I'm so sorry about the wait! Real life and all that jazz!

Just as a note - I will be jumping this on rather quickly to the end of Feb after this chapter - mainly because I'm struggling to write this in such detail. So there won't be Sherlock and John's visit to the school. For those of you who love the Ava and Sherlock interactions I can tell you that you will see loads of it, please remember that this story will continue on way past what happened with Paved with Love and, if you've picked up the hints, it's very apparent just how much Ava and Sherlock time there will be.

I have written John's pov for the entire year after Paved with Love. I want to hold it back for quite a few more chapters of this fic but it will be added to "When his hour will come." I'll pop a note in this fic when I post it.

Thanks for all the lovely comments last chapter :D. They were really lovely.

Hope you enjoy and angst is abound in this chapter.

31st January

It was their third night in four days spent at one of Roberts' clubs. John was staring to get ratty with everyone he came in contact with, which had been vaguely amusing when Mycroft had attempted to demand information from him yesterday.

"You could at least pretend to look interested," Sherlock commented as John ordered drinks.

John threw him a filthy look, clearly not wanting to shout back to make himself heard over the music, eventually settling for the childish option of just flipping Sherlock off and glaring at his beer.

Sherlock sniffed and picked his drink up, weaving his way through the crowds. Between them they manages to get quite few different types of people talking to them; Sherlock seeing out the less talkative ones and John drawing the others to him. It had worked surprisingly well.

Within two hours he had managed to talk to the assistant manager, a prominent drug dealer whose name he vaguely recognised from years ago, a rather high class prostitute who looked bored while her banker discussed something with Roberts herself and, amusingly, Roberts' nephew who seemed to think he was god's gift to everything with a pulse.

It had been an acceptable night. It would be better to leave now rather than continue to draw attention, especially as Carl Roberts had seemed rather taken with Sherlock.

Sherlock weaved his way back through the masses that were cramming their way to the dance floor to where John had been sitting, only to find an empty place and a dead beer.

John had been sitting at the bar when Sherlock had last glanced over. Approaching the seat carefully Sherlock glanced at the inebriated patrons and then at the bar staff.

"The man who was sitting here," Sherlock leaned over the bar to call into the bartender's ear as she opened a few bottles of some sugary looking pink thing. "When did he leave?"

She threw him a look as if to imply she had better things to do, but then saw where he was pointing. "John? He saw an old friend." She replied easily.

Trust John to be on first name terms with a twenty two year old medical student.

Who would it have been, here? Sherlock stared at the beer for a moment.

John had left it behind for Sherlock to see.

"Small, dark haired-" Sherlock begun, mind racing at the thought that Moriarty might have-

The girl glanced up at him, "No, he was a big guy, greying."

Sherlock hissed in irritation at the pathetic description. The only thing he could conclusively glean from it was that John's "old friend" hadn't been Moriarty.

The club was too loud for a conversation and he'd been near the VIP area that Roberts used to entertain and discuss business. John hadn't come anywhere near the area.

Outside then.

Sherlock stepped out onto the frosty night, the sudden lack of thumping music a relief that granted him back his hearing. It suddenly seemed to quiet and it took a moment to reacquaint himself with the change in temperature and volume. The pack of smokers suddenly became audible, huddled together as they were, under the shelter and around the heaters. His eyes scanned the pack, dismissing as he glanced.

Until he caught sight of a familiar shadow, cast from a window light stretching around the corner.

Stepping out of the enclosed area, Sherlock made his way over, quietly.

"-of all people should understand what I'm trying to do. You know the situation over there-"

"That's not a justifiable reason," John hissed, seemingly mindful of the smokers around the corner. "What you're doing is wrong." He argued, sounding annoyed but uninjured and unafraid.

The thumping pulse in Sherlock's chest slowed a little at the sound.

"For Fuck sake's Watson, are you still that green?" The man exploded fiercely. "I could excuse it when you were still wet behind the ears and some idealistic twenty odd year old but not now."

