Sorry! I had my last week at the school and everything was a bit hectic. I'm way behind on the reviews and messages but I though you'd all prefer a chapter update today!

Hope you enjoy :)

29th December

Throughout the entire conversation with a man known only as Jepp, Sherlock's phone was silent. It had been silent for three days.

It vibrated. Everyone else's messages and calls he'd sent to vibrate only, but he'd wanted to know without any effort when John called so he could act accordingly. And by that, he meant make sure that he was appropriately gracious when John eventually apologised.

After all there was no point in dragging this argument out. Not when it was so obvious that John had clearly been emotional last time they'd spoken.

But the phone remained stubbornly silent.

It was distracting. Jepp was useless, his information was obvious but the potential contacts Sherlock would get from him were necessary. It was dull sitting in the cramped coffee shop listening to him wittering on.

Why hadn't John called?

This was far too long to be attributed to sulking.

He'd probably be finished in a day or two. The sources were already drying up and the one criminal operation that had all the markings of a Moriarty nudge had been painfully easy to unravel and hand over to the police.

Jepp spotted someone over Sherlock's head and summoned them over; for a weedy, ratty looking man, he utterly hated moving unless strictly necessary. In the mirror above Jepp's head, Sherlock watched a woman, long and slender make her way over. There was an unfortunate amount of make-up on her, but deftly applied implying a certain skill level. The clothes were tight but well matched indicting she'd put weight on recently. She hesitated before she spoke which meant she wasn't a native Dutch speaker and was still nervous about her pronunciation.

The way Jepp grabbed at her indicated that she was a prostitute of some description. The way she stiffened before relaxing, her hand raising and falling as if to check something on her shirt and her angle as she sat facing them indicated she was undercover in some way.

Dull and irritating. Perhaps he'd have to speed things up then.

When Jepp got up to excuse himself to the toilet she leaned over.

"Calvier was caught in London."

Sherlock didn't react or pause in his movements as he took out is phone. "Your employers will be thrilled at you talking to me."

She narrowed her eyes, "You solved a problem for a friend a few days ago."

Ahh, a friend on the force then. The law enforcement certainly was an incestuous bunch.

"And another name popped up," she added, her mouth tight with frustration as she shifted, uncomfortable in her disguise. Clearly new, she wouldn't last long.

"I imagine it has," Sherlock drawled, unconcerned and far more eager to focus on more important matters.

Like getting Jepp to reveal his "friend" in the black market.

"Watson."

Sherlock snapped his eyes to hers.

Every single question that he wanted to ask crowded into his mouth but he was aware enough that he could spot Jepp on his way back from the bar. Seconds later the woman opposite him stiffened in panic, trying to shot him a desperate message with her eyes.

She certainly wouldn't last long.

Switching back to Dutch Sherlock swivelled his body to face Jepp to continue their business, mind racing.

30th December

He wouldn't be the one to call. John was the one getting tangled up in unnecessary things. John was the one in the wrong.

Unfortunately the only other option was Mycroft.

Or Lestrade.

Debating the three options, Sherlock called the least unpalatable.

Lestrade answered on the fourth ring.

"Why is John's name caught up with Marco Calvier?" Sherlock asked without bothering with social niceties.

"Who is th…of for fuck sakes Sherlock. It's four in the morning." Lestrade muttered in a voice that sounded both half asleep and murderously furious.

Sherlock glanced at his watch, half interested to see that it was indeed almost five in the morning where he was. "Congratulations Inspector, perhaps you should consider attending crime scene's in your current state. You certainly seem quicker." He commented, voice thick with sarcasm.

"What do you want?"

"John's name and Marco Calvier. One of Moriarty's favoured thieves. Why are they linked?"

"I…is this some trick question?" Lestrade sounded slightly more alert.

Sherlock stared up at the glittering fairy lights above him with distaste. "Answer the question as best you can." He instructed.

"Why not phone John?" Lestrade asked yawning.

"We're…having a difference of opinion."

"I gathered. What did you do?"

