John Watson was always nervous when he went to his sister's house uninvited, especially this late at night, it was gone ten at night and he was never entirely sure what state she would be in, whether it was late, or an early Sunday morning, the chances of finding her in a drunken stupor had once been equal in any circumstance. However, it was unlikely that she would make him feel quite as awful as Sherlock had done. John tried to hold back the revulsion in his throat, he had trusted the man entirely and to learn that about him, that he had almost killed, or hurt a defenceless woman- it didn't bear thinking about. Images circled in his brain, Sherlock, wild eyed wielding surgical implements, the blonde man in the back ground; whose name he had overheard was William, gazing at Sherlock with pride. A woman crying and terrified. John shook the images out of his head as he knocked on Harry's door, he heard footsteps coming closer to the door and prepared himself for whatever state she was in.

'What's so special about him anyway Sherlock? He's so dull and ordinary' William gazed intently at Sherlock over a generous glass of whisky, watching as Sherlock poured himself one. He was back in his former position, stretched out on the sofa, as if the flat was his own.

'John is spectacularly ordinary. That's what makes him interesting.' Sherlock took a large gulp of his own Whiskey, wincing as the liquid rand down his gullet, warming him from the inside. He was wearing his grey t shirt and baggy tracksuit bottoms that he usually wore only to bed, and accompanied them with his blue silken dressing gown.

'You should have held out for someone with more potential.'

'What like you, Willie? John and I aren't like that. We're just friends.'

'Is he straight?'

'Very. Well, most of the time.'

'Most of the time?' William leaned forward and tilted his head up to look Sherlock directly in the eyes.

'Yes, odd times, I see something, the way he stares. I don't know.'

'Well you are very enticing, my old friend.'

Sherlock looked down at the hand that had just been placed just above his knee; he dragged his eyes upwards to look into the face of its owner.

'Willie what are you doing?'

'Finishing off where we left off all those years ago'

Suddenly William sprang, swift and agile, without warning, and his hand had left the knee and was in Sherlock's hair, he leaned over him, one hand resting on the back of the armchair where Sherlock sat, paralysed with terror. It had been so long, and he had forgotten how things went. Williams arm was held against Sherlock's cheek as it snaked around so that his hand could entangle itself tighter in the dark curls. Sherlock hissed as his hair was tugged and his head was yanked backwards, it was painful, but something about that excited him. That was what William exploited. Before he had become accustomed the closeness of the man's face to his, Sherlock felt lips pressed to his, hungry and aggressive. At first he was unresponsive, but a sharp bite on his bottom lips made him gasp, which left his mouth vulnerable for an assault. It had been a long time since anyone's tongue had explored his mouth like that, or at all. William was relentless, before long he got bored of just dominating Sherlock's mouth and began a more invasive manoeuvre. He let go of the back of the arm chair and grabbed the front of Sherlock's t shirt. He dragged him, half by the t shirt, half by the clump of hair he still had a firm grasp of. Sherlock knew better than to resist and was span round and pushed roughly on the sofa, he barely had time to shift himself into a more comfortable lying down position before William had claimed his mouth again, his time he had hold of Sherlock's wrists, pinning him down, straddling his waist and bending down to devour his prey like an overgrown vulture. His mouth left Sherlock's, once again nipping his lip; he put his lips instead against Sherlock's ear and whispered dangerously;

'Come on Sherlock, you remember how this works, I lead, you follow.' He dug his fingernails into Sherlock's wrists to assert his statement, but there was something in his friends eyes, it was new and it didn't take William long to find out what it was. With one swift movement Sherlock had raised his knees underneath William and thrown him off and sent him crashing to the floor, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

Sherlock stood up and positioned himself over William, one foot either side of his hips, dominant, for the first time.

'I thought you already knew. A lot's changed since we were teenagers. Get up William, and walk that way.' Sherlock pointed down the corridor to his room. William who was both panting with shock, humiliation and lust was overcome by just the latter emotion and scrabbled, almost humorously out of the room, still not quite vertical. Sherlock smirked and licked his bottom lip; he could taste his own blood where he had been bitten. Someone would have to pay for that…

John sat on his sister's sofa clutching a chipped mug, it was decorated with a smudged and deformed looking daisy, hand painted by Harry herself as gift to her former wife. John realised he had even started to think like Sherlock. Well, not entirely.

