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Chapter twelve

The group had one hour of free time after the massage workshop and Sherlock and John joined the rest to have some tea. John was in desperate need of it and he knew that Sherlock hadn't eaten or drank enough that day.

John offered him a cup of tea and some scones with a serious face. "Take it."

"Thank you, I suppose." Sherlock made an annoyed face but kept honoring their bargain.

"That's the price you have to pay when getting involved with a doctor," John replied smugly.

Sherlock frowned at him. "You know that this will slow me down unnecessarily."

"That's just a cranky idea of yours. An engine cannot run on air. Your brain needs nutrients."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but remained silent when he saw John's "you-will-do-as-I-tell-you"- doctor face.

John took his own tea and sat gratefully down next to Sherlock. While the detective sipped his tea, apparently being absorbed in thought, John's eyes flickered towards Anne who sat two tables away. Anne didn't stop weeping for the rest of the massage workshop. Ben had been desperate by the end of it. John would have felt sympathy for her, had he not been preoccupied with the ongoing and unwanted attention from Howard. If possible, Howard was rather more attracted to John than less due to Sherlock's actions. Fortunately, he had been sitting on the other side of the room. Sherlock had simply sat close by John's side, invading his personal space. Their thighs had been touching. Considering the situation, John didn't mind. He had tried not to be aware of Howard's gaze and had turned his attention towards Sherlock. The detective had been observing their fellow students, deducing their characters further and trying to narrow down the list of suspects. His eyes had been focused, taking in every detail. From time to time he had given a short snort or heaved a sigh when someone had said something he found utterly boring.

John liked that about him, the absolute focus and determination. It provided direction. It was easy to follow him. Their current situation could have been very funny actually, if it wasn't for the fact that there was a killer in their midst.

"Come on, John. Otherwise we'll be late again."

Sherlock's voice suddenly roused John from his daydreams. "What's the matter now?"

"Cuddle therapy."

"What?" John hissed towards Sherlock as quiet as possible as they were following the other's out of the room, remaining some distance.

"Don't give me that look, John. We are simply taking the Smith's place. I didn't choose the subjects."

John held his gaze.

"We are committed to solve this case, John. I am not bouncing back by some sort of cuddle nonsense," Sherlock stated with a stern look. "Cheer up! We don't have to talk with anyone and I can use the time to observe. The sooner we find the man the sooner you will be out of here. Back home, you can make a romantic story out of it as you usually do."

"I can tell you one thing. I am not going to blog about this case."

"Why not?"

"That's why!"

"Never let your ego get wrapped up in your work, John," Sherlock teased him.

"Aha, listen to this," John murmured under his breath, barely audible. However he couldn't suppress a smirk.

Sherlock watched him with a faint smile. "And what's more important: You didn't seem to mind an hour ago."

"That was a hug. Cuddling is strictly private and not meant for other eyes, there's a difference." Maybe he shouldn't be bothered by the public aspect of it but more about cuddling with his best friend itself, John thought disbelievingly.

"You cuddle with me every morning, John. I dare say you're experienced enough by now to give it a try."

What he exactly meant by "giving it a try" remained unknown to John, because they reached the room in which they were supposed to attend to the Cuddle Therapy. Dr. Martin was waiting for the group impatiently. Her appearance gave John an idea why David Jones didn't get on well with her. She was a small, blonde woman, who obviously was used to be in the lead and had an air of condescension which wasn't the best attribute for a therapist.

"I guess the massage workshop took that long - again. I suggest we start with a short introduction. You'll find name badges at the table. Please write your name on it. Take a seat. I want you to tell me what you like the most about your partner. We want to create an atmosphere which is inviting. Clockwise, please."

Sherlock's face fell. "Not this again, please," he groaned silently. He stretched the "s" dramatically.

John nudged him.

"Well, Ben is…a good listener," Anne said quietly. Fortunately, she had stopped crying by now.

Ben sat next to her and moved very restless in his seat. "Anne is very attentive."

"My brother is a good listener and very attentive, too. I wouldn't say that speaks in his favor," Sherlock whispered with a blank expression.

John tried to keep a straight face, looking out of the window. "I think she doesn't have surveillance on him."

"That is to hope for."

"I have to think," Emily declared and made a long pause, before responding. "Frank is dutiful. He is a lawyer."

Well, that certainly explained one or two things in John's view. Sherlock snorted – apparently over the thinking part.

"She's a good lay," Frank shouted with laughter. "I guess that's why Fernando stays with us."

The group watched him, deeply shocked. Frank, however, didn't give a toss.

"Frank," Emily cried.

Frank rolled his eyes and rested his bulging eyes on the docent. Whether he was bored himself or he was trying to make eyes at her.

"Cameron is very inventive," Diana exclaimed eagerly. She seemed to have been very keen to have her say for some time now.

If she had cast a glance towards her husband, she would have seen that he was winking at Emily who didn't seem to object.

Cameron replied that Diana was very familial.

John could imagine that came just in handy for him and shook his head.

"Yes, my Grace is very domestic, too." Howard pats his wife on her arm and smiled broadly towards John.

Apparently it came in handy for Howard, too.

"Unfortunately, you are not AND you are always leaving the toothpaste tube open."

"No, please, no toothpaste tube talk," Sherlock sighed loudly. This time it was audible. "Get a divorce."

All eyes were focused on him. Howard and Grace watched him scandalized.

John frowned at him.

"Don't give me the look, John. Toothpaste tube talk is the end of love. If you have nothing else to discuss but this, it is about time to terminate the relationship."

"You never discuss about these tiny details then? You are here for a reason, too," Howard asked snappishly.

