Author's note: Thanks to all who took the time to tell me that I picked the right word – my research yesterday was inconclusive (here's to hoping no one ever gets curious about my browser history).

Sorry if this seems rushed. I had to hurry.

I don't own anything, please review.

As expected, Sherlock didn't sleep that night, if his pacing around the living room when John came downstairs the next morning was anything to go by.

"Why do we have to hide?" he complained. "We are more than capable of staying under the radar, and the police are idiots anyway".

"We are fugitives, remember? Don't worry, I'm sure Mycroft will keep us updated" John replied, walking into the kitchen. Reminding Sherlock of his dependency on his brother was most likely not the best idea, but the stress of being sought for murder, chased by Moran and having to worry about the safety of his friends was finally getting to him.

He heard Sherlock huff and plop down on the sofa, just like he would at Baker Street, and the familiarity of the sound made him smile despite everything.

For a moment, at least, because then Sherlock decided to speak again.

"Being hunted by the police is terribly inconvenient" he grumbled. "Probably shouldn't have run away".

That hurt more than John would have thought. In fact, he would have expected that he would agree with Sherlock. Hadn't he thought the same several times during their chase? Hadn't he been prepared to go to jail so Sherlock would be safe? Hadn't he felt guilty for pulling Sherlock into the mess his life had become? And now he felt hurt because Sherlock agreed with him for once.

He swallowed and continued searching for a kettle in the strange kitchen. He needed tea, now even more than before.

Not that the consulting detective would understand what he was feeling. Sherlock didn't think emotions important, in fact, there were moments John believed he had deleted most of them long ago. On the other hand, he had been concerned when the doctor had been shot and tried to look after him (not that Mrs. Hudson had left him much to do).

Now John felt guilty for thinking of Sherlock as emotionless too. As if his day couldn't get any worse.

Sherlock must (surprisingly) have realized that John had heard his grumbling and hadn't reacted, because suddenly he was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

"John?"

"Do you want a cuppa? Once i find the kettle, that is..." the doctor asked, realizing how pressed his voice sounded and desperately hoping that Sherlock wouldn't notice, that he would be too preoccupied with the case, when –

"John". Sherlock looked almost apologetic and took a tentative step towards his friend. "I didn't mean – "

"I know" John answered, hoping that Sherlock would believe him, although the tone of his voice hadn't changed, and apparently the consulting detective had, today of all days, decided that he wouldn't ignore the feelings of another human being.

He took another step towards John, stopped, and opened a cupboard John hadn't searched yet, pulling a kettle from the highest shelf. Of course.

He gave it to him without a word and only started to speak after John had started to fill the kettle with water.

"I – I didn't mean I regret freeing you, John. Or running away with you. I – I would do it again, although this is of course a rather redundant expression, since no two – "
"It's alright, Sherlock" John answered, genuinely touched. He looked at the detective and grinned. "It's all fine. Sorry for being so – "

"Ordinary?" Sherlock suggested, but there was a certain sparkle in his eyes that told John his best friend was trying to be funny, so he just smiled and shook his head before announcing, "Just so you know, you will eat something today".

Sherlock looked like he wanted to protest, then thought better of it and sat down at the kitchen table, leaving John to do the work. The doctor didn't complain, he was used to it and it wouldn't make an impression on the consulting detective anyway.

While they were still eating breakfast, Greg made his way into the Yard, feeling rather nervous. He was sure he had done the right thing and would do it again, but he still had to lie to his colleagues –who weren't all colleagues, despite what Sherlock said. At least he'd been right about the security cameras; Mycroft had informed him yesterday, as soon as he'd got home (only to find that his wife was spending a few days with her mother, without telling him off her plans) that he was nowhere to be seen on the footage of that night since he'd made sure to keep it in a loop while Greg had been arranging things.

He got coffee and slowly walked into his office, the phone on his table starting to ring as soon as he'd sat down, and he sighed, already knowing who it was.

The Chief Superintendent sounded annoyed at his lack of progress, then ordered him along with Donavan (which meant Anderson would be there too, since he spent most of his time, when not working on evidence, following her around) in his office.

