JOHN

A tensed, gloomy silence set in, while John wouldn't get his eyes up, for a time unquantifiable other than by the fact that it felt far too long, until Sherlock tentatively broke it.

"I don't w—"

John bolted in his chair at the words. Sherlock shouldn't ever have to explain himself about this — or worse, apologise. Sherlock shouldn't have to feel like a freak; never, and especially not in John's presence — the idea alone made his stomach twist.

"I know you don't want, Sherlock… Remember I didn't want you to find out! Hell, I'm not even sure I want anyway… It's most probably just a phase and—

"A phase?"

John couldn't decide which of the obvious disbelief on Sherlock's face or the undeniable hope in Sherlock's voice was hurting the most. Jeez, this whole thing HAD to pass...

SHERLOCK

Sherlock's mind was reeling at its maximum speed. He had to find a way to fix this.

Having to deal with the occasional woman had never been particularly enjoyable, all right, but it had never turned that worrying — Sherlock simply knew that, even if John might find one day one who'd stick around for good, he would still have a place in John's life. But now, if HE was the problem, the situation was much, much more problematic. Because how long the thrill and the notion of justice he provided would keep outbalancing a) the inevitable intern struggle provoked by that unexpected shift in character (John had no problem with gay people being gay, of course; but he had always insisted, time and time again, that he wasn't — and one just couldn't redefine oneself overnight.) and/or b) the overtime possibly growing frustration about his desires being unreturned, and the consequence thereof: it had happened before…

Suddenly, a part of Sherlock's brain realised that John looked guilty. And the way it felt ultimately, definitely wrong was like a blow in his guts and immediately got him out of his scheming. Because if someone was to blame for that seemingly-frivolous, would-be-ridiculous-if-it-wasn't-so-potentially-disastrous situation they were in, it was himself.

Sherlock surely hadn't foreseen this. But there had been warnings; warnings he had acknowledged and thus shouldn't have so quickly dispelled.

After all, people often said that absence made the heart grow fonder (when it wasn't making it just grow cold; Sherlock had always believed there was in fact only cases of the latter, until he had recently realised that the saying held truth too — during his prolonged absence, he had regularly scolded himself for longing for John's (mostly), Mycroft's (not that he would ever admit it out loud), Mrs Hudson's, Lestrade's or Molly's presence). So Sherlock should have realised that if it was affecting him, despite his lone-wolf nature, it might affect John tenfold.

And worse, he had once considered the possibility — more like dreaded it, to be frank. The Woman's comet-like flashing through their lives had, among other things, taught him that it was apparently possible for one to actually yearn for someone of the gender one normally wasn't attracted to, if sentiments (no matter what they were) were involved. Which had brought Victor back at the foreground of his mind, because his fleeing had been at once easily discarded, but the lesson had been dutifully noted and Sherlock wouldn't, couldn't, have history repeat itself — at least not when John was concerned. And so Sherlock had been keeping a very close watch on John for weeks afterwards, until he had felt sure enough, because nothing at all had felt changing in any way, that they were safe; because if jealousy (John had been jealous) and undenied truths talked out loud weren't having any consequences, then nothing would, right?

So. He had been wrong. His disappearance then reappearance had done the trick, apparently. Which meant John's troubled state of mind was entirely his responsibility. He should have thought about this long ago and should have a parade ready, instead of feeling stupidly helpless and panicking. And John definitely shouldn't feel guilty. Sherlock had to make sure that John knew that, right.

"John, I don't w—"

John suddenly met his eyes back straight on, plainly intent on persuading him about his honesty — as if Sherlock would ever doubt him, which felt like another blow — leaning some on the table, one finger even hitting it as if to make a point, literally.

"I know you don't want… Remember I didn't want you to find out!" He sighed, and then went on kind of helplessly: "Hell, I'm not even sure I want anyway… It's most probably just a phase and—

That surprised Sherlock and had him side-tracked.

"A phase?"

John had just said it was a phase. More important maybe, he wanted it to be a phase. So: Case a) for the time being, definitely. But Sherlock couldn't deny that he hoped this could be just that, a phase. It seemed an unlikely easy solution to the problem, especially as they were constantly together (Sherlock relegated right away any related to that fact considerations about leaving for some time again as his very last option), but Sherlock scanned his recent memories of John interacting with women, and found a very definite clue.

"You checked Sally Donovan out only three days ago!"

John looked at him with a mix of surprise and unbelief. Then his eyebrows knitted as he searched for his own memories. Then John chuckled, and Sherlock was overwhelmed with how much he had missed the sound of it.

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Another chuckle, even louder. "And I don't even like her anymore."

At any other time, the always rational part of Sherlock might have told John that the fact that Sally never ever neglected one possibility actually made her a good cop. At the moment though, Sherlock could only chuckle back.

And just like that, the tension left the room and they shared a good, old-fashioned laugh — John as always being much noisier and even giggling (which Sherlock never found inappropriate, no matter his teachings, because it was so John), but Sherlock too actually felt kind of giddy. It was mostly out of sudden, may-be-temporary relief, clearly, but it went beyond that: it was their first laugh since he had come back, Sherlock realised; and such an undeniable rekindling of their bond was simply exalting.

They both felt lighter and much more optimistic about the whole issue after it. John went to read the newspaper, maybe taking some time off but for once since weeks actually staying in the room. Sherlock started heating a few chemicals up; an experiment he had done before, which allowed him to think without being obvious about it. Sherlock wasn't classifying the problem as solved yet, but if there was one chance for this to be just a phase, then Sherlock wouldn't let it go to waste. Women. He needed women. The scheming resumed.

The generally inept 'social medias' could be useful after all. It was incredible the amount of things you could learn with a simple google-ing up of a name nowadays. And there was a never ending list of people contacting them. He could temporarily adjust his selection standards, huh…

AN: Yep, Sherlock still doesn't exactly understand how sentiment works. *sigh* I feel like giving him a cuddle…