"It's an... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating ..." The DI on the telly is trying to cover his arse, it looks like to John; coming to a bit more he begins paying attention again when the reporter speaks up.

"Says 'wrong' again, sir."

Bah, what the hell is he worried about? Not some killer out on the loose, that his madcap "fiance" would be running around half of London trying to suss out, just suicides.

"One more question!" the reporter chimes in. "Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?"

"Look," the DI begins, getting visibly fussed. "I... I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The the poison is clearly self-administered."

"Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?" the reporter asks.

"Well, don't commit suicide."

John peers back up at the screen as a small laugh issues from him. Not the DI's call really, but damn if he doesn't like his dark humor.

"Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be."

"He was there with us two nights ago you know," the tall, dark haired posh git at the doorway half-smiles breaking John's concentration on the telly. "Been on me ever since to let you speak to him. To get to know if you're good enough for his resident consulting detective."

It is John's third day of recovery after the incident in the alleyway. It left him with a nine hour surgery to repair a small tear in his left aorta, as well as repair his sternocostal and infraspinatus musculature. John was just thankful nothing fragmented, so much could have gone wrong. John is just glad that in the long run, after he finished with the PT, that his prognosis is very favourable. He will regain full mobility in his hand and as yet there were no signs of lasting nerve damage.

The two of them had been discussing their ruse before Sherlock was called away for a few hours the night previous. John's glad to be Sherlock's flatmate, but the reason as to why he's still going along with the 'engagement' debacle is just as elusive.

Maybe he enjoys, just for a time, thinking that he could be wanted by someone as brilliant and untamed as Sherlock.

"Ta, so that's my 'fiance's' profession, is it then? Detective? Consulting Detective?" John teases the younger man, motioning for him to come sit and stop hovering. "Well, come tell me all about it then, henny."

Sherlock gives John an odd expression as he complies with the request. Henny?

"Well, simply put, I observe what others consider mundane. I categorise all the minutia that everyone else filters out as unimportant - which it all is important - and then logically deduce the answer to whatever puzzle it is that I am currently working on."

"Amazing!" John smiles giddily, letting the sarcasm infuse his words. "So, light of my life, deduce your lover. Tell him, will you, what you've worked out. If correct, I'll give you a kiss I'm sure I owe you."

"John, do not be daft." Sherlock catches on to John's game, but he has no intention of playing. "Of course I know everything about you, how else would I be here..."

"Everything? Now really?" Oh this is grand, John thinks. "Sizing me up, were you?"

"Please. I know your religion through your discs, not your lack of clothing," Sherlock chides. Why on earth is John purposefully trying to tease him...

Oh. Flirtation.

One can definitely play that game.

"You, sir, are a doctor. Surgeon to be specific. You've been in Afghanistan, as you are posted with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, patching people up to send home, which you did for at least two tours. I'd say three, but you have a degree, not just basic medical training, which means you finished your courses before entering service. You are currently here on leave, just got here the morning you were shot as a matter of fact."

"Alright. That is... brilliant actually, but can you tell me something you can't just look up through Googling me?"

"You have yet to come out as a bisexual to your married lesbian sister who is currently six-months sober."

"How..." John is amazed at this, Sherlock can see it in his whole demeanor. "Tell me, I have to know how."

He is just interesting enough for Sherlock to earnestly get to know. Maybe, in turn, John will really wish to know him, as well. It seems as if John is appraising the situation with a slight sadness. For some reason it begins to make Sherlock uncomfortable, so settling down in the chair next to John's bed, he gives his best show.

"Observation. Harriet is your fraternal twin sister, but she chose not to finish her course work, instead helped her girlfriend finish hers. Then she began drinking because of all the lonely nights, as her beloved was working any practical shift she could get her hands on. They married five years ago, judging from the state of her ring. She had a brand new band hugging the top of the previous, six months aged, as an obvious statement of re-commitment and solidarity with her lovely spouse."

"As to the fact you had not yet come out to your sister, that is very simple. She knows that you have been quiet about most of your relationships since university because you value your privacy in these matters. It also did not help that she used to tease you 'mercilessly' in an effort to just admit that you were not the straight arrow you purported to be. Your sister said she felt terribly about it, stating at the time she couldn't stand you being closeted and hypocritical at the same time. They are over the moon to find you coming home to give them the good news of our engagement; both had been worried over the fact that you had no one to 'come home to' as it were, so she is the firstborn, you the secondary. Older siblings, even by minutes, still manage to try to wield 'sororital' mastery, or sisterly concern, over their younger counterparts."

"That is... wait... announcing our engagement?" John looks slightly dazed. His pulse has begun to visibly ascend on the machines that are distinctly unbecoming. "So, you didn't tell her otherwise?"

