Are you at the flat? -SH

John had just finished ushering a group of young kids into a cab when he'd gotten the message. One of them had, thoughtlessly, decided to try and jump a flight of stairs from his skateboard and had broken his ankle. He gave the cabbie some money and instructed him to take them to the nearest hospital. What the kids didn't know was that he asked him to take the long way. They'll think long and hard the next time they want to pull a dangerous stunt like that. Especially with the amount of pain the youth was in. He tick-tacked his reply as he headed back inside to see his next client.

No, I'm at work. Several emergencies. -JW

I need to speak with you once you get back. -SH

John's heart fluttered. He really didn't meant to get belligerent last night. John new he could be a raucous drunk but he never meant for it to get out of hand. That was when he remembered their conversation from the night before. He blushed tomato red.

What about? -JW Maybe if he played ignorant, it would soften the blow.

Us. -SH

John stopped and sat down at his desk, heart thumping loudly in his chest, and buzzed for his next client.

Oh? -JW

Another severe head cold later, he looked at his phone to see two messages.

Yes. -SH

I made us dinner. -SH

John's eyes widened in disbelief. He was speechless.

You made dinner...Should I be concerned? Is Baker Street still standing? -JW

Don't be silly, John. -SH

John was still skeptical. He eyed his phone warily before replying.

I have one more client to see and then I'll be home. -JW

Back at Baker Street, Sherlock ran around the flat, busier than a bee. He flitted around the kitchen, checking on the food, arranging the table, and made sure that everything was spotless and in order. When his phone indicated a new message, he flew into the living room and jumped onto the couch, landing on his stomach to reach his mobile at the edge of the table. His fingers flew over the keys to type out his response before pressing send and going back to his preparations.

Everything had to be perfect. He wanted to show John that he cared about him in whatever way he could think possible. Sherlock Holmes wasn't a man of many words so he hoped his actions would be clear enough for even John to recognize. If tonight would go the way he thought it would, he would have nothing but perfection to come from his efforts. Yes, tonight would be the night that he and John finally stopped all of the foolishness of dancing around each other proverbially.

An hour later, he heard John climbing the stairs and double checked everything, including himself in the mirror. When he turned to look at John, hair tousled and eyes wild, he stopped. The doctor was clutching a napkin to his nose, small droplets of blood littering the white paper.

"Lo, Sherlock." He looked into the kitchen and inspected his hankie before tossing it in the bin. "Looks and smells great. Thank you."

"Was there an altercation at work?"

John shook his head. "No, I haven't been drinking enough water and it was extremely warm and dry at the clinic."

Sherlock nodded and watched as John took in the table setting in the kitchen. The table where Sherlock normally kept him experiments was covered with a light blue linen with plates and glasses sitting in their respective places.

"What's all this, then?"

Blue eyes narrowed. "I told you earlier, I prepared dinner."

"Well...yes but I didn't expect...this. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, I do. Just...what's the occasion?"

Sherlock paused and cleared his throat. "Erm. It's just to show my gratitude."

"Gratitude?" John inquired. "For what?"

"Putting up with me, my experiments, belittling and undermining your intelligence." Sherlock fought the instinct to wring his hands.

John's lips twitched while he tried to restrain the smile that threatened his face. It was cute that Sherlock felt awkward in expressing himself. "Yes, it gets annoying and you're a bit of a prat, but I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be than here with you at Baker Street."

Sherlock nodded, still hovering with insecurity but John came to his rescue. "So...dinner?"

The taller man seemed to jolt out of his stupor and hurried into the kitchen. "Ah, yes, of course."

When both John and Sherlock's plates were filled, John poked the chicken and rice that seemed to look ordinary enough. "Is it poisoned?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in irritation. "Don't be a twat, John. Why would I poison you?"

"Experiment?"

"Ridiculous. If I wanted to experiment the effects of an anomaly on the average mind and body, I would have chosen a better chemical or chemical combination."

John sighed and lifted his fork before closing his mouth around it and chewed as he retracted. He sat in thought, looking at Sherlock who seemed to be waiting with bated breath for his opinion. When he swallowed, he smiled. "Tastes fantastic, Sherlock! Really good."

Sherlock released a breath in relief. Not that he really needed John's approval but did it ever feel good to hear his positive review. As they ate, they both went over their day until John finally placed his fork down and leaned back into his chair. "So...what did you want to talk about? You said it was about...'us'."

