A/N: ShahbanouScheherazade on ffnet helped to identify the closest park to Baker Street (Regent's Park) and betas are marinka and Swissmarg. Humongous thank you to them! The idea of Madam Tussauds belongs to jack63kids. Thank you so much!

CHAPTER 2

…Where it comes from…

"John!" Sherlock gives a slight smile. He strives to seem surprised, but also as if the accidental meeting isn't a big deal.

"Sherlock!" John seems shocked and for a beat even panicked. "What are you doing here?"

"We're at the grocer's. I have a shopping cart with – oh, look, groceries in here. What could I possibly be doing here?" Best keep lying to a minimum.

"Yes, but… Here?"

"I was on a case nearby. Thought I'd shop on my way home."

"But you don't drink milk."

Sherlock glances into his cart. Blinks. "Habit. Anyway, how's Harry?"

"Oh, well. She's all right now that…"

The benign smile on Sherlock's face turns somewhat wooden. "You take care of her."

"I try." John swallows and Sherlock has a feeling that for him, the meeting is not entirely pleasant. "Look, can we…?"

"Oh, yes of course." Sherlock forces another smile. "Do carry on. We'll talk some other time. I have to rush anyway." Which is quite disappointing – understatement – since the next meeting is planned for the end of February in three weeks.

He nods and dashes away as if in a hurry. When he's sure he's out of sight, he carelessly wheels his shopping cart into a random aisle and steps out of the shop. It's only in the taxi that Sherlock allows his eyes to water. He's remembered how to cry after all.

oOo

In the end Sherlock gets lucky. He only has to wait for a week and a half instead of three, because John contacts him first. It's a silly problem about Harry's former employer wanting to implicate her in some kind of fraud. John apologises profusely, because the matter is indeed trivial, but Sherlock is only happy to help.

After the employer is disgraced, Harry hugs Sherlock in gratitude and sends them on their way, telling them to visit the 'fantastic pub just around the corner' and neither of them argues.

"Greg's asked me for a pint a couple of times, you know," John says, when they've sat down.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock frowns. "What did he want?"

"To know what happened, I suppose."

"And what did you tell him?" He's just curious, because he knows that John's never anything but discreet.

"Told him I moved in with my sister to help her out."

Sherlock nods.

After half a pint John blurts, "God, I've missed you."

I've missed you too, he wants to say but the plan is to make John believe Sherlock's cooled down enough for it to be safe to come back home.

"It's been difficult without you," he can't help but admit though. John seems startled, so he elaborates, "Work. Going on cases. Anderson's still being revoltingly ignorant and you know that I need an assistant."

John comes as close to smirking as he ever does. "Yes, I wonder what for."

Sherlock frowns. "You know I need an average mind to point out…" He stops uncertainly. He wasn't supposed to remind John of the superiority of his intellect so soon. In fact, he wasn't even going to ask him to join any investigations just yet, but perhaps it's what John expects, so he continues, "I would very much like it if you could come." He clears his throat. "Next time I have a case, that is."

There's a moment of silence, but when he chances a look at John, he's grinning. "I'd love to."

There is nothing Sherlock can do to hold back his own wide grin and feel entirely foolish. From then on, the silences are more companionable and over the next half hour he learns that John's been working at two clinics, holding Harry's hand through a couple of rough patches, trying to reason with Clara, and that he's generally been so busy that Sherlock's grateful he's been missed at all.

Sherlock's dying to beg him to come back home, but doesn't and leaves promising to get in touch.

oOo

Sherlock drafts several texts in his head which he doesn't send and waits for an investigation which would at least seem to be worthy of his attention. He receives a call from Lestrade on the fourth day. Sherlock texts and luckily John's already in London. His cab arrives just before Sherlock's.

It's a thrill to go in side by side. See the surprise on the crew's faces, listen to John's thoughts. Oddly, it's not awkward at all. It's familiar.

"John, glad to see you," Lestrade greets. "How's your sister?"

Vaguely, Sherlock feels jealous, because everybody seems so pleased to have John back on the scene, but mostly he feels proud that John has chosen to work beside him again. John Watson, who could make friends with anyone, still wants him as one.

He tries to be not too obvious, but just having John at his side makes him double his efforts and he can't help but show off a bit. When he finally hears the praise he used to be accustomed to, he has to turn around to hide his twitching lips.

oOo

"Finally something different." Sherlock smiles.

John's lips twitch. "You just had an interesting case."

"That was a month ago!"

"Three weeks."

They stare at the flag pole.

"That's insane." John cranes his head up to where the body is hanging. "Totally insane."

"Not necessarily." For a moment Sherlock contemplates demanding that the body be left where it is, but it would just be too inconvenient to examine up there at length. "In fact, it almost definitely isn't." He looks around. "Now where's that bloody crane?"