"Excuse it?" John breathed sounding livid, "You could excuse me giving a damn about the sanctity of human life-"

"Don't give me that bullshit. It's war. Us or them and we want to win, otherwise why bother with it?"

Something terrible weighted down in Sherlock's stomach as he finally placed the voice that had been nagging at his mind ever since he'd first heard it.

John was having an argument with Sebastian Moran.

"Because most of the people that you attack with this will be civilians. Or just following orders. Or-"

"A necessary sacrifice to keep the majority safe."

John let out a frustrated, twisted laugh, "We've had this argument," he said eventually, "You know my thoughts on it."

"And Holmes?" Moran asked.

"You work for Moriarty." John said in a way that Sherlock could tell was accompanied by a serious shake of the head. "For now that is all he cares about."

It was an intriguing answer that begged more questions than it answered. Sherlock filed it away carefully for another time.

"Moriarty has vision," Moran said after a moment. "Funds, resources. He's a crazy bastard but effective."

"He's a snake." John muttered, "He'll turn on you the moment it suits him."

"Of course he will," Moran seemed amused at the idea. "But then you and I have fought in a real war, without minions obeying our every word. We know how to finish it without any games."

There was a very long pause and Sherlock eyed up the exit he'd just come from, assessing whether Moran had done this on his own or whether Moriarty was somewhere, watching.

It seemed unlikely.

"You should go," John said eventually.

"To be confronted by the unit that's been sent to reel me in?" Moran sneered. "I don't think so John."

"You hate London-"

There were steps, Moran was walking towards John. "Scared? Believe me; I have no interest whatsoever In Sherlock Holmes. Keep him away from me John, because I will have no qualms about putting a bullet in his brain."

"Nor I you," Sherlock said calmly, stepping out from the shadows.

John threw him an unimpressed and slightly bewildered look. Moran was a breath away from crowding John but John looked more annoyed at the sight of Sherlock than at Moran's aggressive proximity.

Moran's shoulders heaved with displeasure and he turned. There was a long look over and Sherlock could read the vague recognition from the few times their paths had crossed during Sherlock's five year chase.

Then he was dismissed.

It was infuriatingly offensive. Moran just turned back to John as if Sherlock was barely worth a flicker of interest.

"One warning. For old time's sakes." Moran reiterated before stepping back and striding off.

"We're going home," John said firmly, turning before Moran was out of Sherlock's sight.

"Tell me this is an attempt at humour?" Sherlock asked as he climbed the stairs behind John.

"No," John snarled as he reached their landing and moved to continue up the stairs.

Amusement cut through the brewing fury as Sherlock paused on the landing and watched John climb the stairs, clearly still on automatic. It was obvious from the pace of his climb that he wasn't going to realise his mistake until he got inside Ava's room and was faced with an empty space where his bed used to be.

There were more positive aspects to the whole sharing a room idea than he had imagined. But while John was stomping around Sherlock might as well put the kettle on.

Two minutes later John skulked into the living area with an embarrassed hunch of his shoulders.

"I dismantled the bed," he said, staring at the table.

"Yes," Sherlock held two empty cups to him, clearly indicating what he wanted.

John, still distracted by his mistake, took the cups and took over making the tea. "You didn't think to remind me?" he asked.

"I doubted you would respond well," Sherlock sat at the table.

John sighed and tilted his head up to the ceiling. "You think I'm over reacting," he said and turned, "Don't you?"

Sherlock reached out to trace the bowl in front of him, "You're being hypocritical," he said tightly. "For months I have had to put up with you whining that I was being over protective and yet, now the situation is reversed, you're adamant that I need to suddenly duck and cover."

"This is not the sam-"

Sherlock hurled the bowl at the wall opposite in a sudden pique of fury. "How is it not the same?" he asked into the sudden silence afterwards. "Never have I ever said to you that you should hide."

The kettle clicked without any attention being paid to it.

