Chapter Four

The tea didn't really help, but it gave him something to do. He felt as if Sherlock's presence still haunted him. The feeling wasn't as strong as it had been in the night when he had willed Sherlock to be there, to stand behind him in the door, his name on his lips, but things were different now. He understood much better why he had dropped the milk that night. Sherlock had said that even soldiers jump when they are surprised, but it wasn't entirely true. Since Afghanistan, John had gotten rid of a physical reaction to anything unexpected, in theory at least. That night he had let down his guard, he just did that around Sherlock he realised, but he was sure that if it had been anyone else he would have just put the milk back into the fridge and closed the door. And he had been so mad at him for scaring him, so passionately mad.

He had hated exposing himself in front of Sherlock, he just had not understood why. Now he knew and the knowledge made him smile. Things had most decidedly changed, but they had changed in ways that made it easier for John to see what was going on; who he was and who Sherlock was. It was almost as if he had been given another chance to get to know Sherlock, a year after he had thought he had figured him out already.

But no, those little sounds Sherlock made when John kissed him, those sounds were new. The wide honest smile that was just reserved for him and the force with which he drew him into his arms when John had said something nice or something incredibly stupid. The way he looked at him now, differently, knowing, reassured.

John wondered if Sherlock also had a mental checklist of the things that had changed between them, if he catalogued the way John's breath caught in his throat, the way he would smile absent-mindedly and how he watched Sherlock when he thought he wouldn't notice, which, of course, he did.

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That last night they had spent together – a night in which neither of them had slept, although they both pretended to – that night was constantly on John's mind now. The feeling of skin on skin, his chest against Sherlock's back, feeling him breathe, falling into the same rhythm.

The alarm had shocked them both out of their haze. They had both been incredibly tired, exhausted from a night filled with sexual tension that both had tried to ignore. It was fairly obvious why Sherlock disappeared in the bathroom as fast as he did and how flushed he looked when he came back out.

John felt almost guilty when he relieved himself, but Sherlock had been his bouncy wiry self when John came out of the bathroom. Sherlock had to hurry, and John shoved a mug of tea into his view as he was pacing the room again, already dressed in his coat, trying to think of all the things that John would have to do for him while he was gone.

"There is still the case with the old man, but I'm sure Lestrade will come by and collect the file if he needs it. It's on top of the pile on the desk." He patted the paper and walked on, grabbing the tea in mid-step. "The experiments are all gone, but in case you find anything, either freeze it or call me if you are unsure. I will text you as soon as I've landed. If anything should happen, call Mycroft, his number is unblocked now so that shouldn't be a problem." He grabbed his scarf and wound it around his neck.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Don't do anything stupid."

Sherlock chuckled and moved towards John, sipping a bit of tea before handing the cup back.

"I promise."

To say that John was surprised was an understatement. "Wait, what did you just say?"

"I promise not to do anything stupid. I don't want you to worry."

John looked at him, eyes narrowed as if he still couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"John, don't flatter yourself. It's not the first time I'm doing something for someone else."

John finished the tea from Sherlock's cup and turned to carry it into the kitchen. And there he was, stealthy as a cat, right behind him when he turned. "Though it might just be the first time I'm making a promise that I intend on keeping."

A car honked outside, and John could see in the faltering smile on his friend's face that it was the car that was supposed to pick him up. And then Sherlock stepped even closer, pushing his hand into John's hair, pulling him in for a kiss. John wrapped his arms around him, one hand moving over his back and down, pressing him closer. And then Sherlock did something that made John's knees give in, almost. He moved down, bending his knees so he was lower than John and was kissing him passionately and urgently from that angle. The mixture of Sherlock's submission and complete control made John lose his cool. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth, his hand grabbing the fabric of his coat. He had not known that a kiss could do that to him, but he had not known what a great kisser Sherlock was either. He silently cursed Lestrade and his stupid Canadian case.

Sherlock pulled back, looking smug and at the same time breathless. "Good bye, John." And in seconds he was gone, grabbing his suitcase, storming down the stairs. The door fell shut. John leaned back against the counter, holding onto it with both hands, breathing hard. What in the world had Sherlock just done to him?

It took him a while to recompose himself. Knowing Sherlock, he might just forget what had just happened and upon his return would wonder why John would be so eager to kiss him, depending on how many different cases Sherlock would work on during this week. It made him a little sad, but then again he had only ever seen one version of Sherlock, and now the door had been opened he might just see that there was still so much more to find out about him.

All the little details he had tried to ignore in the past because they hit too close to home or just seemed like annoying habits. His behavior around people he disliked or found boring, his mood swings, his rejection of sleep or food, all of these things that he had eventually accepted but never understood started to creep to the surface. Sherlock was far from detached when it came to emotions. It was especially prominent when Mycroft was involved. The childish behavior that sometimes bubbled to the surface, his refusal to speak at all to his brother when he felt that Mycroft did not deserve to be spoken to, and his tendency to pickpocket Lestrade or to mislead him just for the sake of it and the way he asked John to do the most ridiculous things for him just to test his loyalty. All of those things seemed to stem from the past which John knew nothing about. Well, Sherlock had told him a few segments of his life, but considering the way he was now, growing up must have been painful for him. Having no friends, and a handful of enemies seemed to be his way of coping with the fact that he most probably had always been the odd one out.

John frowned. He did not want to analyse Sherlock, not when he had a week ahead of him where he couldn't talk it through. But Lestrade had said that he had made him better, and that statement in itself made John very happy indeed.