I don't like the very angsty stories where John tries to kill himself after Sherlock left, so, of course, I had to write a piece myself. Prepare for the most angsty thing I've ever written. But, don't worry, the first and the last parts are still fluffy enough to puke rainbows with flying unicorns ;) I don't know when the next chapter will be uploaded, I've still got to write about one fourth and then it still has to be corrected. But as soon as I have it, you'll have it.
Sorry for this long author note

Lestrade tried to climb the stairs as quietly as humanely possible, but given the hour he had to wake up, he probable still made it seem like a herd of elephants was making its way towards 221B. But who could blame him? It was 3 am.

Because of both their busy lives, he and Mycroft couldn't spend nearly as much time together as they'd like. Tonight it was the first time they were able to spend with each other longer than the quick glance and kiss goodbye in the morning.

He just hoped Sherlock would do his thing, (he once called it his magic. He'll never do that again. He had to listen to an hour long lecture about the nonexistence of magic and how silly he was to not only believe in it, but to think that what Sherlock did came even close to such a thing) so they might solve this case quickly and he'd be able to get back to his warm bed, partner included.

More determined than ever, he knocked on the door. He was sure that either John or Sherlock would've woken up to the sound he made, but apparently not, since he stood in front of a closed door for almost five minutes before Sherlock appeared. Wearing nothing but a blanket. He had always believed it to be a joke of Mycroft or at least a hyperbole, but not then.

Sherlock looked as if he had woken him up. It shouldn't come as much of a shock that Sherlock was human enough to sleep, as it proved to be.

He shortly looked at him and shot him a glare. He didn't even bother to ask what he did this time. Probably an unforgivable thing like wearing brown shoes. He just kept repeating the words warm bed and Mycroft in his head, while he was directed toward the sofa.

"Please, do keep quite. John's still asleep." Naturally that was the moment John chose to appear out of Sherlock's bedroom in nothing than a boxer short and what appeared one of Sherlock's shirts.
It took him a second to grasp that John had been asleep in Sherlock's room. With barely wearing anything. But even those two pieces of clothing were two more than what Sherlock was wearing under this sheet. He was sure that the combination of shock, happiness and smugness was visible on his face and amused Sherlock to no end. John realized his mistake and turned to bright shade of red.

"So, uhm, does anybody fancies some tea?" he tried to regain his posture.

"Yes, please love." Lestrade wasn't sure if it were the way Sherlock looked at John or the pet name, but whatever it was, it made John turn red again. "So Lestrade," Sherlock continued, "what did John tell me about you dating my brother? Tell me it's not true."

This time it was Greg's turn to become tomato red. John shot him an apologetic look from in the kitchen.

"Yes, we are dating; no, it's none of your business and could you please look at the case, so I can go back to Mycroft and you to John." Long time experience had taught Lestrade that pretending Sherlock didn't do anything to make him feel awkward, worked the best.

Sherlock looked like he was going to comment, but John wisely chose that moment to bring the tea. He passed the cups around and made his way towards his chair, but Sherlock, being the greedy bastard he was, grabbed his wrist and pulled him into his lap, nearly tipping his own cup and John's over them. John seemed just as surprised as the Detective Inspector, but soon relaxed and made himself comfortable, head nuzzled in the crook of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock was soon explaining the case to him and it looked like he had completely forgotten about John, weren't it for the sideway glances and the arm around John's waist keeping him close.
Apparently the warm tea, the mull droning of Sherlock's voice and the comfort of his body, had a soothing effect on the already exhausted John. He had a hard time just keeping his eyes open.
Not that Sherlock seemed to mind. He was caressing him to sleep. It truly a touching image.

They were soon wrapping up the case. Sherlock had, as always, provided them with enough clues to catch the killer. He was making his way towards the door, when he saw in the corner of the eyes Sherlock sweeping a bit of hair out of John's face. He made up his mind and turned to the Johnlock-mess (it really it was impossible to see where one ended and the other one started) on the couch.

"Don't hurt him." Greg told him firmly.

Sherlock's head snapped up, evidently already forgotten he was there. "I could say the same about you Detective Inspector. With more right, since you are dating my brother."

