Exploring Sexuality

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get up; school got really busy and then I had writer's block and it was just bad.

Also, if you care, Blackfriar's Bridge is an Infernal Devices reference.

Ch. 16

John talked to Sherlock again the whole way back to Baker Street. He kept talking as they walked in and up the stairs, Sherlock leading. He barely got to the last step before turning around.

"Nope," he said, looking irritatedly down at John, who was on the step below him, having almost run into his back when he stopped.

"Hello, Mycroft," John said in response, locking eyes with Sherlock. His face clearly said: Turn around or so help me…

Sherlock shook his head defiantly, crossing his arms and sitting on the top step as Mycroft replied; "Hello to you as well, John. I'll just stay here, shall I?"

"You'll have to physically drag me in there," Sherlock said, watching John sulkily. But there was something else in his expression, something John couldn't quite place.

"You shall," John agreed, not taking his eyes off Sherlock. "We'll only be a minute." Or ten. Maybe more. He sighed and sat on the step Sherlock's feet were on, looking up at him and setting a gently hand on the other's knee. "Can't you just talk to him for a little while?" he inquired hopefully.

"No, I cannot," Sherlock replied, his arms crossed over his chest in a pout. He was acting like a five year old.

But John could tell, for whatever reason, that to some extent Sherlock really couldn't face his brother right now. "Okay," he said, rubbing small circles with his thumb against the fabric of Sherlock's trousers. "Can you go into the flat and sulk in your bedroom while I talk to him, then?"

Sherlock eyes widened just a little, as if he hadn't expected to win so easily. "I… Fine," he agreed, nodding once. "Yes."

"Say hello or something, yeah?" John pressed, raising an eyebrow as Sherlock stood and he followed suit.

Sherlock didn't respond to him, but looked at Mycroft before passing into the hall. "I see your diet isn't working, dear brother. Still." He slammed the door behind him.

John sighed and looked at Mycroft with an apologetic smile. "As you can see, he's fine. Relatively," John said with a roll of his eyes. "Would you like some tea?"

"No offense, John, but I did actually wish to speak with my brother. So if you don't mind.."

"I would, actually," John replied, voice still friendly, but also firm. "I know you're worried about him, Mycroft, but he's fine. I'll look after him." Like always.

"I trust that you will, Doctor Watson, but that does not mean I no longer wish to speak with him," Mycroft said in his "don't push me" polite voice.

John sighed. "Well he doesn't want to talk to you right now," he said. "Can you respect that this time?"

Mycroft's smile disappeared, and he looked down the hall to where Sherlock was. "He's serious, then." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

Now Mycroft sighed, but nodded once. "May I leave a message with you, then?"

"You know I can't guarantee he'll listen," John replied with a small shrug.

"He will have to read it," Mycroft responded, pulling a piece of paper out from an inside pocket of his suit jacket. He handed it to John. Coded then probably, pre-written. "Thank you; I'll see myself out."

John dropped a polite nod. "Thank you," he said in return, watching the older Holmes leave. He set the note on the relatively clean kitchen table for now and got Sherlock yet another glass of water before knocking on his door.

"I'm not reading it," Sherlock called, his voice muffled.

John rolled his eyes with a sigh and let himself in, closing the door again behind him. "You don't have to right now," he told Sherlock, who was laying on his stomach on his bed, looking miserable. "Talk to me," John said, setting the water on the bedside table and sitting next to Sherlock.

"He doesn't listen like you or talk like Lestrade, so I don't want to talk to him right now," Sherlock said, not looking up at John. "Or ever."

John nodded, tapping messages on Sherlock's shoulder: He's just worried about you. We all are. Look up at me.

Sherlock didn't, for at least a minute. Then he turned his head in his arms and peered up at John.

"What happened?"

Sherlock turned his head back so his forehead was resting on his arms. "When I first relapsed, I didn't get clean again for over a week. Mycroft did not exactly help the situation while I went through the withdrawal again," he explained in a mumble.

It's hard, I know. You're doing well. He just wants you to stay clean. I'll help.

"What can I do?" John asked aloud, his voice soft so Sherlock would know it was okay.

"Stay with me," came the immediate reply as Sherlock turned his head again to look at John. "Let me back on the case," he added.

"Tomorrow, alright? You need a day first," John responded. "I'll take the day off from the clinic and we can go to the Yard."

Sherlock nodded, satisfied for the moment. His stomach grumbled and he glared at John as if it was his fault. "No."

"You have to eat," John replied exasperatedly. "We can order take away? Go to Angelo's again? Whatever you want," he coaxed.

"What if I want to stay here and do nothing?"

John chuckled a bit. "I'd say that doesn't sound like you."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and pulled himself up next to John. "Fine. Mycroft's gone?"

John nodded and kissed Sherlock's cheek in reassurance. "He left."

Sherlock nodded back, reaching over John to take the glass of water, which he drank all of. "Take away is fine," he said as his stomach rumbled again. "Chinese."

John smiled a bit in triumph. "Are you going to stay exiled in here, or would you like to come watch crap telly with me?" he asked, wondering if Sherlock wanted to be alone for a while, or if that would be worse.

