The cottage was the most beautiful one, surrounded by trees, garden, and rock fence. As long as you could stretch your eyes there lay lush green fields. The air, the smell, the silence. It was right out of a picture post card. John was stunned by the beauty of the surroundings, he didn't notice Sherlock getting out of the car and standing beside him. He felt a warm wool covered hand on his hand, he turned as if in a trance to find Sherlock looking at him, a questioning look on his face. John smiled and without even knowing he entwined their fingers. Moments where eternities are lived passed between them. He felt the peace he was looking for. And to think I wanted to be away from this man to find peace, peace is right here, right now, with Sherlock. Something inside John's heart was warm, heavy, at the same time light. He feared he may start to cry; he looked away and pulled Sherlock, "go in, I'll get the bags." Sherlock would have made him take the bags anyway, he was used to servitude. John smiled to himself at the thought. His mind was completely at rest, no doubts, no agitation. The rooms were cosy with Victorian furnishings. Two bedrooms upstairs, kitchen and hall downstairs. Sherlock insisted on not having any servants, so there was only an elderly woman with dark brown hair and a kind face. She would come early in the morning and go home before sunset. Some of Mycroft's men were on watch of course, but they were invisible to them as usual. There was only John and Sherlock and beauty of the surroundings.

"Did you come here as a child?" John asked, sitting by the fire, they had bathed and had tea and arranged their rooms.

"No." the baritone said. He didn't seem to be in a chatty mood, eyes fixed on the fire, head resting on the back of a Victorian arm chair. He looked deep in thought, a bit agitated? thought John. He kept silent, coaxing Sherlock to talk when he looked like this was a bad idea. John didn't want to spoil the vacation that had started so beautifully. He'll come around. I hope.

Lunch was silent too. They retired to their rooms after that. John had started feeling agitated by then.

He does this all the time; I've seen him not talking for days so why am I feeling like this now? God I've become so vulnerable, overthinking everything, trying to derive meaning from everything he does. This is Sherlock; he was always like this, unpredictable. One moment he's flirting the next he's ignoring. no change whatsoever has come in him. Is that why I'm disturbed? Did I expect him to change with this new development? What exactly did I expect? Well, I expected him to say something, about earlier, about his holding my hand, make it feel right; make it feel like it was meant to happen and not just a whim. That's it. He's behaviour is confusing, they don't seem to fit the gestures. They don't feel like coming from a man in love. Why? John sat on a plush Victorian double bed with a deep frown.

In the next room Sherlock sat on a same bed, back resting on the wall, legs sprawled and crossed in front, fingers stapled under his chin. He too disturbed. Something in his plans didn't seem to work like he wanted it to.

John is coming around fine. He doesn't doubt my gestures, how can he? They are extremely well calculated and well-trimmed. No exaggeration so far. What disturbs me is his look, when we held hands. He looked as if he was beyond this situation, beyond that moment, lost… in…me? I've never seen him like this. I've never seen anyone look at me like this. This is unsettling. What if things change after this, what if he changes? What changes do come after two people reciprocate? Do they lose what they had earlier? God I have next to nothing data. His feelings run deep, I know that. I'll need to exploit that depth to keep him. I'll need to make him helpless with his emotions for me, so that even if he figures out my intentions he won't be able to do anything. Why would he complain anyway? He wants me, wants to be with me, I'm giving him just that and securing him for life in the process, we both get what we want. I have to speed things up a bit, have to give him a nudge; he didn't take my silence quite well.

When John came down that evening he found Sherlock in the kitchen. Has he carried his experiments here? God please no! but when he turned around there was a kettle in his hands and a smile on his face.

"I'm becoming a pro at this John!" he exclaimed.

John gave a kind appreciative smile and a small nod.

"Care for a cup cake?"

"Sure." John sat down at the kitchen table looking at his flatmate. His agitation from the morning giving away to something warmer. Sherlock was struggling with the mugs and the cup-cakes. He is usually so sorted out, so composed, why is he fumbling now? Is he nervous? John walked up to him and took the cup-cakes. Then they put everything on the table and sat facing each other. Silence for a few moments. Before it got too awkward John opened his mouth,

"You must be bored."

"why should I be." Sherlock said looking away sipping tea.

Because there's nothing of interest for you here. You barely like to just relax. "It's just resting, you can't even go out at night. It's cold."

"Do you want to?" Sherlock looked straight at John, gaze piercing. John couldn't understand the sudden change of mood. He couldn't tell if Sherlock was angry or genuinely asking. Sherlock's face gave nothing away.

"No, we can go tomorrow morning."

"What do you want now John?"

Something in that tone made John swallow. He didn't know what to answer to that tone more than the question itself. It was dark, cold, steely, passionate, forbidden, enticing all at the same time. He felt his palms sweating, he kept looking at Sherlock like a moth looking at a flame.

"wh-what?" He stammered after a while.

Sherlock relaxed his gaze.

"You wanted to come here. Here we are. Now what are your plans? What do you want to do?"

John audibly sighed and Sherlock gave him a mocking smile. John hated that smile.

"well, you're the planner. Not me. Whatever I suggest would be boring to you." He said looking at the cup in hand.

This was the first time Sherlock didn't have anything planned. His mind was preoccupied with some other plans totally. He hardly had any time to plan other things about this trip. He was at a disadvantage. He was frustrated. And now John relied on his plans. Great! He thought. He ran a hand through his hair.

