"So... Why exactly did your sister find it so hilarious that we're together?" Sherlock asked as soon as Harry had left, but not before she had threatened John for the umpteenth time to take better care of his scrawny hide, then winked at Sherlock to take good care of her brother. John barely had time to throw a cushion at her before she fled. Good grief, she was just as annoying as ever, but at least she was off the booze. For now, hopefully long enough for her to patch things up with Clara.

John took the armchair Harry had vacated and put his feet up in Sherlock's lap, sitting across from him. He sighed, more relaxed now that his tornado of a sister was gone, and he savoured the silence for a few minutes before answering.

"Uhm... Well, for one, we'd obviously been snogging our tonsils out like a couple of teenagers. Your shirt is still untucked by the way. But I'm guessing it's mostly because our parents used to always cite me as an example whenever she did something that upset them."

"Like announcing she was gay."

John nodded, recalling the horrific dinner where Harry had just tossed that little revelation between the stew and apple pie, completely ignoring their parents subsequent shouts and reproaches while John tried to reason with them, that it wasn't the end of the world, that it didn't change anything and that it was really Harry's choice in the end.

"Would they be upset still? About you, I mean? Because of me."

John shrugged.

"I think they're past caring now. Not that it would have changed anything."

John saw Sherlock's eyes light with comprehension and he seemed to be searching for something trite to reply, because that's what normal people did, or so someone must have told him at some point, so John changed the subject.

"What about your parents?"

"I don't doubt they will be very surprised."

John grimaced.

"Not that you're of the male persuasion," Sherlock clarified, rubbing his feet absent-mindedly and it was all John could do not to groan out and melt into a puddle of goo. "I think they'll just be surprised I found a normal, living human being that not only tolerates me, but has been doing so long enough for us to build a relationship. I think they had more or less given up on the idea."

"The fact that you had to specify 'normal' and 'living' worries me quite a bit. Besides, I'm not exactly normal in case you've forgotten, Sherlock."

"Oh. Right. Well that explains it, then. Speaking of, do you feel like telling me about the Dream you had while you were...away? It must have been bad to make you sick."

John knew that he couldn't put it off any longer so he told Sherlock all of it, to the best of his abilities, but he'd only seen it once and a lot had happened since then.

"But it was very strange, Sherlock. It almost felt as if I was interacting with our doubles. Maybe you were right in thinking they are visions of the future, of the path we're headed if a change isn't made. Maybe they're even more than that… rather than me just receiving images, if my consciousness was projected forward… I'm not sure how to explain it. It's the sort of stuff you only read about in science-fiction novels. I don't suppose you have a way to experiment on a way to find that out?"

"Not really my area," Sherlock confided. "But I'll think about it. I have time since you've already created the paradox to nullify that last Dream."

"I'm not sure the Dream has been nullified yet, to be honest. It could still happen. We'll only know for sure after tonight."

Sherlock raised a septical eyebrow.

"Why? Do you intend to let yourself be kidnapped? Again? Really John, that would be a bit much."

John huffed at his amused tone.

"No, Sherlock," he ground out. "As much fun as it is to be locked in a cage like an animal, I doubt Moriarty will manage to kidnap me by force or trickery again. But he's smart, I wouldn't put it passed him to find yet another way."

"He's not smarter than me," Sherlock scoffed, looking peeved that John had given compliment to his arch-nemesis.

"Maybe he is," John bit out, the reason why Sherlock got his brains blown out in the first place replayed through his mind. John left his chair to pace, anxiety coursing through his body now, and rounded on Sherlock, pointing an accusing finger at him. "After all, you didn't run when I told you to."

Sherlock's eyebrows knit together as he followed John's steps through the living room.

"Are you scolding me for what my maybe-future self did? Or didn't do, as the case might be."

"Would you have acted any differently?"

"Of course not."

John huffed.

"I'm here… I've been given this ability to protect you, Sherlock. There was absolutely no reason for you to stay when you had the opportunity to save yourself. Moriarty wasn't really going to kill me anyway - which is good to know. He seems to suspect I have something special, although he doesn't know what."

"No reason to stay?" Sherlock scoffed, leaping out of his armchair to stand toe to toe with John. "You're a bigger idiot than I thought if you believe for an instant I would ever leave you behind."

"I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's meant to protect you, Sherlock. Not the other way around," John argued, tucking one of Sherlock's stray curls back.

