A/N

Right, so thanks to everyone who has reveiwed, alerted and favourited. It's lovely to hear from you all! Just to warn you all that the rating will be coming up with the next chapter. I'm sure many of you can guess why! Also I'm struggling to work out what genre to put this fic into. Any thoughts? It's currently in General/Family and was previously in Angst/General.

And, just as a sidenote, I wrote chapter 12 of "Paved with Love" today and may have felt like a compleletly terrible person. (I'm so close to finishing the fic it's unreal.) I did have a debate with myself about trying to catch this fic up with "Paved with Love" but I figure in many ways Ava's story is the "what" part and Sherlock's is the "how and the why".

So hope you enjoy and thanks to proudtobeatheatrekids betaing skills!

November 25th

John took the drink without a word. But, as Sherlock had expected, resisted the urge to knock it back down his throat. Instead, he sat down and twisted the glass in his hand, staring at it for the longest time.

Sherlock said nothing, watching as the light caught the amber liquid and cast the warm light in ribbons onto John's face. He pushed the urge that it raised aside and waited.

"You saw something, at the school." John said, taking a sip finally and wincing at the taste.

"He allowed her out of another door. You had told the school a stranger would be picking her up today. This man made no attempt to check who I was or even if Ava had found someone to collect her."

John smiled bitterly, clearly pained at the idea, and took another sip. A much deeper and longer one.

"He doesn't mark her books, yet marks the others."

John's head shot up at that and he stared at Sherlock in disbelief. "How would you know that?"

"It is not hard to liberate one of those bags." Sherlock said haughtily. "Regardless," he added when John looked torn between disapproval and amusement, "The girl now thinks she is a low achiever."

John settled back, lost in thought; head tipped up slightly as his mind worked.

The top button of his shirt was done up. It always was, likely a habit that was left over from the military and one he was unlikely to ever deviate from. It closed the shirt tightly around his throat, hiding the skin of his collar bone from sight.

And his shaving was precise, as always. There would be none of that designer stubble or rough beard for the former soldier. How long would it take for the hair to grow through and turn a touch into a scrape?

Would John willingly tilt his head back or would he have to be persuaded?

As if sensing his thoughts John levelled his head down and met Sherlock, stare for stare.

"Why do you care?"

Almost amused at the absurdity of the question, Sherlock sat forward, elbows on each arm of the chair and linking his fingers. "That is neither the problem nor the issue at the moment."

John scrubbed a hand over his eyes, "I'm tired, Sherlock." he said, sounding it. "Can we not play games?"

"Tell me," Sherlock tightened his fingers on each other as he braced himself. "And I'll tell you."

John looked suspicious, as if there was some catch to the offer that he hadn't seen yet. But he was tempted.

And a smug look appeared.

"Fine." John sat up, back straight and a light suddenly gleaming from his eyes. "It's hardly a secret."

Intrigued, Sherlock raised an enquiring eyebrow, drinking in the sight of John in battle mode.

"He's the brother of the man that Harry killed." John said calmly, so calmly that his tone was almost taunting. "He was the one who found him and the wife. Harry had thought she was dead as well. As it was she was unconscious."

"Why would you-"

"Because I wasn't thinking straight." John snapped. "I needed to get Ava into a school that was close by to the new flat, my sister was dead and the last thing I was going to do was check down the staff names. By the time I realised, it was too late. I didn't realise they'd swapped the classes around." John sounded annoyed at the idea.

Sherlock rested his chin on his linked fingers. "You mentioned the wife?"

"Yes." John waited, clearly expecting Sherlock to work it out on his own.

The unmarried teacher's sister in-law. He'd been uninterested in the mother that had been flirting with him and had seemed tired. Frustrated, as if eager to be somewhere else, but not to a woman's house. There had been a card in his pocket that he'd been fiddling with...an ID card of some description.

"What were the wife's injuries?"

John glared into his glass, mouth pressed together. "Paralysed. If Harry had called the ambulance she may have recovered to some extent." He swallowed tightly and then finally knocked back the drink.