"Because this isn't the same, "John braced his hands on the table, leaning forward to meet Sherlock's gaze. "This isn't something that either one of us can predict or control. If Moran points a gun at you he will fire and he will kill you."

"Moriarty-"

"How many times has he threatened to kill you and how often has he done it?" John asked. "And I'm not saying Moriarty isn't dangerous, because he is, but you can usually do something, somehow, to change his mind to wriggle out. You cannot play Moran like that-"

"Watch me." Sherlock sat back with an arrogant smirk that he could see was infuriating John and shaking the fragile control John was trying to coat himself in. "Just because you were incapable of playing his game-"

John's jaw jutted out and he pulled back, almost to attention. His eyes scanned Sherlock 's and then he yanked the chair out from under the table and sat opposite Sherlock.

"He won't play," John over emphasised every word as if Sherlock was some small, unruly child. "How can you not get that through your thick head?" he asked, his hands almost curling into claws. "He won't be as gracious as Moriarty and give you prior notice that something's about to happen."

"Please," Sherlock pulled back, "Do you not think I can tell when someone is about to strike?"

"You didn't at Christmas," John snarled.

"You distracted me."

There was only a fraction of a moment that showed the sudden hurt in John's eyes before John stood suddenly, his chair scrapping against the floorboards as he moved. Sherlock stared at the wall opposite as he heard John walk into their room and pull open the wardrobe door to look for spare blankets and a pillow.

That had probably not been the right thing to say, but honestly John was being a Neanderthal about this. And stubborn, and moronic and insulting.

The more the list went on, the firmer Sherlock's resolve became. Let John throw him out onto the sofa if he was going to be such a-

There was a momentary flutter of panic when John walked back out, dressed for bed and with the clear intention of being the one sleeping on the sofa. John was meant to throw him out; he was younger and more adept at curling up on the damned thing.

It felt far too much like a step backwards to have John leaving his room.

But he remained fixed in his seat, glaring at the wall; his fingers curled around the edges of the table as if he intended to snap it in half. John started to nest himself on the sofa in stony silence.

"You are being insufferably stupid," Sherlock grounded out between gritted teeth.

There was a long silence, as if John were determined to ignore him and then:

"Just stupid or a stupid distraction?"

"A stupid, overly sensitive distraction," Sherlock snapped.

"Then by all means, piss off into your room," John hissed.

Our room. Our room! Damn it!

But Sherlock pressed his lips together, until he as sure they were white with the pressure and didn't say a word.

Then John switched the light off and plunged them into darkness and shadow, the light in their room still on.

Sherlock started to drum his fingers on the table loudly. He would not be the one to give in and go into the bedroom.

John said nothing.

The drumming turned into a repetitive thud that was as without rhythm as possible, designed to irritate John more.

Unfortunately it seemed he had underestimated how tired John was because, just when he was starting to annoy himself with the noise, John snored, clearly in a deep sleep.

Livid, Sherlock stormed into their room and slammed the door, hard enough to wake even Mrs Hudson downstairs.

1st February

"I'm going out," Sherlock announced imperiously to John at half two in the afternoon as he strode out the door.

"Fine," John snapped, "And if you get shot, thank them for me for sparing me the effort."

"I'll thank them for giving me an escape from your pathetic insults." Sherlock snapped back.

Sherlock purposefully came back as late as possible and indulged himself in the foolish sentimentality of quietly opening their bedroom door and checking on John.

John who was fast asleep and, though he had clearly started off huddle to one side of the bed, had stretched out a hand to Sherlock's side.

He looked less tired then he had yesterday. A good night's sleep would improve his mood even further.

Sherlock eyed the blankets that John had used last night, trying to decide whether using them himself tonight would make things better or worse.

And whether he wanted to make them better or worse.

Debating, Sherlock closed the door gently and walked back into the kitchen, pouring himself a whiskey and then stared down at the amber liquid, hands braced on either side of the glass on the kitchen counter.

His phone went off as he picked the glass up and threw himself onto his chair in the living area.