"And I'm almost positive that's not how a relationship works... but I'll admit I'm not an expert on the subject. Maybe I should do a bit of research about that," Sherlock replied, taking advantage of John's upturned face to kiss him.

John suspected it was just to shut him up so he couldn't retort, which was a really sneaky way of winning an argument. John moaned into the kiss and decided it was worth it to let Sherlock win this round. Oh, God. How he had missed this. How he had missed Sherlock. He never, ever, wanted to be parted away from him this long again. John broke the kiss and let his forehead rest against Sherlock's clavicle, not cursing his smaller height for one because this was rather nice and he stayed like that for a while, comforted by his boyfriend's scent, warmth and presence. He felt...safe. Loved. Boyfriend… John snorted. It seemed a highly inadequate term to give to Sherlock.

"Maybe this is a good time to have that talk?" he asked.

Sherlock cocked an interrogating eyebrow. Right, relationship novice. He almost forgotten, what with the way he kissed.

"About us? Our relationship, and erm... Sex?"

"Yoohoo!" came their landlady's voice from the entrance, and they both groaned in annoyance at being interrupted again.

"Or maybe not," John muttered, stepping out of Sherlock's embrace just as Mrs Hudson appeared with a beaming smile.

"I thought I heard voices up here. John! You're back! Oh, you look terribly thin. I'll whip up some scones for you, dear. And a meat pie. Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me John was back? I've been terribly worried, you know."

Mrs Hudson bustled around them, patting John's cheek, scowling disapprovingly at Sherlock, and not giving either of them the chance to get a word in edgewise.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock finally exclaimed, effectively stopping her in her tracks. "Do stop fretting, you'll give yourself a coronary. I didn't tell you before because we only just came back a couple of hours ago. I doubt you would have appreciated me waking you up at the crack of dawn when you still have your hair in curlers. Actually, John hasn't even eaten, yet. I don't suppose you could…"

"Just this once. For John. I'm not your housekeeper," she chided but looked happy enough as she left.

"I don't know if I want to lecture you about taking advantage of kind old ladies, or kiss you right now," John told him.

"I don't see where the dilemma is."

"Well, given that every time we kiss, someone comes bursting in through that door," John explained pointing at the incriminating front door. "I'm not sure it's worth the risk. The next one could be Moriarty."

This didn't seem to deter Sherlock.

"Or Mycroft," John added and Sherlock grimaced, thinking it through.

"Still worth the risk. It's for science, John," Sherlock purred. "We have to test this hypothesis of yours."

The experiment proved John wrong, at first. They had time to tumble back in the sofa when someone cleared their throat, in a very pointed manner, meaning they knew they had interrupted and had seen more than they really cared too.

"Oh good grief!" Sherlock exclaimed, not bothering to get up from the sofa where he lay in a sulk while John disentangled himself and guiltily glanced at the doorway where Lestrade was hovering.

"Ah. Hey, Greg. We weren't, uh, expecting you. Come in," he said, looking anywhere but at the inspector.

"You look better," the DI replied. "Smell better too. Sorry to barge in so early-"

"What happened?" Sherlock demanded, sitting upright, his eyes sharp.

"It's your brother," Lestrade said, falling dejectedly into John's armchair, who settled for the other. "He stole my prisoners, those two we picked up at the warehouse, while they were being transferred to Scotland Yard. How am I supposed to do my work if politics get in the way of the investigation like that? Can't you do something, Sherlock? He's your brother."

"Afraid not. If it's any consolation, Mycroft is probably having the information tortured out of them at this very minute. He might even share it with you in exchange for a fake drugs bust and agreeing to foist his boring cases on me through you. You'll be selling your soul to the devil, of course."

"Bloody Holmeses," the DI muttered, glowering at the skull sitting on the chimney. "Well, at least I still have the guys in IT trying to track Moriarty's number, not that I have that much hope-"

"What?" John asked, jolting upright. "What did you say?"

Something Lestrade had said had stirred a memory... he'd forgotten something important… something that hadn't made any sense at the time…

"Erm… you all right, John?" Lestrade asked with a touch of concern.

"Just repeat what you said, Lestrade," Sherlock said, leaning forward.

"Uhm… Bloody Holmeses and the guys in IT are trying to track Moriarty's number?" Lestrade asked more than said, still looking at John as if he had crossed over to the crazy zone.