'So dear brother, what brings you to my humble abode?' Harriet sat down across from him on a padded footstool that looked set to break under her weight. The creek it made as she crossed her legs made her pull a comical face but otherwise she ignored it. 'Wait! Let me guess, you and Sherly have had a domestic?'

'Sort of. I don't wanna talk about it Harry, if that's ok?'

'No, it's not ok, but fine. We can talk about something else. For a start how did the sneaky bastard manage to fake his own death? What's that about?'

'Can we just not talk about him at all please'? John couldn't bring himself to use Sherlock's name, it tasted bitter on his tongue.

'Erm right. Ok. Well, to be honest, I don't know what else to suggest because he's normally all you ever talk about- but yea, sorry. Have you watched the film I bought you for your birthday yet?'

John tried to make conversation, answering her questions, listening to her problems and nodding apologetically when he needed to. His mind was fixed on his flatmate. Everything he had ever believed in had been shaken. John wasn't a religious man but for some reason finding out that Sherlock had almost hurt someone was like finding out god wasn't real. Then again he realised, Christians got told he wasn't real all the time, just like John had been told what Sherlock was really like, over and over again, and like Christians or those with faith, he had just smiled but carried on believing. This is probably why Sherlock had warned him not to turn him into a hero, it hadn't stopped him though, and now he had found out that his Superman couldn't fly, and he was once on the side of the villains. William definitely felt like a villain, there was just something about his cold stare, the oozing arrogance that John didn't trust. He hadn't even spoken to this man and he could just tell he was all wrong, and yet, Sherlock seemed to like him. Although, he had seemed frightened of him at first, he had been jittery and aggressive, and even when he spoke him there was a meekness in his voice that John had never heard before. So Sherlock was frightened of this man, perhaps of what he knew, what other horrible secrets could this William have unearthed, the image of Sherlock as a maniac flashed back into his mind, wild eyed and blood stained. John realised he hadn't been responding for the last few seconds and thought he's ask the question that would send Harriet ranting long enough for him to tease through his confused thoughts

'So, what's the story with you and Clara, you've got the mug out again but I can't see any of her stuff, you two friends now or what?'

'John, you have no idea, she's been calling me up, crying, banging on the door, I mean I want her back but deep down I know It won't work out , I mean it didn't the first time and-'

John was able to go back to nodding and shaking his head when appropriate whilst considering the events of the last few days. He had more than just Sherlock to stress about; after going to see Mary he had discovered that he was in fact going to be a father.

When John had gone to visit her, Mary had answered her front door and immediately started to close it again,

'No wait, Mary I know about the baby. Sherlock told me.'

The door crept slowly open again and John could see through the opening that Mary had gained a little weight around the middle, also her face was fuller and her eyes brighter, she was prettier than he had seen her in a long time. He suspected it was his fault; he had drained her in their time together.

'I suppose you had best come in then John.'

He followed her through to the sitting room. It was miniscule, barely enough room to cram the furniture she had into it, it felt cosy though, homely enough for it to be comfortable. Mary eased herself down on the opposite end of the sofa; there was not much distance between them, but the bump between them created a gulf.

'You don't need to look so frightened John, I don't want anything from you' Mary reached forward and took John's hand in hers

'That's not the point; I still had a right to know – if it's my baby too.'

'Of course it's yours, I know we didn't have a great relationship in the end but I'd still never cheat on you.'

'I know. It's just a lot to take in.' John had been looking at the floor, he forced himself to look at Mary's face and then let his eyes slide slowly to her stomach, slightly protruding, only a few months gone, not old enough to have started kicking. John was somewhat grateful for that, he knew it would have been awkward if Mary had asked him to feel it kicking, like an invasion of personal space, it wouldn't be like in the films where it was a warm and special moment; things were too complicated.

'Do you know what gender it is yet?'

'No, and I don't want to, I want it to be a surprise.' She smiled, she really did look very pretty, John remembered why he had made himself love her, or, as close as he was capable to it. God he thought I sound like Sherlock.

They had talked about how Mary was, how the baby was doing, friends, family. She really was easy to talk to, John realised how perfect they would have been had he not ruined it by pining after Sherlock. Mary had asked about Sherlock but John could see that, fortunately, she wasn't really interested, so he was able to move the conversation on to arrangements when the baby was born.

