2: You Say She's What Now?!

That night John retired late after waiting for Sherlock to come out of his comatose like state, but he didn't. "I'm going to bed," John nodded in confirmation and when Sherlock didn't move, he just gave up and hit the hay.

But then Sherlock came into his room, "John," John groaned in response as he rolled over to let Sherlock in if he wanted to get under the covers. "Is it okay if I sleep here again tonight?" John nodded briefly and Sherlock closed the door behind himself as he slipped under the duvet.

Sherlock liked the way John's bed felt, it was so much better than his own. He curled around John as John noticed he wasn't wearing anything but his pants, but he only noticed because John was stripped in the same fashion. He sighed and cuddled into Sherlock's arms as he fell asleep.

Sherlock listened to his flatmate's breathing become shallow and he himself relaxed. He didn't get much sleep, but holding John was worth it. He kept dozing off, then he heard his soldier shift in his sleep and he was awake again.

He didn't blame John, because if he wasn't in John's bed, he wouldn't even be dozing. He was just distracted. He couldn't stop thinking about what Mary had revealed about herself. First there was the secret John blew up about, then the baby, and now the biggest one of her life… why does she trust them so much? Or is it that she trusts John and automatically trusts Sherlock?

Who knows? But the point was, she revealed herself and made herself vulnerable, because she believed she should warn them. Of course, her warning didn't go unheeded, but Sherlock definitely was getting involved. But how would he tell John?

John has too much to deal with where she's concerned, but he needs to know. So what does Sherlock do now? Tell him and he shuts down from disbelief or just gets pissed and leaves? Or something else entirely? God, this is worse than The Fall.

Sherlock tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn't shut the fuck down. He couldn't stop thinking about all the possibilities with telling John. He also, of course had to 'solve the case', and tell Lestrade something. He couldn't say that Mary had done it, so what does he say?

Ugh, the sun is already poking through the curtains. John is still asleep, but Sherlock was wide awake and ready for whatever was thrown at him. He goes days without sleep anyway, what's the difference now? There is none.

John's eyes fluttered open and he rolled over to look at Sherlock, "Are you ever going to sleep in your own bed?"

Sherlock just shrugged, "Are you complaining?"

John smiled, "Nope, just wondering," Sherlock smiled briefly before planting a kiss on John's forehead. John wanted more than that, but that can wait for as long as Sherlock needs.

Sherlock wanted to do more, but there's a case, and he probably won't do anything else but think about it, which reminds him of Mary. How does he tell John? He didn't know, but John needed to know soon, or Sherlock couldn't 'solve the case' without him finding out and that would be worse than telling him outright.

John nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's neck for a moment then decided he had to brush his teeth, and he really had to pee. So he wiggled from Sherlock's grip and walked to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Luckily when Sherlock walked in, he was just brushing his teeth, and he had already done his business. That would have been embarrassing on both their parts.

Sherlock plucked his toothbrush from the holder and stole John's toothpaste. Watching him brush his teeth was a little amusing. He had weird ways of going about it. John fought the urge to laugh. When they rinsed Sherlock grinned at John, showing him his work.

John did laugh at this, and just ruffled Sherlock's hair, and he had to stand on his toes to do so, and Sherlock scooped him up in his arms, "John. Can I um, can I kiss you?" he had to make sure it was okay, if it wasn't, it would ruin things.

"One thing first, why did you say we were in a relationship? Are we?" he had to get that straight as his hand drifted from Sherlock's curls and down to his shoulder.

"I thought it was pretty clear that we were, so. Can I kiss you?" he asked again.

John smiled, "I have no objections," he admitted. He looked up at Sherlock and his hand went back to the detective's cheek. Sherlock's hands stayed on John's hips and the grip became harder when he got closer and Sherlock's lips landed no John's.

But it was over as quick as it had started, and John didn't like that. He pulled him back down as his fingers landed in Sherlock's curls again. John knew he had kissed people before, so it really didn't matter if John did that, did it?

From the look Sherlock gave, it didn't. As a matter of fact, he looked a little dazed, "It's so different when you actually like the person," he admitted.