John closed his eyes, thinking, urging his mind to hurry through the myriad of images and words that cluttered his memories. Holmes, IT, Moriarty. Holmes, IT, Moriarty.

"You're Jim, from I.T."

That's what Sherlock had said in the Dream, by the pool, when he got his first good look at his arch-nemesis.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, snapping his eyes open, searching Sherlock's. "How could I forget that? You know him, Sherlock! Moriarty! He's Jim from IT!"

"Jim…" Sherlock started to say, looking confused for the briefest of moments before his whole face glowed with recognition and then dimmed with confusion again. He had never seen Sherlock's face so animated and it would have been entertaining if the circumstances had been different. "Jim from IT? Molly's boyfriend?"

John and Lestrade paled.

"You're sure about this, John?" the DI asked him.

"Of course I am!" John urged just as Sherlock snapped: "Of course he is!"

"Fuck!" Lestrade said and scrambled out of his chair, already barking orders through his phone as he disappeared through the door.

"Should we go too?" John asked.

"If you feel up to it," Sherlock replied but his eyes were shining bright with the prospect of the chase and John could never resist that look. They were in a cab on their way to Barts under five minutes.

ooo

By the time they made it to the hospital, Lestrade had already managed to get Molly safe and under his personal supervision. He had evidently feared Moriarty would take her hostage the way he had John, and he probably couldn't count on her escaping the way John had. But could Moriarty really use Molly to make Sherlock jump through hoops the way he had with John? They weren't exactly friends... more like work acquaintances from what he'd seen of their interaction.

John looked speculatively at Sherlock, realizing the man had never told him what Moriarty had made him do, but they'd had so much to talk about since his escape, they still did, in fact… Alright, this definitely went to the top of the list, and Sherlock would not get out of it with his kiss-diverting tactics. But for now, they had a madman to capture.

John shifted his attention from Sherlock to Molly. He didn't know the pathologist all that well. He had seen her maybe two or three times while they were off solving cases or just picking up body-parts, but she had always been so engrossed with Sherlock that she hardly even noticed him. She hadn't even been able to recall his name the last time. He couldn't blame her, though. Sherlock had that effect on a lot of people when he put his mind to it, and his mad detective had really wanted her to give him the lungs of the body that had been dragged out of the Thames that morning, so he'd turned the charm up and fried her brain.

Today, she seemed just as out of sorts as she usually did, and she had not even spotted Sherlock yet.

"Be nice to her," John muttered before they went over to them.

"Well?" Sherlock demanded of Lestrade.

John rolled his eyes. How could he think ignoring her and being nice to her were synonymous? But his deep baritone was like an electrochoc to Molly whose spine went ramrod straight as she looked up for- no, not Sherlock, but him. Why?

"Is it true?" she demanded, much like Sherlock had a moment ago, and John had the uneasy feeling that he was just about to be scolded. He'd never seen this side of her and if asked, he would have said she wasn't the sort to ever raise her voice. "The man who kidnapped you, it's Jim? My Jim?"

John nodded slowly, fighting the urge to take a precautionary step back. He'd never hear the end of it if he took on gorilla-sized men without a care but squirmed when faced with small angry women. He blamed the Watson women for that, his mother and sister had been absolute terrors as he grew up and he soon learned flight was preferable when faced with this kind of foe.

"But how can you be sure? You've never even met him! Sherlock has, once, but you were already… you weren't there. But Detective Inspector Lestrade said you were the one… I just don't understand. It can't be Jim. He's nice, and sweet, and funny. He wouldn't… He's not…" she trailed off, seeming frustrated at not finding the right words to explain how impossible his wild accusations were.

She had a point though, and Greg narrowed his eyes at him, adding the facts and who had what information: Sherlock had seen Jim but not Moriarty, John had seen Moriarty but not Jim, so unless they'd taken pictures of both men and come to realize it was the same person, which Lestrade knew they hadn't, because Sherlock wouldn't give one whit about Molly's boyfriend and John didn't have the means to photograph his abductor… John could read Lestrade's whole thinking process on his face, while frantically trying to cook up some believable whopper on the spot.

"He heard Moriarty mention his little game of impersonating Jim from IT. Obviously," Sherlock interjected, looking bored. "You can't blame John for not connecting the dots sooner when he's had such an ordeal."

"Yes!" John almost shouted with relief, then gritted his teeth. Too quick, too eager. Damn, that was twice he did that, he should know better.