"It was why she was prosecuted."

John shook his head, "It made it easier for her to be sent down."

"You think it was Moriarty?" There were at least seven ways to dissuade John of that rather accurate deduction.

But John stared at him and shook his head, "I don't think anything," he said calmly. Shifting suddenly, he dragged a small card out of his back pocket and tossed it in Sherlock's direction.

Catching it Sherlock frowned at the sympathy card. It looked as if it had been scrunched up in a fit of anger at some point. And he'd seen the make before...

Turning it over he saw St Bart's logo on the back. One of the cards the hospital made to raise charity.

Inside was a simple note.

Such a shame about your sister. I hope her daughter doesn't meet the same fate. Do take care Johnny – you almost ruined my project. I'd hate to almost ruin your life in response.
Jim

Harry had died long before Moriarty had known Sherlock was alive.

It was just petty revenge.

"I don't know how he did it," John said quietly. "God help me but I don't want to know."

"John-"

"He talked her into a noose and you off a building." John's voice almost wavered. "I don't..." he let out a breath to collect himself. "I'm only showing you the card so you don't treat me like an idiot." John stared at the bottle on the table. "He had no interest in her, bar her connection to me."

There was no denying that.

"He's is in love with the wife. Ava's teacher," Sherlock clarified when John didn't look up. "He won't forgive what happened."

John shook his head, "He wouldn't believe what happened. Couldn't believe his brother would hurt his wife."

"Ahh." Sherlock took a deep breath. "So he is unlikely to be dissuaded."

John nodded distractedly and continued to shift the glass in his hand, seemingly captivated by it.

Disliking where John's thoughts were going, Sherlock leaned as far as he could and caught the hand that was twisting. He took the glass and allowed their fingers to brush, returning John's attention.

Flushing slightly, John pulled his hand back, pressing back into the chair as if Sherlock were about to burn him.

"You answered my question." Sherlock placed the glass onto the table carefully.

"I don't need to know." John said swallowing tightly.

"This is hardly the time to start being a coward." Sherlock settled back, returning the previous distance to John.

The movement and the words worked in the way he had intended. Irritation bloomed in John's cheeks and he felt confident enough to own his space again. "Ok." John's voice was clipped with anger, "Why are you doing this?"

"I am deciding what I can offer." Sherlock placed his hands on the arm rests again, firmly and palms flat. "What I am prepared to offer."

"This isn't a sodding auction." John snapped. "And would you just answer the question like a normal person?"

"Fine." Sherlock snapped back. "I'm hardly perfect John; in fact I've had no end of people point out my flaws this month. I rarely trust anyone's judgement but my own, I cannot stand being accountable to people's expectations, and I will do anything if I think the ends justify the means. I am rude, obsessive, and compulsive. I am a former addict, a former criminal and I have spent three years engaging in a number of illegal activities, the least of which was faking my own death."

John folded his arms, "I could add a great deal more to that," he snipped.

"I'm sure you could." Sherlock agreed, fighting his own irritation. "Just as I am aware that any relationship we had would only work if I compromised."

John's mouth opened and closed a few times. "I...I wasn't aware that was in your vocabulary." John stammered.

"It isn't usually." Sherlock allowed the words to flicker out with precision so there could be no mistaking just how much he was willing to try.

And John's expression softened with surprise, his eyes searching frantically for something.

"I don't trust you."

It hurt, but it wasn't unexpected.

"And there is no point me attempting to earn that unless I know what I want do with it."

A myriad of emotions worked across John's face at that declaration until something like fond exasperation won.

"Can I just check I have this right? You're announcing your intention to consider attempting to win my trust so we can discuss having a relationship?"

It sounded vaguely ridiculous when John put it like that. Peeved, Sherlock glared at John.

"Something like that."

John nodded to himself looking at a corner of the carpet, mouth twisted in wry amusement. Then he stood and walked over to Sherlock, stopping in front of his chair.

