A NEW DAY

John woke up the next morning with his nose nestled in Sherlock's hair. He was playing the role of the big spoon, and Sherlock's hand was holding his. This was still confusing, but he couldn't deny that it felt so right. Last night, while he had been in his room trying to decide whether or not to join Sherlock, he had accepted the fact that he was never going to be with a woman again and that he had a lifetime of tossing off in the shower to look forward to. Surprisingly, he found that the more he thought about it, the less he cared. He'd proven time and time again that nothing could compare to being with Sherlock.

He moved slowly, afraid to wake his… partner. Yes, partner. That was a good word. Asleep, Sherlock looked much younger than he was and not at all like the moody, unpredictable sociopath John had come to love. John decided he'd have to wake up before him every morning just so he could watch him sleep.

After a while, Sherlock rolled over and looked at John. "I'm glad you decided to join me. Nightmares?"

"No. No nightmares. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well. How long were you watching me sleep?"

"Not long. Shall I go downstairs and start breakfast?"

"If you must. This is very warm and comfortable."

"I know, but I'm hungry and I have to work today."

"You don't have to go to work if you don't want to."

"I don't want to, but I need to. It makes me feel useful."

"Useful?"

"Yes. Not only do I help people, I earn money that is outside of what you make on the cases. I like being financially independent. I don't want to use your money for my things."

"Shut up. You help me solve those cases. It's your money, too."

"I don't do anything but stand by your side and tell you how brilliant you are." Sherlock opened his mouth to contradict John, but the look on his face forced Sherlock to shut up. "It's true. When have I ever done anything to help?"

"You knew how to remove carpet."

"You could have looked it up on the internet and besides, you guessed that he used the wood chipper. I wouldn't have thought of that. I'm not that… creative." Scary was the word he wanted to use, but creative would do. Sherlock could definitely be very scary when he wanted to. All John had to do was remember the criminal that Sherlock had thrown out the window several times. Despite his knowledge of the undue violence Sherlock was capable of, John trusted him implicitly with his life.

"John, enough!" Sherlock shouted. John was immediately taken aback. "I'm sorry that I keep calling you an idiot. Apparently, you've taken it to heart."

John decided to let the comment slide. "I'm not calling off work."

"I'm not letting you go." Sherlock flung his body over John's.

"Is this really necessary?" He tried to pull Sherlock off of him, but he was much stronger than he looked. "Sherlock, stop this!"

"No. Where's your mobile?"

"In my room. Where's yours?"

"I don't know."

John rolled his eyes. "So one of us will have to get up to call in some crappy excuse to Sarah. It's amazing she still lets me work with her considering she almost died while out on a date with me. Not to mention all the days I've slept at my desk, left early or called out because of a case."

"You're not calling off work. You're going to quit."

"I can't stay here with you all day, every day. I'll go mad." John looked into his eyes. "Sorry, Sherlock, but I can't. Now let me up."

"Fine." John sighed. Sulky Sherlock was back. Wonderful.

"Don't destroy the flat while I'm at work, OK? You freak Mrs. Hudson out when you shoot holes in the wall. You hear me? No guns, no redecorating, no using all the milk. Go to Bart's and have Molly get you some more body parts for your experiments."

John extracted himself from Sherlock's grip. The thought of quitting his job and spending all day curled up in bed with Sherlock was very appealing. He rather liked this new relationship paradigm.

#

"You look different, John. Are you and Sherlock doing OK?"

John swallowed hard unsure of what to say. She was the first woman to point out his unusual relationship with the detective and he wanted to confide in her, but wasn't sure if he should. "Yes. You could say that."

"Did Sherlock get a case?" She handed him a cup of coffee before pouring herself one.

"Solved it in a few hours. A record, even for him."

"Must be bored out of his mind, then."

"He was before this case came about. I don't know what I'll go home to. He's… well… you've met him."

"Yes, I have. Unfortunately." She laughed. "I still can't figure out why you live with him."

"He's not completely terrible to live with. He has his moments."

Sarah smiled. "You mean, like when you two are…"

It was an unfunny joke and one he was tired of hearing. "It's not like that between us, and you know it," he snapped. He sighed, ashamed at his outburst. "You're right, though. Something is going on between us, and I don't know what it is. He's started… touching… me." John grimaced. That came out very wrong.

"Is Sherlock touching you in a bad place?" She burst out laughing. When she saw the look on John's face, she calmed down quickly. "You're serious? I didn't think he was the affectionate type."

"We hold hands, and uh, err, we sleep in the same bed together." He could feel the heat in his cheeks. "It's nice. He's kind of starved for affection, you know? He's… different and we're happy, but isn't it weird? Two mates, cuddling on the couch while they watch telly?"

