Ohmigosh! (That's a new word. Really.) Thanks so much for the constant support

*Blushes*

Love you all!

Chapter 18

0819

Grand Hyatt Hotel

Collins Street, Melbourne

VIC, Australia

"Right this way, sirs, you're here on your honeymoon?" John couldn't help but notice the strained smile on the attendants face as she led them to the elevator and the way she seemed to actually shy away from their presence. He exchanged a glance with Sherlock, who, John noticed, had that 'I-don't-care-if-you-insult-me-but-if-you-dare-to-hurt-John-I-will-kill-you' expression. John also knew that he needed a new name for that expression.

"Sherlock," he said, laying a hand on his elbow, the touch so light that Sherlock almost didn't notice it. Almost. Because Sherlock wasn't one who didn't notice things.

He turned his head to look at the doctor who shook his head ever so slightly as the elevator pinged for them to enter. The attendant smiled again and John wished she wouldn't keep up the pretence,

"Enjoy your stay, sirs," she said, and sprang back from them as they entered, and Sherlock could tell that all she wanted to do was to get as far away from them as possible, 'It's the tenth floor, room number five hundred and thirty three. Here's the pass card,"

The door shut behind her and Sherlock turned to John, "I could've dealt with her,"

"There was no need," John said, staring at a spot on the wall. He should've expected this, really. In England they were never really obvious about their relationship, which seems to be the reason why they never received any behaviour like this. Everyone who knew kept it to themselves and didn't have a problem with it at all. But then, John thought, they were their friends.

"John," Sherlock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder, but John didn't take his eyes of the panel with all the buttons on it, as they approached the tenth floor, and the elevator stopped. Still not meeting Sherlock's eyes and not entirely sure why something he knew would happen was hurting this much, John walked out of the lift closely followed by Sherlock.

0811

Terminal 5

Melbourne International Airport

VIC, Australia.

Back at the airport, Lestrade was hauling his and Sally's bag off the conveyor belt and he sighed. Sherlock and John had their bags delivered to them. They didn't need to wait in line for their bags as first class passengers. Plus, Lestrade figured, they got off the plane so early; they were probably at the Hotel by now. In the Penthouse suite, dam them.

'Want some help?" Sally asked, standing behind Lestrade with her arms crossed,

'I'm fine," Lestrade said, through gritted teeth and Sally rolled her eyes,

'There's really no need to be 'macho man'" she said and Lestrade could've growled at her, but he was currently using all his energy on getting the bags onto the rather dodgy trolleys,

"Are you sure you don't need any help?" Sally rolled her eyes as she was ignored and watched as Lestrade hefted the bags.

Usually, Sally never packed that heavy. However, this time was an exception. They need weapons and the British government was being decidedly stubborn about using Australian weapons and insisted that their initiate agents take some of the British issue weapons. Sherlock had immediately pointed out that if he and John started shooting with British issue weapons, questions would be raised, so Stone bought two of the newest, and latest guns – they hadn't even been handed out yet. He said that no one would even know that it was British issue and even Sherlock couldn't find a problem with that.

"Greg," Sally tried as he reached for the second bag, but was, once again, ignored, "Boss?" she said and this time, he put down the heavy bag and looked to her,

'Let me do it," stepping forward, Sally reached down, and, much to Lestrade's amazement, she hefted it onto the trolley within a couple of seconds.

"See?" She asked, barely panting as she watched her boss pant and puff,

"Anyone could do that," Lestrade said, staring at the bag as if it was its fault for being so heavy,

"Like you?" Sally asked and received a withering glare, which, once upon a time, she would've run away from. Now, though, she knew that it was just Lestrade being Lestrade. And ever since his wife's death, these moments were incredibly rare and Sally found herself cherishing every one.

"C'mon," Sally said, pressing the handle down and getting the trolley moving. Lestrade fell into step next to Sally and they pushed their way through the crowds of people trying to get their baggage and went onto customs,

Great Thought Lestrade, More time to waste. Joy.