"Nothing," Sherlock snapped, "John is merely being stubborn and refusing to admit when he's wrong."

"Right," Lestrade didn't sound convinced. "Well I have no idea, I didn't take the statement and I wasn't the arresting officer. It may surprise you to hear this Sherlock, but I'm not the only police Inspector in London and we don't take requests as to arresting officer."

"What statement?"

There was a long pause which Sherlock registered as being potentially dangerous.

"You don't know what happened?" Lestrade sounded positively chipper now.

The other options were Mycroft and John himself, Sherlock reminded himself as his thumb hovered temptingly close to the end call button.

"John marched him up to the front desk. Last I heard Calvier was begging to give a confession. Something about breaking into your flat over Christmas." Lestrade explained.

"Breaking in to… " Sherlock trailed off and stared at the wall in front of him.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade called, "Are you still there?"

"You've been unusually useful Inspector." Sherlock commented as he hung up the phone.

He was going to kill Mycroft.

31st December

ETA 12.30 SH

Twenty minutes later Sherlock was still glancing at his phone, waiting for a response.

Nothing.

Will want tea. Get milk. SH

There. That should sufficiently irritate John.

Twelve minutes later a text came through. At work. Get it yourself.

Ah yes, being Mycroft's lapdog does take up time. SH

Nothing.

The flat looked the same. Which was a ridiculous and obvious thing to think since he'd only been gone four days. There was one difference though, which was the picture on the fire place of John and Ava out in the snow.

It was beyond Sherlock why he picked it up and thumbed across the smiling faces. There was no useful information to be gained from it whatsoever. From the angle it looked as If Mrs Hudson had taken it and it must have been on Boxing Day because of the snow. Ava was wearing her new mittens that Mycroft had provided (likely Mycroft secretary) and John was smiling in a rare moment of unguarded happiness.

Without him.

Shaking the thought away, Sherlock placed the picture back on the mantelpiece, careful to replace it exactly as it was.

Ava was digging about for something in the little toy-box that John had bought when Sherlock came out from the shower. She turned, caught him out of the corner of her eye and let out an excited shriek.

And then, abandoning her search, flung herself up at him.

Sherlock had seconds to adjust and work out how this new position worked. True, he'd held her in his arms before but that had been when she'd been half asleep, quiet and almost sweet. This was just an excited five year old, all elbows and knees with far too much energy.

"I haven't seen you in ages!" She complained as he hastened to settle her against her hip least he drop her from all her wriggling. John was annoyed enough as it was without Sherlock dropping Ava on her head.

"It has been six days," he corrected.

"Yeah, ages," Ava agreed drawing the words out unnecessarily and leaning back to look at him as her arms rested on his shoulders. "Did you catch the bad guys?"

"I…" It sounded vaguely childish when she put it like that. "No."

"Daddy caught a bad guy," Ava told him solemnly, plucking at his shirt collar and giving him a pointed look. "And he didn't stay up all night."

"Good for him," Sherlock glanced at the floor, trying to work out how to detach her. But Ava leaned her head against one of his shoulders and tightened her arms a tiny bit. Her soft hair brushed his cheek and she smelt of John, sweets and snow.

Five minutes wouldn't hurt.

Mrs Hudson was waved back downstairs when she came looking for Ava. She popped back up at Ava's bedtime and helped get her sorted for bed.

It should have been dull, domestic and desperately suffocating. But it wasn't. And when Mrs Hudson went back down because there was a double bill of one of her godforsaken shows, Ava and he curled up on the sofa with a blanket and she brought down some of her books.

"It's the pig," he told her as they started to read. "He'll betray them."

Ava gave him a strange look. "Of course it's the pig," she told him, "All the other animals are cute."

There was some logic in there he supposed. "Then why read it?" he asked.

Ava stared at him, mouth twisting in thought as she snuggled into him. "Because Mrs Parker says that you have to read otherwise you'll miss out on good stories."

Sherlock eyed the books with distaste, "And you think this is a good story?"

And then there was a look.