'I still can't believe that in a few months I'm going to be a dad. It's scary.'

'I know John, and if you can't handle it I understand.'

'No, I really want to do this, I know it will be difficult but, I'm different now, I can deal with things'

'Yes you look healthier than you ever were when we were together; Sherlock must be doing you some good.' Her smile was strained, but John could tell she was trying to be happy for him, which was nice.

'It's not like that, we're not- I don't know how to describe it.' He realised he was delving into dangerous territory, and quickly tried to lighten to mood. 'What about names? Have you thought of any?'

'Not really, I mean, I quite like Rosa for a girl and maybe Thomas for a boy, but it's only an initial idea.'

'Yea, there nice names I guess. Anyway look I best get back-'

They had left on good terms, with Johns promise to visit again and to be present at the next scan. He had been ready to tell Sherlock, but his return home hadn't been quite what he had expected.

'John? Are you listening?'

John snapped back his reminiscence of his visit to Mary's had taken up his entire consciousness and he had been sat, mouth open and eyes dormant.

'Sorry Harry, oh yea, I forgot to tell you, you're going to be an aunt. I'm having a baby, Well, Mary is, and I'm the dad.

'WHAT! WHY HAS IT TAKEN YOU THIS LONG TO TELL ME SOMETHING LIKE THAT?'

'I don't really know.' John starting laughing and Harry leaned over to hug him, he hugged her back, it was heart-warming,

'Does Sherlock know?'

'Oh. Him. Yea he figured it out before me. Wanker.'

'Well yea he is, it took you long enough to figure it out thought' Harry started giggling which set John off again, it reminded him of the laughter he had shared with Mrs Hudson and Sherlock on that fateful day.

'Come on John, something's obviously bothering you, why don't you tell me?'

'Maybe tomorrow, I'm knackered, what time is it? It's been a long day.'

'It's half past two in the morning. Jesus. You can kip on the sofa if you need to stay over?'

John gave her what he hoped was a grateful smile and she patted him on the shoulder as she went to fetch some blankets and a pillow. It wasn't the most comfortable place he had ever slept but John Watson had found out he was a father and the friend of a murderer in the space of a very long day, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the lumpy pillow.

Sherlock stood at the bottom of his bed, his eyes roaming across the near naked form that was stretched out in front of him. William was four belts attached to him, one on each limb, securing him to the four corners of the bedframe, his eyes were bright with excitement and he was breathing quickly. As much as he tried, Sherlock didn't care. He surveyed everything, every inch of bare skin, the flushed lips, the ruffled hair but nothing made Sherlock want William. He had out grown him; he had known that from the moment they had met again, he still saw him as a threat but he didn't see him as a sexual being anymore, he was a ghost of the past that was threatening the friendship that he and John had, and that just wouldn't do.

He held his riding crop in his hand and stroked his across Williams inner thigh, before placing on his chest and spoke in a low purr, but it was deadly and chilling.

'I'm going to bed. You have two choices, you go now and never come back, don't try and stop me finding John, or I go upstairs, sleep in Johns room and leave you here all night and as long as it takes to bring John home tomorrow morning. Up to you.'

'You are kidding aren't you? This is part of the game right?'

Sherlock grabbed a handful of Williams's hair and tugged his head back, for a change.

'No. I'm serious; I don't want you anywhere near me. I don't want you.'

'You're lying. To yourself, you know what you are, you can't help yourself.'

'Maybe I am what you think I am, but I still want nothing to do with you, do you understand? Leave me alone, for good.'

'I'm not going anywhere Sherlock until you finish what we started!' William tried to wiggle his way out of his restraints, his naked torso writhed like a snake, Sherlock could see him for what he really was.

'Fine. As you wish. Goodnight William.' Sherlock went to his wardrobe and took out a tie that someone had given him as a gift once, he rolled it up and went back to William, stuffed the tie in his mouth and without another glance behind him, walked out of the room and to Johns room where he slept peaceful until the first light of dawn spread it's fingers through the gaps in the curtains.

John was awoken by a loud banging on the front door. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch, the shook his head, the watch Sherlock at bought him. It said quarter to seven in the morning. He groaned as he pulled himself to sit upright, the banging continued, John had got a nagging suspicion he knew who the culprit was. Just as Harry, wild haired and furious had reached the last step on her staircase a voice came through the letter box

'John? John! Let me talk, I didn't kill anyone, I didn't even try, it was nothing like that. It's not something I'm exactly proud of but it's nothing in the grand scheme of things!'