Sherlock laughed a little, a small smile on his face. "I'll come and ruin crap telly for you," he amended, taking John's hand and getting up with him, heading to the living room.

John rolled his eyes and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "You pick, I'll order," he compromised, to which Sherlock nodded, flopping down on the couch, still in the nice clothes from earlier. So was John, for that matter. John called the Chinese place they liked and ordered something for the both of them, before rejoining Sherlock.

The detective motioned John over and lifted his feet, setting them happily in John's lap when he sat down. He watched for a minute or so before he started rattling off deductions, telling John how this episode would go. He was very rarely wrong.

This felt normal again. Sherlock seemed a little more back to himself, and while John liked the unsure, soft side of Sherlock, he was starting to miss the stroppy know-it-all part of him already. Sherlock lifted his feet again a couple of seconds before the buzz signaled their food was here, and John smiled.

They ate in near silence, as per usual, and Sherlock actually finished his meal.

"John?" Sherlock said some time after they had finished eating, pulling John out of his book's world.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking up at Sherlock, whose feet were in his lap again.

Sherlock hesitated, usually a sign that he was wondering if what he was about to say was Not Good. "Would you go to the bridge with me?"

John marked his book and set it down, watching Sherlock carefully. "Tonight?"

"Now."

John though about that for a minute. It was still a little before six. "Sure. I'll come with you," he agreed eventually. "Do you want to walk again?" They had plenty of time.

"If you wouldn't mind," Sherlock replied, a bit of tension leaving his body when John agreed and a small, grateful smile on his lips.

"I don't," John replied, grinning as Sherlock's smile grew.

Sherlock swung his legs off the couch and took John's hand, turning the telly off before practically dragging John down to the street with him. He slowed once they left Baker Street, as if assured then that John really would come with him. It was about a forty-five minute walk, and they passed most of it in a comfortable silence. Sherlock tested his deductive skills as they came back slowly, though he kept them in his head. John let him think, not interrupting.

When they got to Blackfriar's Bridge, there were plenty of people crowding it already; typical London evening. Sherlock didn't say anything, but led them back to the same spot they stood last time, in the middle of the bridge. Sherlock's hand tightened a little in John's as he looked out over the water, taking slow, even breaths.

John's eyes shifted continuously between Sherlock and the river, but he didn't break the silence, ignoring the other people around them. John didn't know how long they stayed there like that, but he was surprised to hear a familiar voice behind them.

"Don't you two look rather doleful."

They both turned around, switching their hands to compensate as they did so. John smiled when he saw Donovan there; Sherlock's scarf and coat were in her arms. "Hello, Sally," he greeted her politely.

Sally smiled at him, handing Sherlock what had been taken from him. "Lestrade said I might find you here. Your wallet's in your coat. Greg didn't want you to catch a cold."

Sherlock scoffed, but let go of John's hand to pull on his coat and wrap his scarf comfortably around his neck, seemingly glad to have them back. It was a little chilly out over the water. Plus they made him look more dramatic, the bastard. "Thank you, Donovan," he said at a sideways glance from John. "I suspect I'll see you at the Yard tomorrow, then?" he asked, trying to get her to leave.

"Yeah, but there's one more thing," Sally replied, digging through her jacket pocket. "They've got John's name, but I'm assuming you had them on, so here ya go," she said, pulling her hand back out in a fist, holding it out to Sherlock.

The detective's breath hitched, barely noticeable, and he held his hand out, letting Sally drop John's dog tags into his palm. "Thank you," he repeated again, only this time it was sincere, he took John's hand and firmly pressed the chain there, curling John's fingers around it. "You keep them now," Sherlock said, looking at John intently.

John didn't argue with him about it, just kissed his cheek appreciatively and let his tags settle familiarly around his neck, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "Thanks, Sally. It was great of you to come find us. I appreciate it."

The Sargent just shrugged, sensing something important was happening, but not knowing what it was. "No problem. I'll leave you two to stare depressingly at the water again," she said with a smile before turning and walking back across the bridge.

"I didn't think we were staring at the water that somberly, do-"

"Have you won?" John cut him off, staring intently up at Sherlock.

Sherlock shut his mouth, not meeting John's eyes directly, "They are yours. I lost them; you keep them," he said stubbornly, knowing exactly what John was talking about.

"That was not what I asked," John replied, just as stubborn.

"No," Sherlock answered plainly. "But I'm not taking them back."

John shook his head, taking his dog tags off again to place them around Sherlock's neck. The taller man ducked his head helpfully, despite his protests. "If I can trust you with my life, you can keep them until you have won your war. If you still insist on giving them back then, I will take them."

Thank you, Sherlock tapped against the back of his hand as he laced their fingers together again, fixing the chain so that it lay hidden beneath his shirt.

You're welcome, John tapped back, squeezing Sherlock's hand again. "Want to tell me why we came here now?" he asked curiously.

"No," Sherlock replied, taking one last look down at the river. "But we can head home again now."

"We can walk."

A/N: Again, super sorry this took so long. Sally giving Sherlock back John's dog tags was dana-san's idea, hope you don't mind my stealing it, and that it did your idea justice! xxx