"Yes, yes it is. Why do you think people do it in the first place?" he chuckled at how clueless Sherlock was to love. It also made him realize that he had to teach him some new things. He was happy to do that, too.

He patted Sherlock's chest and walked out to the kitchen to make coffee. Sherlock followed, watching John, mostly his ass, but it was nice. Sherlock had never paid much attention before, but now that he had, he wondered why he hadn't already.

Then he thought back to seeing John in the shower. He was so nervous about them being naked together. It was cute, and Sherlock wondered when he'd be able to do it again. Sherlock sat in his kitchen chair, finished with the bathroom, as he went back to watching John make coffee and toast.

That was when he decided he would tell John. After he sat down and Sherlock had coffee in front of him, "John, there's something I need to tell you and you may not believe me, but…"

"Sherlock, whatever it is, coming from you, it's believable."

Sherlock nodded, "Right, well, Mary is a Vampire," he said it quickly and hoped John didn't freak out. He simply ran those words through his mind again and listened.

John pursed his lips in thought, "Okay. Um, what makes you think this?" Sherlock's not crazy, just a little out of it. Right?

"She told me, John. The woman we found dead, that was Mary. No doubt it's because she's pregnant, and needed something. But, the point is, she's a Vamp and Lestrade needn't know," he hid behind his coffee mug as John just sat there, a blank look about his face, "John?"

He stirred from thought, "I'm sorry. It's just, you always said superstitious people were stupid," he admitted. He had always said these things were dumb and dull.

"They are, because they don't know. But I know, and do I really look stupid, John?" Sherlock asked. John shook his head, smiling a bit at the thought of Sherlock being stupid. Never…

"So, why, if she did it, haven't you just told Lestrade?" John folded his hands on the table and stared hard at Sherlock.

"One, he wouldn't believe me, two, it's Mary, John. I wouldn't do that to her, not in her state," he sipped from his cup again.

"Right, of course. Well, I believe you, it's just. Her being an assassin and then the baby, then this, I'm just wondering what else she's hiding from me," he wiped his hands over his face and his fingers settled under his chin, holding his head up.

"Nothing," Sherlock replied. "She revealed all of her to you, and no offense, but look what you did with it," Sherlock said, his normal bored tone, and at this point he was glad Sherlock wasn't being an arse. It helped him not feel like an ass as much, though what John did was an ass-like thing.

"I know," John almost had tears, but he didn't let any fall. Not in front of Sherlock.

"Or rather, you didn't, and you hated it," Sherlock smiled briefly before looking elsewhere. John gave him a glare, but it was the truth, and he hated it. He hated that he hadn't known a thing, and now that he knew all of it, he wished he didn't.

He actually wished he knew Mary as the innocent woman he loved instead of a dangerous assassin that could kill anyone, even him, without a second thought. He also hated that she was stronger than him, emotionally and probably physically, too.

John needed to quit. He needed to be a soldier and shut up, just deal with it all and get through and he'll be fine. It always worked for him to just ignore everything and focus on the black and white facts of life instead of his shades of grey. It worked for Sherlock.

"So, really, why haven't you turned her in?" John asked, in all seriousness. "I thought you didn't care. She did kill a woman," he pointed out.

"You've killed men on my behalf, she was only doing it on her baby's behalf. She needed blood, after all," he stared at John, wondering why he was suddenly being so cold. The only difference between Mary and them was her appetite.

"Those were different, Sherlock," the blogger sighed.

"Oh? Tell me how it was different, John. How is murder different from murder?" John struggled, how was it different? "You should think before you judge actions you yourself have taken. Hypocrite," the detective got up from the chair and settled in the one in the main room.

John thought about this, how could he be so cold? He didn't know. There was also something about Sherlock that seemed to intrigue John. "Why do you care so much, anyway?"

"A friend is a friend, John. I was unaware that you turn on friends in a time of need," he pointed out as John sat in the chair across from Sherlock. Why was John being so mean, as if Mary was suddenly someone else entirely?

But when she had told John the truth, he DID start seeing her as another person completely. She had lied to him from the first word she had told him, and now he couldn't trust her. "Well, I just hope you know, she kills once, and it'll happen again," he said as he got up and walked off to his room. it was true, though. It was how serial killers were born. First, it's a good cause, then it's for fun.

