Warning : silly Benedict's cameo between the ... - ... - ... - ... - ... -lines (I know. I'm a troll - bad, Vanessa, bad…) I couldn't help it though, because IMO it is actually fitting, Sherlock thinking wise (and, all right, I have a HUGE soft spot for Ben's jaw-dropping interpretations of both roles in that play, which is in the whole simply A TRUE MASTERPIECE. ). JUST SKIP IT IF IT BOTHERS YOU, IT ALL FALLS BACK ON ITS FEET ANYWAY.

CHAPTER FIVE

JOHN

That night, John had another dream. This time involving one of his hands in black, curly hair; his thumb from his other hand brushing against some impossible not to recognise neck moles; mingled breaths, and—

John awoke slightly dazed and still flushed, but shocked enough to instinctively feel like whether banging his head in irritation against the wall or screaming in despair. He only breathed deeply to calm down though — the last thing he needed was for a concerned Sherlock to run to his room — and thought over that now irrefutable new pull, of the definite physical kind, for the rest of the night.

In truth, John had never felt actual physical attraction for any man before yesterday — and had never dreamed about kissing a man before just now. But, now that he was truly reflecting upon it, maybe he had never really given any man a shot at that kind of attention either? So, John couldn't help but wonder: was there really some definite change about himself going on? was it even only about Sherlock; or had Sherlock's 'trick' just worked as a trigger and revealed something that had always been there but that John had always somehow unconsciously repressed? It was disturbing, you bet, to consider that you maybe didn't even know yourself…

So. John was going to take a good look at each and every man he might come across during that day, and honestly scan himself for any kind of reaction they might provoke. He definitely needed to check a few things out about himself, apparently…

The day passed though without any particular twinge. So John decided to push the experiment further by going to a few gay bars or clubs. He texted Sherlock (instead of calling as mostly, not wanting any (to his ears) indiscernible oddity in his tone or breathing to unveil the whole plan) that he was 'going out', knowing how the only consultant detective in the world tended to worry if he didn't turn home about his usual hour.

When John arrived home in the early morning, after having 'tested' himself at three different places, he was startled by Sherlock's voice greeting him before he had even turned the lights on (not because he hadn't thought it possible that Sherlock would be awake when he came back; more because of the odd (for Sherlock) thoughtful social gesture his words implied): "There are pills and a glass of water on the table if you need some."

John smiled to Sherlock while turning the light on. "Thank you; I didn't drink that much though." Then he realised that Sherlock had apparently waited all night for his return, seated facing the door in his trademark cross-legged, elbows-on-the-armrest, fingers-touching-before-his-face position, and went on a bit accusingly: "I'm sure I mentioned you shouldn't wait up?"

Sherlock just gave him his 'you must be kidding me' stare before (as usual) jumping on the wagon without a nanosecond hesitation. "So. You look more yourself than you've been for over a month. I take it you found the answer you were searching for."

John felt half willing to slap himself for having thought that he could keep a secret for once — of course Sherlock knew exactly where he had gone and why; after all, there weren't that many overnight-open places John would go to nowadays specifically on his own. (*AN1) He was too relieved though by the conclusion he had reached over the night, and couldn't help but smile on his way to the table: "Indeed."

John leant against the table, took a sip from the glass and finally met Sherlock's eyes. "It's just you. You're like the exception to the rule, and well, I can live with that." He shrugged playfully, taking another sip. "After all, it's not as if I wasn't used to you being an exception to about everything already, right?" John emptied the glass, ignoring the unnecessary pills, and set the glass back on the table, his resolve emphasised by the clear noise it made as it hit the wood.

Sherlock examined John with critical attention for a second, then stood up —

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— and wished John goodnight (sort of), yawning while heading towards his bedroom.