"Please, John, you need to remain calm." Placing a hand over John's, he pats it warmly, as a worried lover would. Conspiratorial whimsy crosses Sherlock's face as he leans forward to continue, "I do not want your recovery hindered. You told me to stay with you... to 'lie if you have to', remember? Besides, I'm quite the catch, at least they think so. Wait until you meet my brother. Oh, it is going to be priceless. Tell me, is there anything in your record I should be made aware of that he might blackmail us with?"

"My rec- Sherlock!" John whispers urgently, "I think you are absolutely gorgeous, seem to have a brilliant mind too, but we aren't, you know. We haven't even had a proper date yet, let alone a snog. What if you think I'm terrible in bed? Which is highly unlikely, but still. And we aren't in..."

"In what, Captain Watson?" An older gentleman John does not recognise materializes in the doorway. "In a real relationship? Real engagement? Oh, please tell me, did Sherlock swoon when you asked him five minutes after meeting him, or was it the blood loss that had him so excited?"

"Wait, you're the fellow from dinner the other night," he turns to Sherlock. "This is your brother?"

"Correct, John," the gentleman responds. "I am Sherlock's elder sibling. Honestly, this has all been rather amusing, but I think that it is time to come clean to everyone. Wouldn't you agree, doctor?"

John is not happy with the condescending tone the elder brother seems to be taking. "Come clean about what, exactly? About how much I care for your brother, sir? How happy he makes me, sir? How excited I am to enter a civil partnership with him? Sir?" With each 'sir', John can see Sherlock smirk just a little bit more.

John looks on, mildly chuffed to see Sherlock's brother ruffled by this.

"Please, call me Mycroft," He replies looking disdainful. "What exactly, are your intentions with my brother? He is not the easiest of men-"

"He's right here." John heatedly cuts Mycroft off mid-sentence. "You know...in the room. Sherlock is not an inanimate object to be discussed."

God, John cannot believe the gall of the man. He's barely known Sherlock more than two days and even he knows better than that.

"The man holding my hand beside my bed," John continues, "Is trying to calm me because I'm a tad exacerbated at the moment. That would be a terrible setback to my health, seeing as how I am recuperating from the surgery of an almost fatal gunshot wound I took in place of the man you are currently condescending. Who just happens to be your brother. He is currently trying to calm me simply with his presence. He may not be the easiest, but he is mine."

"So very loyal, so very quick."

"No, I'm really not. Call it fate intervening, a holy host has come and delivered upon me your brother's compassion. It's a bloody miracle. God, you are daft!"

"Very well, if neither my brother nor you choose to see reason at this time, these documents need to be filed. As always, they may be rescinded within the next ninety days, if the two of you so choose. I'll be on the lookout for the Happy Announcement by the end of the week, gentlemen."

With that, Sherlock's brother leaves the manila envelope at the foot of John's bed and turns out the door to the hall, leaving the two alone one again.

"Is he always so self important?" John rankles, his blue eyes taking on a fiery edge. "He's the bane of your existence, isn't he?"

John looks up to see an array of emotions cross Sherlock's face; everything from shock to envy to pride. John realizes almost immediately that he's probably the only other person Sherlock has ever seen try so thoroughly to dispatch his brother's calm facade, especially in Sherlock's defense. Well, tried to do, he amends, though John most definitely has surprised Sherlock, that is for sure.

"John, I'm sorry for Mycroft's behavior. The local bakery must have been out of his favorite cake for him to be in such a mood." Sherlock finds himself idly stroking John's fingers, and goes to move away, only to have John hold on instead. "Did you mean it... You don't have to continue this if you do not wish-"

"Sherlock, you're an enigma," John cuts off. He closes his eyes and rests back against the pillow, his body beginning to radiate the deep dull throb from within his own chest. He hurt down to his molecules and has become weary from getting his ire up. "I meant what I said about your compassion. Whether you are difficult to get along with or not, that is my choice to find out. I will not be bullied by anyone about this, and neither will you."

"John, I-" Sherlock looks at John with such uncertainty on his face, his voice falters. "I've never had anyone want to call me theirs, let alone do so. I thought this might be advantageous to us both, but now-"

"Shh, Sherlock. The situation is a bit not good, but you do care. That is evident." John turns his softened, kind eyes to the man holding his hand. "I think, possibly, that I liked you too you know."

No matter how many barbs Sherlock collects around himself, it doesn't quite seem to ring true to John. Built-in mechanisms for preservation most likely. Sherlock will never bore him, that is for certain. He could listen all night to get to know him. That first night, it was instinct to shelter the innocent. But the more he gets to know Sherlock, the more he thinks he would have done it anyway.