You are aware that John has a point? MH

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took a sip as he started to type out a reply.

You are aware that you're a complete-

He was startled out of the text by a creak at the door.

Ava stood, almost hugging the frame as she peeped at him with exhausted, bright red eyes and a trembling chin.

A sinking sensation wormed into his chest at the sudden idea that she might have heard their fight last night. She looked so miserable that guilt just welled up and strangled him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, putting the phone and his glass down, intending to go to her. But as he spoke she just flew across the room, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Concerned, he bent down and lifted her into his lap, his worry soaring as she started to press into him, as if to hide away from the world.

He was utterly out if his depth with this and that feeling only grew as she started to sob in his arms.

And if he and John had caused this…

""Shhh," Sherlock said almost desperately and glanced over in the direction of the bedroom. John needed sleep but Ava…he felt her tiny body rack with tears as he started to rock her in what he hoped was a helpful manner. This time it was impossible not to press a firm kiss to her sleep tousled hair. "I'll get John"_ he stared to offer but Ava shook her head fiercely.

"No," she hissed between sobs. "You can't tell him, you can't, you can't you can't," she repeated over and over again, as if the words were vitally important.

What the hell was he meant to do?

Lost, he tightened his grip on her, mind racing. It had to be something else; she would have broken to John before this evening if she were just upset about their fight. Something in him unclenched at the idea that he hadn't upset her, right before something else fluttered in terror at the sort of things that might upset her that she wouldn't want John to know about.

If anyone had dared hurt her…

Aware that he was almost shaking in anger he forced himself to relax.

"Calm down, shush, it's alright, just breath," he ordered as he touched his fingers to her chin with infinite care to get her to look up at him. Her blue eyes were splashed with tears, cheeks wet and face flushed from her sobs. She hadn't slept; her messy hair had to be a product from tossing and turning in worry.

"Tell me then." Sherlock instructed gently as she stared up at him with those large trusting eyes.

"You'll be upset," she whispered, looking hesitant.

It took a lot of will power not to react to that, not to just demand that she tell him what the problem was so he could fix it. "Tell me," he said, keeping his voice even.

Ava sniffed, looking unsure and buried her head into his shirt again. Sherlock stared at the direction of the bedroom door, silently praying that John would be along soon to help.

Ava seemed to be struggling with what she wanted to say. What if someone had threatened her not to say something to John?

Unbidden his mind raced through one terrible scenario after another-

"You won't get mad?" A little voice asked eventually.

There was no way he could promise that.

"Not with you," Sherlock stroked her hair, trying to keep his movements slow and steady. Calming. "Never with you," he added against her curls.

"Promise?"

"Promise." He agreed.

"No-one at school wants to talk to me." She sniffed, "I didn't mean to tell, I didn't. I really didn't and now I've made everything bad."

Relief flooded him. Made him almost dizzy with the sudden ability to breath easily again. He stared upwards trying not to let her see just how relieved he was.

And how suddenly annoyed he felt, though that was idiotic. To a five year old having friends was the probably one of the most important issues they could face. And thank god for that.

Once he was sure he was calm he looked back down at her. "If you're having problems with your friends_"

Wait.

His mind raced back over what she had said and he studied her.

Ava was far too much like John to be this upset over her friendship group being disrupted, and she'd certainly had no problem telling John about such problems before.

"What do you mean you didn't mean to tell?" he asked.

Ava's chin danced again as she bit her lip, "S...S..." she shook her head and Sherlock cupped her face with both his hands, forcing her to look at him properly.

"Tell me," he said, trying to keep his mind from racing to conclusions.

Ava looked utterly reluctant and was looking at him as if…

…as if she were afraid of upsetting him.

"Sean Tenner said you and Daddy are going to go to hell because Daddy sleeps in your room."

What?

Who the hell was Sean Tenner? And who the hell cared about his insipid opinion?

Ava apparently. She looked so utterly confused as she started to ramble that Sherlock just stared at her.

