I AM SO SORRY I FOUND THIS CHAPTER AND FOUND I HADN'T POSTED IT PLEASE FORGIVE ME

The feeling of Sherlock's arms around him had been unexpectedly delicious. John wasn't sure what it meant, but he was sure he liked it. His father, though, wouldn't approve. Not knowing where that thought came from, John shrugged it off for later and had simply felt the moment. Sherlock's head resting upon him, against his head, had pooled heat into his body. Sadly, he was getting stiff on the stairs and had to end it.

For possibly the millionth time, John wondered exactly what relationship they had. If it had been romantic, wouldn't Sherlock had just come out with it? If it was just friends, there was obviously some boundary rules Sherlock needed to know. Then again, why did Sherlock fly personally to Afghanistan, having asked his brother whom he apparently hates for a favor, for just a friend? The pieces of this particular puzzle weren't adding up.

If his body's response to Sherlock being close was any give-away, he most likely didn't enjoy the friend status. Yet John got the strong feeling that Sherlock wasn't very easy to talk to in general, let alone about feelings.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said in answer to John's previous question. "My brother is Mycroft, you have met him but once and briefly. You and I went to school together. We didn't exactly get along. I wasn't very popular."

"I did football."

"Yes. You remember that?"

"A small bit. No faces or much else but I do remember feeling the uniform. I do remember the ball, though, in my hands." John raised his hands up, seeing them gloved in his memory, the ball held tight. "It wasn't during a game or practice, I was just holding it." His voice had grown soft. In his head, a headache grew.

"We don't have to keep going." Sherlock remarked and John opened his eyes. There was a small trace amount of concern on Sherlock's face.

"I'm fine. I'll be more specific about my question. I don't think you got what I was asking."

"I know what you were asking." Sherlock said softly, not breaking eye contact.

"Why didn't you answer?"

"It's hard to explain what I am to you." Sherlock looked at the floor. It didn't suit him to look so dejected.

They sat in silence a minute, John letting Sherlock have some time to decide what to say. There was a large part of John that honestly believed Sherlock wouldn't continue the conversation, even if pushed.

Before either of them could advance the conversation, Sherlock's phone rang.

"I have to get this." Sherlock mumbled, rising and leaving the room. John sighed the moment he was gone and picked up the tea. He drank it, even though it was cool. It tasted amazing. Better than the weird "tea" in Afghanistan.

It wasn't long, only maybe a minute after John had finished the tea, that Sherlock wandered back in. The moment he came back into view, his phone buzzed. Frowning, he looked at it and the frown turned into a scowl.

Answering, he yelled, "I'm busy Lestrade, do it yourself for once!" Then hung up, tossing the phone away. John listened to it clatter about before settling down, all the while watching Sherlock straighten his clothes and sit back down.

"I would prefer you to remember me rather than me tell you. There's a large chance, according to Mycroft, that I perceived our... relationship differently then you did." Sherlock looked like he'd tasted a rather nasty flavour at the word "relationship" and John found it entertaining. Typical Sherlock, not to act like he was so human.

John didn't move an inch when he realized that Sherlock normally didn't deal with emotions. It was a memory of an epiphany that didn't hold any type of emotion to it. His face nor body language could possibly have given away that he remembered something. John now knew for sure that he had known Sherlock, but he still had no idea what they meant to each other.

"I have a meeting with Mycroft tomorrow, fairly early. Your parents will be over to visit, I am sure they worry about you." Sherlock just kept talking, very obviously not having caught John's memory moment. "I will stay as late as you want. Or as little."

"Hold on," John raised his hands and Sherlock paused, his eyes, which John suddenly found very mesmerizing, locked upon John with worry as if he'd said something to offend. Why that was a reaction for Sherlock, John couldn't say. "Where are you going to sleep?"

A look of utter, dumbfounded surprise landed on Sherlock's face and it was so out of place that John couldn't help but smirk.

"I have a flat..." Sherlock started to say but stopped when John felt his face fall. Of course Sherlock had a flat.

"Yes, of course."

"John, if you feel unsure about staying alone, I will stay. You need not ask, just say yes." Sherlock eyed John, almost hopefully. John smiled and wondered how Sherlock had known what he'd been thinking.

"Yes."