John couldn't see that Sherlock would lie, it wasn't logical; if he had tried to kill someone he would have probably attempted to justify it 'it was an experiment, for the greater good John!' would have been a likely excuse. Instead his flatmate was outright denying it, perhaps then, he was telling the truth

'Please John, you know me better than that.'

He was right of course, but still, it wasn't difficult to believe that Sherlock had once been a disturbed young man, he seemed to be becoming more human every day, John had always dreaded to think what he had been like as a teenager.

'The Woman, she wasn't a victim, she just- well she saw something she didn't really want to see. I didn't want her to see. John don't make me shout this through a letterbox.'

Harry had been stood at the front door, arms folded glaring at John, who was still on the sofa. She unfolded her arms and turned her palms face up, silently asking what to do. He nodded and she unlocked the front door, Sherlock tumbled through it, almost falling completely to the ground. He regained his composure and clapped eyes on John, then darted over to him and sank to his knees in front of him, it really was quite alarming; out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister smirk.

'John please hear me out.' Sherlock pleaded.

'Alright, that's what I'm doing isn't it?'

'The woman that you think I tried to kill. I didn't, I never touched her, I never went near her, she followed me.'

'Followed you where? And why?'

'William and I were, well we snuck into her stable, she and her husband owned a farm not far from our estate.'

John forced himself not to smile; he could imagine the Holmes family estate, all grandiose furniture and peacocks. Of course there would be land nearby.

'She saw us sneaking in, we had a torch so she must have seen the light, probably thought we were going to trash the place or steal something.'

'Weren't you?' Harry piped up; she had sat down on the stairs, staying out of the way but still able to hear everything. Sherlock didn't seem to care; he didn't turn around to answer her.

'We didn't mean any harm, it was my sixteenth birthday and-' he broke off, he had gone very pale, paler than usual and he was wringing his hands, John guessed he was coming to the crux of the story and steeled himself, maybe they had been teasing the horses, or maybe…

'She burst in, expecting to see two teenage boys smoking probably, or putting things in rucksacks, instead she walked into a pile of discarded clothes and William and I just about to – well, he was on top of me and we were going to –' Sherlock didn't need to finish, he could see by Johns wide eyes and gravity defying eyebrows that he got the picture. The naked, sweaty, sexually charged picture.

Sherlock took a deep breath and continued

'It wasn't as acceptable back then. It wasn't even my idea, I wasn't completely sure it was what I wanted but William had managed to convince me, he was good at that, and it wasn't like we hadn't don't other things. It was just the look of disgust and horror on her face, she definitely wasn't expecting that.'

The image of Sherlock, bloody shirted and yielding a torture weapon, had totally changed in Johns head. Instead it consisted of Sherlock, shirtless and lying on a bed of straw, rosy cheeked from lust, and William looming over him, sliding his hand lower and lower on his torso. It made John's blood boil, he clenched his teeth and tried to hide it, but as usual, Sherlock noticed, but got the wrong idea.

'I thought you'd understand, I mean Harry's- well.'

Harry knew exactly what she was, and decided that it was her time to step in. She glided over in her towelling bathrobe and Hello Kitty nightgown and let out in an relentless booming voice

'So Sherlock is gay! I bloody knew you were! Takes one to know one, I told you John!'

John was still trying to steady himself, he knew it was irrational to be angry, he wasn't cross with Sherlock, it was just the picture in his head, it made him livid, he wanted to pull William limb from limb. It didn't make sense, or at least, It did, but John couldn't abide by the truth, he couldn't actually be jealous could he? Yes said a little voice you know you feel something for him. He mentally shook himself before raising his eyes to look at his best friend, his flatmate, the man who caused him so much anguish and confusion and merely said

'I told you, it's all fine Sherlock. Now if there are no more secrets, let's go home?'

Sherlock looked as if all his dreams had come true; he leapt up and waited for John to also alight his position on the sofa before throwing his arms around him and squeezing him hard, it was uncharacteristically human, but John realised that there were many things about Sherlock he didn't know, or didn't think possible. Harry was smirking again but said nothing as her brother and his – whatever Sherlock was to him – left her home. As long as they were happy, it mattered nothing to her what they labelled themselves, she just hoped that it would be the same for the rest of the world, but she sadly doubted it.

