During the night Sherlock had manoeuvred his body so that his head was resting on John's chest, he preferred it like this it made him feel safe, secure and most of loved especially when John's sleeping subconscious mind made him cling on tighter to Sherlock.

It was the early hours of the morning, the staff of the hotel were moving around going about their business. Sherlock knew John wouldn't be awake for some time yet, this gave him time to think. He delved into his Mind Palace, finding the entire room he had mentally built for John and inspected every inch of it. He moved pieces of information, re-evaluated some files altering them slightly but never deleting them. He could never get rid of anything even remotely related to John. Sherlock could absolutely one hundred percent say he loved his man. And that was what scared Sherlock the most. Stepping out of John's room he walked down the corridor of his palace to find the room he had built on the subject of love.

Love. What was love?

Sherlock loved John, but he also loved Mrs. Hudson. However he wouldn't have sexual relationship with her. Sherlock understood there were different types of love, but he was unsure of the extent of these types of love. He was pretty sure he hated Mycroft but however he put that down to brotherly hate, not actual 'I'm going to rip your body into pieces and burn it' type of way. Sherlock had also loved Victor but that was different to the love he had for John. John's love was for real unlike the love he had held for Victor, John's love was not built on the need to shoot up. The drugs had clouded Sherlock's mind at the point of his life.

People also killed for love. The thought of harming John sent a cold unpleasant feeling down Sherlock's body. He quickly dismissed that thought. However he knew he would kill on behalf of John. John had certainly done this on the first day they had met, well that cabbie had deserved it.

Could Sherlock see himself marrying John? Well yes, yes he could. Did he want to was another matter all together. Although Sherlock loved him, he couldn't bring himself to marry him, it was a huge commitment. It would be the rest of their lives,. Not that Sherlock didn't want to stay with John, it was because they hadn't been together as a couple for no more than 6 months and had already broken up twice. What if they got married and John decided that he didn't want to be with Sherlock because it was too gay for him? Or what if they had a fight and John wanted a divorce? Because Sherlock they were properly going to have another argument some time in the near future, as they were the total opposite to each other plus it didn't help that Sherlock deemed it suitable to leave various decaying eyeballs around the flat.

The rumble of John's stomach shattered Sherlock's mental palace as it pulled him back to reality. John would soon be awake. Sherlock stretched his legs out right down to his toes much like a domestic cat would. This was enough to wake John from his slumber. John glanced down observing the detective head, trying to guess whether he was asleep or not. The flutter of Sherlock's eyelashes made John realise that his man was wide awake, so much for trying to get Sherlock to sleep for longer periods of time.

John pulled himself out from under Sherlock who gave a whine as John left the warm bed and proceeded to the bathroom to freshen up. The bathroom was adorned in shinny white tiles that caught the light from the window which made everything look brighter than it actually was. John gave a guttering moan as the reflection of light from the décor hurt his eyes. He scampered over to the sink and mirror to inspect his father's handy work on his face. He definitely was a sight for sore eyes. He had deep dark bags under his eyes, specks of dried blood was still on his face forming a light trail from his nose past his lips and over his chin. He was sure his nose was not broken, but damn it hurt to touch it. He hoped it was only slightly bruised and swollen, nothing that a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a cloth couldn't fix. John wiped a wet flannel across his face, removing the remaining dried blood. Touching his nose once again, he was hit with a sharp slinging pain that made him moan uncomfortably. Sherlock had left the bed and was leant against the bathroom door frame observing John look at himself. The moan of pain that left John's lips made Sherlock gasp, he realised that John was only hurt because of him. Sherlock rushed forward in order to cradle John as if his touch would make everything better. Sherlock hugged John, his head against John's shoulder. John leaned into the comforting touch and stroked Sherlock's arm with his left hand to let him know he was okay.

"I'm sorry John; your fight with your father was my fault"

John moved Sherlock off of him in order to face him.

"Don't you dare say that Sherlock. My injuries are his fault not yours. That man is a fool, who has lost both of his children and right now that, is not my problem nor responsibly, I only care for you now" replied John.

Sherlock meekly smile in return, he still feel bad for what had happened, but he knew that they both would be okay and that they would make it though as long as they had each other no matter how cliché it sounded.

"We ought to get a move on, we have a train to catch" stated John as he gently kissed the side of Sherlock's cheek.

Both men gathered their belongings and proceeded to the front desk to pay for the room.

"Good morning, we liked to check out from room 14 please" asked John to middle aged female behind the desk.

"Room 14 has already been paid for by a Mr. M. Holmes" answered the woman.

"Mycroft" hissed Sherlock with disdain.

John rolled his eyes, grabbed his stuff and filed out the door. John held the door open for his partner, carefully catching a glance of Sherlock's backside as he waltz past him. The doctor and the detective strolled hand in hand towards the train station. John was glad to get away from he town he spent his childhood in, this whole trip had been a disaster, apart from the sex. The sex was great. Smiling at the memory of the sex John clutched Sherlock's hand harder while rubbing small circles into the skin on the back of his hand.

John had left to purchase their tickets, while Sherlock sloped off to get them both coffee. The ticket machine was a self-service.

For fucks sake. thought John. He hated these machines. What was wrong with social interaction nowadays, why did everything have to be over a machine. John jammed his card into the holder, within seconds he had no idea was he was doing and was just mashing buttons in an attempt to get the machine to work and give them their tickets.

"Come on you son-of-a-bitch!" yelled John at the inanimate object, snacking the side of the machine with the palm of his hand.

"Arguing with a machine again John? Seriously?" Sherlock leant over John's shoulder, pressed the relevant buttons which made their tickets print out and pulled them from the dispenser.

While John had been getting angry with the machine, the train had already pulled up. Sherlock near enough dragged him onto the train. Both men sat beside each other in the carriage and cuddled each other though out the journey.

As the trained pulled into the station, the jolt woke up both John and Sherlock who had fallen asleep over each other.

Sherlock carried John's bags for him, so that John could rest his shoulder for a while. The station was only a short distance from Baker Street, so they decided to walk the rest of the way. They made their way though the crowds of tourists and city workers, finally they made it back home. John dipped his hand into Sherlock's suit trousers pocket to pull the house keys out, but cunningly gave Sherlock's crotch a cheeky grope. Oh John was so going to get it as soon as they got though the door. Sherlock dumped the bags by the coat hanger, and grabbed John forcing him to turn around so he could attack his lips with his. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth as he grabbed hold of Sherlock's hips pulling him even more closer.

"Upstairs now" asserted Sherlock. Sherlock hurried up the stairs tugging John with him. Both men crashed through the flat door, kissing each other with heated passion.

A muffled coughed make John and Sherlock realise they were not on their own. Both men detached themselves off of each other in hast, glancing around they viewed their visitor.

"Hello boys" purred Irene with her velvet slick voice.

Hello everyone, hope this chapter is okay if there are any mistakes I apologise. Have fun reading :D

Kt x