Greg ground his teeth. "Yes, but you know as well as me that Mycroft could live without me…"

"He couldn't," Sherlock interrupted sharply. "Don't underestimate the importance of your presence in his life."

"Yes, well, uhm … Thank you. I love him very much." Lestrade felt the blush on his cheeks "But back to you and John."

"What about us?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Like I said, don't hurt him. When you were… "He hesitated for a second "gone, John was devastated."

"I know, he told me." Sherlock seemed a bit uncomfortable, a rare moment of guilt showing on his face.

"So he told you about the time I found him with an overdose?" Sherlock looked absolutely shocked and unaware tightened his grip on the little man in his lap. "Yeah, I guessed not. I don't ever want to find him like that again. Curled up in your chair, your old scarf clutched in his hands. If you hurt him, I promise you I will kill you, brother in-law or not."

"I won't, not intentionally anyway. I love him." Sherlock whispered and softly kissed John on the top of his head, who happily sight in his sleep, unaware of the conversation going on about him. "Mycroft told me not to come back; that it wasn't…would never be safe. But the only thing that kept me going while I was chasing Moran, was the thought of returning to John. He is the one for me. The only one. In every sense of the word. Always has been and always will be."

"Good."

There was a stiff silence between them, when Lestrade snapped out of it. "I should get going."

"Back in bed with my brother." It wasn't said with the malice of the last times so Greg let it go.

"Yeah…see you tomorrow."

When John woke up from a very nice sleep, something was missing. After five minutes, when he was ready to open his eyes, he saw that Sherlock sat in the chair next to his (well, probably their by now) bed. "You know, I like it better when you are actually in the bed. Far more options." He joked.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock seemed serious and even a bit angry.

John blinked in surprise, taken aback by the tone of his voice. He tried to think back to what he didn't tell Sherlock that could cause this reaction, but he couldn't think of anything. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek. "Lestrade talked, well threatened was more like it, about not hurting you."

"I told you Greg's a good friend. Maybe he's a bit too concerned, but he'll have his reasons I guess."

"Oh, he does. Like finding you half-death in my chair." Sherlock really was fuming by now, not able to keep the fury out of his voice. He turned to look at John, showing the anger, the hurt in his eyes. John hadn't felt fit to tell him this; he wanted to know why.

"Oh." That would explain why Sherlock was so angry.

"Yes, oh. So again, why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, what would you want me to tell you?" John was getting a bit frustrated as well, "Hi Sherlock, I missed you, so I tried to kill myself?"

"No, but when we talked about it." Sherlock spat back, his anger turning more to concern than anything else, his tone showing it. "Didn't the thought occur to you that that might be the right moment?"

"No, I don't see why I should've told you that! Because when you say that we talked about it, you mean I did. You didn't once say if you even missed me. Why would I tell you everything if you don't tell me anything at all?" John was working himself up. He had always been afraid that Sherlock hadn't missed him as much as he missed him, or even missed him at all.

"Of course I missed you. I LOVE YOU."

John was stunned, and looked it. He never thought that he would hear Sherlock say that out loud, not without John saying it first. Which he should probably do, if the hurt expression on Sherlock's face meant anything.

"I love you too. I just hoped that we wouldn't say it for the first time you in the middle of an argument." He said softly, finally getting out of the bed and placing himself in Sherlock's lap. He seemed to sit there a lot lately.

"That wasn't an argument." Sherlock said, blushing slightly.

By God, it still was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

"It was. But that's okay, love. Every couple fights, that's what makes them so strong." He softly kissed Sherlock gently, placing a hand on his cheek. "It's what makes us so strong."

"John, remember the first thing you said when you woke up?" Sherlock said slyly.

"About you not being in the bed." John looked surprised and more than slightly unnerved by Sherlock's expression.

Sherlock let his face drift a little closer to John's, his eyes dark. "Yes, but more specifically the part about the options we had when I was in the bed. Because I thought, I could go lie in the bed right now."

"Oh. Oh!"

And that is how our boys spend an entire day exploring the many options they had when Sherlock was in the bed with John.

And downstairs Mrs. Hudson for the first time felt bad for not investing in soundproof walls.

we have officially reached the 10 000 words (even without my imense author notes) that's the longest I've ever written, don't I deserve some reviews now?