"I didn't meant to tell," She started to sob again, "I didn't and now everyone knows and they're mean to you and it's all my fault."

Her chin wobbled again and she looked so utterly distraught at the idea that people had been mean to him and John that Sherlock could do nothing but pull her against him again.

Ava cried her little heart out against him and in between sobs he could hear her apologising for telling people that he and John were kissing.

"What the-" John blinked as he stood in the kitchen, "What happened?"

Sherlock stood as John suddenly tore himself out of his shocked stance and reached for Ava. Ava went to John without protest, curling around him as John took her weight and cupped the back of her head with a gentle mummer.

"Calm down," he soothed, rocking them both gently. "Shush," he continued in that calm voice, even as his eyes raised to Sherlock's questioningly.

In an unspoken agreement, they waited until Ava had cried herself to sleep before Sherlock explained.

"Evidently the children at school have discovered that you and I share a room."

John turned to stare at him as he pulled back from settling Ava onto their bed. "What?" he asked in a dangerous voice.

"They told her we are going to hell." Sherlock explained further, staring at Ava's tiny frown as she slept and curled up fist.

John dragged a hand through his hair, spiking it up unintentionally. "Why didn't she tell me?" he asked sounding more as if he were talking to himself, and then swore. "She was trying to get out of going to school tomorrow." He added, sounding guilty.

"She didn't want to upset you."

"I'm her bloody father," John hissed. "That shouldn't come into it,"

"Perhaps she is merely taking after you," Sherlock commented.

John whirled furiously, "Do not make this about us," he snarled quietly.

"I'm merely pointing out that it is irritating when someone is trying to protect you."

"She's my child," John stormed over to where Sherlock sat, perched at the end of the bed. "She is not meant to even think about protecting my feelings. You however, are the bloody minded idiot who throws himself head first into danger because you think you're invincible-"

"I'm a genius, not delusional." Sherlock snapped back quietly. "And I do not need you protecting me-"

"Yes you do," John breathed, "You need protecting from the bloody toxic waste you insist on storing in the bathroom cabinet to start with."

"That cabinet is locked-"

John grabbed his elbow and steered him out of the room. Sherlock took one look at Ava and, with a sigh, let him.

"I will not apologise for being concerned about your safety." John said as he shut the bedroom door. "Especially as you have the common sense of a gnat."

"Common sense is a meaningless term batted around by those who lack the intelligence to see it as such." Sherlock muttered crossly.

"No, it's ignored by those too thick to see that they're suddenly no longer protected by a mad man who likes puzzles." John stabbed a finger into Sherlock's chest.

"My problem is not that I do not realise that, my problem is that you are insisting that I run away like some frightened dog." Sherlock batted John's finger away, "My problem is that you don't think I can deal with this."

"You can't." John pushed. "I can't. Mycroft can't. Short of backing off we can't. And if we back off then we have Moriarty to deal with."

"So you're issue is that we're trapped?" Sherlock hissed.

"Yes," John snapped back.

"John for god's sakes that was ridiculously obvious from the very start." Sherlock took a deep breath. "Are there any other blindingly clear observations that you would like to make?"

John seemed to gather himself up a little, "If I wasn't here-"

"John-"

"If I wasn't here then you wouldn't be in half this mess."

"No," Sherlock agreed mildly, "No, I probably would have been shot last night by Sebastian Moran."

John sighed and leaned against the wall silently.

Sherlock stared at their bedroom door.

"Sherlock, what are the chances that-"

"Don't" Sherlock cut John off before he could hear the rest of the sentence. Before he could hear John ask their chance of enduring, their chance of winning.

Their chances of both surviving this.

"Don't," Sherlock repeated, softer this time and saw John swallow deeply, as if burying back some painful emotion.

Sherlock ignored the shudder in his bones at the thought.

John drew in a long breath, "Right," he said hoarsely, and then cleared his throat to start again, "Right, well if we're agreed that we're sick of both of us trying to protect each other then maybe we can go overboard in protecting Ava."

