Fair warning: the feelings man. They just. I don't sleep and then the feelings happen. At any rate, for those of you who haven't read my story Don't Forget the Cream Filling it is now pretty much a tie in with this fic. So feel free to go refresh your memory if you'd like. Otherwise, you know. Emotions and crap. There's kind of a lack of sex in this chapter. But we'll get back to the weird kinky stuff soon, I promise.

Greg stood outside his own door for a few moments, trying to collect himself. Sherlock had still been there when he'd left that morning—sound asleep. But Greg had tried to prepare for the worst.

He didn't want to have unrealistic expectations of Sherlock. After all, the man was a self-proclaimed sociopath, a narcissist, a snarky bastard, and a drug addict. The combination of all those things didn't bode well for stability.

Greg knew he could open his door to an empty flat. Sherlock could be gone. He could stop answering his phone for weeks until their little night of vague tenderness had blown over.

The DI let out a long breath, then he turned the key in the knob. He opened the door slowly.

Sherlock sat on the living room couch, hunched over slightly, typing away on Greg's laptop. He'd changed into one of Greg's t-shirts and a pair of boxers, presumably because most of his other clothes were dirty.

"How long were you standing out there?" Sherlock didn't look up from what he was doing.

"Few minutes, maybe," Greg shrugged. "How did you get onto my computer?"

"Your password isn't a random string of letters and numbers like it should be. I'm not the only one who would guess you used your daughter's middle name. Elisa. Pretty. Sentimental. But sadly, not very practical."

Greg blinked a few times at that. "How did you know my daughter's middle name?"

"You've got that school award of hers framed in your bedroom. Smart girl, is she?"

"Very."

"How nice… I'm assuming you want to talk about things I said last night. You're usually in a better mood on a full stomach. I ordered the same curry you always get from the Thai place down the street. It should be here soon."

"Oh… right then… if you're trying to put me in a good mood, do I need to brace myself for something?

"That depends on how honest you'd like me to be," Sherlock set Greg's laptop on the coffee table and looked up at him. "I could lie to you, and they'd all be very pretty lies. I'm sure they could make us both very happy. Or I could tell you some truths, until you think you've had enough. Or I could keep going, even after you don't want to hear any more. Which do you think would be best?"

"Well, I really don't know what you're talking about. So I guess I'm not in much of a position to say," Greg said carefully.

"How well do you know me, Greg?"

"Fairly well? I mean, you're a genius detective that lives ten miles above the rest of us mortals and only comes down for the occasional twisted shag?"

The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched upwards slightly. "You think you love me. I think you're in love with the idea of me. There's a lot of information you're missing if you want to make an educated decision about entering a formal relationship."

"Such as?"

"Let's have dinner first," Sherlock waved his hand vaguely. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the side table and lit one. He inhaled deeply. Greg had mostly gotten used to the smell. But he still opened a window before sitting down in his favorite armchair with a beer.

He tried to relax. But it was difficult with the unspoken words looming over his head. What could Sherlock possibly have to tell him that was weirder than, I solve murders as a hobby, do massive amounts of cocaine when I get bored, and I'm deep enough into the leather scene to have kinks you've probably never heard of.

"Anything exciting happen today?" Sherlock asked as he exhaled a small cloud into the room.

"No particularly grisly or puzzling murders, so nothing that would interest you," Greg smiled.

"Hmm… how old is your daughter?" Sherlock asked abruptly.

"Sixteen."

"Ah… just started college, then?"

"Yep," Greg nodded, somewhat awkwardly.

"I graduated college when I was sixteen," Sherlock shifted on the couch slightly. "Though I still didn't make it to University until I was eighteen. Like I said, traveling … and… other things."

"You know, being really cryptic about this isn't really helping."

"I suppose it isn't. I'm sorry. I'm not really good at this type of thing. Usually I'd just say fuck it, it doesn't matter but…"

"What?"

"Well it does."

