'Ello maties! This one also took a bit longer than I would have liked, and it's pretty short, so sorry! It's kind of a filler, but has an important meeting in it… So yeah. Read it.

It kind of took me a while to write this because the stats were down when I posted my last chapter, so it looked like no one liked it. I wasn't even getting E-mails for anything, so it was pretty discouraging. :(

So… I'm going to casually mention this… It was my birthday yesterday, well the 31st because that's not yesterday for all of ya'll, and I got two pairs of DC comics' shoes, one pair with Batgirl on them and the other with the Justice League. I personally find them badass.

Thank you to everyone who review, favourited, alerted and everything else.

Oh, and one last thing. I've got asked about how this is M, and there was only one slightly sexual scene and blah, blah, blah. Well, since this relationship is not yet off the ground, there would be a lot of masturbation scenes. But don't worry! There is some more M stuff to come... But it's not exactly Sherlock x John... XD

Here you go! :)

Sherlock's P.O.V

I attempted to get us out of the college quickly, without police interference, but I miscalculated how long it would take them to get there. So instead of returning to Baker Street and having a celebratory cup of tea curtsy of John, we were stuck sitting on the back of an ambulance where they kept putting a blanket on us. Only one because apparently the paramedics are the most ill-prepared people that have ever walked the Earth.

"Why do they keep putting this blanket on us?" I complained, trying to pull it off, but John clung to it, holding it on both our bodies. His side was almost flush against mine, if I turned my head to face him, my nose would be buried in his short hair.

This position wasn't as unappealing as it would be with most people. Before this moment, the only person I thought I could be this close to, and not feel like washing my skin in acid, was Mummy. That was because I didn't like people. Sometimes I would force myself to endure it for a case, or because it was the normal social convention, but I was never indifference about it, or liked it. John was some sort of exception to that rule.

"It's a shock blanket," John tried to explain. His voice was tired. He had been so full of fire when we were dealing with the cabbie I didn't even think that he would be exhausted. It had been a long night. Knowing this fact, I wanted to get John home as quickly as possible.

"But we're not in shock," I insisted, trying to shrugged the hideous, orange fabric off for the second time, but again John just clutched it tighter. Was John in shock? I was going to ask, but decided the silence between us was much more comfortable, and I didn't mind having the blanket holding us together.

"Good, Sherlock, John, you haven't left yet," Lestrade announced his approach. "I need you to ask you some questions, and there's some paperwork you should fill out."

"Do you not see we're in shock, Greg?" John asked rhetorically.

"We have a blanket for God sake!" I added. My mind went to the common idea of couples finishing each other's sentences, but ignored the thought because John and I weren't a couple, so why would I think about that.

John and I did get out of the paperwork and questions, for that night at least, but they had to have us examined, took our blanket and took us home with a police escort. It was a bit irritating, but at least we got home.

"So what do you think about this Moriarty thing?" John yelled from the kitchen where he was making us both a cup of tea.

"It seems like I've caught someone's attention," I replied from my place on the couch. "And I don't believe this person will be revealed until they want to be revealed."

"So, I'll keep my eyes and ears open for anything related to Moriarty," John said when he came in with my tea. We've really just met, but I'm so comfortable around the man. And he could already make my tea acceptably. It wasn't like Mummy made it, but I was able to drink it.

"Too much honey," I mumbled, sipping the tea. Just a tiny bit too much.

John just ignored my commented. "So, what are we going to do now?" I knew he meant now that the case was over.

"I have another small, probably dull case that I have to work on because I owe this man a favour." It was just a case about the spouse cheating, and I already knew she was, but he wanted proof, so I was going to give him proof. "I'll be going in to use the lab at St. Barts tomorrow. You're welcome to join me."

"Sounds great," John grinned widely. Why was he so excited? Didn't I just tell him this case was dull?

Strange man this John Watson. Strange but good.

The next couple of weeks were dull, but bearable because of John. He was entertaining and kept me full of tea constantly.

Not one decent case had arisen. Everything was below a six, so I was starting to take the boring ones just to keep busy.

Well, I didn't do that at first. That was John's idea after he found me sulking in my robe for the third day in a row. I usually ignore people when they order me around, but John looked so disappointed, and he offered to help on any cases. I couldn't refuse him. Which was odd because I'm very good at saying 'no' to people.

Once I started I almost couldn't stop. I was on a role. I had solved three cases in just one day, making a new record for myself. I wasn't sure if I was elated by how amazing I was or dissatisfied by the lack of cases. I was just settled with being both. I still do not understand how that one fellow did not know that his wife was cheating on him. It was pretty obvious.

He was currently watching me as I studied a substance thought a microscope at St. Barts. There was a calm silence between us, only once in a while interrupted by my muses or John's attempts at chatter. While I liked to talk to John, I couldn't handle one of his jokes while I was trying to focus on a case. Even if the case was as tedious as the one I was currently working on. The child was obviously not the man's, I mean look at his hairline, but the 'father' insisted on proof.

The soft thumping of two sets of feet alerted John and me of visitors. I could tell who one of the people was before they came into my view, because of the sound of the footsteps which told me an approximate weight and a gait.