John hadn't exactly taken kindly to the mostly naked blonde man tied up in his flat but his aversion to William had slightly overshadowed his need to reprimand Sherlock for his blatant breaking of the law. It wasn't easy to pretend nothing had happened, John kept jumping if Sherlock touched him, he stopped walking around in his boxers; he knew it was ridiculous and he felt guilty, but the fact was that the realisation that Sherlock wasn't an entirely A sexual being had come as a shock and it made John a little unnerved. Finally after a couple of months of holding back, John finally broached the subject of his friend's sexuality, they were ironically, eating sausages.

'Sherlock why didn't you just tell me that you're gay?' John had decided not to be subtle; Sherlock placed his knife and fork down, having almost finished his meal, pushed his plate away and folded his hands on the table in front of him before speaking.

'John, this may be hard for you to understand or believe, but I am not gay.'

John let his mouth drop, Sherlock was right, he neither believed understood his friend

'No, you are, you nearly had sex with, well a man, and you admitted you did other things before, I'm guessing like kissing and stuff. It's ok to be gay'

'Like I said before John I know its ok, but I am not gay. For a start, as you pointed out, I never engaged in any form of intercourse –

'Ok Sherlock you don't have to be so-'

'And' Sherlock continued, 'I do not find men as a gender, sexually attractive nor appealing.'

John really did not understand, but as Sherlock's friend, he had decided he would make his best effort to change that.

'So why did you, almost, ya know, with William?'

'Because I wanted to. Or at least I thought I did.'

'So you fancied him them?'

'Yes. In fact I came closer to adoration than just fancying him; I was somewhat infatuated with him in my youth.

'So you were sort of in love with him then?' John wasn't sure if he could take much more, the clenching feeling in his stomach had got tighter and he knew it wasn't shock or confusion.

'In a sense, but not like a traditional relationship, I more idolised him than loved him, I thought he was brilliant and fascinating and he could manipulate me so easily'

John again felt a twinge, their relationship sounded similar to the one that himself and Sherlock shared, only it was John who was the obedient party; he supposed he should be grateful really that Sherlock wasn't as sadistic as William.

'I don't find an attraction in gender.' Sherlock had begun speaking very slowly, deliberately as though processing and weighing every word, 'I don't see a beautiful woman, or man, walk down the street and immediately want to take their clothes off.' For some reason John could feel himself going red, 'I think I am, how to put it, I think I desire people for their mind. I know it sounds like I'm pretending not to be shallow, the cliché of its what's inside that counts, but honestly, I couldn't care less if they rob banks or if they raise orphan children, if they have an incredible mind and they know how to use it, then I suppose, I am attracted to them. I'm afraid that's as clear as I can be.'

John had a name on his lips,

'Irene Adler.'

Sherlock smiled 'Exactly.'

It sort of made sense really, Sherlock, a brilliant man with incredible talents was only attracted to people's brains, it was an odd thought, odder still that the two people that Sherlock had been seen to want , William and Irene Adler, had both been beautiful on the outside too. John frowned, he could understand, cleverness and power did generally make people seem sexier, and in Sherlock's case it was just the extreme cases that made the cut. John felt a lump grow in his throat, he felt extremely strange, a sadness had enveloped him and he didn't know why. He tried to shake it off but he felt so down, like something horribly sad had just happened.

'Yea that's actually fair enough Sherlock, I'm just going to change my sheets in my room I think, so I can do a wash…' his voice trailed off at the end, luckily he could see that Sherlock had mistaken his sudden bout of melancholia for confusion and allowed him to leave the living room and retreat to the solitude of his room.

It wasn't until he was lying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling that he realised why he was feeling so low. Sherlock was only interested in people with a superior mind and he, ordinary John Watson was not one of those people. He knew it shouldn't bother him, it was more prudent and appropriate for Sherlock not to fancy him, but he couldn't help feeling extremely disappointed, even if he couldn't reciprocate Sherlock's feelings, it would be nice if he had some. John could have easily sat moping in his room all day if Sherlock hadn't called up the stairs 'We've got a new case!' this caused him to haul himself off his bed and trot obediently downstairs to find out just what adventure Sherlock had in store for him…