How had he never been this aware of John before? Never felt how warm he was even without touching him or seen how alcohol turned his lips a rather enticing shade.

John bent down until they were level and it was only then that Sherlock saw the intention.

John wanted to prove that this wasn't going to happen. That Sherlock was messing around with him or would change his mind.

"You called me a coward." John said, his chin tilting in that damnable way that Ava's did

There was only one way to deal with this sheer challenge.

"I'm still collecting data," Sherlock warned.

"That's not an apology," John said, so very close.

"You haven't proved me wrong yet," Sherlock replied, recording the way John's jaw flickered in anticipation.

It was always useful to know the tells.

But there was still a hesitation, as if John was waiting for Sherlock to pull back at the last minute.

So Sherlock tipped his head and craned his neck.

John's lips were still faintly wet from the brandy that Sherlock had deigned to share with him; a far more palatable taste than the beer he usually drank. He could feel John's shock from the way that the man sucked his breath in suddenly. Sherlock chased the air through the soft lips and into the warm mouth and waiting tongue.

He was at the wrong angle to press on and control the kiss; the strain of keeping his neck up and body tilted in the correct way took quite a bit of effort which made it difficult to then extend into the kiss and John was too shocked to really reciprocate. Besides, it was hardly the time to push it past anything but a taste.

A promise.

With a sweetness that surprised him, he pulled back a little, capturing John's lips again in short nipping kisses that made John respond cautiously. One of John's hands brushed one of Sherlock's as it still rested, palms down, on the arm of the chair.

Sherlock allowed himself to loop one finger over one of John's with a calming stroke.

The touch made John yank back, taking the warmth and friction with him and making Sherlock want to stand and chase it.

It took some control to just sit.

John had turned away, making it impossible to tell what was going on in his head.

"You're actually doing this?" John asked sounding shaken.

"If I can." It wouldn't do to give him false promises.

"You shouldn't." John whispered, shaking his head.

Why?

But it wasn't the time to ask. There was little point in arguing against John when he didn't know what he wanted to gain from it.

So he said nothing.

"I'm going to bed." John said still not turning. "I...thank you, for telling me about Ava's teacher."

There was no point nodding if John wasn't looking.

Still, it didn't feel right to let the conversation end in this way.

"John?"

John paused at the door to the stairs and turned his head to the side, avoiding Sherlock's gaze.

"Good?"

John smiled before he could catch the reaction, shook his head and left.

November 28th

"I'm going to a new school," Ava announced three days later.

The pair had returned from the tour that Mycroft had arranged. It had been torturous, asking his brother for yet another favour and the look on Mycroft's face had almost made Sherlock wish he could breathe words back in as easily as air.

But the pleasantly surprised glow on John's eyes had gone some way to making it feel almost worth it.

"You liked it, then?" Sherlock found himself asking, even though the question was a foolish one. At the end of the day, a primary school was a primary school. And Mycroft was snobbish enough that he wouldn't allow anyone with even a vague connection to him go anywhere mediocre.

Ava nodded emphatically, "My new teacher has pretty hair."

Behind her, John glanced over with an amused smile and seemed to wait for the inevitable huff.

But today was a new experiment.

"Why was it pretty?" Sherlock asked, holding back an amused snort when John's mouth gaped slightly.

"Because it looks like the coffee that Daddy drinks and is very straight." Ava announced, glaring at a strand of fair, curling hair that was in her face.

There wasn't much he could do with that.

"Did you see any lessons?" he asked.

Ava nodded, "They were talking about the electrics." She smiled shyly, "I answered a question."

"What was the question?" Three more questions. He could manage that.

"That the TV runs on electric." Ava said and then frowned, "But the teacher wouldn't tell me how."

"How?" he queried. Two more.

Ava turned to John, as if seeking his permission. John made no motion but seemed to have somehow answered her because she turned back.

"I don't understand how electricity makes pictures. When it came out the socket that time that Daddy was changing the plugs it was a blue spark. How does it make all the colours and the pictures and the noise?"

It was…an interesting question.

"What did your teacher say?"

