If you follow reason far enough it always leads to conclusions that are contrary to reason.

- Samuel Butler

Sherlock could tell that John was struggling not to berate him for playing with his food. Every time he scooped up a spoonful of scrambled eggs and let them fall back onto his plate with a wet splat, John's nostrils would flare slightly and his jaw would clench a little tighter. It was a natural default for John to scold him whenever he refused to eat and it was obvious that his self imposed silence was battling against his need to nag.

Sherlock hid his smile as he began crumbling pieces of toast onto his plate. John made a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a growl. He knew that he was goading him but he didn't care. Perhaps he could annoy John into speaking to him – like he had on numerous occasions.

John finally cleared his throat and swallowed down a mouthful of his own breakfast before he said, "Sherlock, are you going to eat that?"

"Does it look like I'm going to eat this John?" Sherlock asked as he flicked a fragmented piece of toast across the table.

"You need to eat something."

"I am aware."

"Then why aren't you?"

"Because I'm not hungry."

John finally let out a loud groan and buried his head in his hands, "Jesus, you're acting like a child. Do I really need to start spoon feeding you?" John muttered.

"I suppose you could, although I don't particularly relish the thought of you shoving something down my throat."

John snorted and then immediately blushed crimson.

"How very lewd of you, John." Sherlock said as he desperately tried to fight off the rather overtly sexual images that had just swarmed his brain. In particular one which featured him on his knees, hands tied behind his back, as John thrust his cock into Sherlock's mouth as he_

"I wasn't trying to be lewd." John said, cutting off Sherlock's rapidly devolving thoughts, "I'm just... you need to eat Sherlock, your body needs food for fuck's sake."

"I understand how the human body works John – probably better than you."

John's eyes finally cut to Sherlock's, "You are such an arrogant bastard. You think that you know everything_"

"Not everything John, that would be impossible, but I do have a solid understanding of everything that matters."

"Well obviously you don't." John hissed quietly so that none of the other diners would hear, "Otherwise you could have waved your magic genius wand and this… thing between us would never have happened."

"I am not to blame for this." Sherlock said as he gestured at himself and then towards John, "I wasn't the one who complicated things."

"Our relationship was always complicated, normal friendships don't involve psychopaths_"

"I'm a high functioning_"

"I'm not talking about you, you bloody egotist, I'm talking about the serial killers and mad men and evil geniuses that you seem to attract like a magnet. I have feared more for my life in these pass three years than I did when I was fighting in Afghanistan!"

"And you've loved every second of it." Sherlock said as he accidently slammed his fist down into his plate of scrambled eggs, "You're a danger whore, you get off on this sort of thing. If you hadn't found me you would have found someone else to regularly give you your fix."

Sherlock watched as John's eyes flashed bright with unadulterated rage and incredulity, "So you're saying that all of this is my fault?"

"Of course it's your fault." Sherlock said as he wiped clean his hand with a napkin, "You're the one who agreed to move in with me."

"That's because I had nowhere else to go. And I only agreed to live with you, not to accompany you to every crime scene like some sort of groupie fascinated with the macabre."

"You obviously didn't mind going considering you started blogging about our cases!"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"It's evident that your blog details your growing obsession with me."

"Obsession with you? You're the one who sabotaged every romantic relationship I've been in since I started living with you. What do you think that says? That perhaps you have a touch of possessiveness towards me?"

"If we're making a list of who committed what indiscretion I think it should be noted that you're the one who held me down and sucked my cock last night. What does that say about you John?"

Everything seemed to fall silent. John was staring back at him, his eyes wide, face flushed, completely taken off guard by this rapid turn-around in their argument. It was the first time either of them had admitted – out loud – as to what had happened last night. Up until this moment it all felt very much like they had shared a collective, hazy, drug induced dream. The reality and magnitude of what they had done hadn't truly sunk in until this moment and the staggering force of conflicting emotions that swelled up inside Sherlock made him feel dizzy.

