the cold ones. Sherlock felt their warmth and thought they were the most comforting reassurance he had ever felt.

"It's funny, really," Sherlock said, "I wanted you to move on, I really did. I wanted you to be alive and fine, but part of me never wanted you to be happy without me. And now I come back and I see, the scars and the smoking and the nightmares, I know I caused them. Sometimes I think it would have been better for you if we never met."

Never met? John couldn't actually remember what living before he met Sherlock was like. He knew it was boring.

"You're amazing," John sighed, "You've always been the most brilliant man I've ever known. I'm glad you are telling me this, but what is done is done. We both made mistakes, we've both been half living. Now we are here, together, and we can either mope about what happened or we can leap for it. "

"I'm in love with you," Sherlock forced his eyes closed, he didn't like admitting that. "I want to stay here forever."

John gulped, "Me too."

They sat within sheltered silence for a few minutes. Sherlock wondered why he felt so hollow now, laying out his emotions like that was supposed to be good. He wondered if things were going to change now. He wasn't really fond of change, not with John. That's why he always avoided remembering the names of Johns girlfriends, they all morphed into one person he generally hated, or was jealous of. He couldn't remember. He wanted to run around, solving cases again and making everyone mad. He wanted to move all his things back in and live with John until they died. He just didn't know anymore.

John was thinking, this was the start of something, but what it was, he didn't know. Sherlock had maybe been as vulnerable as he was, maybe worse, all along. He didn't feel so alone anymore, he needed to throw out this razor forever.

He moved away from Sherlock and stood up, "I'm gonna get ready for bed, alright?"

"Yes," Sherlock sat back and watched him gather clothes before vanishing into the bathroom. He reached for his phone and found two texts waiting for him.

I hope being with him is worth it. The moving truck will be there in the morning. –M

The second was from Lestrade:

Let's keep a low profile for a while. You can help John solve cases, stay in town. I'll be keeping my eyes and ears open, in a month if things seem fine, we can begin to tell people.

Sherlock didn't know if that would be enough. Suddenly, an idea sparked into his head. He searched down his list for a contact he hadn't used in a very long time, but still kept in his phone. He composed a text and sent it.

I need your help. Meet me in front of Bakers Street at midnight, if you're still around. –SH

John came out of the bathroom in sweats and a T-shirt, teeth freshly brushed. He turned off the light and pulled himself under the sheets of the bed. Sherlock watched him carefully, keeping controlled emotions. John stared at the ceiling for a few minutes; trying to ignore the blue eyes he knew were watching him. Finally, he gave in a turned his head.

"What's wrong?" Sherlocks voice was deep, serious.

"Nothing," He turned on his side and offered up a smile, "Really."

Sherlock looked doubtful, but pushed the thoughts away. They watched each other from opposite sides of the bed, both suppressing urges to move.

Finally Sherlock gave in, "Would you come over here?"

John laughed lightly and rolled his eyes, scooting closer. His taller friend did the same. With only a few inches between them, John laid his arm out to hold his head. Sherlock stopped and watched him carefully. After a second, he knelt up on his elbow and held Johns arm. His eyes narrowed and he searched across all of the scars, this time John let him. After a few seconds, Sherlock leaned forward and did something John wouldn't soon forget.

He pressed his lips against the scars, in a deep, lasting kiss on them. John raised his eyebrows, it was one of the greatest human gestures he had ever seen Sherlock complete. After Sherlock raised his head, he leaned closer and pressed them to Johns cheek. John let out a shallow breath and watched Sherlock fall back onto the pillow.

They looked at each other for a few minutes.

"You're so weird," John finally laughed, "You really are a five year old."

"I don't appreciate that reference," Sherlock scowled, "I am not a child."

"Yes, you are." John searched his face in the darkness, "You're scared of sex."

"I'm not-"

"Yes, you are."

"I'm going to smother you in your sleep," Sherlock threatened. John laughed and turned on his back.

"I'm going to sleep, goodnight."