He sat on the bed, waiting for Sherlock to invade his privacy as he always does. But, when he didn't, John laid down. He thought about the many times he had the opportunity to kill a man because of Sherlock, and the few times he did kill someone because of Sherlock.

Was it fair to judge Mary this way? John thought so, somehow. Sherlock doesn't see how her situation is so different, but John does. The biggest and only difference is, the woman dead didn't deserve to be randomly murdered. All the people John killed, he had a reason, and bloodlust wasn't one. With Mary's situation, she could have done differently.

She could have had blood bags, or drank from someone who was already dead. Or something besides a drunk woman who was strolling with her girlfriend. Something… and that was when Sherlock did invade John's space, "John, don't think about it so much. If it bothers you so much, you tell Lestrade," he suggested as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"No," John sighed as he decided, "You were right, she was just doing what she thought was right. Beside," he sat up and cuddled into Sherlock, "Lestrade would throw me in the loony bin if I told him my ex was a Vampire," he let out a breathy chuckle that Sherlock shivered from, as it was on the back of his neck.

He leaned back into John, "So, then how do we tell him the case was solved? We can't tell him about Mary, but we can't tell him we didn't solve it," John shrugged as he flopped down again, this time with Sherlock laying on top of him with his back pressed to John's groin.

Sherlock's fingers traced circles and some other weird shapes on John's thigh as they thought about the status of their currently closed case. "What if we tell him we don't where the killer is?" John suggested.

"We'd still have to tell him who," Sherlock pointed out.

"I give up. The case stays open," he waved his hands about and Sherlock sported a small smile as he turned on John, his hips in between John's legs. He smiled down on the detective that was moving above him.

"You just give up? That's not the John I know," he teased as he was above John's face, his curls framing his head and making him look so much more beautiful. John chuckled as Sherlock's lips played with John's.

Just in that moment, RIIING! Damn that door bell. Sherlock got up from John and rushed down the two sets of stair to the door. He opened it to that man he had talked to before, and John followed, leaning on the wall beside the door as he heard the man.

"Well, you were right about the blond, and she has a few friends that were smarter about their choices in a meal. A few of ours (the homeless) went missing, and we don't want to report it because what are the police gonna do?"

"True, true. Well, thanks. I'll let you know if I have any other questions," and he closed the door on the now walking away man.

"Friends, huh?" John asked as Sherlock noticed that he had been standing there, and they were also still in their PJs. That was laughable if they didn't have this matter to worry about now.

"Apparently so," Sherlock leaned against the door as he thought about this. John leaned into him, their shoulders touching. Then Sherlock mumbled something about 'elders' and 'again' and John was confused as he followed the burnet up the stairs to their chairs.

John sat down as Sherlock paced in front of the mantel piece above the fireplace, that has seen too little fires since the time of Holmes and Watson living there. Sherlock stopped, staring at the floor for a moment, then sitting in John's lap.

His hands went up in the air, as he hadn't expected a detective in his lap. But he settled and his arms wrapped around Sherlock as he cuddled into John. "John," John hummed in response, "This case is getting more and more obvious, but the answer is not one I like," he admitted.

"This answer would be?" John asked. There are many answers one like Sherlock wouldn't like.

"To tell Lestrade we can't solve it and leave it open, like the few others we have," and he buried his head further and his curls tickled John's ear.

John chuckled, "A few open cases shows that you're actually human. And I think it's funny," John admitted.

"You're funny," Sherlock looked at John, "to look at," he added. John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's stupid comment.

"Not one of your best comebacks, Sherlock Holmes," he laughed at Sherlock's irritated face. He simply buried his head again and John played with the string poking out of Sherlock's shirt, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's showing skin.

Then John abandoned the string and his fingers played with Sherlock's skin, watching him shiver and John smiled in delight each time. Sherlock couldn't see these smiles, but he could feel John's fingertips and couldn't help shivering under their touch. John was mesmerizing, no matter what.