"I thought..." John started and then cleared his throat, "I thought that we agreed never to talk about what happened, to start afresh after midnight?"

"John," Sherlock said slowly, as if he was speaking to a foreign tourist, "When I was three years old Mycroft threw my Winnie the Pooh teddy bear out of the window and into the rain. Despite our mother's desperate attempts to get me to forget the incident I never did and I doubt I ever will. I don't forget things John, I don't put them behind me and I don't "start afresh". If I can't forget something as trivial as that then what makes you think that I'll be able to forget you telling me that you want to fuck me open with your tongue?"

Before either of them could react to what Sherlock had just said, someone cleared their throat. Sherlock looked up and saw Irene standing over him, her hand on her hip, eyebrows raised slightly as way of conveying her battling levels of amusement and annoyance.

"You must forgive my husband, he has a very cruel and rather disturbing sense of humour. He gets a perverse pleasure out of tormenting my brother."

Sherlock was perplexed for two whole seconds before he noticed the small, blonde woman who was standing next to Irene looking like a skittish pigeon.

Thirty-six, only child, menial job... something tedious in the private sector... probably a receptionist or some sort of PA. Lives in London, small flat, two_ no, three cats – one ginger, two tabbies. Unattached, single, never been married, recently heartbroken – boyfriend most likely cheated on her with a close friend_ no, family member, possibly her sister_ no, mother. Not dating but looking for someone_

Sherlock's jaw clenched shut as he finally looked back at Irene, his face impassive, his eyes practically murderous.

"Darling, guess who I just ran into in the bathroom." Irene said as she came and sat down next to Sherlock, gesturing for the woman to take a seat beside John.

"No." Sherlock said as he watched John slide over in the booth to allow for the woman to sit next to him. Their eyes met, the woman blushed, John smiled.

"This is Mary Morstan, we went to university together."

John looked at Irene, his eyebrows raised in disbelief – he obviously hadn't worked it out yet but he had been around Sherlock enough to know when to simply follow along and not ask questions, "Oh really, well that's... a coincidence?"

"No it isn't." The second Sherlock said it he felt Irene's fingers curl tightly around his inner thigh in warning. He knew what she was doing: presenting this woman in front of John in the hope that it would provoke Sherlock to some base level of jealousy to prove her previous point. But it wasn't going to work; she looked far too timid and socially awkward to effectively attract John's attention – at least not before Sherlock worked out a way to frighten her off.

Irene settled herself closer to Sherlock on the booth and smiled falsely at Mary, "I thought that it would be nice if we all had breakfast together, have a little catch up_"

"So why are you down here instead of back in London?" Sherlock asked, interrupting Irene and causing Mary to turn her attention away from John.

"I... um_"

"It's a Monday, surely you have work... unless you've been fired – which is unlikely because you keep feeling your pocket, presumably for your phone which means that someone keeps texting you, it can't be your boyfriend because he recently left you for your mother. Your skittish nature and lack of confidence speaks for itself, you obviously don't have that many friends – at least none who would text you compulsively. So one can only assume that you have an overly clingy boss who relies heavily on you to do everything and in your absence is panicking slightly. So you're on holiday, using up some of your vacation days for a break in which you can fully bask in your early midlife crisis and despair over the horrific nature of the male sex – something women have a tendency to do after they have been jilted by a former lover. You needed to get away but your low paying job gave you few options thus why you find yourself in a dying seaside town, eating greasy food out of unclean plates while simultaneously trying to scout out a mate with whom you can start to procreate with – obviously a nagging need in women of your age. I should thus take this opportunity to tell you now that although John is fertile, he has no immediate plans to start spreading his proverbial seed."

Mary stared at him wide eyed, her mouth hanging open slightly, "How did you... how did you know all_"

"Sherlock darling, was that really necessary?" Irene asked.

"You said that you wanted to catch up."