"In the bar, that wasn't just a tease. You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever lay sight on, and your mouth could probably well ruin me...but above all that is that you interest me. You're intuitive and just a bit mad it seems...especially to keep up that we are engaged just to stay by my side. There's a story behind that I'd like to know."

"Would you really?" Sherlock seems intrigued. "I've never quite had that honest of a reaction from anybody."

"Well then they are all daft. I've only known you a few days," John winces as he took a breath while he tries to relax. "That first night though, I'll never forget it. Amazing. Since I've been recovering and incoherent I bet you figured out everything about me. I want to be able to say the same. There has to be a reason, Sherlock. Tell me of yourself a bit, yea?"
~~~~~~~~~

Fuck...Sherlock! Don't die on me...
We have this, I have you.

He tries desperately to work on the young man, staunch the blood flow.
It is too heavy. Too fast.
All he can do is comfort these last few seconds...keep trying to work on him...not lose him...

"Nooooo!" John wakes, screaming. Drenched in a cold sweat, swearing, he rips the covers away from himself.

Do not hyperventilate.
Normal. Calm the bloody hell down.

"Who cares if it's 0400? That's normal for me..."

"I do, John. Are you in pain?" Sherlock speaks up, apparently awake, "I could call a nurse?"

"No, no...I'm fine. Just a nightmare. Going back to sleep. You should try to get some too, Sherlock. We're supposed to head to your flat later, so as the doctor suggested, you'll want to be well rested."

"To fetch and carry, John. Nothing strenuous remember?"

"Ocht, that's right, my dove. It'd be too strenuous on you the first night anyway... We'll make it all work somehow."

"I would not doubt my ability,I am rather changeable when the mood strikes."

"Ah! So you can make me a fine cuppa and bring some form of sustenance as well?"

"We shall see what I am able to cook up for the entertainment of your mouth," John can hear the smile in Sherlock's words. "If nothing else, but to stop it from admitting your unwavering devotion to Moi." Sherlock chuckles minutely before curling back into the hospital-supplied cot.

John looks over at Sherlock, and studies the tall framed man scrunched on what has to be uncomfortable roll-away. He has spent the last two nights of John's stay in a chair beside his bed, but John has made Sherlock promise to sleep.

"Sherlock, come up here. You are miserably too tall for that thing, you great idiot." He returns the jovial volley before offering seriously, "Really, henny, come up here. It's not scandalous, and you wouldn't care even if it were. Come get comfortable, you big spoon, bet we'll fit perfectly. Just grab your blankets because I'm not sharing!"

He owes Sherlock so much, and finds himself beginning to bend to accommodate the man he barely knows. John knows there is something there, obviously. If there isn't, if Sherlock hasn't noticed it either, what is the point to Sherlock staying by John's side? It has to be for more than show. This is days now, not just one night or one visit. John can at least make the man comfortable.

"My own little pocket doctor then? Trying to use your compactness to lure me? Just know it's only the slightly better mattress I'm interested in." Sherlock carefully places himself to cradle John's form, wickedly grinning into John's hairline as he settles in, "The bed at home will be so much better, I promise. Rest now, John."

Finally, almost 13 days after John set foot back in London, he is about to finally get out of the damned hospital. As John breathes free air, he's able to clear his head from the sterile acridic cloud it has been wrapped in.

"No, it's a loss. I'm not sure I can actually."

"Try. We'll be off to Baker Street right after the shift change this morning." He chuckles low, the reverberation against John felt pleasant. "You need your rest John."

A few hours later, John is pleasantly surprised to find, as the taxi slows to a stop in front of the unassuming building, how close they are to Regent's and the they alight, John realizes he genuinely looks forward to the rest of his leave being spent primarily with Sherlock.

Sherlock lives on the first floor of the old victorian, and there is a smaller set of rooms on the second that has been offered for his use. John does not know if they will ever be used much, but the thought is nice that Sherlock has made room for John in his life. That he has tried to clear a space by moving his laboratory from the kitchen to the basement flat, then takes it a step further moving his study to primarily what is to be their parlor, so that John can have his own private area.

He has tilted his world for an almost stranger on a whim, accepting John fully into his life as a friend, and is going to enter into an agreement that is mutually beneficial, but has long-reaching implications for them both. John can't deny that Sherlock is brilliant, handsome, and to anyone would be a marvelous catch, if not for the warning label his mouth should come with. Even with that, it isn't nearly as intolerable as it might seem to others. It's actually a bit more fun this way.

"Welcome home, John," Sherlock states quietly as he opens the main door to the foyer. "Mrs. Hudson will probably be up to say her 'hellos' and bring tea."

