A/N: Just a tiny chapter today, but I needed this to happen. The next chapter is…happier, and it would have been weird to post the two parts together. I wish you all a wonderful week, and I'll see again next Monday.

On the first Sunday following Moran and Moriarty's picnic, the dinner at the Lestrades' house felt more like a war council than a lovely meal shared between friends. For the first time, Sarah Sawyer had been asked to join them, and she had suggested inviting her friend, Molly Hooper. Sarah was a romantic at heart, and even when faced with the evidence of Sherlock's indifference towards her friend, she never stopped hoping for a happy ending.

Sherlock was quieter than usual, only speaking when he was asked a direct question, but even then he seemed to be making a study in how little syllables he could use. He looked uncommonly anxious, almost buzzing with restlessness, and Gregory had never seen him so fidgety. Not for the first time, he wished he had the ability to read his friend's mind, to know what had happened to make him look like he was constantly making an effort not to choke on something painful.

A lot of the gossip in Sainte-Cécile was exchanged in the store, so the Lestrades were the best informed on what was being said about Sherlock's friendship with John Watson. Most of the villagers thought it was strange, but were not surprised that Sherlock had gotten himself in a strange situation. Other townsfolk thought Sherlock had to be persuaded to stop seeing The Beast, while an even smaller portion called him a sinner or a faggot. As for Sherlock's small support group gathered around the Lestrades' table, they had believed Gregory when he had told them John Watson was a very nice, albeit somewhat antisocial man. Not unlike a certain dark haired someone they knew and had grown to appreciate.

Once the meal was over and Mr. Lestrade was offering brandy glasses, Sherlock got up and whispered something into Gregory's ear. When Gregory seemed to hesitate, Sherlock grabbed his forearm and dragged him outside to the firewood cord on which he leaned. Then, he began to talk, explaining the reason behind his distress during dinner.

Sherlock told his friend that, the day before, he had gotten into his small boat and had rowed to West Birches Bay. There had been no scarf tied to the usual tree, he had known that before going, but he had crossed the Watsons' grounds nonetheless, and had walked on the sand path to Lover's Island.

"I don't know what got into me, I woke up frustrated that he's always the one deciding when we meet. Because of his horrible sister, to whom I wish a terrible fate. I wanted to see John, and although his sister doesn't scare me, I couldn't walk to their manor and knock on the door."

"Please Sherlock, tell me you didn't do anything stupid."

"I did not!" he said in an outraged tone, and Gregory raised an eyebrow.

"I may have," he added as an afterthought.

Gregory sighed and rolled his eyes, but a small smile formed on his lips nonetheless, and he gestured for his friend to hadn't found John on Lover's Island, but he had decided to walk around and check on the eider's nests. He had been curious to see if any of the females they had fed had managed to regain enough strength to leave their nests and join the others. He hadn't been that surprised to find all the nests empty; John had obviously known what he had been doing, and had done it well.

Then, Sherlock had gone to John's hut on the island, but had found it empty. However, something on the table had caught his eye and sent cold shivers running down his spine. John's mask. John had been there, very close and unmasked. Sherlock had gotten out of the hut and had called for his friend, but there had been no answer, save for a few ducks and seagulls cries.

At that point, Sherlock had known he ought to have left. The sea had started rising while he had been inspecting the eiders' nests, the sky had darkened dangerously, and the east wind had started blowing furiously. However, the image of his friend – so close and without his usual leather protection – had been the only thought on Sherlock's mind, and he hadn't been able to muster the strength to leave.

"You see, about a hundred times I wanted to ask him to take it off," Sherlock told Gregory.

"Why didn't you? You're usually not the shy type."

"Something akin to modesty, I suppose. I came to the conclusion that, for him, it's a very… intimate gesture. Also, I can't help but hope it will be the tenth treasure."

"Well, did you see his face?"

Gregory didn't want to rush Sherlock, but the sun was setting fast, and he suspected a worried Sarah and an eager Molly would soon start looking for them if they didn't return to the house. After that, who knew when the opportunity to be alone with Sherlock would arise again?

Looking for his friend, Sherlock had walked along the shore, his senses tingling with awareness. He had continued to call out John's name, but the waves had been strong, and the sea had swallowed his cries. He had looked in the tall bushes, among the trees, the groves, the reefs, and even further down at the foot of the cliffs. That's where he had found an old rowboat tied to a rocky ridge against which it had been knocking violently, pushed around by the waves. It's also where he had heard grunts and moans.