Greg digested that for a moment. Before he could form an adequate response, the doorbell rang. He went downstairs, paid the delivery boy, and brought the food back up. He fixed two plates, even though Sherlock had just ordered the one curry and nothing for himself.

He settled back down into his chair and placed the other plate on the coffee table. Sherlock ignored it, in favor of continuing whatever he was doing on the computer. Greg didn't feel particularly hungry, but he made an effort to finish at least half of what he'd put on his plate.

"All right," Sherlock sighed after Greg set his plate back down. "Come over here. I've got something to show you."

Greg moved over onto the couch and glanced down at the computer screen. Sherlock had a lot of tabs pulled up on the browser… most of which looked like porn.

"Sherlock—"

"I figured the best way to explain all of this to you would be to show you. But if you don't want to see, I understand," the younger man spoke at an even quicker pace than usual. Nearly stumbling to get the words out.

"What exactly am I looking at?"

Sherlock clicked on the first tab. A video, with a black screen. He pressed the play button.

The clip started. A thin young man, with dark curls, and bright eyes was chained to a wall. Entirely naked, with pouty lips, and a shameless erection. God. No. Wait. That was Sherlock. And a barely legal one at that. All skin and bones, but a slightly softer face.

Greg bit back his immediate what the hell and watched passively.

A large, burly man, dressed in leather trousers walked in carrying a flogger.

"Have you thought about what you've done, slut?" The man barked.

"Yes, Sir," Sherlock's eyes dropped to the ground, "I'm very sorry."

"I don't think you are. Flirting with the post man… I think that's good for at least fifteen lashes, don't you?"

"Whatever you say, Sir," young Sherlock mumbled meekly.

God, that was a bit too familiar. Something in Greg's stomach twisted slightly. The man in the video drew the leather flogger back and brought it down against the skin of Sherlock's thigh. The young man moaned and squirmed against his bonds.

The video stopped. Sherlock's finger rested on the space bar. Greg looked over at him. The other man's cheeks were slightly pink.

Was he embarrassed?

"I trust you get the idea of that one," he said quietly.

"Yeah, I think I might… so you used to do porn?"

"Yes."

"All right," Greg nodded, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat. In the greater scheme of things, this wasn't so bad. He'd half expected Sherlock to confess he was a serial killer.

Sherlock clicked another tab. Another video. This one cut to the middle of a scene. Right into the action. Right into Sherlock sinking down on two cocks at the same time and groaning. Greg's heart skipped. His blood ran hot. He couldn't really decide between arousal and extreme discomfort.

The Sherlock in the video held still as the man behind him began to thrust slowly. The other man lay underneath him, holding Sherlock up. Supporting him. The young man's legs shook slightly. Every breath seemed labored.

"I was famous for that," Sherlock commented off-handedly, "being able to handle two cocks at once."

"I see."

"I suppose I still haven't quite lost that particular skill set. Even if I'm a bit out of practice."

Greg tried to smile.

Sherlock clicked the next tab. The clip started. Sherlock looked a bit older in this one, though not by much. The camera view came down from above. Sherlock was on his knees, surrounded by a circle of seven naked men. You couldn't see their faces—just their huge, achingly erect pricks.

Sherlock made his way around the circle. Jerking a cock with each hand while he sucked another. One of the men groaned. Sherlock pulled back, opened his mouth and closed his eyes. The man he'd been fellating began to ejaculate all over his face. Globs of come splattered across Sherlock's lips. Some landed on his cheek, and even on his eyelid.

The video paused again.

Greg felt strangely numb. Not so much angry. Because really, how could he be? Just… Sherlock looked more than a bit high in all the clips. He had to wonder about what sort of sorry circumstances had lead Sherlock down such a road.

"Have I made my point, or should I keep going?" the younger man asked, eyes fixed on the screen.

"I don't know. What is your point exactly?"

"That I'm a filthy coke whore. I've been paid for sex on numerous occasions and there's countless videos of me being fucked and humiliated floating around the internet. It's how I afforded to move out of my parent's house. It's how I supported my drug habit… I only stopped when Mycroft found out and sent my to rehab. He's paid for my flats ever since."