John shakes his head. "But why would a sane person do this? Isn't it too much trouble? The murderer must be mad to hang a body in front of a large corporate building like that. There are cameras, for God's sake. And just before a workday."

"That was probably the point."

"You mean they wanted for everybody to see them? What if they were recognised?"

Sherlock shrugs. "They had masks."

"It's still too much of a risk."

"The plan was thorough and the execution very careful. I'd say they succeeded."

"You mean in warning someone from this building?"

"Or someones."

"But they could have just killed the man and then told the relevant people that it was them."

"And look at that - they did."

"Oh, for the- Don't look so pleased!" John is so obviously fighting a smile of his own that it's impossible not to grin even wider. "We're at a murder scene," John hisses. "A very cruel and gruesome murder!"

"And has that ever stopped us before?"

John starts snickering, but tries to hide it behind his hand. Warmth spreads through Sherlock's chest.

Finally the crane arrives. Almost four minutes goes for convincing Dimmock to let him up to examine the knots and fastenings, but then it's smooth sailing and only six minutes for the ride up and lowering the body. On the ground Sherlock finishes his examination of what he's been told is the body of the corporate chief executive.

After listening to Sherlock list his findings the DI leads them in to examine the dead man's office. Sherlock feels giddy. He doesn't try to fool himself – he knows it's not only because of the case.

oOo

The next case takes three and a half days, the last twenty-four of which Sherlock is actually procrastinating. As John isn't coming into the flat to brew tea while Sherlock lies on the sofa thinking, he is forced to manufacture reasons for spending more time with John. He wishes he could dawdle more, but doesn't want to risk John cottoning on to it.

There are four cases over the course of six weeks, but then in June he's in a lurch – there's no case for seventeen days.

And then finally he receives a phone call.

"Lestrade."

"You free for a pint?"

"A pint?" Sherlock sneers. "Since when do you want to have a pint with me? If you want to pick my brain I can come to the station tomorrow."

"It's not really a matter I'd like to discuss at the station."

"I'm not interested in the Met's politics."

"It's not about that. Look, I can come to your place right now if you prefer; I just thought you might appreciate neutral ground."

Sherlock has no idea what to think and it's intriguing. He names a tolerable pub.

"You're late," he tells Lestrade almost forty minutes later.

"Traffic." Lestrade doesn't feel the need to elaborate as he slides into the corner booth with a pint in his hand, which is curious; he doesn't usually drink while on duty.

It's seven minutes later that Sherlock's patience gives out. "So what's so sensitive that you can't discuss it at the station?" He dislikes pubs in the evenings.

"It's not sensitive in a way you're probably thinking. It has nothing to do with my work actually." The inspector hesitates. "Just let it be stated before I say anything else that I am aware of it being absolutely none of my business." He takes a large swallow of his drink.

Sherlock regards him with an unpleasant feeling in his gut. "So what you're telling me is that you're sticking your nose into mine."

Lestrade stares into the crowd and then nods slowly. "And I'm also quite probably making a total fool out of myself, so I'm asking you to keep this between ourselves."

"Nothing new there then."

Lestrade snorts. "Not the fool part anyway."

Sherlock waits for the other man to continue, but Lestrade just waits.

"Fine then," he agrees after a minute. "Talk."

"It's about John."

Sherlock startles inside. "Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"No. No trouble that I know of." He pauses, and then, looking like a man jumping into the line of fire, says, "I saw John the other day. Well, evening. He was on a date."

There's silence and Sherlock is wondering what the hell he is supposed to say to that.

"Well. That's it then." Lestrade stands. "I'm off."

"With whom?" Sherlock finds himself asking and hates himself for it.

"How should I know? I just saw them for half a minute."

Sherlock clenches his jaw again. "Woman? Or a man?" Still staring at the table top, he sees Lestrade sit back down.

"I thought he was straight?" The policeman's surprise is oddly comforting.

"So did I. Until Craig bloody Harper," Sherlock bites out.

"Oh." There's a beat of silence. "Sorry."

Sherlock's gaze snaps back up. "I don't need your pity," he says with venom.

"No pity." Lestrade shakes his head. "No worries. I just… I kind of know how that feels. Being dumped."

Sherlock frowns. "We've never been..." For some reason, admitting it aloud feels humiliating.

Lestrade nods. "But it feels like it, doesn't it?"

Sherlock doesn't answer.

oOo

For once Mycroft has a promising case for him. Intriguing. With blood and gore. The only glitch is that he has a silent agreement with John to involve him, but this time he's oddly reluctant. Sherlock tells himself it has nothing to do with the news.