"That it was a bit too complicated." Ava scowled fiercely at the idea. "I don't think he knew."

"Probably not," Sherlock agreed. He sat up and looked down at the little girl whose hair was wildly trying to escape her ponytail.

Then he eyed the television.

"No," John's voice cut in sharply. "Absolutely not."

"But-"

"You are not taking the television apart," John had folded his arms in a reminiscent pose of when he would refuse to let Sherlock use their mugs for storing arsenic.

"You can take the television apart?" Ava rounded on Sherlock, wide-eyed with awe.

"Apparently not," Sherlock frowned, unsure if John's protestations were due to his concern of their television or the small child that was looking deeply disappointed. "Why did you think the teacher didn't know the answer?"

There. He's asked his set amount of questions.

"Because he got shifty, like this," Ava gave a rather dramatic rendition of someone looking around hopelessly. "And he went all red like Joshua did when the Mr Hepp caught him nicking sweets."

That was…actually a rather good explanation for a small child. Certainly better than Anderson's he looks guilty justification that he'd provided the first time he and Sherlock had worked together.

"Did he do anything else?" Sherlock asked, leaning forward with interest.

"He talked really quickly, like he wanted to get it over with." Ava twisted her lips between the gap from a lost front tooth. "But I talk quick when I have to talk to a lot of people so maybe he was just a bit scared."

Behind her John let out an amused snort, "You could talk the hind legs off a donkey and still not stop," he muttered, flicking through some forms as he sat himself at the table.

"Is that possible?" Ava asked Sherlock.

"No."

"Then why do people say it?" Ava planted herself in John's chair and peered at him as she wriggled herself into a curled position on the seat.

And somehow, in between his explanation of the evolution of sayings and Ava's question about what fingernails were made of, Sherlock forgot that he was meant to be bored.

November 29th

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked as John shrugged on his coat.

"Milk and bread." John said, tucking his wallet into his back pocket.

"We have those." Sherlock let the vial of the strange substance found at the crime scene catch the slither of light that was coming through the window.

"We're running out of them," John corrected.

"Are we?"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw John pause and stare at him. Then with very deliberate movements, John walked over to the fridge, opened it, closed it, went to the cupboard and repeated.

Then walked back until he was standing in front of where Sherlock sat.

Taking his time, Sherlock looked up from the vial and into John's face. There was the strangest expression on John's face, as if he'd just seen a clue but wasn't sure what it implied.

"How did they get here?"

Privately, Sherlock objected to the scolding tone that was being used but it would invalidate the latest experiment if he chose to make an issue of it. Instead he faked ignorance.

"How did what get here?"

"You know what I'm talking about Sherlock." John took a deep breath as his lips tightened in annoyance. "How did the bread and milk miraculously make their way into the flat?"

"In a shopping bag."

"You…you bought it?"

"That is usually the way one acquires these things." Sherlock examined the vial again, pretending to focus on it when in fact he'd gleaned all he needed to know about ten minutes ago.

"You went to the shops?"

And a hideous experience it had been too.

"Yes."

"Oh god," John stared at the ceiling as if for help, "This is another data gathering thing isn't it?"

Amused, Sherlock dropped the hand that was holding the vial and gave John his full attention. John, who was scrubbing his forehead with his fingers as if warding off a migraine.

"Green top not red," John said after a moment, allowing his hands to fall.

"What?" Sherlock blinked, taken-aback. He had expected some lecture or protest, not some bizarre code.

"The milk." John clarified, "Get the green top next time, not the red."

Next time?

The…reluctance must have shown on his face because John smirked at him, "Well, now I know you're capable of surviving a trip to Tesco's, and more importantly that the shop can survive a trip from you, I feel a lot less willing to pop out to be your shopper every other day." And with that John flashed him an evil smile.

Damn.

November 30th

"You brought home a baby owl?"

"She needed it for her English work. Really John, I would have thought you would have prioritised Ava's learning."

"I…what? How does that even work?"

"She didn't know what one looked like and how it moved."

