John came back to himself gradually, mortified at the memories rushing through his head. He swiveled in his chair slowly, hiding his face from Sherlock as much as possible, turning so the detective's arms were still securely wrapped around him, pointy chin digging into his shoulder and razor edge cheekbone brushing his burning cheeks. Greg and Sally still looked at them in confusion and john could no longer stand it, worrying about how they would see him after this, the humiliation too much to bare.

"It's fine. It's… all fine, okay? Doesn't matter." 'Everyone does it' he sarcastically added in his own head. "Just watch my bloody life story and enjoy our embarrassment while you can." He pulled away from Sherlock's arms as gently as he could: it wasn't his fault after all, was it? Not directly, anyway. He scrapped his chair across the floor and angled it so he was fully facing the screen, where he could just see himself begin to throw his arms up in the air in frustration, his head shaking disbelievingly at the long legs that were flitting up the staircase.

Sherlock looked over at him, eyes flickering over his face and body. Cheeks slightly flushed, won't look at me or the others: embarrassed then, but not so much over their relationship, he wouldn't be acting like this with Sherlock if it was. So, something John had done, whilst Sherlock wasn't there. Could be anything at this point, yet he wouldn't blush at just anything. Therefore: sentimental, or sexual. Sherlock let his gaze run over him again. Ahhh, both. He forced himself to give his whole attention back to the matter at hand as John's voice permeated the room, hoarse and slightly despairing, quiet. Talking to himself in the hallway of 221. Sherlock was intrigued, he had never known John to talk to himself much, he was a quiet man, one who did not waste time with inane conversation. which was one of the many things that Sherlock loved about him.

"Why..? God, you always run away don't you?" a deep breath. "You always run away from me."

John slid down, resting on his haunches, propped up against the wall. Hands ran agitated through his short hair, dust and small pieces of brick scattering around him, until they covered his face and pressed over his eyes. After a moment, his head banged against the wall again, his hands ending up resting on his knees as he let out an emotionless laugh.

"Fuck. Harry was right; I always did care too much, got too involved." he laughed again as he ran fingers across his right knuckles and thumb. "Never did learn my lesson... 25 odd years later and I'm still falling in love with and caring for those who can't love back. Christ. What's wrong with me. Deal with it Watson. No ones fault but your own." His hands were shaking slightly, and he stared at them, twisting them back and forth in front of his eyes, covered in blood and grime.

They hadn't been shaking at the pool.

With a roar of anger, John picked himself up and kicked violently at the wall. His toes throbbing with pain, he looked back up the stairs and began to slowly make his way up to the flat.

John didn't want to look up. He didn't want to see the pity that would be in Donovan's and Greg's eyes. Sherlock was deathly quiet beside him and he didn't want to know what he was thinking. He didn't want to find out how pathetic Sherlock had seen him. He didn't want this. His privacy in tatters, no place to be himself, by himself. And this hadn't even been the worst of it, not by a long shot. This was tame in comparison. He didn't-

"Why didn't you tell me."

John looked up, astonished at Sherlock's tone of voice. So quiet and… careful, as he stared dead forward, not even glancing his way. Sherlock was trying to process all this new information about the doctor; another wrong deduction. Of course, it was so… John. He had been wrong about so many things. John had already loved him; had already come to terms with it. It was not a reaction or a sudden realisation brought about by Moriarty and his schemes. He had not gone through his crisis alongside Sherlock, who for once in his life had been the one to be slow on the uptake. John had loved him, who knows for how long, while he had been running around like a headless chicken, throwing insults here and there to the man.

"You never asked."

"I'm asking now," he finally looked over at John, making eye contact and keeping it, trying to show his lover how sorry he was without words. "How long?"

"Does it matter?" John was quiet and calm as can be on the outside, and Sherlock just wanted to shake him. How could he be like this? So… tranquil when Sherlock was a hurricane inside?

"Yes. Yes I think it matters John. It matters to me, the fact that I could just assume you were going along with things just as I was, or the fact that I assumed you were just as surprised as me. What if Moriarty and the pool had not happened? How long would you have loved me and not said anything?" Sherlock got up out of his chair. "Lestrade. Pause it. Get out." Sherlock flicked his fingers from the inspector to the door as he paced around the office like a caged lion.

"What? No wh-"

He was interrupted by a loud noise of frustration, a subsonic growl that, if Greg had known Sherlock any less, would have given him chills. As it were, he was seriously thinking of just leaving, so they could have their little chat in peace. Lestrade just hoped that no one would be in pieces after it.

"why does everyone question the most inane, simplest things?! Leave, don't leave, why does it matter, oh you might as well hear all of it! Get in on the old Sherlock&john show."

He was riled up now, his movements becoming sharp as he turned to John and invaded his personal space. "How long would you have stayed, knowing that I would never return your feelings? Because I would never have figured it out, John, not without a catalyst. For god sake, it took you being almost blown up for me to understand that the reactions I had towards you were even… feelings, let alone love! I think of all the things I said to you before, and it makes me... how I would so casually use you or insult you! You probably thought I had deduced it, didn't you? That I was being cruel on purpose and it makes me sick knowing that this, us, could never have happened just because I was STUPID!"