Sherlock glowered at him. "No. Never."

"No, we do not," John hedged. He didn't count the body parts among the tiny details.

Dr. Martin decided it was about time to end the discussion. It was Grace's turn to say something nice about Howard.

"Well, he is very caring," Grace answered hesitatingly. She was still angry at Sherlock.

Jack cleared his throat and announced that Iris was very obedient. Apparently, that was a good thing for Jack.

"Jack is very good to me," Iris replied, looking bashfully at the ground.

John pitied her.

"Don't," Sherlock breathed and gave John a candid look. "Every man is the architect of his own fortune."

John met his eyes. He had expected an annoyed face, but Sherlock looked at him pleasantly. His anger ebbed away immediately. "Not every man is qualified to forge his own destiny, Sherlock. Some people haven't learned how to act on their own responsibility."

"Fortune favours the brave, John."

They exchanged a long look. Did Sherlock mean to tell him something aside the obvious - that every person gets what he or she deserves until he or she takes over control? Was the whole emotional rollercoaster not only about the case? Did Sherlock really want them to become involved and leave it up to John to choose? And the most important question: what the heck did John want himself? Nagging questions were buzzing in his head, making him feel fuzzy-headed. The case certainly prompted questions.

"So, and what about you two?" Dr. Martin addressed them.

"John is … John," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

John coughed to suppress a giggle. She wouldn't understand "John is John". She wouldn't assume "John is not boring" to be a compliment either.

Dr. Martin was confused and watched him intently. "I think you should broaden your explanation."

Sherlock gave her his fake face. "John is simply … a-ma-zing." His voice was a singsong.

It didn't work.

Sherlock sighed and took a deep breath. "John is many things. John is brave. John is smart. John is reliable. John is trustworthy. John is patient. He is a conductor of light. I like his sense of humour." He gave her a penetrating look. "Oh, and he makes great tea."

Sherlock returned to his fake smile. "John is the love of my life."

"See, that wasn't so hard after all," Dr. Martin replied. However, she still looked a bit confused. "Now, John?"

John was confused, too. For all he knew, Sherlock could have meant what he said. John became noticeably more nervous. "First of all, Sherlock is brilliant, keen-witted . He is resourceful, dynamic, self-assertive. He never ceases to amaze me. "

He paused a moment to consider before responding. John glanced towards Sherlock who was smiling genuinely. He returned the smile, remembering that he had told him twice this day. "He is a good man. Sherlock is my life…he rocks my world."

"I was taking the short turn in telling her about my feelings for you," Sherlock whispered when Dr. Martin averted her attention from them. "If I would have hesitated unnecessarily, we would have been engaged in one of those boring discussions about the nature of our relationship that last forever."

John wished he could find this discussion boring too. The voice in his head kept firing questions at him he had no answer to. There was no one he could turn to in order to ask for some advice on the matter. He had not more to take as a starting point than hints or suggestive remarks from his friend. A sea of open questions remained. The uncertainty drove him mad.

"Good point," John replied silently and added after a moment, "Telling me in a nice way that you don't mean what you've said?" He tried to ask in a light tone, but he was secretly afraid of the answer. He didn't mean to ask at all but it just happened all by itself.

"I didn't say that," Sherlock grinned.

Oh, good. Was it good? Should it be good?

Dr. Martin clapped her hands.

John jolted out of his thoughts.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please stand up. Face-to-face. We're going to start with a simple embrace."

"We can do that," Sherlock smirked and gave John a leg-up. "We have to set a good example, John."

"Err…right. We have some…err…hugging experience."

Dr. Martin put on some soft, instrumental music and dimmed the lights.

That wasn't helpful. Things were getting too much for John.

He decided to make it quick and easy and clasped Sherlock. He nestled his face in Sherlock's neck the way he had done earlier. This way he didn't have to look, just to feel.

At first, Sherlock went rigid. He didn't anticipate John's quick move. The stiffness lasted only seconds, however. Sherlock held him tight in return, resting his chin on the top of John's head. He didn't caress John or moved otherwise. He let him take the lead.

John let himself feel - the lean but surprisingly muscular body in his arms, the touch of their chests, the pleasant feeling of warmth, the calm and steady lifting and lowering of their thoraxes were moving in unison. By now, he anticipated the swelling feeling in his stomach which made it less overwhelming and he was grateful for that.

John didn't know whether they were being watched or not, he didn't pay any attention to the instructions that were given by Dr. Martin. He had no idea whether Sherlock did or not. He probably did what he intended to do in the first place – observing their fellow students. John had no idea what Sherlock felt at that moment or if he let himself feel anything at all. He drank in the familiar scent and started to wonder what it would be like to touch his long and pale neck with his lips. He was merely inches away but he didn't move. If he was honest, he enjoyed their physical closeness.

"Sherlock," John whispered slowly, not moving.

"Hmm," Sherlock replied absent mindedly.

"Do you already have a theory?"

"Eight, so far."

"Good." John didn't expect Sherlock to tell him the details. He would be made privy to it when Sherlock's suspicions were confirmed and he needed a sparring partner.

John was surprised when Dr. Martin announced the end of the session. Apparently, he had lost track of time. Reluctantly, he disengaged himself from Sherlock's embrace and ruffled his hair. One hand remained on Sherlock's chest. He was looking at it reflectively, when Sherlock suddenly moved.

Sherlock raised his hand and swiftly brushed the length of John's cheekbone with his fingertips before he took two steps back, retreating from John's personal space.

The tingling sensation lingered on his cheek. It had happened so quickly that John wondered whether he had imagined it or not.