John was fun to watch, was fun to touch, to kiss, to breathe in, to feel on your skin. All of it, Sherlock couldn't help loving the soldier in his grip. John couldn't help but to love the reactions he got from Sherlock. His fingers glided over Sherlock's back and slightly under his trousers. Not enough to be touching his bum, but enough to be under his trousers, definitely.

Then he felt Sherlock's lips brush over his neck and he grinned. The kisses became harder and John's fingers glided further down, to under Sherlock's pants. But it was such a slow motion that by the time John's hand was completely under, Sherlock didn't care.

John's fingers still made shapes on Sherlock's pale skin as his other hand was plunged under and Sherlock's kisses turned into little nips, here and there. Was this happening, or was it useless foreplay leading to nowhere? John hoped it was useless foreplay, he didn't know a thing about being with a man.

But as Sherlock's nips went back to kisses, he calmed down, and his hands left Sherlock's bum and landed on his back. Still under his shirt, but still. The kisses, though, moved from John's neck to his jaw line, and his cheek, and to his lips.

Little pecks that became harder but still soft. It was as close to bliss that John was going to come at this moment. He wanted more, but how much more? Does he even know what he wants from Sherlock?... Another fucking man!?

Sherlock had little knowledge when it came to sex. He never bothered with it before, it didn't matter. But with John, he had so many things running through his mind. Who was going to top? Who was going to submit? Would they even get that far? Neither knew, just running their hands over one another's skin and feeling the other's small moans seemed to be fantastic.

And this moment wasn't exactly ruined, but it was… compromised as a small soft knock could be heard on the door below. Sherlock had his suspicions on who it could be, but who knocks like that? Someone, he decided, he didn't know, someone he probably didn't care to know.

Sherlock shuffled after John as they descended the stairs, and John opened the door to the small child, "Are," she sniffled, "are you Sherlock Holmes?" her eyes were red from crying and she was standing out in the heat in shorts, a T-shirt and sandals.

Sherlock pushed past John, "What is it that you want? Be quick about it," he looked down on the little raven haired girl.

She almost cried again, "I can't find my mummy," she admits as John sees tears hit the sidewalk. John rolls his eyes as he pulls Sherlock back from the door.

He kneels to meet her lovely dark blue eyes, "Where were you when she disappeared?" he asked softly, brushing the hair from her tear streaked face.

Sherlock shifted on his feet in annoyance, and John got an answer, "Right there," she pointed to the cross walk down the street.

"How did you know to come here?" John asked, despite Sherlock's annoyance with the child. He didn't like kids all that much.

She stuttered, "I- I heard some man talking about you, and he said you lived here. Please help me find Mummy?" her eyes begged John as she latched onto him, in an embrace he didn't expect.

"We'll help you," John glared at Sherlock, "I promise," he looked back to the little girl and held her shoulders in his hands, "And Sherlock will help, too."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John ushered her inside and he rushed to his room to get his phone. "How old are you?" Sherlock asked as they ascended the stairs and Sherlock heard the clicking of John's cell phone keys loudly echoing through the hall.

"Seven," she said with confidence.

"And your name?" Sherlock continued.

"Aveen," she said, a little nervous as Sherlock flopped in his chair and John came down the stairs, phone in hand, looking at a text.

Aveen? That's a strange name for a child. Oh, well, so was Sherlock, so he really couldn't judge. "Well, Aveen, I promise you we will find your mum, dead or alive," and his attention was turned to John as he didn't hear her sniveling. Wouldn't most children at the thought of a dead parent?

He looked her over and her eyes never wavered as he did so. She wasn't hurt by the thought that her mother may be dead. As a matter of fact, she had only been crying because she was scared of the other people on the street and the cars, not because her mother had left her there. Why, though?

Oh… well that would put a damper on a mother-daughter connection, and she wasn't lost. She knew exactly where she was. John was a little confused that she didn't start crying again as Sherlock mentioned death and she just claimed John's chair and simply stared at Sherlock. Something about her eyes said she was studying him. He twitched under her gaze, he'd never been looked at so intently before. It was a little unnerving.

"Lestrade said to bring her down to the Yard, but I don't know. Should he just bring a few officers down here?" John asked Sherlock, who's gaze snapped from Aveen to him.

