As Angelo walked off grinning with the promise of a candle and an extra something to celebrate John's return, Sherlock chuckled and looked over at his friend. Why didn't he stay, then? John belonged here. "Can't say I missed you more than before, because I wish you were here, home, every second of every day, no matter what year it is or how soon you're coming back to visit." He looked up at him. "Mycroft lied to me. The first time the internet died on us those few days ago…he said it was just the power lines."

John fell silent at that. He knew Sherlock missed him, but that badly? He ran a hand over his face and looked back at Sherlock. "I never knew," he said, now looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry you miss me that much."

But you don't miss me back, so what's the point of being sorry? Sherlock thought to himself. But of course he didn't say that. "Not your fault. I expect it wouldn't be so bad if I knew you were safe. If something ever happened to you, John…" he trailed off, unable to finish.

John's eyes flitted up. "Yes?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said quickly, shaking his head, "nothing at all." Angelo interrupted them with their food and wine, and told them he'd bring a romantic dessert later. The detective rolled his eyes, but fondly.

John grinned after the owner of the restaurant, and then looked back at his friend. "I know there are risks, Lockie," he said, "But I'm a medic, I'm not in much danger, in comparison with the other guys." He tilted his head a little. "I'm not telling you not to worry, that'd be unfair. But I am telling you to have faith."

Not wanting to be depressing, Sherlock gave him a smile and nodded. He filled John's glass and then his own in thoughtful silence before he spoke, "You have a point. I do trust you, and your abilities."

John nodded and suddenly reached out to place his hand over Sherlock's. "I will always come back to you, Sherlock. I promise."

Looking down at their linked hands, Sherlock smiled tenderly and nodded. "Good. Thank you," he whispered approvingly, before picking up his fork. "Now – bon appetite."

John nodded and pulled his hand away, "Likewise," he said, smiling fondly at Sherlock. He was glad the man was eating, he could use it. The pasta was very good, the wine a good choice, and Sherlock turned out to be very chatty again. John loved it.

During dinner, Sherlock kept off the topic of John's military service and instead conversed with him on every other subject. They spoke about everything from books to advances in science before they were interrupted by a young woman who came over to John, nodding at the small dance floor off to the corner where a band was playing, wondering if he would like a dance.

John smiled and bit his lip. She was really attractive, with full lips, shiny eyes, blond curly hair - exactly his type. He glanced at Sherlock and asked, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Sherlock lied, with a convincingly encouraging smile, as he sat back and allowed the two to walk off together. As soon as they were gone, he got out his phone, looking up updates and checking his messages to keep tabs on a case he was following in the media and wanted to take on.

John held the woman in his arms, who appeared to be called Mary Morstan, and who was a nurse at Bart's. They danced to some upbeat songs, which allowed John to twirl her around a couple of times. He laughed, and caught her when she was a bit dizzy, and grinned when she held his upper arms. Oh, was she pretty.

Half way through, Sherlock got a text from Lestrade telling him that he was needed. He looked over at John, and was about to invite him to either come - or stay himself - but he just seemed to be so happy. Infuriatingly happy with that idiotic girl. And those two factors - John's happiness and Sherlock's own annoyance - made the decision for him. He quickly scribbled a note for John, telling him that he had covered the bill and didn't know when he would be back at the flat. After some persuasion, he forcibly paid Angelo for the meal, told him that the dessert could be given to John, and simply left the establishment, his food and drink largely untouched.

John looked up after that song, and frowned sadly when he saw Sherlock leave the restaurant. Probably on a case, then, there was no other reason why Sherlock would just... leave. He sighed and looked back at Mary, who smiled up at him. "Your friend's gone home," she said, "Want to drink something at my place?"

Meanwhile, Sherlock sent John a text.

John,

Change of plans. Will be home tonight. Notify me if you need me to stay out of the flat. - SH

John smiled down at Mary's face, stroking her cheek with a rough index finger. "Sure. Drinks sound just fine." He accompanied his words with a big grin, leaving no room to guess what he meant.

When Sherlock received no reply, he swallowed thickly. This was so unfair. It was meant to be their reunion after six months apart. Maybe Mycroft was right – he should stop worrying and caring for John. Clearly, the soldier was not interested, and could take care of himself.

John arrived back at 221B rather late. Or early, it depended. He had had a good time, really, although now that he walked home, he wondered why Sherlock had just left. He didn't even ask if John had wanted to join him before he left. It was unfair, John thought when he stuck the key in the door.

Sherlock, still hurt by the fact that John had not answered his texts in all this time, was working the case on-location and realised that he was far too upset to go back to the flat. Maybe John was still with that girl, and the longer the flat was empty, the longer he would brood. So instead, he did what he did best. He holed up in a hotel close to the crime scene and shut himself off from everything but the case.

When John reached the living room, he was slightly disappointed to find it empty. He reached for his phone and only then saw the texts.

Sorry for not responding earlier, I only read them just now. How's the case? Need some help like the old days? JW

Sherlock read the text right away, but out of dignity, waited a full hour before he responded. A wasted hour. All John's fault.

No thank you, John. Like you say, they were 'old' days. I'm surprised you're back so early. Unfortunately the scene is quite a distance away, and I wouldn't want you to miss seeing her again tonight on my account. - SH

John frowned and texted back, You're being a prick again, Sherlock. I'll talk to you tomorrow. JW

I'm being the prick? Typical. Everyone blames me for everything. Everyone gets bored of me. Shouldn't expect you to be any different. SH

What the..!? John stared at his phone, half of a mind to call.