Sherlock found Johns warm hand under the covers and held it with both hands. After ten minutes, John was fast asleep. Sherlock, was wide awake. He rotated between watched Johns rising chest to watching the clock at the side of the bed. And hour passed, two hours. And when it almost was at Midnight, Sherlock let go of Johns hand and silently drifted out of bed.

He found his jacket in the darkly lit kitchen and then his shoes. He was out the door and down the stairs before midnight even struck, and as he walked into the fresh night air, he smelled rain and his heart was beating fast. Before him was a long, sleek black car. He glanced up and down the street before getting in.

Irene Adler was dressed in one of the tightest red dresses Sherlock had ever seen, balancing a drink of Whiskey in her hand. She gave him a sickly sweet smirk as he shut the door.

"Sherlock Holmes, alive after all. Would you like something to drink?"

"Not at the moment, thank you," He folded his hands in front of him, "I have some business I'd like to discuss. It won't take long."

She nodded, "I hope this wasn't an excuse to get together, I can't be your late night sex routine, Sherlock."

He rolled his eyes, "No."

"Is it about your sudden appearance into the world of the living?"

"Yes."

"I see. Let me guess; you're back for good and you want people to know, but you don't want it to become a big thing."

"Yes. And I want to insure the safety of my friends."

"You won't have to worry about that," She laughed bitterly, "It's been a long time hunting, but I have long since made sure the people working under Moriarty have been… taken care of."

"What?"

"With the help of your brother, of course." She crossed her legs and sipped her drink

"He knows you're alive," Sherlock raised a brow at her, "Why would you do that?"

"You saved my life, the least I could do was value yours. Call it… Revenge, perhaps. Killing what was left of Moriarty's legacy after he destroyed yours."

He watched her. "Thank you."

"You're so welcome, sweety," She inched closer to him, "But, it was the least of what I could do."

He narrowed his eyes, "There's… something else."

"Yes."

"Something that could help clear my name, you have it."

She laughed and leaned back, "It was a domino effect really, beginning in the underground of graffiti covered streets. A single word representing a phrase. People passed it, saw it, it spread like a disease. From the streets to the forums of the internet, even snaking its way into the hearts of our beloved citizens. A rebellion, a religion. It lives in their hearts. One utterance of the word, and armies form underneath it."

"A word?" He watched her, feeling mildly impressed.

"Believe," She looked out the window, "Put your trust, your heart, into Sherlock Holmes. It has separated the world into two groups; those who believe Moriarty was real, and those who don't. But it puts doubt into people's heads. If enough people start to believe, others begin to question if what they know is right."

"Interesting. Once again, Miss Adler, you fail to disappoint me, and continue to amaze."

"What do you need, Sherlock? A way to be alive again? Because I can provide it, just tell me what you need."

He sighed, "A statement, a sign. Something new, like that word, but different. Strike the hearts of your believers, make the world know that I live."

"I will. By morning, the undergrounds will know you are alive. Within the next few days, it will spread like wildfire. A phrase, maybe, something simple," She tapped her head, "But when it begins to stretch, it will touch on everything. Old fans, old enemies. The police force, on rumors, will look for you. It may not be as… dramatic of a return as you want if you are caught and arrested."

"How can I not be arrested?"

"You might have to discuss with your friend, Lestrade was it? There isn't any proof that anything you did was a lie, a fraud. Moriarty is a ghost, but so was Rich Brook. No one could prove either of them existed; all they had was a body."

Sherlock held his hands to his mouth, "Believe."

"They do believe, Sherlock," She got closer, "They do. No one can convict you of anything but a fake death."

"What if people look for me? They'll look here first, they have to."

"Then leave. Get a hotel or something," She put his hand on his thigh.

He watched he out of the corner of his eyes, "And you'll have it done by morning?"

"Yes," She breathed.

"Then it is settled, I'll be gone by then," He opened the door and got out of the car, ignoring her passes at him. She gave him one more smile, and he offered up his last words, "Thank you."

"Always," She shut the door. The car drove off into the night, and Sherlock returned upstairs.