"John, if it were anyone else but you and Sherlock, then, yes. You two live in your own little world and you've connected on such a deep level that it doesn't surprise me at all." She smiled sadly. "You two have always made me feel like the other woman. I guess it's a good thing you've decided on each other. Just don't expect to come over to my place and kip on the sofa every time you two argue."

John laughed. "Is that your blessing, then?" Before Sarah could answer, his text alert sounded. He read the text, not at all surprised it was from Sherlock.

I'M BORED - SH

"What? Texting you already? Doesn't he know you just got here?" She headed off to start her day, leaving John in the small kitchen trying to decide just how he was going to murder Sherlock when he got home.

I'M HUNGRY - SH

I MISS YOU - SH

COME HOME - SH

It was going to be one of those days. John shook his head and headed to his office. He looked over his patient files before he gave in and responded to Sherlock's text.

NO. - JW

John sighed and settled into work. Thankfully, he had a light day ahead of him and the first few patients would go quickly. Before he saw the first one, the text alert went off again. Instead of looking at it, he shoved the phone into his desk and locked the drawer. Sherlock was going to drive him mad today

#

After work, John let himself into 221B Baker Street, where Mrs. Hudson promptly greeted him. "I don't know what he's gotten into up there, but I've heard explosions and banging for the better part of the day. Do be careful, dear."

"I will." John grimaced and prepared himself for whatever his crazy flatmate had gotten into. He paused at the top of the stairs. "Sherlock?"

"Kitchen!"

John looked around the kitchen and saw all new appliances. The old ones were piled in the corner, each one neatly labeled "EXPERIMENTS ONLY." Sherlock was sitting at the table calmly eating one of Mrs. Hudson's famous scones, a mug of tea at his side. "I did some shopping. I hope you didn't want to pick anything out."

John opened the fridge. There wasn't a single body part in there. Just food. And milk. Lots of milk. He fought to keep the smile from taking over his face. "No. It's fine. I'm just completely gobsmacked." He turned to the cabinets and drawers, opening each one in turn. "New silverware, even."

"I replaced everything. Even scrubbed the shelves and cupboards."

John kept spinning around the kitchen, not believing his eyes. "Mrs. Hudson heard explosions."

"Ah, yes. My homemade cleaning solution. Not very good at cleaning, I'm afraid, but it makes an excellent explosive." Sherlock smiled.

John sat at the table and looked around, unwilling to accept what he was seeing. "Have you heard from Lestrade yet?"

"No." Sherlock finished the scone and stood up. "Text him and ask him if he has any cold cases."

"Text him yourself." John grabbed the paper and headed towards the living room. He settled into his chair and began to read. "You certainly didn't have any problems texting earlier."

"That's not the point." Sherlock lay on the couch. "The point is that you were at work and I was lonely." Gone were the days when John would leave and he hadn't noticed. John's absence in the flat had been overwhelming. It was all Sherlock had been able to think about.

"We went over this this morning. I need to work." John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the headache forming behind his eyes. "I need the money."

"Mycroft paid us. US. As in you and I. In fact, I've already transferred what was left after the appliances into your bank account."

John wanted to ask how Sherlock knew his bank account information, but decided it wasn't worth it. If Sherlock could hack into his computer - even with a password randomly generated by some website - getting his bank account information wouldn't be too much of a stretch. "Sherlock, Mycroft paid you. You're the one that solved the case. I didn't do anything but stand there. I can't accept it. I don't deserve it."

"That's not true at all. You deserve it." Sherlock rolled over so that his back was facing John. He was still fully dressed in his suit and shoes, and John wondered how it was the least bit comfortable. "For all the times you've run off with me, shot people for me, saved my life, been the catalyst that helped me solve cases, and especially for not hating me after the Baskerville case. I know how you worry about paying your half of the bills. I don't want you to worry."

John got up and sat on the edge of the couch, pressing his back against Sherlock's. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but he liked the warmth coming from the other man. "That's… um… er… very nice of you."

"I know it is." He rolled over and sat up next to John. He wrapped his arm around the doctor's shoulders and pulled him tight.

"I really need to talk to Lestrade about opening a missing persons case. I've managed to lose my Sherlock. I don't know who you are, but you are not my flatmate."

"Your Sherlock?"

"Well, if I'm your blogger, you must be my Sherlock." John leaned his head against Sherlock.

"You're more than just my blogger."

"I know."

"Do you? Really?" Sherlock lay down and pulled John down next to him. "You're my friend, John. I don't have friends, remember? I've only got one." There was a pause while they got comfortable. "You're my best friend."

"By default." John laughed, secure in the young man's arms. "Easy when you've only got one friend."