John was stunned. Not only did this man, Sherlock's brother no less, know about borrowers, but he apparently had information that his entire species was under some mysterious threat? Even more worrisome was the fact that he seemed so casual about the whole thing. And Anthea, why was she with him? John felt his heart speed up with a sudden rush of anxiety. His family, what if they'd been taken? His uncle, and little Harry. John's imagination was invaded by images of huge, crushing hands, a broken home, and the metallic smell of blood.

"John?" The sound of his name cut through the fog in John's mind, snapping him back to reality.

A shadow fell over what little light the curtained window provided. It was Sherlock.

In a burst of energy, John shot out of the bedroom. He rushed through the apartment, practically fell down the stairs, and finally burst out of the door. Stumbling in the sudden openness, John froze. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. All he wanted was to know that Harry was safe. But, going back to his Uncle's place would take time, and right now his situation was a bit more complicated than usual. Speaking of complicated, John felt the table shake slightly as Sherlock moved around to face him.

John couldn't help but shy away from the enormous figure, his instincts on the fritz. Spending so much time in the miniature flat where everything was normal for him made coming back to reality quite the shock. With his heart pounding from fear now as well as worry, John felt like he might be sick. He noticed the looming shadow above him shifting but couldn't bring himself to look up. He was afraid that if he did, the sight of a giant who could crush him in a single hand would make him run without a second thought. Why had he even come out here in such a hurry? Why was he just standing in the open? Vulnerable and scared? What was he doing? He needed to get out of there. He needed to find his sister.

"John."

The sound of his name, again, made the borrower realize he had to pull himself together. John's head snapped up, finally looking at Sherlock directly.

"I swear, I don't know how he knew about your people. And I'm quite positive, he never found out about them from me." Sherlock looked every bit as sincere as he sounded.

John blinked, confused for just a brief moment before the meaning of Sherlock's words sunk in. He cleared his throat before replying.

"I believe you. I- I never even thought that…." John wasn't sure how to finish that sentence, his mind was a jumbled mess. He must have looked distraught because he noticed Sherlock's brow furrow in a look of concern.
"I'm just worried about my family," he said in a desperate rush. "And my entire world. I mean this is- this is disastrous. It could mean the end. The end of everything, if word gets out that people like me exist."

"That is not going to happen," Sherlock tried to interject.

"My sister. What if she's one of the ones who were taken? And my uncle? What if they're in trouble- in danger? And I'm not there to protect them!" He had begun to pace back and forth, agitated. On one turn, just as he finished his rant, John found his path blocked by a wall of flesh. It was Sherlock's hand. His fingers curled slightly as John nearly walked headfirst into his palm. John backpedaled fast. Unhappy about being startled, he glared up at Sherlock. However, his expression quickly softened when he noticed the look on Sherlock's face.

He was just as worried as John was.

Maybe Sherlock wasn't quite as agitated about his family as he was, but John could tell he was concerned. His brother's news had disturbed him, and John's reaction to it was not helping. But what could he do?

With a sigh of frustration, John leaned against Sherlock's hand like he would a wall. He felt the skin twitch in surprise before relaxing.

"Mycroft said this case had something to do with the whole thing." He heard Sherlock start to mumble, almost to himself. "The police will bring the suspect in, eventually. Maybe this 'cleaning lady' will shed some light on the whole mess…"

John peeked up at Sherlock. The larger man appeared to be deep in his own thoughts. Lips pursed and brow furrowed, Sherlock's eyes moved back and forth as though watching something John could not see. This only lasted for a moment, however, before he shook his head as though to clear it, directing his gaze to John once again.

"You must be hungry after all this. I'll order something, how does takeout sound?"

Taken aback by this unexpected change in conversation, John found himself stuttering a reply before he could think, "Uh, yeah, that sounds good."

Sherlock nodded before rising to his feet. Still jumpy, John couldn't help but flinch away from the enormous figure as Sherlock stretched out to his full height. However, Sherlock didn't seem to notice the smaller man's trepidation and pulled out his phone, moving away from the table to make the call.
As Sherlock walked into the other room, John took several deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. Only now that he was alone did John realize his hands were shaking. He sank down onto the table with a sigh, his thoughts a jumbled mess.
Sherlock returned soon after, taking a seat at the table again. He frowned a little when he noticed John now sitting with his head in his hands.

"The food should be here soon." He said quietly. When he got no response from John his face softened.

"You shouldn't worry, y'know."

Sherlock's voice was so deep, and suddenly sounded so close it surprised John. He looked up and found that Sherlock had lowered his head so they were practically face-to-face.

"I've already cracked this case wide open. Whatever connections it has with your people, I'll find out soon enough."

His confidence wasn't exactly contagious, but John could help but believe him. Before he could say anything in return however, there was a knock on the door. John stiffened in surprise.

"Ah, that must be the food." Standing to his feet, Sherlock's chair scooted back with a loud rumble making John even more nervous. "Don't worry, they won't be able to see you on the table," Sherlock assured him.
Still, John hardly dared to breath as Sherlock payed for the food and carried it inside. It wasn't until the door was closed again that he relaxed.

The food was like nothing John had ever seen before. Sherlock provided him with tiny portions on a napkin, but even then it was still a lot. John didn't mind, though, because it was also delicious. He had no idea what it was exactly, but he didn't really care. It was food, and that was good enough for John.

They didn't talk much as they ate. Both too absorbed in their own thinking. In fact, they were so deep in thought that when Sherlock's phone started ringing, they were both startled. Sherlock hesitated a beat before answering, swallowing his previous bite of food thoughtfully. When he did pick it up, his face was completely neutral, which made John wonder who was calling. There were a few tense moments while Sherlock just listened. It wasn't until he'd hung up, with a terse "yes, I'll be right over," that his demeanor changed.

A huge grin widened across Sherlock's face. He jumped up so fast, John nearly fell over from shock. Not knowing what the hell was going on, John could only watch wide-eyed as Sherlock flew about the room, gathering up things as though he were leaving.

"Wh- what's happened?" John managed to ask.

"It's the police," Sherlock explained, still running around. "They've arrested the cleaning lady and have taken her into custody."

Pulling on his coat, Sherlock turned to John, looking more alive then ever. "We're going to question her."

"We?" John was so flabbergasted he could barely get the word out.

"Well, I'll do the questioning, but you want to be there. Don't you?" Sherlock stopped by the table, looking down at him questioningly.

Surprising himself somewhat, John realized that he did. "Of course!" He shouted up at Sherlock.

Bending over slightly, Sherlock stretched his hand out, Palm up, onto the table. John felt a strange warmth spread through him. He couldn't help but smile slightly as he stepped onto the waiting palm.

They still had some… Things, to work out. But despite that, despite what his instincts were screaming, despite what his common sense was telling him, and despite all the years apart, he knew.

John still trusted Sherlock.

AN: first of all, I would like to thank you all from the bottom of heart for sticking with me and reading this. I really appreciate every single one of my readers, you guys rock!
Next, I wanna apologize. I know P!J:R updates have been few and far between, and I'm really sorry about that.
Finally, I have to admit that writing this story has become more of a chore for me. It's no longer fun, which really sucks because I really wish it was. I wanna enjoy this, but I don't, and I'm scared that's gonna show in my writing. And you guys deserve better than that.
So, I'm taking a break from writing this fic. I'm not giving it up, don't worry! But I want it to be fun again, and for that to happen I think I need to focus on some other projects for a while.

Thanks for understanding!