Sherlock didn't think twice about leaving the flat. Hastily throwing on his outerwear and slamming the downstairs front door behind him, he made his way down Baker Street and around the corner to hail a cab. He wasn't particularly going anywhere, the drive, however, would hopefully clear his mind.

What was clouding Sherlock's mind was not necessarily the death of his ex-wife. (Though the papers were never filed, Sherlock had long ago begun to consider Emily his ex.) It was however the thought of one John Watson that filled his head.

First of all, how was John handling this sudden news? Was he feeling betrayed? Lied to? And what of his daughter, unknown for six years, suddenly having to move in with them? And, most importantly, what of these emotions stirring inside him? The pang in his heart when seeing the hurt look on John's face at the sight of Sherlock weeping in his brother's arms? That in it was embarrassing enough, John being able to view him as weak and vulnerable.

Sherlock had long since accepted his feelings for John. The day they met he had noticed an attraction to the other man, but soon after discarded the thought as unnecessary. It wasn't until his 'death' that he really began to notice how he had felt all those years. Seeing John with Mary was heartbreaking, bringing Sherlock to tears during confrontation with his daughter. Then, returning after three long years away from his blogger, being welcomed back with open arms (and a punch in the face, mind you).

With Emily, Sherlock believed he had found love. He had admitted to himself, and Lisbeth, that at the time, he did not know what love was. By the time things had gotten serious, he was sure the feeling wasn't there. He could see in Emily the feeling of love she felt towards him, yet he could not begin to comprehend it.

With John, things were different. For one, everything came easily. Telling John the truth, sharing his thoughts, eating. Eating, John had always forced him to eat, even on cases when Sherlock fled at the sight of food. And sleeping, John always cared enough to force him to sleep, if even for a few hours.

He had not lied to Lisbeth when he called John his saving grace. The lack of sleep and malnutrition would kill him some day, but the threat of cocaine overdose was what was really eating away at his existence. Sherlock tried hard not to think too much on it.

"Hey, buddy, you gettin' in the cab or what?"

Sherlock broke out of his thoughts. He had not noticed the cab the pulled in front of him. Judging by the look on the cabbie's face, he had been waiting for sometime. Sherlock didn't acknowledge the man, and instead began to head back in the direction he had come.

Ticked, the cabbie sped off down the road. Keeping his head down, Sherlock made his way back to 221B.

Driving the key into the lock, Sherlock carefully opened the front door. Clambering up the steps he reached the door to the flat just in time to hear:

"How do I make Sherlock Holmes fall in love with me?"

Sherlock stopped. Hand awkwardly stretched towards the doorknob, mid-step, jaw open with an unspoken 'I'm home!' He could make 23 deductions right there, on the spot, and yet, the only thing he could think of was:

Need more data.

Hand met doorknob, and Sherlock stepped into the main room. Lisbeth sat comfortably in his armchair, stretched with an empty teacup by her side. John on the other hand, looked like a fish out of water. He refused to acknowledge Sherlock, though the blush rising to his cheeks said that he knew Sherlock was there.

Data.

John is blushing. John is asking Lisbeth questions about me. John is interested in having me fall in love with him.

Beep.

It was Sherlock's mobile that broke the silence. It sat on the coffee table near Lisbeth, so she opted to read the message. Opening the text, she sighed.

"It's Lestrade."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow, "Case?"

She shook her head. "He's sending his condolences. Mycroft's asked him to hold cases for at least a week until you are, as he puts it, 'emotionally stable'. Load of bullshit if you ask me."

Sherlock shook his head as well. He sighed. "Fine. Tell him one week, no more, no less."

Lisbeth nodded shortly before turning her attention to the mobile. Clicking the tiny buttons at an incredible pace. Not long after she looked back up at her father.

"Have you unpacked?" He asked shortly, not too interested in a response.

She laughed, "You know I didn't bring anything, other than my laptop, and necessities. Hell, I didn't even pack clothes, everything stunk too much like that awful mansion."

Sherlock looked indifferent. Pulling out his wallet, he reached for two cards. Sliding them out he handed them to her. "Red one's credit, Blue one's atm. It'll be billed straight to Mycroft's account. By now, he's probably transferred your savings back to his, now that Emily is gone. Just don't max me out, John needs that card for Tesco's."

At that, the two seemed to remember John's presence in the room.

"Actually," He said, "John, why don't you go with her. Carry her bags or something. I have work to attend to." With that, Sherlock vanished into his room without an answer.

John turned back to Lisbeth. She smirked.

"Right then," he started, "Where to now?"