He had known at once what had been happening; he had seen enough animals doing it to recognize the noises of copulation. He had only approached because he had feared the act might not have been consensual for one of the participants. However, as soon as he had heard them talking and had recognized the voices, he had been convinced that both Jonathan Anderson and Sally Donovan had been consenting.

"The hypocrites!" Gregory cried when Sherlock reached that part of his story. "The awful hypocrites!"

"Indeed. I don't think I need to say I didn't linger to hear more."

Sherlock had turned to get away, but unfortunately had walked into a branch, and hadn't managed to stifle an exclamation of surprise when it had whipped his cheek. Knowing he had been loud enough to be heard, he had hidden behind a large tree trunk just in time to see Anderson and Donovan getting up, adjusting their clothes, and looking around with anxious eyes.

"Donovan seemed the most worried of the two, she was obviously panicked by the idea they might've been seen," Sherlock told Gregory, the unpleasant images still vivid in his mind.

"Anderson seemed more worried by the change in weather; it had started to rain by then, and he told her they had to leave right away before it got worse. She said it was dangerous, and they should wait for the upcoming storm to pass before returning home. That's when he told her to shut up or he would leave her there."

"Charming," Gregory commented, barely containing his excitement.

He couldn't understand why his friend wasn't gloating; he certainly was. They now had something to dangle over Anderson and Donovan's heads if they ever decided to interfere with his friend's life again.

"Water had gotten into their boat while they had been… busy, but they had nothing to bale out with. He told her to get in or stay, and she finally decided to leave with him. Anderson was rowing as fast as he could, but the wind kept carrying them off course."

"What did you do?" Gregory asked.

"What could I do? My own boat was in West Birches Bay. Anderson, fool that he is, stood up brandishing an oar, and probably started crying out for help, but I couldn't hear over the sound of the waves. Then, I heard branches creaking, and before I knew what was happening, someone had gotten into the water."

John. His strong arms hitting the water while his head had disappeared and resurfaced among the waves. Sherlock had seen Donovan, then Anderson disappearing under water, but they had soon resurfaced, thanks to John maintaining them afloat. Sherlock had lost track of them, but he assumed they had ended up in East Birches Bay.

Sherlock had gone back to the hut, but hadn't entered; he had felt like an intruder. He had waited under the rain while thinking about what had just happened. John had gone to his island, and thinking he had been alone, had taken off his mask. Then, he had discovered Sherlock's presence, and had hidden away in order not to scare him, not to reveal his face. He had probably hesitated before rescuing the couple in distress. Even if he was an exceptionally good swimmer, the venture had been dangerous, and after what Sherlock had told him about Anderson and Donovan, he probably wasn't terribly fond of them. Also, he must have been mortified by the thought of them seeing his face.

Nonetheless, he had dived.

The rain had eventually stopped and the wind had died down, but the sky had kept its stony colour, and the clouds had remained heavy looking. Sherlock felt ashamed that he had come, ashamed that he had forced John to hide. Eventually, he had felt calm enough to walk without collapsing, but before crossing to the other shore, he had found a big branch, and had carefully traced a few letters in the sand.

S – O – R – R - Y

Hoping the sea would spare his message, he had promised himself never again to seek a meeting without John's agreement, and he had returned home where he had spent the rest of the day sitting on the sofa while hugging his knees to his chest. Mrs. Hudson had squeezed his shoulder a few times, offering silent comfort, but he had remained silent.

Sherlock was watching Gregory, fidgeting while he waited for his reaction. He desperately needed someone else's opinion; he was driving himself crazy thinking about what had happened on the island. The skull had been no help at all – he clearly was on John's side – and he hoped Gregory would be able to shine some light on the whole situation, or at least offer a different perspective.

"So?" Sherlock asked impatiently, "How badly did I break The Friendship Code?"

Gregory sighed and ran a hand through his short hair, messing it up in the process.

"You do know The Friendship Code is more figurative than literal, right? And even if there were such a book with rules about friendship, I don't think it would include anything about angering war veterans wearing masks."

Sherlock sighed, and resisted the temptation to roll his eyes at Gregory's unhelpfulness. Instead, he decided to ask his question differently.

"Would you be angry if you were in John's situation?"

Gregory thought for a moment; he wanted to give a sincere answer, so he immerses himself in the situation, and tried to imagine what John must have felt.

"From what you've told me, he seems to like you a lot. Sure, you did something you're not proud of, but you recognized it and apologized. This treasure hunt of yours isn't even over yet, I think you'll be fine. Just give him some time, it's only been a couple of days."

As Gregory had predicted, Sarah and Molly went looking for them, and they inquired about what had kept them away from the house for so long. Gregory assured them they would return soon, and in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, he threw one arm around Sherlock's shoulder.