Sherlock nodded and folded his hands in his lap, thinking. John waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts and listened intently when he spoke.

"You did an experiment, noticing certain interactions aided in my well being, one way or another. It lead me to think...Do you remember what you said when you came home from the pub the other night?"

John's face burned lightly as he fought down his blush. "Vaguely, but I do remember almost all of our conversation. Is that all?"

"No. I was wondering if you still wanted to kiss me."

The doctor hesitated, not bothering to hide the red creeping into his face. He cleared his throat before nodding. "Yes."

"And now that you're sober, is there anything else you wish to express?"

"I..." John inhaled slowly, exhaling in the same fashion. "I may have...some feelings for you. However, I know that's really not your area."

"That was not my question, John. We've been through a great many ordeals, there's no reason for discomfort or hesitation. Not after what we've faced together."

John looked away and tugged at his shirt collar. Did it get warm in there suddenly? He was quite sure it did. Yes, that was it.

"John!"

He jumped at Sherlock's commanding tone and calmed his beating heart. "I...I'm in love with you, Sherlock. I know you know it's just a chemical imbalance in the brain but it won't deter me from how I feel. I know you don't...'do' feelings but I don't think I'll ever stop feeling this way."

Sherlock took a long look at him. Heartbeat: rapid. Jugular artery: pulsing. Chest: almost heaving. Eyes: dilated. Sweating from all stress points. Left hand: shaking slightly. Right hand: subconsciously rubbing at old psychosomatic pain. Conclusion: John is anxious and fearful. Why?

He then expressed his suspicions. "You're terrified that I'll deduce something negative." He stood to put their dirty plates in the sink. "I won't. I've been thinking about what you said, almost constantly."

"I'm more terrified that you'll toss me out on my ear." John said as he shook his head.

Sherlock turned back around to look him in the eye. "Never."

"What are you saying, Sherlock?"

"Why would I toss you out? I'd be a fool to evict the only other person who cares for me like you do."

John frowned. "Because me and my feelings would only be a distraction. What with me pining and sulking about it."

"It's perfectly natural for the average person to have feelings for another, John. It's purely instinctual to find a mate, so to speak."

"Except the fact," John rolled his eyes, "that I'm in love with my very male flatmate."

Sherlock sighed in frustration and sat down in front of John again. Why couldn't John understand?

"Our first shared meal together, at Angelo's, when I told you I was married to my work. I said that, months ago, because there was no one who wanted to be around me willingly. Lestrade is the only one at Scotland Yard that doesn't think of me as a freak. Mrs. Hudson has been more than kind to me, more than I deserve, and I care for her like the mother that I'd always wanted. Then...there is you...John."

John nodded and motioned for him to continue.

"You're here, over one year and eighteen months later, through hell and back I'd say. I trust you, John. Completely. With my life. You've certainly saved it before."

Feeling even more anxious, John stood and almost bounced on the balls of his feet. "That only tells me that you trust me."

"No," Sherlock stood as well, "it doesn't."

Both of them were getting visibly more and more agitated. John because he didn't understand what Sherlock was trying to say. Sherlock because he couldn't see why John just wasn't getting it.

"What are you trying to tell me? Deduce yourself for me."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Trust is an emotion, John. Loyalty, the need for attention or a reaction. Caring for your well-being... I couldn't care less about most things in life. Nothing is more important to me than the case, the puzzle. Nothing except you. John, I need you to see..."

John's expression through his explanation softened to a gentle smile. He took a couple steps to stand in front of the detective and wrapped his arms around his waist. He rested his forehead against the chest in front of him and shook his head. "I see. I observe. You don't have to say anymore, Sherlock."

He could feel Sherlock stiffen beneath him as his arms encircled his narrow waist. However, after a moment, Sherlock relaxed and reciprocated the embrace, even resting his chin on John's head. Soon, John stirred and looked up at his companion with a grin.

"I love you too...git."

Sherlock smirked and chuckled, giving him a squeeze and a poke to the ribs.

"I promised you a kiss, didn't I?" John glanced at Sherlock's lips before looking back into his steel-blue eyes.

"Indeed, you did mention something to that effect."