Molly relented, her shoulders sagging and glancing apologetically at him before staring at the ground again. Lestrade hadn't brought it however, and he huffed in annoyance, but kept his peace, having bigger fish to fry right now.

"But he was so nice," Molly sighed and then… Oh, God. Was she sobbing now?

She was, and Lestrade patted her back awkwardly, giving her words of comfort that were so generic they probably fitted any sort of victim he ever gave them too. Barely escaped an assault? It's gonna be okay, you're safe now. A burglar stole your grandmother's jewelry? We'll catch that bastard, he can't get far. Your cat is stuck in a tree? Well, he can't get any higher, I'll get the green ladder. Okay, so maybe not all situations, but it was having the desired effect and Molly was calmer now.

"I should've known, really. He was always talking about Sherlock, asking about him, and when he came by today, he suddenly wanted to talk only about John. I'm so foolish…"

"It's not your fault, Molly," Sherlock said unexpectedly, three pairs of round eyes locking on him. "Moriarty is a master of deceit, or have you forgotten he fooled me too. Me, Molly. How can you expect to unmask him when I didn't?"

Lestrade probably thought Sherlock was being incredibly conceited, but John knew better. He smiled and reached for his hand to give it a squeeze, because Sherlock did know how to be kind to the poor woman. She looked stunned herself by his words, but also like a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

The DI's radio crackled before announcing their man was no where to be found on the premises.

Lestrade cursed and ordered a retreat.

"Sod it! We almost had him."

"He had a lookout. I don't doubt he had an escape route planned and a car waiting on him. He's not an idiot and he was taking significant risks exposing himself like that," Sherlock said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he thought. "Tell me, Molly, what did he ask exactly?"

"Let's see… He asked if I had seen you yesterday, first. I said I hadn't. Then he asked if I had heard about John being rescued... and if Sherlock had said anything about it, and I said I hadn't again."

She shrugged.

"Good, that's good," Sherlock said, sighing dramatically when they all looked puzzled. "Oh, please, do invite your tiny little brains into the conversation anytime soon, I feel like I'm talking to a bunch of bobble heads. Molly's utter lack of knowledge about John will make Moriarty realize we don't consider her a friend since we didn't inform her of John's well-being as soon as he was 'rescued'."

Molly shifted awkwardly while Lestrade's mouth moved a couple of times, trying to think up something nice to comfort her, but thinking better of it every time.

"Sherlock," John sniped with a toss of his head towards Molly.

"What?" Sherlock asked puzzled by their reaction. "Oh for Pete's sake!" Annoyed, now. "I mean it's a good thing because Moriarty won't come after Molly again. She's become inconsequential in his books and should be safe from his little games. But she's invaluable to us, and is a good friend, obviously. Do stop being so asinine, people. I do have other matters to consider besides your bruised little egos."

They all grinned. That little nugget of kindness buried in that mountain of snarkiness had really been worth it.

"He hasn't had his coffee yet, has he?" Greg asked him conspiratorially, but loud enough for everyone to catch. "He can't go without his morning coffee when he's off the nicotine. It's just one of those things."

John shook his head.

"We haven't even had a bite to eat yet, to be honest, and we've had more visitors than we cared for this morning, No offence, Greg. So we really didn't have time to inform you, Molly," John told her, because she was invaluable, even to him. Sherlock would get dangerously bored without easy-access to a morgue. He might start helping himself in cemeteries if he got desperate enough, and that couldn't end well

.

Molly looked happier by the time she returned to her work. She would probably need a long time to come to terms with the fact she had dated a dangerous psychopathic criminal mastermind, but if she hadn't broken down right there and then, it meant she was a lot stronger than he had given her credit for. She'd make it through, eventually.

Sherlock and John tried to sneak off, too, right after her departure, but Greg was having none of it.

"Not so fast, you two. Don't think for an instant I've forgotten about that blatant lie you've tried to feed me."

They tried to protest, talking over one another, but he waved them off impatiently.

"I'm not an idiot, Sherlock, despite what you might think. And you, John, you're a terrible, terrible liar, and that's twice you've lied to me now. At least. So spill the beans."

John looked to Sherlock, who merely shrugged.

"It's your call, John. I'm fairly certain he won't believe you anyway."