0822

Grand Hyatt Hotel

Collins Street, Melbourne

VIC, Australia

John opened the door of the hotel with the key card to find their bags waiting next to the door. "John," Sherlock grabbed the doctor's upper arm as the door banged shut behind them, swinging John around to face him, and making the doctor look up to meet Sherlock's eyes, the green flaring brightly. But Sherlock suddenly felt completely out of his depth as he saw the tears. John looked away as Sherlock registered this and ripped his arm away from Sherlock as he went to the bed and sat down on it, facing the huge, curtained windows that looked over a waking city, the sun peeking up behind some buildings.

Sherlock swallowed and stood rooted to the spot. How was he supposed to react to this? Was he meant to comfort John? Dammit. Where was Sally when you needed her?

John tried to calm his breathing as fears that had been there since the beginning of this slightly mad relationship threatened to resurrect themselves, and he didn't react as Sherlock sat down next to him, or when one arm went around his waist. He did, however, react when, as another sob went through his body, Sherlock pulled him close. John curled up on Sherlock's lap like a little child and wrapped his arms around the slim frame.

He didn't even know why he was crying. Or why this would bring it on…but then again…he did. Sort of.

They sat in silence for a while as John's breathing steadied and Sherlock started putting facts together, even as he told himself that this was going to annoy John. They had been in a relationship for over five months now. They had even skipped Christmas with their families to spend it with each other…and then it clicked.

Sherlock drew John closed and put his chin on John's head, smelling the shampoo that John loved and took a deep breath, "You haven't told your dad or Harry about us yet, have you?" Sherlock asked, and John made a small sound. Sherlock cursed himself. He had been so blind. How could he have not seen this?

Every time Sherlock so much as mentioned bringing John's dad over, because he really wanted to meet John's dad (he was still trying to come up with an acceptable reason but was failing. He just wanted to meet the man who helped John become the amazing man he was), John had all but bolted from the room. Of course, Sherlock had managed to not notice this. Idiot, Sherlock thought.

"Why haven't you told him?" Sherlock asked and John pushed the detective away, a spark of anger flaring up,

'Why do you think, Sherlock?" John knew his voice was louder than necessary, but Sherlock didn't even flinch,

"John,"

"NO!" the doctor spun away from the detective before finished his sentence, "No, don't tell me he won't care either way,"

'John, he's your father," Sherlock said, still not fully comprehending what John was trying to say. Sherlock's father had always been kind. If Sherlock told him that he wanted to fly to the moon, his father would encourage him, right along with his mother…but, maybe John's parents were different? Sherlock didn't know and once again, he cursed his lack of knowledge of people.

He could tell you exactly how a man died and lived, but he couldn't say he knew what John had experienced.

"Dad kicked Harry out when she told him," John said, turning to look back at Sherlock, "She was sixteen. It's now that he finally talks to her."

Sherlock got to his feet as John went to the window, fear coursing through him at even thought about approaching his father. Always, John had made him proud. Always, it was John who brought them honour and respect in the quietly religious town they came from. If they ever found out…

Strong arms encircled John's waist in the way he loved and warm breath ghosted across his neck, "Sherlock…" John breathed, his breath fogging up the glass, cold so high up, the winds that were quite pleasant down below, positively vicious in comparison up here.

"We'll deal with it, John," Sherlock said, staring at John's eyes in their reflection,

'Will we, Sherlock?" John asked as he felt Sherlock stiffen and felt like slapping himself,

"Do you believe in this?" Sherlock asked,

"Yes," the word came out as a whisper,

"Do you believe that I love you?" Sherlock asked and again, John found himself nodding, his heart swelling as the words 'I love you' registered,

"Then believe that we can get through anything," Sherlock said, not sure where these words were coming from. But as John finally relaxed back into his arms, Sherlock knew that they were what he believed in. And always would.

It's Short. I know. SORRY! But with Easter and everything…you know. There was no bloody time.

And School's starting on Tuesday…So I'll try and update at least once a week. Minimum. Who knows? You might get more…

If my stupid, dumb computer doesn't crash on me. :)

Aza

xoxo