A sneaky, inspired look that he wholeheartedly would have approved of, had it not been directed his way.

"We could always read one of Daddy's stories." Ava suggested, looking at the laptop pointedly.

Sherlock studied her and then reached for the laptop. "How about correcting his stories," he suggested.

She'd fallen asleep once he'd realised that entertaining her with his comments about John's writing style was not productive to getting her to sleep. Sherlock had taken her up to bed, tucked her in and found himself almost leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.

Foolish.

John came in late.

"You were at the police station," Sherlock said without turning his head.

"And?" John asked in a clipped voice.

"Mycroft should not have involved you," Sherlock responded pacing the violin back under his chin.

Something was tossed angrily on the sofa and then the door was shut as John went upstairs, the tread creaking under his furious steps.

Without playing, Sherlock let the violin fall from his shoulder and stared out the window, before he turned, picked up the pint of milk that had been thrown on the sofa and put it in the fridge, all the while suffering from that terrible nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, he'd gone about this all wrong.

And it was only an hour and a half later that the fireworks started to go off and he realised it was New Year's Eve.

Sherlock climbed the stairs carefully, making enough noise to let John know he was coming up without waking Ava. The door was open and he could see John, sat on the edge on the bed with his head in his hands, occasionally illuminated by the fireworks from outside.

Without comment Sherlock sat on the bed next to him, eyes inexplicably drawn to the sleeping child opposite.

"Explain it to me," Sherlock said quietly as the fireworks started to die out.

There was a wordless shake of the head and John let his hands fall down, clasping them together as he still leaned forward.

Sherlock waited, longer than he felt he wanted to. The urge to snap and demand that John just put what he wanted to say into words was overwhelming but, watching John's face as the light from the fireworks played with it, the expression kept him quiet. It was only once the noise had faded and the room had been plunged into a half-darkness that John spoke.

"I am not your housewife," he started, his voice like steel. "I am not going to sit here and wait to hear whether you've managed to survive the week."

"Did I give you any indication-"

"Besides sweeping in and declaring that you and Mycroft had decided without me what was going to happen next?" John almost sneered. "Not calling or texting for almost a week-"

"You are more than capable of pushing the buttons on your phone John-"

"You were…I don't even know what you were doing but it was dangerous. Do you really think I was going to get in contact and put you at risk?" John asked with some disbelief.

"I would have managed-"

"I'm not having this discussion with you again." John leaned back and stared ahead, "Go to bed."

"No."

Startled John turned to him.

"What happened with Calvier?"

"Go to b-"

"Tell me or I will raise my voice." Sherlock threatened.

John let out a furious breath and stood suddenly, striding past where Sherlock sat and storming out of the bedroom.

Sherlock stood and glanced over at the sleeping girl, waiting and checking her serene face before he went down after John.

Even Ava wasn't that good a faking sleep.

The light was on downstairs and Sherlock winced as his eyes adjusted after sitting in the dark for so long. John stood, feet slightly apart and arms folded, clearly rock solid in his position.

Sherlock closed the door behind him and waited.

"He came back." John said after a moment, "He was an idiot who came back and I walked in on him."

"You don't just walk in on it," Sherlock snapped, "Even you would have spotted the signs that something wasn't right."

"And?"

"You didn't call anyone." Sherlock grounded out with irritation. "Instead you walked in, knowing Calvier was likely to be armed."

John's face showed nothing. No surprise, no curiosity, no momentary pause to wonder what might have happened.

Which meant Clavier had likely pulled the gun on him.

"How could you have been so idiotic-"

"You really want to do this?" John snarled. "Play the hypocrite and scold me because I came home and apprehended a burglar sent by the man who's trying to destroy you? You were off in the red light district, meeting in what might have been a set up. You walked into a hotel room filled with people who wanted your blood. You jumped off a bloody building and disappeared for five years and you want to discuss how dangerous and stupid my behaviour this week had been?" John was almost shouting at the end of it.

"Because I don't want you caught up in this-" Sherlock began.