"Tell him to bring the least irritating ones and that we're not moving from this flat until she's out of it," Sherlock lazily jabbed a thumb at Aveen and John sighed, texting more. They would just ask Mycroft, but Sherlock didn't want to and John despised the man.

John shook his head as he slid his phone in his pocket, fully dressed now. Just a flannel and jeans, but still dressed. Sherlock didn't bother getting dressed, he wasn't moving from his chair. John sat on the couch, close to Aveen as her eyes studied him as well.

He was used to Sherlock's stares, so he didn't much care, but she seemed to be searching for something. She then looked around the flat, and jumped up when she saw the experiment over there in the corner by the window, "What's this?" she bent to her knees and studied it.

"Don't ruin it," Sherlock grumbled as he kneeled beside her. She persisted, "If you must know, it's an experiment," he huffed.

John rolled his eyes as she looked into the box with the little plant in a pot. It wasn't starving, but it wasn't well off either. "On what?" she asked, tilting her head to the side and Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her.

"You wouldn't understand it if I told you," Sherlock eyed her.

"Try me," she said defiantly and looked him in the eyes.

He shivered slightly at those staring eyes but answered nonetheless that it was an experiment on how the plant would fair on the floor in the light, instead of the window. Kind of like the shadow/light experiment with plants, but this was more of how little light it needed to survive. She was intrigued as she stroked the leaves.

She was suddenly up and running up the stairs but came back down when all that was up there was a bathroom and a bedroom. Sherlock knew she would then run into the kitchen. She was fascinated with all the things in the fridge and the melted things he'd stored in the microwave or the one in the toaster.

John was surprised at how she had just drug Sherlock along as he explained each and every experiment he had hidden throughout the flat. They had disappeared into Sherlock's bedroom where it was neat, but there was still stuff on the windowsill and under the bed…

Then there was an opening of the door and feet on the stairs as Sherlock and Aveen appeared once more. Sherlock wasn't smiling per say, but he was definitely pleased she hadn't ruined anything. Actually, he loved that she was interested instead of disgusted.

There were some things she gave a giggly ew to, but that was the really gross stuff, like the thumbs in the fridge… but she was overall pleased to hear Sherlock's reasoning for all the things he had laid out in the flat.

"Lestrade," he greeted the DI. He waved to the girl now cowering behind Sherlock's long legs and his robe. "Come one, Aveen. You want to go home, don't you?" he prompted.

She shook her head, "Not anymore," she came out and stared at the men in front of her: Dimmock and a few others who were good at their job, and not as annoying as Anderson.

"And why not?" Lestrade bent on one knee to ask her.

"Because mummy has bad juice and I don't wanna!" she clung to Sherlock's legs and refused to let go. Sherlock leaned into Lestrade as he whispered his deductions and Lestrade simply nodded.

"Going home would be better than staying here, I can promise you that," Lestrade tried. She wouldn't let go.

"Aveen," John said softly as he was suddenly on his knees behind the child, "You need to go home. Sherlock and I have cases and your mum can take better care of you," he soothed as he rubbed a hand on her back and she softened in her grip and gave John a glare.

He was surprised by this as she said, "I hate Mummy. I don't wanna go home," she stared into John's light blue eyes as her dark ones consumed his and he couldn't look away. Something about those eyes that said she was here to stay.

Sherlock finally bent down, sighing he pulled her off, "You can't stay here," he wanted to add, 'I'd love for you to stay, but you can't.' He wouldn't mind having someone appreciate his work for once. John did sometimes, if it didn't explode the kitchen.

She looked to the floor in disappointment. Then back to Sherlock and heaved out a breath as she admitted, "I ran away. Mummy had strange people over and they scared me… so I left…" and she looked down at the floor, ashamed.

As Sherlock thought. Mum gets drunk and child runs away because she has party friends over and pays no attention to the child. She practically lives alone. The only thing her mother did for her was enroll her in school, which she has to walk to by herself.

Lestrade eyes widened as he stared at her, "You ran away?" she nodded, looking so guilty. Lestrade rose to his feet, "Perhaps you should just stay here until we sort this out," he looked to Sherlock who shrugged and John smiled.

