Authors Note:
Obviously, I don't own these characters. Okay... So this is where I start developing plot and something else as well (Spoilers, sweetie :P) Anyway, major chapter, thanks if you are reading this, sorry I've taken a while. This one's short but important./p

"Shut up. Your husband is dead and no amount of whining will fix that." John elbowed Sherlock's ribs. "What he means to say," he said kindly, "Is that we're sorry for your loss and we would just like you to answer a few questions." The woman before them quaked, her brown hair falling into her face. After a final racking sob she scowled at John and Sherlock. "What business is it of you? You're barely children. I don't believe you're associated with the police!" A fresh sob racked her body and she brought her sleeve up to her face. Sherlock sighed. "Yes, we've been over that. Okay? We're just starting out. Like an internship in being consultants. Now please, if you will, when was the last time you talked to your husband. Was it dinner last night?"

"Yes." The woman doubled over and then sat up again and took a shuddering breath. John hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder and patted a few times. She started again. "It was our anniversary, and-"

"Shhhhhh! I have all I need. Come along, John. Goodbye. By the way, your husband was awful. You've driven a nasty person to end his frivolous life." With that Sherlock jumped down from the desk he was perched on and swept down the stairs. John smiled at the woman, who was now sitting looking shocked with a single tear trailing down her face. "I'm sorry." He said.

…..

"That was a horrible first case. I'm sorry." Sherlock was skipping along the sidewalk, occasionally jumping into the road and back out a few steps ahead of John. John rolled his eyes. "Well, you did put that poor lady off her rocker back there. Are you always like that?"

"Well, you know I have poor social skills. It's not my fault."

"It most certainly is your fault, Holmes." John retorted. Sherlock laughed. "If it helps, I didn't tell her that her husband was cheating on her with at least two women and three men." He said. John shook his head. "Sherlock…"

"Yes, John?"

"Thanks." John smiled and quickened his pace a bit. Sherlock took very long strides.

…..

Sherlock didn't sleep much that night. He was busy experimenting and jotting his findings in his notebook. Mother and Father had gotten left early in the morning for their trip, so the house was silent when Sherlock's phone rang. He picked it up and squinted at the blinding light of the screen. It read John Watson. Sherlock placed it back on the table. A few minutes later it rang again. Sherlock growled at it but picked it up and held it to his ear. "Hello John," he said. "You know I prefer to text. Why are you calling?" Sherlock could hear shouting through the phone. "I need a place to stay. Please." John's voice sounded rather urgent and scared. Sherlock startled a bit. John always seemed so level headed. "What's wrong?" Sherlock hissed into the phone. He was surprised at how urgent his voice sounded.

"It's Harry."

"What?"

John coughed lightly."She and Clara are going through a rough spot and I think they're breaking up. Harry's upset and on the drink and my parents found out. There." Sherlock nodded slowly and sighed. "Come on over."

…..

The scene downstairs was bad. Harry was screaming that she was an adult and she could be an alcoholic if she damn well wanted to while their alcoholic mother screamed back. John managed to sneak past and slide out the door with his bag and school things. He saw his mother look at him and ran before she could bring him back inside. He ran a bit and then walked the rest of the way to Sherlock's house. Sherlock opened the door as he walked up to it and he gratefully went inside. "Thank you Sherlock." Sherlock furrowed his brow as he closed the door. "Are you okay, John?" John smiled slightly. "Better now, thanks."

"Stop flirting, John." Sherlock laughed. As John started to protest Sherlock shushed him. "Fact," he said. "When someone as observant as me thinks you're flirting with them, you probably are." John laughed. "You're completely full of yourself, you know that? Brilliant, but self-obsessed." Sherlock smiled and took a small bow as if John was applauding. Out of the corner of his mouth he whispered "Flirting." John laughed a bit and put down his coat and bags. He managed to get to the couch before he was racked by a deep sigh. Harriet and mother were always fighting. About Harry still living at home, about her being lesbian, about her drinking, about her influence on John. Basically, anything they could find to row over they did. Sometimes it got so bad there that John slept at a friends house. And, of course, no friend better than Sherlock. Sherlock didn't know he was John's best friend. In fact, John had been startled himself. He'd only met the man on Saturday. It made some sense though. All of John's friends before were not that great of friends with him anyway. He didn't get along with most people that well. With Sherlock, he'd just sort of clicked. He watched his friend hover around him and found himself reluctant to take his eyes off of him. Sherlock was easy to look at. And he was John's friend. Even if he was a pompous prat sometimes. John's phone rang. Mother. "Shit," he muttered. Sherlock, who had lightly sat down on the couch and steepled his fingers to his face, jumped a bit and turned. "What is it?" He asked. John nodded at his phone. It was in his jacket pocket. Ringing. "Your mother." Sherlock guessed. John nodded. "Yeah."

"Let me get you some tea." Sherlock jumped up and twirled towards the kitchen. John noticed that his top button was broken off of his shirt. He stuck another nicotine patch onto his arm and picked out two cups. "John!" He called.

"Yes?"

"How do you make tea?"

….