John stood up and roughly took Sherlock by the shoulders, stopping him dead.

"Now you listen to me Sherlock Holmes. I may have loved you for a long time, but I would never have left you. I would have stayed. Of course I would have stayed, you git. You aren't just the love of my life, you're also my best friend, and I would have done anything to stay by your side. Maybe I'd get over it eventually, or tried to. I would not have pined for you from afar like some stupid teenage girl for ages, I did date other women you know. Our life would go on as normal, with us chasing criminals, me chasing skirts and you getting shot at on a weekly basis. Something would have happened, I'm sure of it. Some trigger. I am a bit surprised though, that you didn't figure it out. Christ I…" Fuck it, john thought, Lestrade knows and Donovan can shove it, for all I care, " I shot a man for you after knowing you for two bloody days. And that was before I even knew what I felt about you!" John shook his head and laughed, not like on the tape, a real laugh that made Sherlock feel better about everything. "but it has happened, we are here, we are together and there is no point thinking about the what-ifs, understand? Life is full of them, every single decision we make is a what if, so who cares? I love you, we're here, together and our relationship is being mocked by London's finest."

Sherlock laughed at that, breaking the tension in the room so suddenly that Donovan and Lestrade almost had the compulsion to slump to the floor.

"John, I... I hate to break it to you but... London's finest? Really?" Sherlock snorted out a laugh as John elbowed him with a grin across his face. "Ouch. I am sorry though. It kills me to see you so hurt, and for me to be the cause of it."

John winced as he thought of his interactions with Sherlock after they had both calmed down. He would see. He would see how he had effected John, back when it was to be hidden. John had his fingers crossed that the cameras didn't reach his room; he didn't feel very lucky though.

"Well, about that...-"

John was cut off by Sally, who in her growing amusement and also bewilderment, could no longer restrain herself from commenting.

"Did I just hear right? The freak, apologising? Well... Holy shit you do love him!" Donovan crowed in surprised glee.

"Sally! Don't interrupt; it's bad enough as it is!" Hissed Lestrade, his face a bit red as he fiddled with paper clips on his desk, trying to zone out as much as possible to give them a little privacy. Short of sticking his fingers in his ears and humming loudly, he couldn't help but overhear.

"Well someone has to, we won't end up watching these at this rate if they keep pausing and talking over it." She rolled her eyes at all three of them and strode over to steal the remote.

"I know you three are men, and believe to own the remote in any situation, but tough. it's mine now and I will not stop it unless necessary, got it? Just... Warn a girl if any...well. Funny business goes on between you, yeah?"

She turned to look at the two men in question and found them staring intently at each other, John's face a mask of stubbornness that even Sherlock could not break. Sherlock was stuck: beyond the normal details, and passed those of which he had deduced, he had no concrete idea as to what had John so... Skittish. He wasn't a mind reader, after all. His partner wasn't usually so reticent, having been in the army for a long while and growing up playing boys sports, which didn't really allow for shyness of any sort. It wasn't to do with the fact that the two yard employees would see him naked then. But that didn't correlate with his other data! Frustrated, Sherlock leaned closer to John, a hand coming up to prop his head in a comfortable position. With his eyes narrowing, Sherlock began to parse through the bog of emotions and things taken for granted that clouded his mind.

John was embarrassed - more than the situation calls for,

John thought that, somehow, Sherlock would think less of him- which was preposterous,

Nudity was involved, as was feelings- still not really his area.

This was before Sherlock had told him of his preoccupation with John: John thought it was unrequited on Sherlock's end still and felt that whatever he did was wrong or an invasion of privacy...

Ah.

Well.

John watched in growing despair as Sherlock's eyes widened; there was nothing John could do to stop the growing deductions occurring in that brilliant mind. He didn't say anything, thank god. Sherlock just gave him a reluctantly amused look that managed to surprisingly make John feel a lot better. He would get no pity from his partner, Sherlock would only tease him good-naturedly. John smiled at him in relief and relaxed back into the chair, pulling closer to Sherlock's side. He felt his hand being taken from off his thigh as the detective threaded their fingers together to give him a comforting squeeze. John had always wanted this: the side of their relationship where they could hold hands comfortingly in times of stress, in front of others without a care in the world. It seemed like now they would finally get it, everything would crash and burn around them. It felt like his life was one big drama, where some unknown entity was writing his life script for the entertainment of others.

Well, he would not follow blindly: he would stand tall in the face of this and choose his own path. John smiled as he looked over at Sherlock, bringing up his hand to kiss his knuckles. His lover looked at him questioningly, before John gave him a firm nod. Sherlock could almost feel John's determination through their connection, and he nodded back with a growing smirk. No more time for silly questions now, no more time for worries. Side by side, they would overcome this bump in their path, just like always.

Together.

"Go on Sally, start it. We're ready."