Mycroft Holmes, who had been shocked enough when his brother called him, was now almost entirely speechless as he poured his little brother and his companion John Watson a cup of tea. John, who had drunk enough tea today, placed his cup down on the priceless antique coffee table. Mycroft was still in too much shock to protest. Sherlock, who thought that you could never have enough tea, sipped the delicate cup, eyeing up his older brother.

"Well, will you help?" Sherlock asked as Mycroft absent mindedly poured some tea for himself, missing the cup completely and scalding his leg in the process.

"Mycroft you're pouring tea all over your suit…" John added.

Mycroft leapt up, dropping the beautiful china teapot altogether. He grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the still steaming stain on his trouser leg. Sherlock sighed and called for the maid to clean up the spilt tea.

The hot tea burning a hole in his, undoubtedly, expensive suit seemed to have snapped Mycroft out of his catatonic state. Sherlock felt proud, it took a lot to make Mycroft speechless.

"So you want me to help restore your reputation as a genius?" Mycroft asked, still dabbing at the stain uselessly.

"Of course," Sherlock smirked. "We both know I'm not a fraud, now the world needs to know. I have to prove it to Lestrade and, you know, the rest of them."

"What, so you can inflate your ego?" Mycroft glared at his younger brother. "How can I make them believe you're a real genius?"

"We're related," Sherlock sighed. "You've known me since I was born, Mycroft, you have home videos. I know you do, you keep them with the security tapes of the flat!"

"And?"

"Oh, you really can be stupid for a genius."

"Give him a chance, Sherlock, he is a bit confused since he found out you're alive!" John interjected. "He wants you to find a tape of him as a little boy, doing something smart. Several tapes if you can. He needs a case; he's been back on the drugs."

"Oh, for God's sake, alright I'll help you!"

"Thank you, brother," Sherlock said as he drained the last of his tea. "Meet me at Scotland Yard on Monday?"

"That's two days, there are hundreds of tapes that mother took…"

"Yes, well, better get started then," Sherlock said. He helped John out of the arm chair and they walked hand in hand toward the door. John hit him and Sherlock sighed before growling, "Yes, okay, thank you, Mycroft."

Sherlock and John decided to walk home, despite the cold. As they cut through the park to get to Baker Street, it started to snow. Sherlock, who had almost entirely lost track of time in the previous six months, was astounded.

"Snow in June?" he gasped, holding out a gloved hand to catch the falling flakes.

"Er, it's nearly December, Sherlock…" John corrected him. "You jumped off the hospital on the last weekend of May."

"Oh, wow!" Sherlock scratched his head thoughtfully. "That means it's almost three years."

"Three years since what?"

"Three years since we met, John," Sherlock smiled. "Next year it'll be three years since we met and moved in together!"

"So it is," John beamed back.

John took Sherlock's other hand and they just stood there, smiling at each other as the silent snow fell. Sherlock tried to say something romantic or thoughtful but the words got stuck in his throat. John, who had always been able to read Sherlock like a book, sensed this and gave him a reassuring smile. It did reassure Sherlock, however it did nothing but worsen the lump in his throat.

Sherlock found himself being attracted to John and this was very special indeed. It was very rare that Sherlock found himself physically attracted to a person. Never before had he been both emotionally and physically attracted to someone, yet here he was, stood in the snow with John Watson, his heart racing and his mouth dry and his brain all fuzzy and confused.

John was also conflicted. Emotional attachment was fine, love was fine, but love for a member of the same sex was entirely new. He was straight, wasn't he? He had always known that he was a little bit attracted to his eccentric flatmate. But, he had also always assumed that he was mainly attracted to the fact that Sherlock was exciting and brought adventure and fun into his life. He had dated girls during his time with Sherlock and after he had though Sherlock was dead. Never before had he been attracted in any way to a man, yet here he was too, his heart racing just like Sherlock's, his mouth dry and his palms sweaty just like Sherlock's.

This was something new for both parties and they also both knew that about the other. But there was no denying that this was something special and exciting and brilliant, even if it was a bit confusing and scary for them.

Sherlock didn't know what to say or do to show John how he felt. Sherlock had much less experience with romantic love that John did.

He recalled the days when he was mostly high and had a few drunken fumbles. They were his college and university days, although he hadn't really needed to go to university to learn things since he was very smart already. He had spent most of his time coked up to block the pain and isolation he felt. Rarely, on a night out with his few friends, he would "hook up" as he used to vulgarly call it. Sometimes with girls who were too wasted to know what they were doing. Sometimes with guys who were equally as blotto. However, these were clearly not experiences with love, they were experiences with lust; a sensation that was fairly common in Sherlock, especially when he was high.

Sherlock would love to try all these things with John, but because of different reasons. He loved John and he was scared of disappointing him because of his inexperience with romance. He frantically recalled the "Terrible Romantic Movies I have been forced to Watch" room in his Mind Palace and tried to find the appropriate thing to do when standing in the snow with the one you love. All signs pointed to kissing. Kissing in the rain was one of those things teenage girls longed for, wasn't it? How different could kissing in the snow be? In fact, Sherlock reckoned that kissing in the snow was much more romantic and beautiful. Snow was much nicer than rain.

These thoughts took only a few seconds, which he hoped John would think were romantic and dramatic pauses. Sherlock leant down and pressed his lips to John's. John kissed him back. Sherlock smiled against his best friend, and he assumed now boyfriends, lips. He was right; kissing in the snow was much more romantic than kissing normally. John smiled, too. Sherlock had been muttering out loud without realising again and his logic was simply adorable.