Disclaimer: I don't own, have never owned and never will own Sherlock. There you have it!

I'll be away during the weekend so I probably won't update until Monday... As always, a huge thank you to all of my readers, and especially HisPhantomess, GoTherka, Divergentshadowhunter99, not-so-sane-sam and ParaMi who recently followed/favourited this story, you are gold! A big hug goes to MrsThreepwood for your kind words :)

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Chapter 5

The following day, Sherlock went down to the Yard to leave his statement, and most likely insult some people for not catching the drug-dealer sooner. John chose to stay home and have a well-deserved lie-in. He was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, letting his mind wander. As much as he had tried to ignore and push away the things he'd felt lately, something had definitely changed last night. John wasn't sure if it was seeing Sherlock in that outfit (come on, that shirt would make anyone crumble and fall), or if it was that god damn whisper in his ear. Or maybe it was that Sherlock actually told him he'd seduced that man, it had really set John's mind into high gear.

No matter how much he didn't want to feel like this, he couldn't ignore it any longer. He was most definitely attracted to Sherlock; that much was pretty clear to him by now. But it wasn't just physical attraction, it was more. John tried to remember other times and how he'd felt then, and well, it did not look good. He thought about how much he admired Sherlock, how much he loved that smile of his, how he never stopped worrying about him, that he always wanted him to be safe, that he would give his life for him without even a second of doubt. He thought about the tingling feeling he felt every time Sherlock touched him, and how it sometimes became hard to breathe when he was too close. Every sign pointed in the direction of "being in love". Suddenly it was so clear to him that he almost laughed. How could it have taken him this long to realize it? "Well that's it," John thought, "I, John Watson am in love with bloody Sherlock Holmes."

In a way it almost was a relief to have come to this conclusion, it felt like if a weight he'd carried for a long time, suddenly was removed. On the other hand he suddenly realized how much would be different from now on. Would he be able to hold his feelings a secret from Sherlock? The world's only consulting detective who knew what you had for breakfast just by looking at your hair. But John was certain; he was not going to ruin his friendship with Sherlock. Their friendship was the most important thing in the world, and John wouldn't trade it for anything. Having settled that matter, John crawled out of bed, longing for a nice cup of tea.

A couple of hours later, Sherlock returned, looking rather glum. "What is it Sherlock?" John asked immediately, worried that something had happened down at the Yard. Sherlock sat down in his chair looking directly at John, his eyes boring into John's and slowly said "I am bored, John. I haven't had a case in," he glanced at his watch, "thirteen hours." John, expecting something far worse than this just chuckled at his eccentric flat-mate. "You know, sometimes it's actually good to take a break every once in a while Sherlock. Try to read a book or something. You don't have to run around London chasing murderers every day, maybe once a week will do?"

"Oh don't you know me at all John? I need cases, I need the game!"

He was quiet for a while until he suddenly shouted "Where are my cigarettes? I need them now John!" Sherlock's tone went from bored to almost desperate as a clearly sudden craving for nicotine startled the man.

"No, NO Sherlock. We agreed that you would stop. I am not giving you any cigarettes. Besides, you threw them all out remember? And Mrs. Hudson's spare package as well. You are not giving in for this, I'm not letting you!" John was firm. If there was one thing they'd really agreed about it was the smoking. Whatever happened, he was not going to give in, not even if Sherlock looked at him with his adorable puppy-eyes or begged on his knees. Sherlock started pacing the living room, muttering things under his breath. Then he walked straight out into the kitchen, and John heard him looking for something. After a while he returned with a large glass of what seemed like whiskey. "No comments," Sherlock shot a glance at John, "if I can't have my nicotine, this is the least I deserve, right?"

"Sherlock it's completely fine. I was the one who just told you to relax now, didn't I?" They were silent for a while until John asked "So how did it go down at the Yard. The statement worked out alright?"

"Yes. Although I looked through the entire investigation, and they could have caught him about three months ago, if they had let me in on the case sooner. But I guess their average minds couldn't come up with the simple thing that the green football told us everything we needed to know about his net of smugglers." John didn't even reply, just wondering silently how many enemies Sherlock had made among the policemen at the Yard today. He suspected that Lestrade had endured a lot from Sherlock, and made a mental note to text him later and apologize in Sherlock's behalf. He got interrupted in his trail of thoughts as Sherlock loudly proclaimed "I need to think, John"

"Well be my guest, Sherlock" John said lazily.

"I can't. I'm stuck, it's all stuck. I can't even play the violin anymore; it's as if the notes won't come out."

John, recognized this distressed behavior as similar to some nights ago, and remembered that Sherlock had something on his mind. He had just forgotten about it between work, the club-thing last night, and the startling revelation he'd come up with earlier. "Yes. Right. Sherlock, you said you were thinking of something particular a little while ago. Have you been able to figure it out yet?"

"No. That is what bothers me, what is keeping me down and make me unable to think." Sherlock said, looking almost offended at the thought that something could keep him from thinking. John couldn't help but think of this reaction as similar to the one at Baskerville, where Sherlock had been just as distressed, and also a bit afraid.

"I'll just say it again. If you want, you could talk to me. No matter what it is, I'll listen. Maybe I could help? But you have to talk to me; I can never tell what is going on in that brilliant mind of yours."

Sherlock seemed to debate whether or not he should go on, then said slowly, "There is something wrong with me. I keep having these nightmares, about you being taken away. And when I wake up I have a nagging sensation in my stomach. When you're away I feel it hard to concentrate and it bothers me when you talk to other people. I don't like it John!"

John watched Sherlock, amazed at his words and wondering if the other man knew exactly what he was saying, and what those words might mean. He tried to ignore that flaming sparkle of hope that had risen in his chest, and the fluttering in his stomach. He pondered for a moment what he should answer, then said slowly "Do you know what it is you're describing, Sherlock?"

"Yes" Sherlock looked almost disgusted. "Sentiment."