John awoke to pale morning light and a strong cramp in his lower back. He shifted his weight slightly, remembering that he had slept on a heap of pillows last night. Not being able to find a comfortable position on his right side, he rolled over onto his left. His eyes fluttered open and he let out a large yawn. He was greeted with the sight of Sherlock sitting cross-legged and naked a few feet from him, with John's laptop opened on his lap.

"G'morning," John mumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Sherlock grumbled in response, not looking up from the computer screen.

John stretched and sat up, "What time is it?" He was wondering if he would have time to take a shower before leaving for work.

"10:34." Sherlock still didn't look up from the screen.

"What?" John shot up and began frantically searching for his mobile. "I'm already an hour and a half late. I have to go now. Have you seen my phone?"

Sherlock raised one eyebrow as he peered at John's naked and frantic form. "Relax John. I've called the surgery. You have the day off."

John shut his eyes tightly, not daring to imagine what Sherlock might have said to his office manager, Sarah.

"I told them you were much to tired to perform at optimal levels. I explained the role of sleep in thought processes, and how any impairments might lead to false diagnoses, or misses of actual diagnoses. I also explained that you were physically ailed by sore muscles, which would make you irritable, not exactly the attitude one wants in a physician." Sherlock's expression was bored, as if this was the most normal conversation he'd ever had.

Well that's not too bad, John thought. He remained quiet for a moment, not wanting but needing to inquire further. "Is that all?" He finally asked, biting his lip waiting for the answer.

"Shannon asked why you were so exhausted and ailed with sore muscles." Oh god, John thought. "I explained that a combination of sexual activity and sleeping in a rather uncomfortable and unsupportive position, was the culprit for both conditions. She seemed satisfied with my reasoning."

Not knowing what else to say, John finally settled on "Her name is Sarah."

"Is that important?" Sherlock asked.

John rolled his eyes at the question. He found his pants that had been tossed aside last night and pulled them on, before making his way to the kitchen. "Cuppa?" He shouted back at the detective.

"Yes." John waited a moment, but right as he was about to give up hope and roll his eyes once again, Sherlock followed with, "Thank you."

John boiled the water and got the tea out. He arranged two mugs. He opened the fridge, and immediately was irritated. Reentering the living room he rounded on Sherlock. "You said you would pick up the milk yesterday. You know I drink milk in my tea."

This got Sherlock's attention. He furrowed his brows, trying to remember when he'd agreed to pick up milk. Oh yes, John asked me to pick up milk when he told me he was on his was home. Sherlock was slightly frustrated with himself, but decided to play it off. He had more interesting things to be annoyed at. "Right. Sorry John, in my haste to prepare the flat last night, I completely forgot to pick up more. Although, I don't know why you're still surprised at this occurrence, it is quite common."

John fixed Sherlock with a glare before returning to the kitchen, all the while shaking his head.

John returned to find Sherlock sitting in his arm chair, he had pulled on a pair of pajama pants, with his fingers steepled under his chin. John set the single mug on the floor beside Sherlock's chair, since the coffee table had not been moved back yet. "Here's your tea. I'm going to go pick up some milk. Want anything?" John was smiling, he had to admit that Sherlock had been right, he really shouldn't expect Sherlock to ever remember the milk.

"Biscuits." Sherlock mumbled, staring forward, his eyes glazed, almost unblinking.

John got dressed and pulled on his coat to leave. As his hand rested on the door knob, Sherlock's trance was broken. The lanky man jumped up and practically sprang across the room to John.

Sherlock looked down at John, placed his hand against John's cheek, stroking with his thumb, and then leaned down to press their lips together.

The kiss was short and sweet, and it was even more special because it was the last thing John had expected. But just as quickly as it had happened, it was over. Sherlock was back in his arm chair, resuming his earlier pose. The last thing he said to John before the doctor left the flat was, "Chocolate ones."

Of course John knew Sherlock wanted the chocolate biscuits.

John returned to the flat to find Sherlock texting frantically. "Everything okay?" he asked from the kitchen, as he set the groceries down.

"Yes, Mycroft simply won't take no for an answer."

"Ah, so I see it runs in the family." John sneered as his unpacked the chocolate biscuits.

"Funny John."

"What are you saying no to anyway?"

Sherlock meandered into the kitchen and opened the new box of biscuits, casually popping one in his mouth. "A case," he said with his mouth full, little chocolate crumbs falling out as he spoke.

"Why don't you want the case?" John put the milk in the fridge and began to turn out the pockets of his coat.

"Dull." Sherlock said through another mouthful of biscuit. "What's wrong John?" John had begun patting each of his pockets, delving his hand into each one, and looking increasingly more worried. He turned around and around, looking all about where he had just been. "John?"

"Sorry, I think I might have left my wallet down at the shop. Damnit. I've got to go back down there. You can tell me about Mycroft when I get back yeah? It will only take a few minutes."

John, once more, rushed out of the flat leaving Sherlock alone. Sherlock walked to the window to gaze down at John's hurried form heading back to the shop. He watched until John's form disappeared from sight. He turned around, intending to go back to his armchair, but instead his was thrown forward by a powerful explosion that shook the whole flat, and sent shards of broken glass from the windows, clattering around him on the floor. Sherlock's mind went blank.

Author's note:

This marks the beginning of our entrance into canon events. That means spoilers. This fic will include spoilers for at least series 1 and 2, also possibly 3. Please keep in mind that this is not supposed to be following canon to a T, meaning some events are changed, shortened, lengthened, or all together skipped.

Thanks agin to all the wonderful people who have favorited or followed this story, and a special thanks to the 4 people who have left me reviews, I appreciate it immensely. And as always, thanks for reading.