"Yes, but that generally involves a nice ebb and flow of conversation, not a monologue – especially from the ignorant party_"

"I'm not ignorant. Mary, was I wrong about anything?"

Mary just sat there for a moment staring dumbfounded at Sherlock. He felt his lips trying to twitch into a smile. She was just like all of John's former girlfriends, they didn't like the truth to be laid before them, especially in such a blunt and "tactless" – as John often referred to it – way.

He was waiting for her to storm off in an offended huff when she finally opened her mouth and said, "That was... incredible. I don't know how you knew all of that but... that was amazing."

Sherlock blinked, "You're not offended?" He asked, trying to mask his incredulity.

"No, not at all, I'm sort of in awe actually. I've never seen someone do that before, it was like watching a magic trick."

Irene made a noise that conveyed her satisfaction which only went to infuriate Sherlock further.

"Was I wrong about anything?" He asked again, this time his voice taking on a coldness that even sent a chill through his own veins.

"Um..." she blushed a deeper shade of red before she said, "My boyfriend didn't leave me for my mother he... um... left me for my... father."

Sherlock watched John turn in his seat so that he could see Mary more clearly.

"Really? That must have been difficult."

"What break up isn't?" She asked rhetorically as she picked up a paper napkin from the table and started to tear it into tiny squares, "But you got everything else right." She said, directing a small smile at Sherlock almost like she was praising a child.

How dare she? He didn't need any validation from her, he needed no smile of encouragement to know that he had be right about everything else. And why was she smiling? She should be blaming him for her state of obvious embarrassment, not praising him for his blatantly bad behaviour.

Sherlock saw slight movement from his side and when he looked over he saw Irene gesturing subtly to Mary who nodded and said, "So Irene told me that you're a doctor. What's that like?"

John opened his mouth to answer her but Sherlock quickly interjected, "He was once an army doctor, simultaneously stitching up men while facing enemy fire. He is now working as a GP in which his day mainly consists of dealing with hypochondriacs and handing out excessive amounts of antibiotics. It is a life of relative tedium, repetition and boredom - hardly a good conversational topic."

Irene's fingers dug tighter into his leg and John shot him a look of withered annoyance. Mary continued to smile that infuriatingly understanding, partly amused, smile at him.

"So um... how long ago did you get back?"

John, who had been staring at Sherlock reproachfully, looked up at her and said, "Around three years_"

"Three years, four months and eleven days." Sherlock interjected again, not liking how easily Mary was leeching up all of John's attention.

"Well you look like you just got back_ I mean in a good way, not that you look haggard or anything, just that you still look really strong – muscled even. Do you... um... work out?" As soon as the clichéd question had passed her lips, Mary groaned and buried her head in her hands.

To Sherlock's horror, John merely chuckled and blushed like he was some sort of adolescent school girl.

"It's the jumpers." Sherlock said quickly, "They create the allusion that he's a lot larger than he actually is – very much like a sheep in summer."

"And how would you know? You've never seen me naked."

"I've seen you walking around dripping wet after you've had a shower with only a towel around your waist." Sherlock looked at Mary, "He's a short, pale, chubby little man – hardly an ideal potential sexual partner."

He was lying of course. John, although comparatively short, was by no means pale or chubby. His stomach was larger than Sherlock's, but his arms, chest and legs still maintained the firmness of his former years of service. He knew that women found John attractive and going by the doe eyed, star struck way that Mary was looking at him now, Sherlock realised that she was no exception. In fact, she seemed far from deterred and, in response to Sherlock's comment, she simply smiled salaciously at John and said,

"Although I'm sure your friend is grossly underestimating you, I do have a thing for short men. My first crush was actually Bilbo Baggins, I thought that when I got older we were going to get married and live in the Shire." She said sheepishly.

"Are you likening me to a Hobbit?" John asked, mildly amused.

Mary's smile widened, her former hesitation and embarrassment slowly eroding as she warmed to her theme, "No, I'm simply stating that I have a thing for shorter men."