John knew this gesture very well. His flatmate was exasperated with something. What is it?

"You okay?"

"why wouldn't I be?" Said Sherlock with a fake smile.

John saw through that smile. Something is definitely bothering him. He extended his hand and placed it on Sherlock's. Their eyes met.

Sherlock's eyes were searching for answers. What if I don't have planes John? What if my only plan is you? I want to concentrate on what I'm doing. What I'm doing to you. I haven't planned going out or doing something. How would I behave then? What would bring positive results? A walk? A drive? Holding hands? A Kiss?

Sherlock's eyes widened at the thought. He withdrew his hand.

John was looking at him hiding nothing. He wanted Sherlock to read him, to read him right. He was looking at him with anticipation of understanding when Sherlock withdrew. John was shocked. Did I frighten him with my openness?

"I haven't planned anything, John." Sherlock said apologetically looking at the table. "I thought you wanted to rest."

"Is that what you are worried about? Mr Planner doesn't have a plan?" John asked relieved.

Sherlock saw the relief in John's eyes. He didn't miss the opportunity.

"Yes, John. Would you mind staying in?" He looked at him longingly.

"Not at all." John said reassuringly. "It's too cold anyway." He added.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to feel relieved.

After a while they were sitting by the fire in the hall cum living room. John sat with a book he could hardly concentrate on. His mind kept going back to their last conversation. Something was very uncanny and out of place about the whole thing. Sherlock didn't have a plan, he didn't want to go out and he said he wasn't bored. He sounded apologetic when he said he hadn't planned. He should have just said it's your vacation John, it's your problem. That's what he does, that's how he is. He can't change this drastically. Can he? Why does he want to stay in?

Sherlock was moving restlessly in the arm chair before the fire for a couple of minutes now. He was trying hard to form a plan of going out tomorrow. At last he felt it won't work out without a little stimulation. He stood up and turned to go to his room. As soon as he turned he met John's questioning gaze.

"I-uh, need to…"

John put the book aside. He was on the sofa. He moved to one side of the sofa leaving much space on the other side. He then gestured Sherlock to come to him. You don't need those damned nicotine patches Sherlock. Let me heal you. I can.

Sherlock's eyes widened at the gesture. What am I thinking of? This is an open invitation. He wants me. I can use this opportunity. He is giving this in my hand. Why do I find it so hard then? After some initial reluctance, Sherlock slowly went towards his flatmate. He sat on the furthest side of the sofa leaving much space between them. John gestured to his lap as if to a child and Sherlock yielded this time. He slowly came closer and let his head rest on John's lap like he did before one day.

As soon as he felt John's fingers in his hair the initial rigidity left his body. He let himself relax under the touch. John was looking at him. Smiling. He could feel Sherlock relax under his touch. I told you I can. He mused.

How does John always look so warm? It's like a warm aura around him. Is it his golden brown hair? Or is it his eyes? They are…honey coloured right? No wait, it's like amber no there's more brown…what is it exactly like?

"What colour is that… " Sherlock thought aloud.

"Of what?" John asked softly as if o a child.

"Your eyes…"

"they are just brown I think."

"Not 'just brown'. You know so little about yourself." Sherlock looked amazed.

I hope you know everything about me Sherlock. Everything I haven't told you.

With every stroke of John's hand Sherlock felt more and more at ease. The anxiety gone, the urge to take nicotine gone, the apprehension about what was going to be gone. They just left his body with every stroke of John's hand He closed his eyes and gave in to the sensations. Who had caresses him like this last? Mother. Mum liked to run her hands through his curls. He was mum's favourite. Mum was his favourite. Then mum was gone. He couldn't find another favourite person for years. A person who could sooth him, handle him, feel him, cope with him, stay with him. A person who would not leave him. He found out early that people didn't like to stay with him. He knew now that there were tactics to keep people. He didn't understand why. Mum stayed without anything like that. Other people needed it. He wanted to master it. He will keep John. He felt a sudden urge to turn and hold John, to rub his face in his stomach. To stay like that and purr. Like he did before, only to mum. But mum was gone. She died. Now John would go if he didn't keep him. He needed to use methods, not memories. He needed not to give in like this. He needed control which he was losing right now.

He forced his eyes open only to find John's lips very close to his forehead. Before he knew it they were pressed against his forehead. He felt the place burn. He pushed John with both hands and sat up.

No! no. I control this. Not you. Don't make me feel like this. No!

He stood up instantly and ran up-stairs leaving a very hurt looking John on the sofa. As he closed the door of his bedroom he leaned against it and put his hands on his face. What am I doing! What the hell am I doing! I'm not used to these and won't get used to these. John is not mum! And I can't place him there. No! that place is taken. Neither do I have a place like that for anyone anymore nor would I make one. He's John, just John, ordinary John, a person who needs to be allured to be kept. He can never feel like this. People don't. I won't put myself through this. I need control. Over myself, over John.

A knock on the door startled him.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John's voice, leaden with concern.

He didn't answer.

"I'm sorry if I did anything to offend you." John said after a pause.

After a few moments John left the door. Sherlock Sighed relief.

John went to his room with a very heavy heart. I scared him, I crossed the limit. I hurried things. Please forgive me Sherlock. Please…

Neither of them slept that night.