The idea for this chapter is based off of one SleepyButterFree gave me, about Boyfriend-John having a diary and old John seeing it. Thanks so much, even though you meant it as something funny.

November 25

So, I found this empty journal in a drawer in my dresser. Sherlock thought I should write in it, since it looked like the type of thing I would do. It's strange, I feel really good writing, like I was meant to. That sounds ridiculous, but it's true.

Today, Sherlock and I went to a crime scene. He complained that it was only a five, but I knew he needed the case. He needed to chase someone, and we both needed to get out more. Seriously.

There was a break-in, a bank break-in, but no one knew how the person had gotten in or out, since they had left no trace of anything that could be followed, including security camera footage. Of course, the Yard put Sherlock Holmes on the case, and he...He's amazing. I don't think anyone told him that enough before I met him. Even the friend he can't tell me about. I hope his friend saw in him what I see. The intelligence, the complete smart-arse, the beautiful man I fell in love with. I really hope that, wherever that man is, he thinks of Sherlock. Even if they hurt each other.

Anyway, I'm off-topic. The perpetrator had left a scratch or something near the highest window, and a part of a web address spray-painted next to a painting of an old man that had the same yellow paint across his eyes and another strange symbol next to him. Sherlock evidently recognized something about the place, from another case, he said. I just went along with it. He rattled off the perp's height (about 180 cm), gender (balance of probability: male), occupation (ex-military, something about the gunpowder streaks), and reason for breaking in.

Sherlock said that this person was trying to taunt him, and he knew who planned it. Same person as the one that kidnapped my sister. "James Moriarty is a spider. He's dead, but he'll play these games, weave another web, until he decides to stop, and none of us have control over that but him. He likes to laugh at me."

"You'd think he'd have his share," I said.

Sherlock just laughed bitterly. "You have no clue. He's not done yet, but for now, we can put his man behind bars." What did that mean, I had no clue? Had this man done something else to Sherlock without me knowing about it? I still don't know what it means, but Sherlock will tell me when he can.

He knew of a place where the perp, someone named Sebastian Moran, would be hiding out. Another joke for Moriarty, apparently. A pool.

I'd seen the pool before, as if it was deja vu. It seemed sinister, but I couldn't have said why. The man standing by the side of the pool held a jacket in his hands, a jacket that looked like it had explosives taped under it. "Bet you didn't see this coming."

Sherlock glared at him fiercely. "Are we really going to do this again? You're a very childish man." It wasn't one of his usual glares, there was something ugly behind it, maybe sadness, hurt, anger. I couldn't tell, and it frightened me after all the time I'd learned to read him.

"What would you like me to make him say next?" Moran laughed, loud and long. "You're a machine!"

None of this made any sense to me, but Sherlock knew everything he was saying, like he'd replayed it in his mind or something. "Your master is dead, and you have no reason to be doing this. Cease, and maybe your prison sentence will be less than twenty lifetimes."

Moran shook his head. "You need to finish it, again. Otherwise I'll keep hurting people. Him, too. You were so very unfair."

"Sherlock, what does he mean?" I asked. Moran had ignored me, and I didn't understand that.

"John," he whispered, but he didn't turn to look at me.

"Come on, honey. You know how this is going to go. You know. You just don't want to go back to that time." That didn't sound like Moran at all, actually, it sounded like someone else had written him a script.

Sherlock suddenly straightened, appearing to shake out his tensed muscles. "Goodbye. John." He beckoned me, and we left the building. Moran just stayed there, hands up. The Yard filed in, cuffed him, and took him away, while we got a cab.

"I did what he wanted me to. I ended it how...how he and I ended it." Sherlock wound his fingers through mine and kissed my knuckles. "Moriarty is smart, using him against me. But I have you."

Of course, I learned from Harry's phone call to Clara that I really do love him, but that, just that simple gesture, I knew I was done. I am his, and I will be forever.

JW

Sherlock, we need milk. -JW

John sent the text message from his office, while a rather difficult patient with an imaginary disease that John had proved wasn't there countless times trotted out, but not before threatening to sue. Not exactly the best day.

Which one are you? -SH

John raised an eyebrow at his screen. Sherlock didn't know very many people, especially not people he texted.

What do you mean? If you really don't feel like going to Tesco, I'll go. -JW

What about Harriet? -SH

Why would Harry go to Tesco? And since when did Harry even know who Sherlock was, much less meet him?

Harry hasn't spoken to me in a while. And Tesco? Why? Are you okay? -JW

For some reason, John could feel Sherlock rolling his eyes through the words. Sometimes he could feel it, more so when he was there and just had his back turned to the detective. Sherlock was like an open book to him most of the time, but of course, he never said anything about it. If Sherlock had gotten that good at hiding his feelings, there must have been a reason.

I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I can feel you worrying, and you don't need to. -SH

John stared at his mobile. Who was this person, and what had he done with Sherlock Holmes? It was nice, him caring about John like that, but seriously, something wasn't right. He began to pack up his things to go home early, telling Sarah on the way out that he would make up the extra hour tomorrow. She gave him a funny look, but he didn't catch it.