"Use YouTube next time."

December 1st

"Molly has a liver for you," John announced as Sherlock came in, dripping from the rain.

It was enough to perk him up and pause on the threshold when previously he'd only wanted nothing more than to have a hot shower.

"Really?"

"She says you have to pick it up tonight though. The hospital wants to destroy it due to the disease."

Sherlock was starting to hate that nonchalantly calm tone. It usually meant that John thought he was about to win a point in this strange game they were now playing with each other. The one where Sherlock attempted to experiment how far he could compromise while John made it as hard as possible to do so,

"Contagious?" he asked, taking a step into the warm living room.

John nodded thoughtfully.

Sherlock glanced at the tumbled trainers in the corner of the room with their pink daisies on the side.

Moriarty could take tips from John.

Pointedly, determined to win this battle, Sherlock took out his phone and dialled Molly.

"John told you then?" she asked as she picked up. "What time do you want-"

It was painful to make his lips shape the words needed. "I won't be able to collect it."

There was a long pause on the other side of the phone.

"But you were looking for-"

"I know," Sherlock gritted out, "I cannot take it with me."

"Oh…"Molly sounded utterly bewildered. "Ok, I…um…are you alright?"

Across from him John seemed to have forgotten how to breathe; he sat frozen, the only thing about him that looked alive was his panicked eyes.

The sight strangely relaxed Sherlock and he caught John's gaze, allowing a small smile to tug at his lips.

"I'm fine," he replied, suddenly meaning it. "I'm compromising."

John turned sheet white and Sherlock turned away to ask Molly what she had that he could study inside Bart's and allowing John some privacy.

December 2nd

Mrs Hudson stood with her arms folded over her chest, glaring at him in that vaguely scolding manner that usually made him shift and think twice about what he was doing.

But, as he wasn't actually planning anything, Sherlock was relatively sure she couldn't pick fault with him.

Still,the posture and the expression indicated he was about to be rebuked in some fashion.

"Yes?" he asked, achieving the perfect pitch of disinterested politeness.

"Going out?"

Sherlock allowed his eyes to flicker down to his arm, encased as it was in his coat.

"Yes."

"How long will you be?" Mrs Hudson asked, sounding as if she knew the answer. And really, Sherlock was a grown man. He hadn't faced an interrogation over his comings and goings since he'd been thrown out of university.

"Why do you ask?" he stepped forward, still trying to maintain his polite air.

"You promised John you'd pick up Ava."

"Yes." Sherlock swept his eyes over her and saw the nerves, the worry, and the uncomfortable air. "I am going now."

And then the surprise, which she quickly tried to cover to spare his feelings, "It's very early to be leaving," she added, the squared shoulders dropping a little in relief.

"I have other things to collect, not just John's things."

Mrs Hudson scowled at him, "She is not a toy Sherlock."

"I am aware of that-"

"She does not exist just to distract you with questions in between cases."

"That is not why I am doing this," Sherlock huffed. And when Mrs Hudson gave him a disappointed, disbelieving look he felt his irritation start to bubble. "It's a test."

"A test?" She didn't look impressed or relieved by that.

"I am attempting to make a decision about John." It was hateful having to stand in one's own hallway and be interrogated like an errant teen faced with the first prospective and overly protective in-laws.

Mrs Hudson's lips firmed. "Do not mess him around Sherlock. Not again."

"And that is why I am conducting these experiments." Sherlock hissed, losing his patience. "Whatever my thoughts on the matter, John comes with Ava, hence the tests."

The hazel eyes widened fractionally and Sherlock inwardly winced, bracing himself for the cooing and delighted fussing that would inevitably occur.

But Mrs Hudson just nodded with a small, secret smile. "Your gloves are on the table where you left them yesterday."

Then she turned back into her flat.

Confused, but unwilling to admit it, Sherlock picked up the gloves and left.

"Why does it smell like burnt rubber?"

"I was demonstrating why we could smell it on the back from school today."

"For God's sakes, Sherlock, it stinks in here."

