Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or my precious John, which I will always be sad about...

This chapter contains a mention of my version of the night when Sherlock returns which, as all of you who've seen The Empty Hearse know, is a bit different. Though I totally loved that episode, I do however like this little turn of events as well. I know this is a short chapter, but school has started which makes time my biggest enemy. Will try to update a longer one tomorrow! Enjoy!

Chapter 3

John was, if possible, even more tired when he woke up than the day before. He hadn't gotten much sleep at all these last two weeks. Last week because of a case, and this week because of all this new weird stuff happening to him. He thought it over once more. He thought about last night and couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if he'd stayed in the kitchen. He felt almost empty inside, but still full of emotions. He didn't even know what was up and what was down anymore. "Oh get a grip on yourself, John Watson" he thought angrily, and made his way out of bed.

He was secretly hoping that he would be alone, and almost tip-toed into his own kitchen, as if it would fool Sherlock anyway. But he was lucky today, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen and since his coat was gone, John assumed he was down at the Yard. He drank his morning-tea slowly, head still buzzing with thoughts. It had just started to rain outside as John made his way to work, mentally preparing himself for another useless day.

After finally surviving work, John walked home slowly in the rain, allowing himself to think. All day his thoughts had wandered to Sherlock, and he still couldn't figure out what was happening to him. He'd never thought about another man this way before, and certainly not about Sherlock.

NOT TRUE. A shrill and oh so annoying voice was keening on John's attention from somewhere at the back of his mind. NOT TRUE.

Well yeah, of course it was that one time. On The Night Of The Return. John had cried, yelled, punched him in the face repeatedly and called Sherlock by every name he could think of. Then he eventually broke into pieces and he'd slammed Sherlock against the wall and kissed him with all his force. It hadn't been much of a romantic gesture; it was more an expression of everything he couldn't put into words. Then realization of what he was actually doing had hit him and he had released Sherlock, slammed the door of his bedroom shut and not spoken to him in a week.

They had never mentioned that incident, and as far as John was concerned, there was no need to change that now. It was almost a year ago, so what would be the point? He had always thought that the immense warmth towards Sherlock and the need to protect him was just an effect of having lost him once; at least those feelings had increased after he came back. The tingling feeling he felt whenever Sherlock was close to him, the strong urge to hold him and never let go, that was surely just happiness and gratitude that he was back. Nothing else.

But the memory of Sherlock's lips against his own made him feel things. Unexpected things. He wanted to feel that again, that much he was certain about. But no, he couldn't. He wasn't even sure what he wanted anymore. Apart from the fact that John wasn't actually gay (hah), Sherlock was completely uninterested and married to his work. Not to mention they were flat mates and John certainly did not want to move. Oh, and the fact that Sherlock was his best friend. He wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. He had lost him once; he was not going through that again.

With all these arguments in his head, John sighed deeply and decided to push away these weird feelings where he would never have to deal with them again. He opened the door to the flat and stepped inside, wanting nothing more than a cup of tea and an early night. Sherlock however, seemed to have completely different plans about that.