They rose to their feet as she jumped with joy, "Can I stay?! I wanna see the bodies from the cases!" she jumped in joy as Sherlock just stared at her in utter confusion. Who wants to see dead bodies in the grass? Apparently, Sherlock, John and now Aveen.

Sherlock chuckled as Lestrade lead the officers out of the flat, but stopped to talk to John as Sherlock used his computer to show Aveen some cases they worked on before.

"Keep an eye on them," he simply said as John nodded and the door was closed behind them.

John thought it was a little funny that she had so easily fascinated Sherlock, but there was something about her that was a little strange. But she was a child, and children have strange tendencies. So, John passed it off as her interest in science and let Sherlock used John's laptop to show her some of the cases they'd worked on before The Fall.

She gasped and giggled at the answers to the questions she asked. And sometimes she was disgusted but interested, you know. She didn't like the blood, but the case behind it was brilliant. She eventually moved to sitting in Sherlock's lap and staring at the screen until the dark outside consumed the flat and she yawned.

It was around ten. John decided to give her his bed, and he would just sleep in Sherlock's. Sherlock didn't care that John was sleeping with him, and John said he would take her shopping after he got home from work for PJs and other clothes, and a few pairs of shoes, things like that. Even if it's for a few days, she needs something.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's promise but John glared and he just shrugged. Sherlock settled in his chair after John had changed back into PJs and Sherlock simply didn't change. He needn't to. Once Sherlock and John decided she was asleep, they tried to sleep themselves.

"She lives right across the street, I hope you know," Sherlock grumbled into John's shoulder as John shrugged.

"She did say her mother was drunk and Lestrade said she could stay. Besides, I like having a little one running around. It's a nice change," he admitted, looking at the detective who had his arm around John's chest.

John's leg was owned by Sherlock's as he cuddled closer, "I guess so," he said.

"You never guess," John mused. Sherlock grunted and John chuckled.

"Shut up, Watson," and he buried his head into John's neck, his curls everywhere. John's fingers brushed through them as he just sighed.

"You are very interesting, Holmes," he admitted as he started to finally feel sleepy. He rolled onto his side and felt Sherlock get closer behind him. Sherlock did get some sleep that night, and John as well. But the morning after was a little strange.

They woke up like it was any other morning, but they also remembered that Aveen was in the flat now. John scrambled out of bed to find that she wasn't even awake yet. It's about 7:00 and she isn't awake. Aren't most kids up at like the crack of dawn?

Well, apparently not Aveen, "Good," Sherlock said as John jumped from the doorway.

"I thought she'd be up by now," he shook his head and went back to the kitchen. "I have to get to work, anyway. I need coffee," he grumbled as he started a pot.

When he settled and was sipping from the cup, Aveen did eventually crawl out of bed and come down the stairs to Sherlock and John. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. Then she looked at Sherlock and his curls were still everywhere and you could tell he wasn't completely awake yet. She giggled at his hair as he squinted at her.

She just looked to John, then Sherlock, and settled on John. "Well," he said, "I'm getting a shower, then I'm off. And don't think I forgot about after I get home," he smiled to Aveen and she grinned. He then rushed to his room and took the shower as Sherlock just stared at Aveen.

His brain was coming back from slumber as he deduced her, again. She surprisingly slept well for being in a foreign place. She stole John's chair and looked in his cup before sliding it away from herself. "You are a peculiar type of person, Aveen," Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"How so?" she asked, swinging her feet under her.

"You wake up after we do, you don't want to try coffee because he was drinking it. And you seem comfortable here, I'd say even more than your own home," he stared at her still.

"Just because I'm not like the other kids, doesn't mean I'm not normal," she stated. "Do you guys have a hair brush?" she asked suddenly.

Sherlock looked around, his unused one had to be somewhere. His brother had given it to him as a joke, and he kept it, knowing he'd need somehow. He finally dug it out from one of the drawers in the kitchen, and handed it to Aveen. She brushed out her long raven black hair and just stared at Sherlock…

So, there she is, Aveen. The little girl that will make everything so cute! Reviews?! Please...