"That was the point…"

December 3rd

"Is that a baby chick?" John asked wearily as he stood in the doorway, looking both amused and tired.

Sherlock and Ava both turned to look at him from where they were on the carpet looking at the baby bird and an egg that had been cracked in a bowl.

"Daddy," Ava beamed up at him. "Did you know that the old eggs in the fridge won't turn into chickens?"

Sherlock nodded in agreement, satisfied that she'd understood what he'd said. After all it had been a rather reasonable question.

But John nodded slowly and placed his coat on the back of the chair carefully.

"Should I assume that the old eggs that caused the question are still in the fridge?" he sighed.

"Where else would they be?" Sherlock asked, eyeing up the baby chick and wondering how to get rid of it now that it had served its purpose.

John muttered something under his breath as he made his way to the kitchen.

December 4th

They spent what was quickly becoming a typical night in. John was on the sofa, Ava on his lap reading to him as he brushed her hair for bed. The television was muttering quietly in the background while Sherlock worked on his latest theory for his case with his microscope, cursing the electronic sensors on the labs that prevented him from borrowing a superior one from St Bart's.

When he looked up, he saw Ava waiting with her chin on the table, watching him carefully.

"Daddy said I shouldn't interrupt."

John stared at the television, but his smirk could easily be deduced from the slight raise of his ears.

"You are saying goodnight?" Sherlock asked sitting back and allowing his back to crack.

"I can wait," Ava insisted, her eyes flickering over to the clock as if to judge how long she could get away with staying up. "What are you looking at?"

"Powder." Sherlock considered her for a moment, and then inclined his head, encouraging her to come round to his side of the table. With a joyful squeak she slithered under the table and popped out his side.

Unsure why the sight of that entertained him so much, Sherlock stood and helped Ava onto his now vacant seat, pushing the chair in and standing behind her.

"Look," he said and she obediently placed her eye to the viewer. Sherlock adjusted the focus, "Tell me when it's clear."

She pulled in a startled breath when the powder became clear, the tiny particles as vivid as the wallpaper surrounding them.

"What is it?" she asked turning her head round to look at him. Sherlock was amazed she didn't break her spine, the position she'd gotten in.

"I don't know yet." He said, pushing a bottle of acid back from her reach, glad that John hadn't spotted it.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw John stiffen.

"It's harmless; I tested it before I brought it back." Sherlock told him.

John nodded, but stood.

"Time for bed Ava," he reiterated, coming close to scoop Ava out of the chair.

It was too quiet when they left to go upstairs. John had turned the television off, wrongly assuming that Sherlock would be distracted by the noise.

But even turning it on didn't help, and Sherlock ended up turning it off when some moron started trying to explain the principles of observation to an audience on a particularly idiotic chat show.

It was too empty.

Giving up on the experiment when his mind was racing like this, Sherlock snuck upstairs, avoiding the squeaky step halfway up.

"What happened next?" Ava was asking, sounding thrilled.

"Well, the detective was very clever and had noticed a clue in what the woman had said. So when the agent demanded that the detective opened the safe, he was able to do it."

"Why had she given him a clue?" Ava asked, sounding miffed at the idea. "That was a bit silly; if she didn't want him find the picture."

Sherlock could hear John shifting through the door. "They like playing games," he explained. "It was part of the fun."

"Still think it's a bit silly," Ava sulked. "Did the agents get the picture?"

"No. The detective called out a warning and ducked. There was a gun protecting the pictures and the detective and the woman used the distraction to knock out all the agents."

"What about the soldier? What did he do?" Ava demanded.

"Well he helped too." John sounded strangely evasive at the idea; which was strange because it was the truth. "But the woman was just a bit quicker that day and she stole back the picture."

Ava dragged in an awed gasp. "Quicker than the detective?"

"Yeah," Sherlock could almost hear the smile in John's voice. "The detective was fascinated. Finally he'd found someone who could match him and wasn't completely evil.

What?

That wasn't right.

