John knew the look on Sherlock's face when he'd noticed the difference between John and Moriarty. It had been light shock and then anger, all carefully shoved back away. SO he'd gone for air and was hoping against all hopes that when he came back both men would be scattered or just leave him alone. There was only so long he could stay out before Sherlock would text him. There was only so long he could stand Sherlock's silence, for John knew he would never ask what had happened between them. In a way that was comforting and in a way it was painful.

Coming back home he opened the door and took the stairs. Thankfully, Moriarty didn't look up from the couch and his book when John walked in. He got into his room without seeing Sherlock.

After a few hours of trying to sleep, he suddenly sat up and looked around. It occurred to him that it was completely unnecessary for Moriarty to sleep on the couch. There was no place to have time alone because the only areas Moriarty was allowed was open places. Sherlock probably had more valuable things hidden in his room than items in the rest of the flat combined.

John glanced around his room and decided he had less than a few dozen personal items he didn't want Moriarty getting his hands on. All easy to move. He stood at once and left his room. John descended the stairs quietly, hearing faint snoring from the living room. No point in waking the psycho.

It was strange how he fell asleep so easily. You'd think a man sleeping in the flat of two other men who hated him and wouldn't flinch were he dead, would sleep less soundly. Or maybe, John mused, he was faking it. Wouldn't surprise him.

He knocked on Sherlock's door. As he knew, Sherlock wasn't asleep and answered the door almost immediately. He looked almost surprised to see John. Immediately he seemed to relax and gave the smallest of smiles.

"What is it? Do you have any idea what time it is?" He asked, stepping back to let John in the room. Something he'd never done before but given that Moriarty was about, John figured there was no reason Sherlock would want the man to overhear anything.

"Not like it matters to you, you weren't asleep." He saw the mess of random things atop the bed. "Looks like you weren't headed to sleep any time soon either." Sherlock eyed the bed then looked to John, a quizzical expression on his face.

"I had an idea. I was trying to think it through but I figure now is the best..."

"I want your opinion on something. I think it would be a good idea if we..."

Both started and stopped at the same time. Sherlock had a look close to terror. John was sure he'd never quiet talked over/under someone like that before.

John made the motion for him to go first.

"I think Moriarty should take your room for a while. I'm positive you can bring your things in here and we can share. I barely sleep anyway." Sherlock said this in a fast, quipped manner and John, though he'd been thinking something similar, was taken aback by the offer of staying in Sherlock's room. He figured he hadn't really thought where he would sleep yet.

"Oh."

"What were you to say?"

"Pretty much the same thing. I'll, uh... go get my stuff."

"Yes, I will wait." Sherlock watched as John left his room and waited less than ten minutes before the man was back, a handful of things in his arms. None of which were clothes.

"I wouldn't trust Moriarty with my other stuff but it can't all fit in here." John laid the things down on the bed. Mostly toiletries, a few books and trinkets he kept dear. Sherlock noticed he didn't bring his cane, but he did bring the pain pills, though he knew John didn't take them much any more. Probably just an "in case Moriarty is an ass like usual and fucks with my shit" precaution.

Once John seemed settled, he told Sherlock he would go get Moriarty up for his room but only if Sherlock cleaned the damn bed off.

"He isn't sleeping." Sherlock said softly and John nodded that he knew.

Moriarty looked around John's room with mild interest. John hadn't needed to explain to the man, apparently Moriarty didn't give half a damn where he slept, and he wasn't afraid to tell John to shove it. In not so many kind words.

When John tried excusing himself, Moriarty spun and grabbed John's arm. Surprised, and remembering last time, John tried to pull away but he made contact so fast he stilled. For a few moments, he was relaxed and, if he were honest with himself, enjoying it. The lips of the psychotic man were not hard or harsh, they were soft and had a light taste of milk tea. He breathed in and was surprised at the normal smell that came from Moriarty, so manly and musky with aftershave.

Realizing who he was kissing, John shoved hard and glared at the man. Moriarty stumbled, a smile splitting his face. He looked at John, a look in his eyes. John knew the man felt how much John had enjoyed that.

It's because he reminds me of the Sherlock I first met. John said to himself as he left the room, closing the door with a hard click. The man disgusts me, all the blood on his hands.

At Sherlock's room, Sherlock could tell there was a stiffness that hadn't been there before. John lied down on the bed and sighed slowly, deeply.

"Please keep it quiet. I'm going to go to sleep." John attempted to close his eyes and sleep, facing the wall. Unfortunately he heard Sherlock tossing things about the room. Something hit him and he sat up, grabbing a pipe that was perfectly cleaned inside and out. He looked over his shoulder to find Sherlock standing perfectly innocent, hands at his sides, staring at John.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You threw this at me." Silence. "I'm trying to sleep." Silence. "Sherlock!"

"Yes? I heard you the first time." Sherlock said calmly, grabbing the pipe from John and stepping back, continuing to stare at him. They kept eye contact for what seemed like hours before John sighed and rolled over, tossing his legs off the edge and sitting up. He rubbed his eyes and sighed once more.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Shut up." Silence. John looked Sherlock directly in the eyes and waited, determined to not have to actually ask again.

"I..." Sherlock rocked from foot to foot seemingly attempting to find something to do with his hands. "It's none of my business what you and Moriarty do..." John cut him off by raising a hand sharply. Sherlock connected his eyes back to John's who had a speculating look.

"You're jealous?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I've seen you with women before. You dating is not a big deal and I can imagine that you don't just have dinner with them."

"No, but this is Moriarty." Sherlock licked his lips and John realized the man was nervous as well. Did he think he was losing John?

"It doesn't matter, as I said." John rose from the bed slowly, Sherlock eyeing his suspiciously all of a sudden.

"It matters to you, therefor it matters greatly." John said, surprising Sherlock with the sincerity of his words. "You want to know what happened between Moriarty and me?" Sherlock nodded ever so slightly, his eyes glued to John's lips.

Feeling a heat boil in his stomach he'd never felt before but he was absolutely positive he loved it, John slowly licked his lips. Sherlock's face gained a bit of color, eyes widening ever so slightly.

"Nothing important. Just a kiss." John whispered, watching Sherlock's face. Jealously raged inside of his eyes, flashing a grey he'd never seen before.

"You kissed him?"

"No, he kissed me." John reached up and touched Sherlock's chin, slipping two fingers up and touching his lips. The lips immediately split a fraction and John felt his copycat.

Suddenly, strong hands were on his body. One on the back of his neck and the other his hip. Sherlock was there, in his face, lips mere fractions from his. He breathed in, the smell of Sherlock surrounding him in waves of passionate promises. He shook at the thought of a kiss, trembled at the thought of his touch, spasmed at the flashing picture of touching him.

As he leaned in, he looked into John's eyes, most likely glazed with passion, and liked what he saw.

"How many times?"

"Twice... Just now was the second time." Sherlock paused, questions in his eyes. "I pushed him away."

"Why?"

"He isn't, and never will be, you." John whispered and Sherlock pulled him roughly forward, smashing their faces together. John felt lines of sheer feeling and pleasure spark from every nerve in his body where Sherlock touched, his lips radiating a soft pain from the violence of the kiss.