Just as Greg put down the receiver a little harder than necessary, he realized that just now the perfect opportunity for him to make sure the gun was re-examined had presented itself. If he could only manipulate the Chief Superintendent...

He stood up and called out to Donavan. As expected, Anderson followed them.

The Chief Superintendent looked as annoyed as he had sounded, but at least that would only help his plan.

After the Chief Superintendent was done telling them what a poor job they had done of tracking John Watson and Sherlock Holmes down, that was. Greg could live with that.

He had problems keeping his temper, however, when his boss started implying that Sherlock might not have been on their side after all, might even be a fraud. Maybe the consulting detective had been right all along. People were idiots.

"Sir" Greg explained patiently, "every case Sherlock Holmes has helped us with checked out – our department has managed to put more criminals behind bars than any other."

"Has it?" The Chief Superintendent suddenly looked rather triumphant, like he'd just had an idea, and Greg had the strange and somehow exhilarating feeling that, despite this, he had managed to lead him where he wanted him to be. Idly, he wondered if Mycroft felt like this the whole time.

"Then how" his boss continued, "did he miss the fact that his –" he looked expectantly at Greg, as if unsure how to call John, and the DI almost snorted. "Flatmate" he provided, and the Chief Superintendent repeated the word, although he didn't seem convinced, "flatmate killed a man several months ago? If he is such a good detective, shouldn't he have found it out? Or... were they accomplices the whole time?"

Greg could feel Donavan and Anderson gloating behind his back and tried to sound as indignant as possible. "We don't know yet for sure that John Watson killed Timothy Wallace".

Anderson sneered. "Lestr – " The Chief Superintendent shot him a stern look and he corrected himself. "Sir, I told you that I matched the bullet to Doctor Watson's gun – and the biological residue on the bullet proves that it was the one used to kill Timothy Wallace. It has his DNA all over it."

Deciding to add a little bit more fuel to the fire, Greg said, "I'm still not sure it was John's gun that was used – "

The Chief Superintendent exploded. "Fine. Anderson will double check the ballistic test – and I want to hear no complaints, Anderson, do you understand? Maybe once you see the same result several times you will be able to actually lead the search effectively".

He dismissed with a wave of his hand and Greg made his way back to his office, Donavan and Anderson having walked away without bestowing another glance on him. He did his best to appear as concerned as he'd been before Mycroft's call yesterday, but didn't hold back a satisfied smile once he was in the safety of his office. Anderson could repeat the test as often as he wanted – it would always be negative. He'd made sure to get rid of the original barrel – he'd broken it into pieces and distributed them over several bins – and no one would ever knew that he'd exchanged it, except for his friends.

A blocked number called his mobile again, and he picked up with a simple "It worked".

"I know. I expect John to be cleared by the end of the day".

"If Anderson isn't still repeating the test then out of sheer desperation" Greg replied, and could have sworn that he heard Mycroft chuckle for a moment.

"I will inform Sherlock and John of the developments" he announced, then, before hanging up, added, "Thank you, Inspector".

Greg was left to ponder over what he'd done in the last twenty-four hours and to wonder if he had, perhaps, spent too much time with the Holmes brothers over the last few years.

John was doing his best to distract Sherlock by telling him every detail he remembered about working for Moriarty once again when a text alert rang out. John raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had turned your phone off?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, John – of course I did. But do you really think Mycroft would own a safe house without several smart phones in the vicinity?"

Of course Mycroft wouldn't, and John nodded. Sherlock read the text. "Mycroft and Lestrade managed to get our problem out of the way. He'll text again once you're officially cleared and the search has been called off".

John nodded, again, wondering why he didn't feel more relieved before he remembered Moran. "So we wait".

"It won't take long" Sherlock responded, flopping down on the sofa. John smiled and went into the kitchen to make more tea. Might as well enjoy a nice cuppa while he could; he very much doubted he'd be able to make more once he and Sherlock were allowed to chase after Moran and trying to bring him down once and for all.

Author's note: I have more followers! What a nice surprise. I also got reviews! An even better one.

I hope you liked it, please tell me if you did.