With that Sherlock ascends the stairs with John just behind. When he opens the door to their parlor, John is struck giddy. The place is a massive wreck of papers in what might be some sort of order that John can't see; books still stacked on the floor waiting to be re-shelved, the post being held hostage by a short hunting knife.

"Sherlock, there's a skull, on your mantle."

"On our mantle, yes. He's a friend. Well, when I say friend..."

"As long as he's not stolen and not homemade by you eating away someone's flesh to watch the process, I don't really care. It's just whimsical. Unexpected." John's voice has warmed as he continues to speak, ending in a smile they share between them.

He continues to catalog haberdash furniture, rugs, and a proper desk. All very bohemian, but it seems to fit. The kitchen is at least completely set to rights, everything in its place, all the counter free of nonsense. John assumes this is due to the recent relocation of Sherlock's lab.

"This way?" Sherlock tilts his head toward the short hall. "The first floor bath and my, well..." He shows John around to get to know the place, but hesitates as soon as they are standing beside the bed. John approves of the neatness of the space; only what is necessary furniture-wise, but by no means Spartan. "Our room, if you wish."

"Sherlock, this is your space," John takes Sherlock's hand, "If you want this to remain solely yours and you want the second floor to be mine, it's alright. You've done so much to accomodate me already."

"No, it's fine John," Sherlock states seriously. "I'd be fine bedsharing, I wouldn't have offered otherwise."

"As long as we are always on the same page, alright?"

"John," Sherlock gives him a withering stare, "I'm not some regency heroine, all blushes and sighs-"

"Oh, now love." John interrupts, closing the space between them down to a breath's length away. Sherlock's color begins to rise at the surprise maneuver, betraying him. "See how you blush for me now..." John looks up at Sherlock with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Not now John." Sherlock removes his hand from John's and steps a few paces away, seemingly disinterested. "Let me familiarise you with my lab and your upstairs rooms."

"I suppose," John, ignoring Sherlock's statement, casts himself onto the bed patting beside himself. "I can't even get a lie down with my fiance for a mo' in our room?"

"John..." Sherlock huffs.

"Oh, there's the long suffering tone I just love to hear." John's voice drops a half-register. "Please, Sherlock, come here a moment. I'll not do anything you do not want. We just... we need to see how this feels, outside of an uncomfortable hospital setting is all."

"We have much to discuss still."

"Yes, love, we do," John continues unphased. "And we can do that right here while we acclimate. No better way, just like a sleepover when you would roll over and talk to your friend until you fell asleep."

"Never had one." Sherlock states simply as he goes around and finally lays himself out beside John.

"A sleepover?" John asks.

Sherlock looks at John and shakes his head before answering, "...or a friend."

"Well, you have a friend now. As far as the sleepover, we will be fixing that as of tonight." John gets excited at the prospect of sharing this with Sherlock. "We'll order in, watch Monster Squad in our pyjamas, and turn in early to tell blood curdling stories in the dark until we pass out."

"If you wish," Sherlock replies, looking mildly dubious. "I see no point, but it's your first night here so I'll play along to indulge your whims."

"Ta, there's a good man," John laughs. "Now, show me the rest of our home."

"Later, you need a moment. Seems all this has taken a bit out of you." Sherlock maneuvers over to John gently move him to settle between his legs, John's back up against his front. He lightly rubs John's arms as he continues to speak. "John, is this alright? I don't want to hurt you."

"It's fine...might take a kip actually if you're up for it?"

"Whatever you need." Sherlock murmurs.

John makes good on his word to Sherlock about having an honest to goodness boys-night-in with childish sleepover written all over it. Mrs. Hudson was going out to market so he gave her a list of a few things for them to be picked up. An hour and a half later finds Sherlock helping him settle the purchases into their proper places to chill or be ready to grab for when they get completely settled in front of the telly.

Sherlock orders in Chinese, helping lend to John's cause, as dinner is in those square take-away boxes that fold so neatly. He finishes setting the containers on the tray with two of the ales and their utensils, waits for Sherlock to grab it, then heads into the parlor.

"Perfect."

"What is John?" Sherlock looks at him quizzically. "That you trapped me into watching this?"

"Quit whinging, Sherlock," John laughs. "You'll enjoy this. You'll see. Getting to complain loudly, spend time with someone you want to, maybe have a snuggle."

"Fine," Sherlock comments, looking completely unenthused.

John continues to smile as Sherlock presses play and accepts the carton handed to him. John thinks of the grousing he will hear from Sherlock while watching the kids horror flick and him stealing Sherlock's food, and exactly how comfortable he is with all of it.

"Yes, it will be." John smiles, then digs into the soft noodles.

"John!" Sherlock immediately complains loudly. "Why are they... that girl... she's clearly not a virgin!"