Of course, theoretically he knew that John has probably been seeing people again and it helps that the person he's currently sharing John with is a woman, not a man. Although by this point it's probably even too arrogant to say that he's sharing John with anyone. Objectively speaking he doesn't own John. Objectively, he has no say in what John does or who he sees.

Practically speaking, though, the next morning after his heart to heart with Lestrade, Sherlock boards a train to Brighton. Harry's place isn't big, but in rather better condition than Sherlock has been expecting. He times it so that John is still at the clinic when he arrives.

"Sherlock!" As expected Harry is indeed happy to see him and it's not difficult to get her to offer him a cup of tea, excuse himself into the bathroom and then sneak quietly upstairs where he knows John's bedroom to be.

Sherlock leaves the door open a few inches and steps further into the room. Inhales. It smells like John and looks like somewhere John would live, too – neat, not a thing out of place. Although at Baker Street his room was never quite this orderly. John must have more free time for on his hands now; less stress. Sherlock takes half a minute to commit all the details to memory for later analysis and leaves the room.

Quickly he slips back downstairs and into the bathroom. He notices several products John had used at Baker Street and some things he hadn't; lots of woman stuff that clearly belongs to Harry and some that probably doesn't. A girlfriend? And if yes, then whose? Three toothbrushes. Three. Disturbing.

Sherlock flushes for appearance's sake and comes out. Soon he'll know whose girlfriend has been staying over.

"Harry," he says with a smile in his voice. The woman doesn't know him well enough to detect its fake quality.

They only wait for fifteen minutes more and then John is there. With his girlfriend.

oOo

It's bloody ridiculous to be stuck in a wax museum even if it is Madam Tussauds. Sherlock has no idea how he managed to drop his pick and now here he is, sitting in a dark corner, stuck between two motion detector beams. There's a Japanese person with eighties hair on his left and some other famous Asian on his right, both of whose identities he is unable to detect. Perhaps he should stop deleting irrelevant information and try to store them in his palace dungeon instead?

The worst of it isn't that he has been sitting here for almost two hours now, or that he'll be forced to sit here over thirteen hours more. Getting back into the hot July air is not as tempting as it might otherwise have been. Besides, he is used to sitting and outwardly doing nothing, but usually he has a case to contemplate while doing it. He's already solved this one – he only needed to see the inside of the personnel toilets on the second floor to do that. And wasn't it just his luck that he didn't manage to get out with the other guests before the security guard that was under no circumstances allowed to see him arrived on duty? Then it was just a matter of freezing in an obnoxious pose, his arm thrown around a random contemporary famous person in a suit, to fool another night guard.

Now, though, what he truly wishes for is his lumpy couch under him and some cushions instead of the hard floor and corner walls. He usually has his favourite dressing gown on while lounging around doing nothing and John… Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut. No, John will most probably never bring him a cup of tea ever again. The best he can hope for is to have one with him on some kind of neutral ground where neither of them has gone through the ritual of preparing it.

The worst part is that he has absolutely nothing to do. So he just has to sit and try not to think about… Because if he starts… But that is of course an impossible feat and though Sherlock is not one to give up easily, this time he does. That is all he has of John now – his memories.

oOo

"She's lovely," Sherlock remarks dismissively. "Less stupid than most of your exes I suppose," he adds then to be fair. He's now accustomed to the idea of her. He's met her and can tolerate her well enough. He just doesn't like her. At all.

John snorts. "Smart enough for me."

Objectively speaking Mary Morstan probably is a lovely girl. Woman. She does something for charity organisations and volunteers. Mrs Hudson even calls her pretty. Briefly, Sherlock contemplates being polite and attentive to her, but decides not to over-do it. He was never attentive to John's other girlfriends; it would probably be suspicious if he started now.

And it's all wrong. Sherlock's supposed to be thinking about the case. Why did he even start talking about… He jumps up.

"Where are we going?" John asks, folding his newspaper.

"Nowhere. No progress. Can't think." Sherlock moves to the window.

John frowns. "Need a patch? Or two?" Despite the suggesting it himself, John doesn't sound very enthusiastic.

Sherlock still nods. "Yes. Good idea."

Now relatively accustomed to fetching things for himself again, he moves for the bathroom.

"Sherlock, wait."

He glances over his shoulder. John's staring at the carpet, his face pensive.

"What?" He turns back into the room.

John sighs. "I know something's wrong, Sherlock."

Sherlock feels his pulse quicken. "What do you mean?"

"You used to be able to sit still for hours when contemplating a case. Now you're twitchy, pacing more than not, asking me about random things that you're not really interested in, and you complain more frequently about your thought process. How… Is there… I wish you'd tell me. Despite… everything… I'm still your friend."

John's gaze is thoughtful and concerned. Sherlock's mouth is suddenly dry and he has to swallow. "Nothing's wrong."

