/John's office/
"John?" (...) "John, hey."
"Huh?" I woke up from my thoughts as somebody's hand waved in front of my face.
"Sarah," I realized who was standing before me. "Is something wrong? I thought... no one's in the waiting room – or yes?"
"One lady came in about ten minutes ago."
"Oh, sure. Sorry. I've just been a little..."
"Reflecting?" She smiled.
"Yes."
"Never mind; ten minutes is not a long time – also I haven't come to you because of it. Only wanted to tell you that I'm leaving earlier today."
"Aha. Right. So, bye for now."
"See you, John. And do not let Sherlock Holmes fill your whole head – there are patients."
"B-but... how?" I woundered.
"You always look the same when you think of him," she smiled mischievously. "Like a puppy."
"That's how I definitely do not look like!"
"Just don't bite me, puppy," Sarah laughed and walked out of the office.
"She is right, you know."
"What?" I looked up from the table; In the doorway stood a tall, elegant women with white hair piled into a bun.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Hello. You must be the lady from waiting room."
"A patient, yes."
"Sure. Of course. Please, sit down... Sorry, you said something before?"
"Merely your colleague is right: you do look like a pup - a bit."
"Wow, if you've heard that you're obviously not going deaf, so what's troubling you?"
"To be honest," the lady looked at me, "nothing," she told, rising from her chair. "But please, Doctor Watson, take care of him. And be forgiving. He has a... different heart."
"I – who...?" but before I could say anything for myself, the lady was already gone.
On the way home I was thinking – a lot. About Sherlock. About me. About what his look does to me, his touch, kiss... and what it might do to him. About us. About everything. I know what lust is and I know what love is. But with Sherlock these two things merge into one. And I do not know if that is right. If he even... God, what if it was only some departure of his, a play, an experiment? The lady in office today was right: if Sherlock Holmes has a heart – and I am sure he has – then it is different...
/221B Baker Street/
"This afternoon," said I, hanging my jacket on a peg, "your mother came to my office... At least, I think it was her."
I walked into the living room and saw no one (as I expected), but two Holmes' – brothers – sitting in armchairs. The faces of both men turned into stone (stiffened they already had been – as always, when the two of them are talking with each other). Older Holmes looked at me in amazement, and then turned back to Sherlock, who was piercing him with icy eyes from frowning brows.
"That's your job?" he growled.
"Not this time, Sherlock," the brother protested and honestly shook his head.
"What was she doing in John's office, Mycroft?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
"Oh, so you won't mind if I send her to Lestrade's office?"
Mycroft Holmes significantly raised his left eyebrow to this comment and pursed his lips disapprovingly. "I did tell nothing to mummy."
"Undoubtedly."
"To yours amazing abilities... after all belongs to tell when I'm lying. You know I'm telling the truth."
"Yes. Verity. But then... How is it possible that..." Sherlock sharply turned to me: "What did she said to you, John?"
"Nothing. Just – to watch over you. She's probably afraid you're pushing yourself to the limit – and you do that, but nothink can stop you evidently... So, really nothing."
"A-ha. Nothing."
"I guess she just wanted to find out who her son lives with. That is perfectly fine to me. Although she did not introduce herself..." said I.
"Maybe. It is quite acceptable idea, isn't it?" smirked Sherlock and I knew that my explanation did not satisfy him.
"Like once, when she went to meet Victor's parents..." said Mycroft to his younger brother.
"Oh, yes. I guess so."
"Victor?" I asked because I had never heard of any Victor in connection with Sherlock.
"My friend. From college." Answered Holmes, and for this Mycroft titled his head towards the skull on mantelpiece.
"Eh." I uttered out when I realized what he was suggesting. "I had no idea."
Sherlock looked at me stiffly and raised his eyebrows "Problem?"
"Well... no. Just – I don't know. Probably not. (...) Poor Viktor, didn't anticipate he would have to listen to your deductions after his death," I laughed.
"He does not complain."
Older Holmes smiled in his chair slightly.
"Well," he stood up "time for me to go. John. Sherlock. Those Caesar's tail feathers are on your kitchen table."
The door clicked shut and we were once again alone in our small apartment on Baker Street.
Before I could somehow started about what happened some hours ago, Sherlock began first.
"John," he said with calm, low voice, "what happened this morning, it was... I mean... I am sorry. It will never happen again."
There was a knot in my stomach as he said it. What? I only stood there and stared blankly at him. At man who made me think – really think – about my feelings and about that I finally found someone with whom I would be happy. Someone who awakes in me a lust for life, who worth for all the suffer and pain because he is able to make it up with only one glance, one touch, with only one utterance of my name... It was Sherlock – nobody else. And now this man was saying, saying that... God, what he's actually saying?!
"It was a moment of weakness. Sorry, I just somehow lost my self control and pulled you into it. It is clear to me that you... don't want... you know. How you said you have to go to work – it was perfectly clear."
"Sherlock," I said with trembling voice, "you're really idiot."
"What?"
"Massive idiot. You heard me."
"But I-"
"A moment of weakness? What the hell is that?! You want to tell me that... that you were not serious about it?" I shouted at him and embarrasses, looked down at my feet.
The detective got up and slowly approached me. My heart started to pound faster as he was suddenly close to me and I could smell that the nicotine patches were not enough for him today.
"I was," he said quietly. "More than anything."
I straighten up and looked directly into those cat eyes (now full of sincerity) "Then shut up, and kiss me already."
The eyes sparkled and only thing I perceived in that moment was how his head carefully leaned over to me. Again I felt those lips and knew I would never give up on them.
The kiss was soft, delicate, gentle... no biting, no tongs, only the most tender taction you can possibly imagine – and yet, there was everything in it.
A single look into my eyes.
A single touch of palm on my cheek.
A single word drowning in a hot breath on my mouth "John..."