John hummed to himself and licked his lips. "I suppose I should make good on it, then. Wouldn't dare disappoint the world's only consulting detective."

Sherlock's smirk widened into an almost feral grin. "I suppose not. I heard he's easily bored."

"I heard he's a bit of a dick."

"Handsome though."

John's shoulders shook with mirth. "That depends on who you ask."

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me, already. Your handsome, dick of a consulting detective gets impatient."

"Well then," John raised himself on his toes slightly, "I won't disappoint him."

When Sherlock's lips met John's, he felt his stomach clench. He noted how his heart leaped considerably in his chest, comparing it's fluttering to the wings of a hummingbird. Instantly, his eyes closed, capturing the moment to analyze later for future reference. It was almost disconcerting how quickly his mind seemed to slow to a crawl, the sensation of John's lips moving against his being the only thing he could focus on. His own lips moved on their own accord, seeking more friction. If it wasn't for the fact that his lungs began to burn, he would have almost forgotten to breath. He pulled back and took a lung-full of air, eyes opening to look into John's. "Sorry...needed air..."

John smirked at him. "Breathing. I thought breathing was boring."

"Not like this. Not bored."

He nodded and kissed Sherlock's nose. "If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?"

"I always answer with the utmost truth behind my words." Sherlock sniffed offended. "Isn't that part of the reason why most call me an arse?"

John grinned. "Point made." He leaned in fro another kiss, mentally dancing when Sherlock more than willingly returned it. "I wanted to ask you...are you really a virgin, Sherlock?"

John wasn't expecting Sherlock to suddenly pale and step away slightly. "Does it matter?"

He smiled and shook his head, stepping into his personal space again. "No, but it helps me figure out how slow to take this. I don't want to overwhelm you or scare you off."

Sherlock sighed and turned to the stove to make tea. He needed something to occupy his hands. He felt foolish. Of course John would want someone with more experience! Not someone like him who would fumble through the actions of having sex because of his lack of knowledge. Sure, he'd done plenty of research and self-exploration to see what all the hubbub was about. But he didn't have any experience being with anyone else in general. He heard John speaking to him softly, as if speaking to a wounded animal.

"Sherlock, it really doesn't matter to me. If I'm your first...I'm honored that you would give that to me willingly...that you trust me that much."

Sherlock felt his throat tighten and he tried to swallow. Failing, he cleared his throat. "You're my first...interaction. Ever."

He felt strong arms wrap around him again, John's head resting in the middle of his back just above his shoulder-blades. "I promise I won't do anything you're not comfortable with. You're not used to people touching you except in a platonic or harmful manner. I'm a patient man, Sherlock. I can wait until you're ready."

Sherlock nodded, pouring himself and John a cup of tea each, handing it to the shorter man before turning around. "So, you enjoyed dinner?"

"Quite good." John's smile was infectious and he tried not to smile himself. His smile turned sly and cheeky. "Going to make dinner every night from now on?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? I think not."

"Oh well, I tried. I'm actually a bit surprised. I was sure you and Irene Adler had made it to bed."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She was a lesbian. She didn't take pleasure from servicing male clientele. Not like she did with women. Obvious."

"Maybe not, but she did want you. That much was obvious."

"And yet, she didn't. She's history, John. Why bring her up? To test me? To see how far my curiosity would lead me? To see if I played her game?"

John shook his head. "No, believe me I was just curious. To be honest, yes, I was a bit jealous. She took all of your attention and when she faked her death you seemed so broken up about it."

"Knew you were jealous." Sherlock smirked in satisfaction. "Her assigned text message alert made you uncomfortable."

"It made everyone uncomfortable, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson beyond so."

Shrugging, Sherlock decided a subject change was in order. "Why did you wait so long? You didn't exactly hide it that well."

Hesitating, John replied. "It was more of the fact that I wasn't sure myself and how you'd react."

"Yes, well, most never know until it happens. What else? The publicity? They press had been spreading numerous rumors already. Daily from what I can recall. You insisted on seeing all of those insufferable women to prove a point."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm a very private person, Sherlock. The more they made assumptions, the more they made me into a spectacle."

"At least they never called you a freak."

John's eyes narrowed angrily. "Sally Donovan is a bitch, among other things. Don't ever believe whatever tripe those bastards at the Yard say about you. They don't understand you. They never even bothered to try."