"Don't you dare do this," John hissed, "I asked you, I told you why I didn't think "us" was a good idea. You wanted this Sherlock, not me. I knew what you were like but you promised me-"

"You have a child." Sherlock slammed his fist on the table, barely aware he'd moved from the door. "She comes first and I am not coming back here and asking for your permission every time I need to make a decision.

"I don't want to give you permission, I want you to fucking tell me what you're doing. I want you to understand that, as much as I accept you are who you are; it isn't in my nature to sit at home, wringing my hands, hoping you're taking care of everything."

"I brought him into our home," Sherlock exploded, "I brought him back-"

"No, he brought you back using me." John hissed, "Which should be the clearest bloody example Sherlock of what he will do if you keep shutting me out of this."

Sherlock gripped the back of the chair feeling some of the anger drain away, "He won't." Sherlock said, voice calmer.

"Sherlock-" John begun, arm raised.

"It's a game," Sherlock muttered forcefully, "He won't risk losing-"

"Sherlock last time-"

"Last time you weren't mine." Sherlock watched his knuckles turn white. "He won't cross that line-"

John stared at him in disbelief, "Why? Because Moriarty's secretly a Mills and Boons fan?"

"You are my trigger." Sherlock started.

"Exactly, he's going to use me to-"

"And if you're gone he has nothing." Sherlock continued letting his tongue lash the words out. "Nothing to use to protect himself."

John closed his eyes momentarily and then opened them. "He will get that bored Sherlock. When he first came into our lives you were fascinated at what he could do. Do you honestly think that Moriarty isn't desperate enough to see what you are fully capable of without distractions or weak links?"

Sherlock's heart twisted strangely as he swallowed.

"Do not make me sit in the dark and wait for the day he puts a bullet in my head." John continued on.

It was as if his stomach was dropping out to the floor. The chair suddenly was vital for keeping him up.

"He will use me to destroy you." John's voice rang out like the crack of a whip.

"He can't win if he-"

"He doesn't want to win." John turned away and opened one of the cupboards. "He wants you to lose."

Mycroft's voice hammered away again.

"James Moriarty doesn't play to win or to show off; he pays to destroy his opponents. And a blind man would know how to ruin you."

"When did Mycroft talk to you?" Sherlock heard himself ask dimly.

"After Calvier." John placed a glass of water in front of Sherlock. "He thought I might succeed in drumming this into your thick head where he had failed."

Sherlock closed his fingers around the class, watching the water inside as it swayed and sloshed.

"There was a time Sherlock, when you trusted me to back you up, to go out on my own, to run errands and search for puzzle pieces for you to fit together."

"This isn't an issue of trust."

"Really?" John raised an eyebrow. "So after five years of barely trusting anyone you don't think you might have problems in that department."

"I've had over thirty seven years of problems in that department," Sherlock snapped. "It's never posed an issue between us before."

John let out a sigh that was as tired as it was annoyed. "I'm going back to bed." He said, "You go think or sleep or reboot." He stalked past Sherlock towards the door.

The briefest flash of warmth brushed past him and Sherlock lost the slither of patience he'd been holding onto. Whirling he grabbed out at John and pushed him back, slamming their lips together with a fierce hand to the back of John's head.

For a moment John kissed him back, just as brutally and then there was an almighty shove that had Sherlock stumbling back in surprise.

"No." John said flatly. "Absolutely not."

"We're both angry," Sherlock eyed him carefully, trying to work out what to push and pull at to get his way. "Don't you want to show Moriarty who-"

He stopped himself seeing John's mouth firm and his shoulders square. Clearly attempting to incite a possessive wrath wasn't going to work.

"I'm going to make this utterly clear," John said into the stretching silence. "I will never touch you when we're fighting."

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"This has no place in our bed." John stated firmly. "Ever."

Sherlock stared at him, torn between frustration and intrigue.

For a moment it seemed as if John was going to say something more. In the end though he just turned around, opened the door and shut it behind him.

1st January

"Can I watch cartoons?"

Distracted Sherlock turned his head to stare at Ava.