You are the one who just walked out on our night together, Sherlock, not me. JW

I wasn't the one who left my friend after seeing them for the first time in six months to go dance with some idiot. SH

What is wrong with you!? JW

John was practically bristling. He had asked permission for heaven's sake!

I asked if it were alright, Sherlock, and you nodded, and then left! JW

What was I supposed to say? 'No John, you deserve better than her, and it was very rude of her to interrupt our conversation, and since you say we're 'friends' you should have the courtesy of declining? You'd be livid with me for losing your…whatever she is to you. SH

You never lied to me before, Sherlock. I thought that you, knowing how much I like dancing, would have been happy for me to find a dance partner. And now this…? You know, shove it. I'm off to sleep. JW

Goodnight. SH

It was all emotions' fault. Stupid, meddling emotions. He shouldn't /care/ that John didn't like him, it shouldn't /hurt/ that he'd rather spend the night with some stranger than have dinner with Sherlock. But he did.

The next morning, John awoke, and it left him staring at the ceiling, determining what had gone wrong the day before. Sherlock was right, up to a point. They could talk about this and make it better, ye

s. So, with new hope, John left his bedroom and trotted down the stairs.

Sherlock was sitting at his microscope, doing an experiment. Mrs Hudson was already up and had made them both breakfast, consisting of eggs, bacon, mushrooms and toast. Sherlock's, of course, was completely untouched.

"Morning," John mumbled, sitting down at the kitchen table. He cleared his throat and tapped a random rhythm on the table top. "What's the experiment?"

"Study in fingernail deterioration. For the case." Sherlock answered tersely, scribbling something down on a piece of paper.

John nodded, and grabbed his fork to pick at his breakfast. "Why were you so angry with me yesterday?" he suddenly asked.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said softly in reply, "it was my fault. I didn't mean it and I take back everything I said. You're an adult and can do whatever you want and I have no right to criticise your decisions."

"Okay," John said slowly, putting his fork down. "But that wasn't what I asked. "/Why/ were you so angry?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Dunno." Sentiment, John.

John sighed softly and gave up. "Fine. But you know, next time just be honest. You are my best friend, yes? Perhaps I'll just dance with you." He winked and smirked. "Now, eat your breakfast."

Sherlock lightened up a little, but pouted, "I'm not hungry. Mrs Hudson has to stop doing…" he waved pointedly at the plate meant for him, "that."

John narrowed his eyes. "You smiled when I mentioned the dancing. Why? Do you suddenly feel like it?"

Sherlock huffed at the cross-interrogation. "No. I smiled because you winked. Made me think of when we first met."

John smirked and winked, tucking in as well. Things were once again back to normal.

"I suppose you can join me in seeing the case closed," Sherlock said thoughtfully, sipping his tea, "I'll fill you in on the details during the drive to the Yard."

John nodded happily. "Yes, I'd love that," he said, grinning. "Good."

Sherlock was about to reply when his phone rang, and he answered it, sighing.
"…Yes Angelo, good morning. I…no, no I'm fine, everything's alright, stop fussing. No, I am not upset! You're as bad as my landlady. I…doubt he wants to, actually. Thank you for the concern, though. Yes…bye." He hurriedly hung up, going back to his food.

Amused, John watched his friend. "What did Angelo ask?" He asked casually, smearing jam on his toast.

"Apparently he noticed what happened last night, and wondered whether or not we wanted to replan the dinner for tonight, or whether he should set me up with someone else since 'my boyfriend had cruelly deserted me for someone else'." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John sighed deeply, and shook his head. "I didn't. It's just a dance."

"I know. Angelo likes to be dramatic. Anyhow, I informed him that you wouldn't want to go anyway."

John looked up at that. "Oh, no. Don't be like that. We are going out tonight, and we are dancing. That isn't negotiable, Sherlock."

"Dancing? Us? But…why would you want to dance with me?" Sherlock looked honestly confused.

John smirked, and leaned back in his chair. "Because I like dancing, and you don't want me to dance with strangers. Dancing with you is the best solution, hm?"

Sherlock bit his lip awkwardly, "I doubt I'm as good as you, John."

John laughed heartily and stood up, placing his plate in the sink. "I don't care," he said, "We will have fun. Well, at least I will." He smirked and filled his cup with some more tea, as he leaned against the counter top.

Sherlock slowly continued to pick at his food, but allowed himself a smile eventually, "…Well. That sounds rather…interesting, I must admit. I'd love a dance with you."

"That's decided, then," John said, looking pleased. "Just promise me you won't stand on my toes too often."

"Promise," Sherlock laughed. He was actually a wonderful dancer and was secretly eager to prove it.

Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian

What did you think? Observations? Deductions? Theories for the next chapter?

P.S. Hi everyone! Shout-out time as always! And if you want any comments from the lovely CowMow herself, please nag her, and I'm sure you'll get one! ^^
Also, please stay tuned for the completion of my other two stories. When they are done, you're going to get a massive Reichenbach surprise! :D Another co-authored fic/roleplay I'm currently writing with Cherik221b, which is already almost 100,000 words in length. But who cares? We take our fandom seriously. So if you like a bit of angst, LOTS OF FLUFF (my trademark), puppies, babies and rose-hued romance, you won't be waiting long.

I'm yours as always,

SherlockedSherlockian xxx

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Lindariddle cyria Starlight05 CompassionAndCaring Edge of the elahe (guest) MouraMoura SpencerReidFan89 FantasyDreamer23 Moonlitorion CowMow FearTheTrumpets lizalou262 CowMow (as requested XD)