Sherlock nodded slowly, "Who's Sean Tenner?" he asked.

John shrugged, "No idea. Why?"

"He's the one you can thank for Ava being convinced that we are "damned"".

John thudded his head against the wall. "How the hell are you meant to explain this to a child?" he said after a moment. "Sorry sweetheart, but there are some religious people, some ignorant people some chauvinistic people and some overly traditional people who think what me and Sherlock are doing is unnatural, wrong and immoral. But it's ok because if Sherlock gets annoyed by it he starts talking about how much fucking lube we use at night."

"Don't be an idiot." Sherlock muttered, leaning against the opposite wall and facing John. "My implication was to play up to whatever they were derisively suggesting was wrong with us. Owning the implied fault."

John glared at him, "How is that helpful?"

"They think we're damned?" Sherlock smiled wolfishly. "Then I suggest we act like the devil incarnate."

John closed his eyes as if pained, "They are children Sherlock. I would rather not be lynched by angry parents."

Sherlock stepped forward, intending to press his point. But, the closer he got, the clearer it was just how exhausted John was.

"You should sleep," he said eventually as John watched him and stifled a yawn.

John nodded, "Yeah," he admitted, "but Ava-"

Sherlock moved to the bedroom door, "We need more data." He said simply. "Deciding on a course of action now would be premature."

John pushed himself off the wall with a nod.

Inside the room, Sherlock gazed down at Ava who, at some point during his and John's conversation, had curled up like a kitten on a cold day. John quietly moved behind him, stripping off the jumper he'd yanked on then making his way to his side of the bed.

Dragging his eyes away Sherlock reached for the blankets in the wardrobe.

"What are you doing?" John asked softly.

Sherlock looked at the blanket and then at John.

Taking a deep breath at what he saw, Sherlock turned and carefully replaced the blanket. Without bothering to get undressed he just toed off his shoes and socks then sat gingerly on the other side of the bed, trying to work out how sleeping with the pair of them in the bed would work.

Watching him carefully, John gently pulled Ava close to him, giving Sherlock room to get onto the bed. Inexplicably nervous by the situation, Sherlock wriggled about until he was in a semi comfortable position on the bed.

""Do you want to pretend that she's a toxic waste substance?" John asked with some amusement. "Would that be easier to deal with?"

Sherlock glared up at the ceiling before rolling to face John. "I have barely accepted having one extra person in the bed when I sleep, let alone two."

John pressed a thoughtful kiss on Ava's hair, "Do you want me to take her upstairs?" he asked with some concern. "I could probably squeeze in with her. I just don't want her waking up alone."

Sherlock took a deep breath and reached out a hand to stroke Ava's cheek. "No," he said eventually.

John pulled her even closer to him, "Come here," he said after a moment.

Obediently, but cautiously, Sherlock scooted a little closer until he and John were face to face and Ava was at his chest level. John watched him carefully, as if waiting for some sign that he should get up and take Ava with him.

"Go to sleep," Sherlock said after a moment, shutting his eyes against the worried gaze.

It took John almost an hour for his breathing to even out and dip into natural sleep. The moment Sherlock was convinced that he was in a deep slumber he opened his eyes and studied the pair in the dark.

It felt like he watched them for hours. Both Ava and John seemed worn out by the week's events and barely moved they were so exhausted.

Sherlock reached for his phone and sent off a text. It was a sign of how much consideration Mycroft had given that it took an hour and a half to get a reply that, despite the fact it was the early hours of the morning, was utterly without a snarky tone.

Running will only make Moriarty chase harder. MH

Nodding to himself, Sherlock deleted the message, just as he had with the one he had sent and placed the phone on the bedside table quietly.

He'd suspected as much.

Just as a note (another one!) I know Moran saw Sherlock at xmas but I kinda want to show that Moran isn't that worried by Sherlock - he knows that he could kill him if he becomes an issue so why be that fearful? I thought it would make a change to not have Sherlock be the centre of the "bad guys'" universe for a change.