"Ok."

"That's it? That's all you're going to say?" Sherlock snapped.

"Well I don't know. Are you still making videos?"

Sherlock took a few shaky breaths. "There's a nice gentleman in Finland that I'll do the occasional webcam show for when I'm short on cash."

"Is that all?"

"I… I got roped into doing a shoot a few months ago because one of my old partners was in town. I didn't want to I just…" Sherlock's breath caught. He closed his mouth and stayed silent for about thirty seconds. "Do you think I'm disgusting?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"I mean, I'm not happy about all this. But Jesus, Sherlock, how did you think I'd react?"

"The last guy I dated filmed us having sex without telling me about it then made a lot of money selling it to one of my old producers before he dumped me."

"Well, what's his name? I'll track him down and make his life miserable."

Sherlock let out a rather choked laugh. "God. What do I have to do to make you understand? I'm not good for you Greg. I'm a fucking mess. And you're… you're a really decent bloke. You should find somebody nice. Somebody that would make you happy."

"You make me happy. And I think you're selling yourself a bit short. You are a bloody genius."

"What's that good for if I'm crap at everything else? I've never even attempted a monogamous relationship before. What if I can't do it? I mean, my cheating on you is nearly inevitable. And I'd tell you about it after. Not because I'm a good person. But because you are. And I really don't want to hurt you, but I'm not sure I'd be able to stop myself."

Sherlock's hands trembled slightly. He closed Greg's laptop and looked straight ahead.

"If you need more convincing, you can just look through your browser history. I'm sure you'll find a wealth of material. I've spent most of the afternoon on this." Sherlock set the computer aside and started to stand up.

Greg caught his wrist.

Sherlock paused for a moment, then sank back onto the couch.

"I'm not sure who convinced you that you aren't worth the world," Greg said softly, "but I'd like to find that bastard and punch him in the goddamn face."

Sherlock stared at him silently.

Then he broke.

It was like watching a mask slide off somebody's face. The corners of his eyes grew wet. His lip quivered. He tried to turn away. Greg draped an arm around him and held him. Sherlock made an effort to stay quiet. Each little sob sounded choked off. Greg wasn't really certain what to do. So he just stayed there until Sherlock's breathing returned to normal. Then he kissed him on the top of the head.

Sherlock's face was wet. His eyes red. His nose slightly runny.

It didn't matter.

"Do you feel better now that you've told me?" Greg asked softly.

Sherlock nodded, leaning against him.

"I'm going to ask you not to do any more webcam shows. All right? If you need money, maybe we can work something out with the Yard. Actually pay you for some of the work you're doing."

"All right," Sherlock whispered.

"You're not disgusting. You're beautiful."

"Stop it."

"Never."

They stayed on the couch for a long while. Eventually Greg got up to stick the curry in the microwave. He got Sherlock to eat a few bites while they sat and watched telly. Just like normal people.

"So how bout it then?" Greg asked as he settled down with another beer.

"What?"

"Are we going to give this thing a try?"

"I suppose so. Though like I said, it's probably going to be a disaster."

"Yeah, well, at least it won't be boring."

Sherlock moved a bit closer. All but draping himself over Greg. "Don't call me your boyfriend," he said in his usual condescending tone. "I don't like it. It sounds too juvenile."

"What should I call you then?"

"Partner, lover, consort, I don't care."

Greg snorted. Their relationship wasn't simple. It probably never would be. Part of him would always be a bit jealous over all the people who'd had Sherlock before. But the fact that Sherlock was his, even just for a little while, was more than enough to make things worth it.

Special thanks to Shadowfire RavenPheonix who reminded me that I wanted to tie some of my stories together. I've been awake for nearly twenty four hours straight. Woohoooo! I might write some more of Sherlock's videos at some point. I don't know.

Fun fact. I posted this on coffee shop wifi because my internet is broken. If they only knew why I'd asked for the internet password. If they only knew.