/ / /

About two weeks later…

John felt all right again. That new situation of his might be here to stay, but he had found a way now to accept it and wasn't much concerned about it anymore. It was fine. It was just a new add to the already existing whole that was his relation with Sherlock: after all, Sherlock had become everything long ago anyway…

In a way, it even made a few things easier. For example, John didn't feel the need anymore to kind of pursue any apparently interested skirt that came along — John had felt ashamed when he had realised that his dating of old might have been more a way to somehow prove to others and/or himself that he wasn't completely committed to Sherlock than a genuine interest in the women he had gone out with (and in the end there had never been a doubt about where his allegiance truly laid, whenever he had had to choose between a date with his by-then girlfriends or his 'mad flatmate' 's calls for help and/or attention…)

But of course, the moment John had decided that everything was all right again, Sherlock broke his bubble once more…

/ / /

John came in and did a double-take. (This was quite normal if one lived at 221b Bakerstreet, but it was turning out even more regular lately.)

Sherlock was talking to someone; which was surprising enough in itself, you bet, but which paled in the light of the second fact John noticed: that particular someone would be an actual carbon copy of the consultant detective, if not for the ginger hair and the genuine twinkle in his eyes, and John, in disbelief, actually searched his brain for any past mention of a somehow lost twin…

Sherlock called him out enthusiastically: "John! You're back!" He pointed next to him: "Look, it seems you won our bet, again. Benedict here is proof that I do have a double somewhere in the world; and in London self, to be more specific! Who would have thought that? Well, not me, obviously… How many was it this time, 50 quid?"

John was wondering about the so-called bet and about the eventual involvement of Sherlock's double in a case he hadn't heard about yet, but knew by now better than to ask for answers and just played along: "A hundred."

In the next 15 minutes John did all the necessary 'oh' and 'ah' at the right places, and deduced that Sherlock, pretending they had a bet about the mathematical possibility of them having a double, must have written a fake entry on his blog, which John hadn't seen because Sherlock must have blocked it somehow from his computer (John had then realised that a yawning Sherlock rather meant a scheming genius than a tired friend); and that the pretended searched-for double had turned up, after hearing about it via via and curious about having a double too then.

John learned too that general looks apart Benedict was nothing like Sherlock, because he was actually a nice guy; that Benedict was an actor — which made John chuckle internally because he had thought a few times, while describing how perfect Sherlock was in the art of disguises (for short times), that the stage had lost a fine actor when he became a specialist in crime (*AN2); that he was for the moment playing a — judging from the way he spoke about it — fascinating adaptation of Shelley's Frankenstein; and — probably the only thing Sherlock wouldn't erase the moment he would pass the door — that he actually went to an autopsy to prepare for the doctor's part.

Then Benedict watched his watch and went "Oh, crumpets!"; stood up while explaining "I really have to go now or I'll never be ready for tonight's show; my turn to play The Creature, lots of make-up and all"; turned to Sherlock "It's been interesting meeting you. We should continue this, if you ever come at the National" — John was surprised when Sherlock answered "We will"; smiled at John while he walked him to the door "Glad I could help you won that bet"; and went out.

Sherlock was clearly enthusiastic when John turned back to him after having closed the door. "Really, this was a long shot, but it turned out quite all right. He's actually interesting, an unexpected bonus. An autopsy, John!" He then sort of deflated. "A pity he's-"

"Straight?" John sighed. "God you're an idiot." He met Sherlock's eyes dead on. "This has to stop. Right now. I guess it's because I used to have dates in the past; but things got undeniably clear when you 'disappeared', and I know now where my priorities lay. So, I have no need nor want for a relation with someone else, because I am already in a relation — with you. And I won't have anyone else, no matter how perfect a copy of you — which by the way was way too weird because he is such a nice guy, and you're a lot of things but you're not that — because it wouldn't be you anyway. Get it?"

Sherlock scrutinised him for a second. "Yes." And then he walked straight to John. ""My bedroom or yours?"

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— and walked straight to John. ""My bedroom or yours?"

.

AN 1: Of course Sherlock deduced this easily on his own. But he checked it of course a few times over the night for good measure, thanks to the tracking devices he put in John shoes, cf the original 'It's all fine' verse…

AN 2: yes, I know, I'm just quoting A scandal in Bohemia here...

Please don't hate me for the evil cliffhanger. I'm actually already writing the next bit, so you won't have to wait for months for the next update (RL doesn't grant me as much free time as I'd like :( Sorry!)