John looked at Greg. He trusted the man. He didn't know if the DI would believe him, but he wouldn't repeat it. He had too much integrity for that. But it was still a liability. John's secret, their secret, really, since it concerned Sherlock just as much as John, it had been kept safe so far because no one else knew about it. No one. But what if Moriarty kidnapped and tortured Greg to get information out of him. He'd threatened to do just that to John the first time he'd kidnapped him and that was just because he was around Sherlock a lot. However, John was a nobody while Lestrade was a well-respected and well-known inspector of Scotland Yard.

"Would Moriarty go after Greg?" John asked Sherlock since he seemed to know how the madman operated better than John did despite never having met the real him face to face.

"No, I don't think so. Not for what you think. But I'm not a hundred percent certain. Moriarty would likely think you would tell someone closer to you if you were to divulge what's so special about you. He wouldn't suspect Lestrade who you've met not so long ago and only in a professional capacity. He'll probably be discarded just as Molly was where you're concerned."

John nodded.

"Alright, but not here," John decided.

ooo

"I… don't believe you," Lestrade announced once John had finished explaining his special ability and how he'd saved Sherlock's life several times over because of it.

Sherlock smirked triumphantly, now marginally in a better mood after a large helping of caffeine.

"I told you he wouldn't."

"How can you believe in such drivel, Sherlock? You're a bloody scientist, with all your rational experiments and...stuff. This… this is paranormal nonsense."

"I believe in John Watson, because I have observed, Lestrade. Or do you forget I was there, too, when John tackled the suspect who was about to stab me, and then disappeared without a word? That I was there, too, when John pushed me out of the way of a speeding truck and once more ran off. Or the time he put the sniper to sleep and again, made his escape?"

Greg tapped the armrest of his chair nervously, causing John to pull the coffee pot out of his reach while pushing the plate of scones and strawberry jam towards him.

"You've even had him on the phone, Lestrade," Sherlock drawled. "You talked to him, and given his deficiency at lying, I doubt he's that good at disguising his voice or speech pattern. And do tell me how John could possibly know the exact words you exchanged on the phone when only you two were privy to it?"

"You could-" Greg began but Sherlock raised one finger in warning.

"I do not indulge in these kind of childish games, Lestrade. We are not trying to pull some kind of joke on you," Sherlock sniffed disdainfully at the very idea. "This is very serious to us, and we're trusting you with it."

Greg looked mollified. John realized just how well the inspector knew Sherlock and wondered what the story was between them. He turned to John.

"The first time we met, on the suicide-murder case, you lied to me then too. Said we'd never met when I thought you looked familiar."

John nodded.

"I wanted to find out more about Sherlock, but I couldn't very well go up to him and ask for his name. Later, in one of the repeats of my first dream, I noticed your police badge fall out of Sherlock's pocket when he was…" John gulped as that image replayed vividly for a moment. "...was stabbed. So I googled your name but the faces didn't match up. It was still a lead though, so I followed you around for a bit."

John paused, waiting for Greg to become angry again, to tell him off, but he was merely scowling. Knowing him, he was trying to remember if he'd seen him before, and where.

"I don't suppose you remember sharing a cab with a bloke after a night out at the pub? You were pretty pissed at the time," John offered.

Lestrade's eyes widened.

"You bastard!" Greg exclaimed, but it wasn't meant harshly, he sounded almost amused. "I never really figured out how I managed to get back, much less get a cab and pay for it."

John smiled.

"I didn't even learn anything about Sherlock. I'd make a terrible spy."

Sherlock snorted.

"You'd have to learn to lie convincingly, for starters."

"Right," Greg said, "Say I believe you… and I'm not saying I am. I mean Sherlock's words is generally good enough for me, but this is some batshit crazy stuff, it'll take time to sink in, I think. So, you can save this ungrateful berk's life, I got that... but can you use what you see so we can catch this Moriarty fellow?"

John grimaced.

"I've only had a couple of Dreams with Moriarty, and we're only starting to experiment with the Dreams. We've disrupted the process for a bit, and since Moriarty has started to target Sherlock, the Dreams have become... more erratic. But as you witnessed yourself, I got the tidbit about Moriarty impersonating Molly's boyfriend from the last Dream. So yes, it can be useful, but we can't exactly rely on them and hope for the best."

The DI raked a hand through his silver hair and chuckled.

"Just when I thought I couldn't do worse than appeal to a consulting detective and here I am, asking help from a psychic."

John clenched his jaw, ignoring Sherlock's stifled chuckle.

"Call me that again, Greg, and I'll make sure Sherlock has a new tongue to practice his unmentionable experiments on."