John hailed a cab outside the practice, and told the cabbie to head for 221B Baker Street. "Where's your boyfriend?" she asked, grinning. Her nametag said Liz with a smiley face next to it.

The doctor's first instinct wasn't to say he wasn't gay, for this one time. "He's at home."

"Y'all make a cute couple. Nice to see more of us around London, especially as close as you two look."

"Thanks," John replied. She really didn't seem psychotic, so John didn't mind talking to her. Unlike that other cabbie, the crazy one with the poisonous pills. "You're not the first person to tell me that."

"Cool. I'm not the only sane one here." Liz laughed. "Anyway, we should get you home."

John nodded, turning his head to the window. This wasn't just Angelo then, other people had seen them together like a couple. But, the problem with that was John didn't remember any of that kind of thing happening. Before he asked Sherlock about it...ugh, it was blurry. They'd eaten takeaway, but then... He'd probably figure it out later.

When the cab pulled up to the door, John stepped out, tipping Liz a bit more than he did most cabbies. She was pretty nice, and wouldn't try to flirt with him like most women over the age of thirty. Geez, he should hang out with lesbians more often. Being hit on got kind of old, especially since Sherlock would scare the women off after maybe three dates.

He quietly slipped into the flat, hoping Sherlock was playing the violin. The detective hadn't played the past couple of days, and John missed it a lot. Not that he would say so. Sherlock would laugh at him.

Inside, John saw Sherlock's tall figure stooped over the stove. It smelled like sweetness in the kitchen. "What're you making that you need milk?" John asked, standing behind him and trying (read: failing) to look over his shoulder to see what was in the pan.

Sherlock turned around. John was first struck by how close the detective was to him. Mere centimeters of space hung between them. Second thing: Sherlock was wearing jeans. And a soft-looking t-shirt. Tight. Jeans. John had to take a few breaths. When had Sherlock lifted weights? Or done any sort of upper body exercise? This was news. Third thing: there were streaks of white powder on Sherlock's cheek. And the stuff in the pan looked like pudding.

John couldn't stop himself from laughing. "Pudding? That's why you needed the milk?"

"Yes," Sherlock said haughtily, reaching his hand back to continue stirring the sugary mixture. "It's..." Sherlock paused. "It's for Mrs. Hudson's birthday. So, you might attempt to be more quiet."

John stared at him in disbelief. "Really? How did I not remember that?"

"It's fine, John. I had it in my mind palace, so I just thought..." Sherlock shrugged.

John had the sudden urge to do something, so he wrapped his arms around Sherlock and hugged him. "That's really cool of you. Thank you."

"Why are you thanking me? It's not your birthday," the detective pointed out. He sounded surprised.

John pulled back a little and looked Sherlock in the eye. "It might as well be." He smiled. "Now, how about I start making a cake? I'll find my recipe."

He walked up the stairs to his room, knowing he left his cake recipe in a notebook somewhere. When he dug through his drawers, he noticed a journal on his dresser. John sighed, flipping the thing open. "It has to be here somewhere," he muttered.

He didn't find the recipe.

The journal had one entry, dated the day before. John had never seen the journal in his life, but there was an entry, in his handwriting, with his signature. It had Sherlock in it, with a case. A case that Sebastian Moran was in. Had The Great Game pieces, and The Blind Banker, and one line that John didn't recognize.

The part that struck him was how in love he was with Sherlock.

If this was really yesterday, what had happened? Why couldn't John remember being in love, moreover, with Sherlock? He would never say this, but he missed being in love.

John hadn't really been in love since his girlfriend Grace. She was beautiful and perfect in every way, and John had been utterly smitten. Of course, that was before she cheated on him, and asked for expensive things, and took his virginity. He didn't stay with girlfriends much after that.

John knew that people were as shallow as Grace everywhere. He knew it, so he didn't try to get very close to his other (numerous) girlfriends. Sherlock...well, he was different. John had never been scared to get close to Sherlock, even after that whole thing with the pool and the Semtex. Sherlock had saved him when they met, and he kept saving John every day. Why shouldn't he fall for Sherlock?

Plus, Sherlock was by far one of the sexiest people John knew. He laughed aloud.

He closed the journal and set it in the drawer, rummaging around a bit more before unearthing the cake recipe. It had gotten a little crisped, since the last time he used it, Sherlock was doing an experiment involving burning plastic. John smiled, shutting his drawers and leaving his room.

"Hey, I found it," he said. Sherlock turned and grinned.

"No birthday celebration is complete without cake. My dear brother knows that best of all."

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. His diet. Come on, if you can make pudding, you can sure as hell help me with this cake."

Hours later, the boys woke up on the couch, flour-covered and smiling. Sherlock was curled around John, and John didn't mind it. If he fell in love with Sherlock, it would probably be the best thing to ever happen to him.

That ended up way different than I thought it would go. Oh well. Read + review!