"So you're calling me short?"

Why are you smiling John? Sherlock thought, it's not a compliment to be likened to a tiny, hairy footed creature from a fantasy novel!

"Not so much short as... nicely compacted." Mary said as she inclined her body towards John.

As Sherlock watched the two continue to converse and flirt with ease he felt a burning sensation radiate from his chest and into his throat. The sensation was similar to that of rage but with a few subtle differences: unlike anger, this feeling was mixed with a level of gnawing desperation and vulnerability. Never before had he yearned for John's attention more than he did in this moment and the fact that he was being ignored was driving him insane.

Sherlock was startled by the feeling of Irene sliding her arm through his and resting her head against his shoulder. He felt her tilt her face up until her lips were brushing the shell of his ear,

"Jealously suits you Sherlock, you're very endearing to me right now."

"I'm not jealous." Sherlock hissed – although his blushing cheeks belied his claim. He knew that he was seething with jealously, but jealously was a sign of a lesser man, one who was ruled by his emotions, so he could never admit to suffering from that particular affliction.

"You have to learn," Irene continued, "that John isn't your toy, you can't play with him when you want and discard him when you're bored."

"Isn't that what he's doing to me now?" Sherlock asked, keeping his voice low so that he wouldn't disturb John and Mary's conversation.

"Is it driving you insane darling? If you feel like this now how will you feel when the inevitable happens? He will leave you one day Sherlock, he needs companionship."

"He'll leave me anyway." Sherlock said as his eyes flickered between John and Mary, taking in their smiles and slightly flushed faces.

Irene hummed her assent, "That is a possibility, although not a definite outcome of your impending romantic relationship. However if you do nothing and deny him any hope of being with you then he most definitely will go."

"So I lose either way."

"Possibly." Irene conceded as she softly nuzzled his neck, "Although the former option at least gives you a chance of prolonged happiness. Isn't that worth the gamble?"

"I don't like gambling."

"But you do like experiments. Why don't you do what you do best? Strip away all the emotions and the complexities of the situation and simply devise an experiment. If the outcome is successful then you continue with the relationship, if it isn't... well at least you tried. At this moment your conclusion that entering into a romantic relationship with John will end only in pain and disaster is completely illogical... and I thought you abhorred the idea of ill founded deductions?"

Sherlock sat up in his seat, his brain suddenly starting to ignite. Although he knew that she was manipulating him he couldn't deny that out of all the options that were presented to him, the one now forming in his brain seemed to be the most appealing. It had the chance of making things burn with brighter clarity without digging either him or John into a proverbial hole. Perhaps there was a way of keeping John without changing the parameters of their current relationship. If this worked, maybe they could go back to what they were before.

"You have a plan don't you?" Irene asked, her excitement evident in her voice.

Instead of answering her Sherlock disentangled her arm from his and said, "John I think I've been too hasty."

John – who had been laughing at something Mary had said – looked up at Sherlock in sudden bewilderment, "What?"

"I've been too hasty_"

"About what?"

"Us."

John flinched back almost as if he had been slapped in the face. There was no way of describing the complete look of shock that was currently dominating John's features, "I... what... do you think that you could possibly elaborate further?" He practically choked out.

Sherlock nodded, trying to maintain a calm composure as he said, "I believe that I have prematurely come to the conclusion that any potential romantic relationship that we could enter into with each other would end badly. And yet, I have no empirical evidence to support this conclusion."

Irene coughed slightly, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes, "Irene had a part to play in me seeing the error of my own analysis." He said begrudgingly.

John blinked a few times, obviously not seeing what Sherlock was getting at. Sherlock sighed impatiently before he said, "Isn't it obvious what I'm suggesting?"

"No Sherlock, not really, do you think you could possibly make it a little clearer?"

Sherlock bit back his irritation and instead focused on communicating his intent as clearly as possible, "John, I'm asking you to go on a date with me."