"They're too stupid, anyway." John laughed as Sherlock's nose lifted, defiantly.

"Or too scared too." John yawned before setting his tea cup down and pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips. "I'm tired and Mary has me working another full day tomorrow. Will you be coming to bed with me or will you be occupied for the rest of the night?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Whatever it is can wait 'til morning."

John nodded and nudged Sherlock in the direction of his room. "Change and meet me upstairs."

"You don't have to pretend to be tired to get me into your bed, John."

"I'm plenty tired," John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock. I just so happen to like sleeping next to you."

Sherlock chuckled as he watched his doctor head upstairs in a huff. He entered his room, changed, and decided to leave his phone on his bedside table to charge. If it was that important, they could call John. With that he made his way upstairs and into bed with John.

Now, Sherlock Holmes wasn't one to panic, far from it. He was calm, cool, and collected during the most stressful of situations. It was when, a few days later at a crime scene, he'd gotten a text from a mobile number he didn't recognize. This, in and of itself, wasn't unusual as he'd posted his mobile up on his website for clients. No, it was the picture that was sent that had stopped his heart cold. When he opened the message, he froze where he stood, eye widening in horror.

It was the inside of 221B, nothing too horrible, a simple picture message of their kitchen. However, there was a red delicious apple sitting on the table, right next to his microscope. There were two words carved into the apple, exposing it's white pulp...

Let's play

Ignoring Lestrade's voice calling out to him, Sherlock quickly hailed a cab and fired off a text to John.

He's back. -SH

John was just leaving from picking up take away when he'd gotten Sherlock's text. He frowned and sent one back.

What? Who? -JW

John sighed and jogged up the stairs to their flat. He ignored his phone for a moment in favor of opening the door. Hovering in the doorway, he pulled out his phone and then proceeded to drop it.

It was the picture message from before.

The hairs on the back of John's neck stood on end, goosebumps littered his arm, and he could feel his heart pumping in his head. He wasn't alone...

He heard the swooping of an object and dove out of the way, rolling when whomever was attacking him, mercilessly swung over and over and over again. With there only being so much room in the flat, John stopped on his back, planted his feet, and kicked off of the floor, catching his assailant by surprise. The soles of his feet made contact solidly with his attacker, but at the expense of using most of his energy and muscle usage. He only had a few more tricks up his sleeve before he would be completely useless. Landing on his feet, John swung around and tackled the brick shithouse of a man and took him to the floor.

Somewhere to his left, John's phone range relentlessly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw "Sherlock" glowing on his screen, his ringtone blaring through the tiny speakers. He felt a pain in his side and the wind being knocked out of him as he was knocked onto his back, but he grappled his way into a sitting position, straddling the man beneath him. He landed a solid punch or two before he was kicked off. Once again, he was grappling with the stranger for dominance and for his life until he finally took a hold of his head and-

SNAP!

The body above him crumpled instantly, John squirming and struggling until he crawled over to his phone and hit the "answer" key to stop the incessant ringing. He panted heavily, bringing his tired arm to press the phone against his ear. "Sher...lock..."

"Who broke in?"

John rolled his eyes and tried to calm himself down. His adrenaline making his heart and blood race a mile a minute. "Not...Mori...arty...Military training."

Gasping for breath, he was relieved to hear pounding feet running up the stairs and the door almost fling off of it's hinges. Sherlock gave him a once over before crouching next to the man on the floor. "He's dead, John. Clean snap of the neck. Impressive."

John nodded, sitting quietly. The pain in his side wasn't leaving. Why was it getting even harder to breath?

Sherlock sniffed the corpse then made a sound. "Poisoned before he even arrived. Probably a loose end that needed to be taken care of. Oh well, he wasn't going to talk anyway."

The detective started pacing, calling and speaking to Lestrade before hanging up. He looked over the body again before looking at John and stopping. "John?"

John sat, clutching his side, an expression of pain pinching his features. His breathing had become more sever and his eyes were beginning to close. "Sherlock..."

"John? John! What is it?" Sherlock hurried over and fell to his knees, ignoring the pain as they connected to the wood floor.

It was then that John raised his hand for himself and Sherlock to see.

It was covered in red. Crimson red. Blood red.

Before Sherlock could shout in horror, John's eyes closed shut, and he knew no more.