"But there has to be. Sherlock…" He pauses and then visibly braces himself. "Tell me the truth: is it me?"

"No," Sherlock lies, his heart picking up. "No, it's… No," he finishes, unable to think of anything believable.

For a minute John searches his face. "Stop that," he says then with quiet force. "You're deducing the best way to throw me off right now, aren't you?" He shakes his head in disapproval. "If something is wrong, I'd like to help. If I can. It's not drugs again, is it? You haven't been using…?"

"No," Sherlock can deny with conviction now. "I think… I think I haven't been sleeping well since you left."

"But you never sleep well." John frowns. "Or at least enough."

"Well, it's been… worse."

John rubs his forehead unhappily. "Oh. I'm sorry." Slowly, he sets his folded newspaper aside. He looks contemplative and Sherlock makes a spur-of-the-moment decision.

"Not your fault," he mutters unconvincingly, and for a tiny, little moment actually feels a twinge of guilt.

John's eyes narrow. "You're not going to guilt me into moving back."

Sherlock exhales. "Worth a try. At least you're back to making me tea occasionally." He shrugs and smiles in a way he's been told looks charming on him. But of course, John knows him too well.

There's a minute of silence and then John smiles tiredly. "Mary asked me to move in with her."

Explosion. Smoke. Confusion. Sherlock shakes his head. He sits back down on the sofa.

But you don't love her.

"I just can't see myself moving back here and I can't stay at my sister's forever," John continues. "You know we don't really get along."

"But you don't love her," Sherlock repeats his own thoughts stupidly.

For a moment John stills. "Low blow, Holmes. Just because…" John's face is flushed in anger and resentment. "Mary and I are good together. Despite what you know about me or… anything really- We're good." He pauses and continues more calmly, "I said I'd think about it."

Sherlock shakes his head again. "Isn't it a bit too soon? How long has it been anyway? A few weeks?"

"Almost three months actually. And I like her more than others. More than Craig even."

Unexpectedly, it hurts. "But you don't love her," he mutters stubbornly.

"Is being right really that important to you?" John sighs. "Stupid question, sorry. Fine yes. I don't love her yet. But I could. I can definitely see myself building a future with her and I'm not lying to her about it. I'm not making any false promises to her, so... And… the point is…" He's looking at the carpet now. "The point is that no matter what you might think about it, I have to move on."

Sherlock's heart rises into his throat. "You mean… move on from…" Us? Me.

John nods resignedly. "This thing… Why I moved out in the first place, it's not… better."

It's not a question and for what feels like for the thousandth time, Sherlock feels like an utter failure.

"I tried," he says tersely. "I tried to stay away from you, just like you wanted me to, but I just can't and you could have said no. I didn't make you come on the cases with me. I…"

"I don't blame you, Sherlock." John sounds weary. "I know it's not your fault and I'm sorry if I've made you feel like it is."

But Sherlock never meant to accuse John either. It's himself that he's furious with. He was supposed to be over it by now, or at least learnt to hide it better, but John still sees it plain as day.

"But it is my fault," he insists. "I'm defective."

And again it seems that he's said exactly the wrong thing because suddenly John looks horrified.

"What! Where is that coming from? My God! You're…" Suddenly he's on his knees before Sherlock, holding his face between his hands and Sherlock closes his eyes, because it's so good to be touched like this.

"You're not defective!" John exclaims. "Whoever made you feel that way was wrong. You're a brilliant man, Sherlock Holmes! And everybody is different. Everybody is supposed to be different. Just because you can't… It doesn't matter! And nobody can change how they feel… or don't feel. So…" He pauses and continues more quietly, "I don't mind the way you are. You're the best man I've ever known."

Sherlock opens his eyes and watches the best man he's ever known. "Thank you," he says and although what he just heard cannot be true – not entirely anyway –, the corners of his mouth curl up bit. It's enough that John feels that way right now, even if it is temporary.

"If you don't mind how I am, move back in. Please. I'll stay out of your way. You won't have to cook for me and I will do my own laundry and dishes." Their foreheads are touching and Sherlock feels John start to shake his head slowly. Sherlock closes his eyes in acknowledgment even as he continues pleading in his own head, "I'll buy another fridge for my experiments. You can have Mary over if you wish – I'll even make myself scarce if you give me the heads up. Name your own price, John, but move back in. Please."

"I bet you've run Mrs Hudson haggard." John sighs gently, almost mournfully. "And if I don't cook for you, you won't eat at all."

Sherlock snorts quietly. "True."

"But I cannot live with you."

Sherlock's voice turns rough. "And I cannot live without you."

AN: Thank you for reading. Please review! Tell me how you liked the chapter - was it everything you expected?