Five minutes later Sherlock and John sat next to each other and slowly sipped mint tea. Sherlock studied John. He was staring straight forward, his brow creased as if he were trying to make out something in the distance. Sherlock smiled into his tea and slowly stood up. John put down his tea slowly and leaned back with a sigh. Sherlock watched as his eyes slowly closed. He looked smaller. Sherlock felt suddenly very protective. He gently layer John down. If John woke at all, he showed no sign of it. Then Sherlock pulled the blanket off of the top of the couch and covered his sleeping friend. Friend. That word had never been one Sherlock had in his repertoire. He had no friends. Maybe he did, though. Maybe now he had one.

Thursday, the Next Week.

Sherlock checked his phone. "We've got a theft." John was relieved to hear it. They'd been texting Junior Officer Lestrade and commander Beckett nonstop for about an hour. Sherlock was desperately bored, and John hated the nicotine patches, and restricted him to one. He was disapproving generally of most of Sherlocks habits. Getting high, (Which he hadn't done for months, so John had only mentioned it as a cautionary measure.) smoking, (On the grounds that it was illegal for a seventeen year old to smoke and it caused cancer) and deducing people to their faces. (Though John enjoyed it when Sherlock told him what he deduced as long as the victim couldn't hear.) So, basically, it was down to solving cases when John was around, which was pretty much all the time that he wasn't asleep or in class. And here was a case.

When they got to the site they saw it was a jewelry store. Classic. But different. Whoever had robbed it had cut a hole in the glass and climbed through that. It was a rather jagged hole, not too well done. John ran his hand along it gently. Sherlock, meanwhile, immediately got to work. The taller man kept silent as he worked, but John could nearly see his brain turning. Then John saw it. "Uh, Sherlock?"

"Not now John." Sherlock warned.

"Sherlock!"

"Shh."

"Sherlock get everyone out!" John screamed. He pulled down hard on the fire alarm and started pushing officers away. Sherlock hadn't budged. He was determined to finish his investigation. John grabbed him by the hand and ran. Sherlock, he realised, was gripping his hand. He'd noticed. They rushed across the street, feet pounding on the uneven cement, and crowded into the pub across the way. By now the whole place was silent. John slammed the door as Sherlock came in and whirled him around. Almost the instant they turned around, the little wire John had seen fed a signal to that little blue box and the store exploded. And there was fire and noise and then deafening, ear splitting silence. Sherlock sat down and tried to let go of Johns hand. Some part of him didn't want to, though. Some part of him said that he was so close to losing his only friend. If he let go, John might slip away. Slowly, the silence was drowned out by sound Sirens wailed and people talked excitedly. Helicopters whirred above. Sherlock saw that it was definitely time to get out. He forced his hand out of John's and whispered into his ear. "Let's get out of here." They slipped out slowly and quietly. Nobody noticed in all of the commotion. Once they had pushed past the forming crowds, they made their way to Sherlock's house. All the way there, Sherlock mumbled angrily about all the evidence. "All of it, gone. I barely had the time to get a proper first sweep of the window in."

"I'm sure that was the point." John said quietly. "Destroying the evidence." Sherlock nodded slowly. His brain was on overdrive. When they stepped up to the door of his house he noticed Mycroft's umbrella. He turned to John. "You are about to meet my brother. Don't engage." John smiled slightly, whispering "Finally." Mycroft was sipping tea on the couch, reading a newspaper.

"Mycroft. Don't you have a bomb emergency on your hands?" Sherlock said icily.

"Oh, you've forgotten your manners again, little brother. I do have one, and that's why I'm here. You were involved, were you not?" Mycroft replied cordially. "Is this John? How nice to finally meet you John." John nodded at Mycroft. He'd heard from Sherlock what his brother was really like, though it was hard to see. Sherlock was certainly biased.

"John was just going." Sherlock said quickly. John nodded and glared quickly at Sherlock before stalking out of the door.

…

8:47 pm

John.

8:49 pm

What.

8:50 pm

I'm sorry, John. Mycroft doesn't want us to be friends. He'll try and find your weakness. I had to get you away from him.

8:50 pm

Okay. Why not?

8:52 pm

He thinks I'm too valuable. Anyway, are you okay?

8:52 pm

A bit shaken, but yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about your evidence.

8:53 pm

It's okay. I've got enough. I have the address of the thief.

8:54 pm

That's great! :) How?!

8:55 pm

She left a note on my doorstep. We're looking for a Ms. Chelsea R.

8:56 pm

You know her name too?

9:00 pm

Yes. Obviously.

9:01 pm

… Sherlock?

9:02 pm

Yes, John?

9:10 pm

John?

9:12 pm

Thank you for not getting blown up.

9:13 pm

You too, John.

9:14 pm

Goodnight, Sherlock.

9:15 pm

Goodnight.

John stared at his phone. For some reason, he kept reading Sherlock's texts again and again. When he thought of the mans pale fingers tapping at the keyboard, his face concentrating on the glowing screen, something shifted. John felt a bit queasy. A bit excited. He whispered to himself. "I think I like Sherlock Holmes," the words sending a shiver down his back. no. He couldn't. That was impossible. "I'm not even gay." He whispered to the bright phone screen. Sherlock was just a friend. A very best friend. John shook his head and tried to imagine going on a date with Sherlock. He didn't recoil or feel uncomfortable, but it wasn't the most exciting possibility. "Just friends," he assured himself as his screen went black.