"Why are you awake?" he asked, not moving from his contemplative position on the sofa.

Ava looked confused, "Because it's time to be awake?" she asked.

A glance at the clock revealed it was just after eight in the morning.

"No," he said, aware that Ava was still waiting for an answer to her original question. She pulled a face in response but said nothing.

"Did John ever date anyone while I was away?" he asked her suddenly.

"What's that mean?" Ava asked, screwing up her nose and peering at him in a way that indicated she was contemplating squeezing onto the sofa with him.

"Did he ever have a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

"No, because he's in love with you," Ava told him as if he was being stupid. "And in the fairy tales you have to prove you really love someone by being nice and passing all the tests otherwise you don't get a happy ending. He couldn't just get a girlfriend or a boyfriend."

Sherlock turned his head back to gaze at the ceiling and took a deep calming breath, torn between the puzzle that had been John's reaction to his attempts to initiate sex and the task of compromising.

Again.

Sherlock waited until Ava had gone upstairs to play before he approached John while he was washing up.

The strong shoulders in front of him tensed and Sherlock could read every line of John's wariness in the angle of his back. Softly he bent his lips to John's ear.

"Forgive me?"

John sighed and scrubbed a bowl a little harder. "That's not the same as saying sorry," he pointed out.

Sherlock paused.

"I'm not expecting it." John dumped the bowl on the draining board, "Just as long as you know that I'm aware of the difference."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to his neck. "I know."

John pulled his hands out of the water and seemed to spend ages drying them, as if using the time to collect his thoughts.

"Is that rule of yours something you've always followed or is it just for us?" Sherlock asked as John ran the towel through his hands.

John stared down at his hands, "I suppose I should be flattered you were interested enough in fixing this to hold off asking about that."

"Indeed." Sherlock waited, enjoying the warmth at his front.

"I…there was this man in my patrol group. We…" John tilted his head to the side, "It was more…I can't even describe it. It wasn't about or comfort or sex…we just, I don't know, help each other out every so often."

Sherlock pretended he didn't notice the way his own fingers tightened slightly around John's t-shirt.

"Anyway then we had a replacement in," The tone of John's voice told volumes about that story. "And they were…they fit, you know? I'd been in three years by then and I'd never seen anything like it. But they were fierce. With each other. You can be in those circumstances; some days you just sit at night and try to work out how the hell you survived the day."

Uncomfortable Sherlock tightened his grip further.

"But they didn't talk. They just…and they weren't quiet about it." John took a deep breath. "The more they did it the worse they got. It was like they were just taking from each other. I mean you could tell that they loved each other but as it went on it clear it wasn't right."

"You think that could happen to us?" Sherlock asked, resting his chin on John's shoulder.

"Don't you?"

Sherlock let out a long breath and nodded. "It seems possible." He acknowledged. "What happened to them?"

"They were two very passionate, brazenly careless homosexuals in an army, fighting in a religious, war torn country. What do you think happened?" John asked pulling away.

"John-"

"One died, one lives." John shrugged. "Well, he seems to be slowly trying to kill himself but last time I saw him he was hanging on." He moved to walk away but Sherlock caught his hand and tugged gently.

They stared at each other, John's anger at the story slowly fading away as Sherlock watched him carefully.

Slowly, gently Sherlock leaned in and this time John didn't pull away. It was perhaps the most chaste kiss Sherlock had ever purporsefully given.

"I missed you," Sherlock murmured against his lips.

John nodded and then pulled back slightly, "Me too."

"You have an odd way of showing it," Sherlock commented, stepping back as he heard Ava thudding down the stairs.

"Really? I though the fact that I threw the milk at the sofa and not at your head was a blindingly obvious clue."

"I was distracted," Sherlock muttered.

John grinned for the first time since he'd gotten back and it almost made Sherlock want to explore every single possible way to keep John that amused for the rest of the dy. "I suppose that should be flattering too," he teased.

There you are. :)

Next Chapter - John and Sherlock talk about what happened while Sherlock was away and pay a visit to Lestrade.