Frowning now, Sherlock took a step closer to the door, examining it to see if there were some way he could study John's as he told the story without John knowing he was being watched.

Impossible. Sherlock would have to use John's voice as an indicator.

"The soldier must have been sad."

"No," John sounded more musing than upset. "Not then."

"But he was sad later?"

"Well the woman sent the detective the most precious thing she had. She sent him the pictures on a phone that were password protected-"

"Like your new laptop?"

"Yes." There was a twinge of bitterness because John must know that there was no possible way Sherlock wouldn't guess his passwords. "But the detective knew it meant she was in danger and, by the end of the night, they heard that she had vanished."

"Was the detective upset?"

"Very," There was jealousy now, just the faintest touch of it. "He wouldn't talk about it. And then one day, quite out of nowhere, the woman and the soldier bumped into each other.

"The soldier was furious. He'd hated seeing his friend in such a state and she was perfectly fine. The woman was even asking the soldier to steal from the detective."

"As if he would," Ava sniffed dismissively.

"Exactly." John agreed and then moved again.

"Can't you tell me a bit more?" Ava pleaded.

"Then there won't be anything to tell you tomorrow," John had to be smiling.

Sherlock glanced at the stairs behind him as John went about the ritual of tucking a child in for bed. He had time to get downstairs and act as if he'd never been anywhere near the bedroom.

Three minutes later John froze at the sight of Sherlock waiting on the landing.

"How long have you-"

"That was rather erroneous," Sherlock announced.

"Mmm, somehow leaving out Irene's profession, people dying and fake deaths seemed like a good idea." John pushed past and went down the stairs.

"I meant about my attitude towards the woman." Sherlock continued once he'd followed John down the stairs.

"How was it…?" John caught himself, "No, I don't care."

"That's a lie,"

John stormed over to the kettle, filling it with sharp, noisy movements. "Is spying on me part of this ludicrous experiment too?" he snarled.

Tomorrow he'd wanted to attempt to talk to Stanford and Lestrade without them firming their mouths in annoyance. He'd also planned to tidy the mantelpiece.

But somehow, watching John's tight shoulders, their importance of the last few experiments faded because the idea of not doing this filled Sherlock with more dread than the risk did.

"I've finished."

The hand placing the kettle back on the stand froze and John turned his head a little, clearly wanting to know what Sherlock meant by that but reluctant to ask.

It was tempting to walk over, to run his hands over the tight shoulders just to feel how tense John could be and to learn how to encourage him to uncoil and unravel. To discover what the nape of his neck smelled like and whether the taste matched the smell. To loosen buttons and smooth his hand over warm skin.

He could do it. John was so wired, so off balance that it would be easy. A whispered challenge to infuriate him and make John forget his reasons for holding Sherlock at arm's length, then quick forceful motions that would ensure John didn't have time to pause for thought.

I don't trust you

It wouldn't end well.

So Sherlock maintained the distance between them.

"What would it take?" he asked, ignoring his automatic urge to make this into a dance or a game for them to play. "For you to consider this?"

The startled breath was followed by a slow shake of the head. John placed the kettle slowly down and then gripped the edge of the work top like his life depended on it.

"Why not?" Sherlock pressed.

"You'll get bored."

"And you'll get frustrated with me." Sherlock allowed himself to appreciate the tempting position John had unwittingly placed himself in. "We'll fight and then you'll fix it with a joke."

John shook his head again. "Stop," he whispered.

I don't trust you

"As you wish." Sherlock turned away, "But until you provide me with a good reason, I won't stop asking."

When he got into his room, he spent the rest of the evening switching between the mystery of finger prints on the wrong side of a window for the latest case Lestrade had sent him and planning how to prove that John was utterly wrong.

Taadaa! Let me know what you thought - I'm a bit aware that the closer John and Sherlock get to being together the harder it is to keep Sherlock in character so any thoughts or suggestions would be much appreciated. I think it will be fine once they're in a relationship but Sherlock doing a mature and responsible version of wooing is probably hugely out of character as it is!