A/N: Sorry for getting this up so late and for the shortness of it. Life got in the way and things needed to get done so yeah. For those of you who are still with me THANK YOU AND PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.

Chapter 3

When they got home it was about 7:00 PM that night. Mrs. Hudson was still moving out and about.

"Oh Sherlock, I'm glad you finally came home! I wanted to remind you about that package that was left at the door. I had a feeling you might have… forgotten about it."

They went up the stairs, John weary and tired, Sherlock that exact opposite. They didn't even care about the implication of what Mrs. Hudson said. Sherlock's mind was whirring and John was just about to fall asleep going up the stairs.

Once they got to the door of their flat, Sherlock rushed in to find the mysterious package. Sherlock studied the package; there was no mailing address or anything that could give them the identity of whoever left the package. He sat down the package to look for something to open it. When he turned to go into the kitchen John was slumped in the chair asleep, his head up against the back of the chair.

Suddenly Sherlock felt a blush creeping up his neck and his heart racing. The sudden affection for John was overwhelming. He'd never felt anything like this before. All too new, all too fast, it made his head spin a bit. But at that moment he didn't really care as he leaned forward to brush a kiss across John's forehead.

John woke with a start. By this time, the sun shone bright and dazzling through Sherlock's bedroom window. He wondered how he got to bed last night and realized he must have moved by Sherlock. He smiled to himself a little at that. He groaned a bit stiff from sleep. After he showered and dressed he walked down to where Sherlock was working.

"What time do you have?"

"No one can own time, John," Sherlock smirked from his place at the kitchen table.

"Fine, you arse, what time does the tiny clock on your wrist say?" John said playfully.

Sherlock juts out his wrist towards John to take. John sighed and rolled his eyes and looks at the time.

"Jesus!" John leaned forward to get a better look at the time, to see maybe if he read it wrong, "it's noon!"

"Obviously, John."

John just walked to the ice box silently in search of food but found none.

"Well, it looks like we have nothing to eat here, so I'm going out. Would you like anything?"

"You know I don't."

"See you then."

Sherlock was still diligently working the case, not really paying attention. Before John could stop himself he blurted out, "Love you."

Sherlock stopped whatever he was doing. He wanted to be where human emotions weren't so complicated, where you weren't bombarded by surprising declarations that made your head swim. He didn't know what to say, he knew he was in love with John, but why did knowing that John loved him so earth shattering? Why was it so unbelievable? He didn't know, so John's declaration was met with silence.

"Right," the door shut a little harder than John intended with more hurt in his voice than he intended. Sherlock noticed right away but by the time he noticed, John was gone. So there he sat, so quiet he could hear the gentle ticking of his watch.

It was several hours before John came home. After much deliberation, he finally decided to actually go up the steps to their flat. When he got to the door he found it was locked. John pounded on the door and got no reply.

"Sherlock?"

Nothing, not even a grunt. Inside he heard a loud bang and dull thump, as if something hit the ground. John pounded even harder on the door with no avail. Mrs. Hudson wasn't in right now to open the door so the quickest option for him was to ram the door. Thankfully, due to John's military career, he has some experience in ramming doors down.

The room smelled of burned flesh. The smoke was thick coming from the kitchen and spreading out into the flat. John made his way through the haze, finding Sherlock groaning and rolling onto his back.

"John!" says Sherlock, recognizing John's shape through the haze. He quickly stood up, a bit wobbly on his feet. Sherlock winced as he got up to face John, with an indignant look on his face. Sherlock's left hand was starting to bruise.

"God, Sherlock what happened?" said as he was peeking into the microwave.

"I was testing whether—"

"Actually, never mind. I don't want to know why there is a bowl of human fingers in the microwave."

They cleaned up the mess as best they could; tomorrow they would clean the rest up. Sherlock looked up at John, still angry. Their eyes locked and he did not to look away.

"We need to talk." They were only inches apart. John's face was red faced brow furrowed. John was so adorable when he was angry.

Shit, I really shouldn't be thinking—

"Why didn't you say it back?"

Sherlock really hated feeling this way in the middle of an argument. He still had no idea how to respond. The experiment was an escape from having to think about John and his hurt expression.

"You told me that you loved me, kissed me, and even slept with me. Is this your way of taking all of that back? Is this all some sort twisted experiment?"

Sherlock's head was spinning from the confusing assault that was emotion. He was flushed from neck to his ears.

"John, I told you relationship weren't my area—"

"Sherlock, you told me—"

"Please let me finish."

The sorrow and regret caught John off guard, effectively making him stop talking.

"I am so in love with you, you don't even know. When you told me you loved me I wasn't expecting it. No one has ever really felt that way about me. Knowing how so vital you are to me, it's hard for me to imagine someone feeling that about me."

Sherlock's heart was in his throat, his face was on fire, and John was speechless.

"John?"

All of the sudden it just John's arms around his middle, his face burrowed into his chest holding him tight. Sherlock then threaded his fingers through John's hair, reveling in the warmth of him.

That night they slept in the same room. They were entwined, holding each other just relaxing before falling asleep. He found it incredibly endearing that Sherlock can be this way.

Just as they were on the brink of sleep, Sherlock jerked up.

"John. JOHN. I completely forgot about that package."

"So? Sherlock, it can wait till—"

"No, no this is your fault! You made me forget!"

Sherlock jumped out of bed, racing to the living room. John followed him, tired and extremely irritated. He found Sherlock standing in front of desk opening the package. When he opened it two pink baby shoes fell out.

"Baby shoes? Why would—"

"The case. The murderer is challenging me."

Just as Sherlock voiced his realization, something crashed in the front, right in front of the stairs. Mrs. Hudson shrieked.

John sprang into action, running to where the danger was. Right there in the foyer was a brilliant blue box. And emerging from the box was a man with a tweed suit and a bowtie.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor!"

TBC