"Hello, Molly," John greeted cheerfully, confirming my deductions. I just glanced up for a moment, my eyes skipping over Molly completely, but taking in her companion.

"Hi, Sherlock," Molly ignored John and turned to me. That was rude. Even I knew that was rude of Molly. People don't forget about John Watson, but somehow Molly was able to. "This is my boyfriend, Jim. He works upstairs in IT. That's how we met."

"Gay," I said every clearly, but that didn't stop the other occupants from asking for me to repeat myself. "Uh, hey," I corrected myself when I felt John burning stare. It was his look that meant I did something wrong.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Jim gushed, shuffling over to where I was sitting. "Working on a case?" He asked, and leaned his hand on the table, directly on top of a metal bowl. The loud clang seemed to surprise him and he tripped over himself, falling on to John, who was leaning again the table I was working at.

"Sorry, sorry!" The man picked himself off my friend, just fast enough for me not to surrender to the urge to throw his off John. He righted himself and the tray he had displaced, before quickly making his leave.

"What do you mean gay?" Molly insisted the minute her 'boyfriend' left. "We're together."

I heaved a sigh before turning towards her. Apparently I had to be the bearer of bad news. "And domestic bliss must suit you. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two."

"Well, three."

"Sherlock," I heard John's warning tone. I was tempted to stop, but if I didn't do this than who would?

"He'd not gay," She uselessly insisted again. "Why do you have to spoil…He's not."

Why couldn't everyone just catch on to these things? Like me, and even John some of the time.

"With that level of personal grooming?"

"Because he put product in his hair? Sherlock, not all gay men do that. I don't." John knew I was right, but for some reason was trying to make this harder for Molly.

"No, no. Tinted eyelashes; Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." This is where I hoped she'd catch on.

"His underwear?" People were so bad at this.

"Visible above the waistline. Very visible. Very particular brand. That plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here" I lifted the dish but found nothing, so the part about her breaking up with him died in my throat.

"Actually, he slipped it into my back pocket," John told her, pulling out the folded paper from his pocket. "Sorry, Molly." She let out of low sob and ran from the lab.

"Your pocket?" I repeated. "Yours?" How was I wrong?

But that part didn't even bother me the most, more than that it was the thought that that Jim character had to put his hand into John's back pocket. I was rather annoyed by that.

"We should probably go so you can burn those jeans. You don't know where that man has been." What if John caught something?

"Sherlock," John's voice was low and filled with a warning. "That was rude. Rude to do that to Molly and to accuse Jim of having some sort of disease. And where did that come from? Because he's gay? Do you think that I must be disease ridden?"

"No, no!" I looked at him wide-eyed, desperate for him to see that I didn't mean it that way. Even though I didn't even know how I meant it. "He just gives me a bad feeling."

"He gives you a bad feeling? Since when do you rely on feelings?"

I rubbed my face, frustrated by this 'Jim's' mere existence. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean it like that. I truly didn't."

Huffing, John leaned against the counter again. "It's alright," He conceded. "It's just… That was really mean of you, I guess us, to do to Molly."

"She deserved to know that truth."

"I guess…" He once again gave into my remarkable reasoning skills. "So…" He started, seeming to want to talk about something else. I didn't care what it was, as long as he was no longer angry at me. "How mad do you think Molly would be if I called this Jim?"

"W-What?" I sputtered. I didn't want to talking, hear, or thing about this. The thought of someone touching John, dating John, or enjoying John's presence in a romantic way made me sick. "I thought we just discussed that there was something off about that man?"

"No, you said you had a bad feeling, while I felt nothing of the sort. Instead I felt as though the man had a very nice arse," John grinned, as if I was supposed to agree with that statement.

"I beg to differ," I mumbled. "But if you like the flat type, them by all means."

John just laughed. "There's nothing wrong with a skinny bloke. I have enough fat for the both of us."

"You're not fat, John," I pointed out. I looked over the man's body and personally found it very pleasing. Aesthetically, of course.

"Let's just agree to disagree on that point. I don't feel like chatting about our bodies like teenage girls." I didn't actually mind the conversation topic, as long as it was away from Jim. "Instead, now that I have a moment of your time, I would like to talk to you about something important."

That didn't sound good to me.

"See, I feel as though we're running a little low on funds," He continued to explain. I was relieved; it was just a money talk. "Because well-paying cases are so rare at the moment, I think I should get a job, to help provide." The moment of relief flew out the window.

John wanted to get a job.

Sure, the extra money would be nice, but I didn't really care much about that. I mean, how much did we really spend? If John just cut down on that milk obsession of his I bet we'd be fine.

Also, John getting a job would mean less time he could spend with me. I'd gotten use to his presence, he couldn't just change that. Who would tease Anderson with me? Who would praise me for my deductions? Who would make me tea?

John was one of the few people that I could spend copious amounts of time with. So much that I was use to not being alone now. No, no, no. Another job just wouldn't do.

"Actually," I pulled out my phone, fingering through the messages looking for one that I'd been planning on deleting because of who the sender was. "I just got a text about a case that I'll need your undivided attention on."

"Will we be paid?"

"Of course."

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