Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sherlock first began to notice something was amiss the night they wrapped up the Milverton mystery. Instead of hanging by his side, listening to him explain his deductions, with an awed expression and a shower of unabashed praises, John appeared to have wandered off.

Looking around, he saw John standing a little apart with Lestrade. Both of them appeared to be talking in whispers and… giggling!

He strode over and said, “Glad to see you both are enjoying the crime scene. Now if you are ready John, maybe we can go home.”

John appeared to still have difficulty controlling his laughter as he bid Lestrade goodbye.

“What’s so funny?” Sherlock asked suspiciously.

“Oh nothing…you wouldn’t understand…Greg can be really crazy sometimes!”

“Greg?!”

“Yes, it’s Lestrade’s name. Or had you forgotten again?”

“I delete whatever is not useful”, Sherlock said repressively as he hailed a taxi feeling irrationally irritated.

He remained silent throughout the journey home and John gave up after a few attempts trying to get him to talk.

*****

The next morning things were back to normal or whatever passed for normal at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was fiddling with his microscope trying to analyze and document the different types of human hair. John had tried to push him to eat something without much success.

“Sherlock eat your toast”, said John again, absentmindedly flipping through the paper.

Sherlock looked up at him and noted how a broad beam of sunlight fell on John turning him golden. His fair hair appeared to glow. He supposed it was natural to want to feel like touching that hair when he was doing an experiment on human hair.

On the other hand, John might not react too well if he said he wanted to run his hands through his hair. Even if it was for science.

“John, I need your hair!” Sherlock said throwing caution to the winds.

“What?!”

Sherlock walked up to him, “I need a sample of your hair for testing. A few strands should suffice.”

Looking at the expression on John’s face, he added, “I’m doing an experiment on different types of human hair”.

“Well you’re not getting it unless you eat your toast”, John said with a smug smile, folding his arms across his chest.

“What are you, my mother?!” Sherlock grumbled but picked up a slice of toast and began munching.

“There’s a good boy. And have a cup of tea too”, John said unperturbed as Sherlock glared at him.

When he was done, Sherlock proceeded stealthily towards John.

“Don’t think I’m letting you pull my hair out by the roots. Get a pair of scissors please”, John interrupted.

Armed with a pair of scissors and huffing in annoyance, Sherlock stood behind John finally grabbing his chance of touching John’s hair. He felt his way from the nape of his neck where the texture was so soft to the top of his head where the hair was long enough for him to run his fingers through it. There was some grey mixed with the blond in the hair of John’s short fringe while the hairs at the nape of his neck were a lighter blond. His ears were small and perfectly shaped marveled Sherlock. If he looked closely he could see the soft downy hairs on the shell of John’s ear…

“Err, Sherlock? Are you planning to cut off my ear by any chance?” John’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. He realized he had been running his finger down John’s ear and blushed deeply, glad that John was not facing him.

“Ahem, no. I was merely checking on the best place from where to snip off a few strands. For the experiment”, he said quickly snipping off a couple of strands from the top of his head.

He strode off towards his microscope just as John’s phone pinged.

Sherlock sat down at his microscope relieved that the awkward moment hadn’t been stretched more than necessary. What HAD he been doing? Playing with John’s hair, touching his ear!

If he thought about it, he would have to admit that the tendency to touch John had increased quite exponentially over the last few weeks. He stood too close to him at crime scenes, he sat too close to him in the taxi and he brushed against him every day at home when reaching for something. It was inexplicable. The only thing that made it a little better (why should it?) was that John never shied away.

John was smiling as he read his text and he then began typing enthusiastically. Sherlock snorted - must be another one of his attempts at having a girlfriend. Sherlock didn’t know why he bothered. No woman could provide John the danger and excitement that he could.

As he was wont to do in these situations, Sherlock surreptitiously swiped John’s phone to check who he had been texting and to figure out how best he could sabotage a meeting if one was being planned.

He was surprised to see that John’s last ten messages had been from Lestrade. And they had been sent over the last couple of days. They were mostly casual in nature asking if he was coming to the crime scene or if he had seen the football match or something equally inane. The last message had made a derisive comment about the team John supported and John had made a suitably offensive reply. Sherlock had been worried about nothing.

It was just John’s smile when he had been texting which had misled him…

Chapter Text

Sherlock lay fretting on the sofa. His hair experiment was over, there were no active cases and no interesting request on the blog. Everything was just so insufferably boring!

John was not back from the surgery and he had stopped answering Sherlock after he had sent him the thirtieth text of the day. That had been at 2.43 in the afternoon.

‘Where are you? SH’ he tried texting again.

‘I’ll be back late. Going out for a pint. JW’

‘I’m bored. SH’

‘Don’t forget to have dinner. There’s some risotto left in the fridge. JW’

‘Who are you going with? SH’

‘Why don’t you deduce it when I get back? JW’

That set Sherlock thinking. It was not like John to be evasive so he must have a reason for not revealing the name of his comrade in arms. And why was he being evasive anyways if he was just going down to the pub for a pint?

Sherlock jumped out of the sofa. The easiest way to deduce it was to just go to the pub, he thought with an evil grin.

Twenty minutes later he was at the pub that John frequented but there was no sign of the man. Sherlock settled in at a corner booth to wait for him.

After another half an hour, John was still not there and Sherlock was beginning to lose his temper. Figuring out that John was not going for his rendezvous at his usual pub, he then started scouting the pubs nearby. An hour later, he was visiting his third pub of the night with no success.

*****

John returned home late. Very late. Very drunk.

He found a quietly furious consulting detective lying in wait on the sofa.

“Oh hello there!” John smiled at him drunkenly as he attempted to push bits of Sherlock away and seat himself on the sofa. “Not sleeping today? You’re not on a case.”

“How perceptive of you John”, Sherlock replied sarcastically. “I see you had a good time at the pub going by your current level of inebriation and the fact that you can’t seem to stop smiling.”

“Yeah… I did have a good time actually! Greg is such a great guy…”, John said sleepily as he leaned back on the sofa effectively trapping Sherlock’s legs behind him.

“Greg! You were out with Lestrade?!,” Sherlock barked out, sitting up and abandoning all pretence of calm. So the friendship with Lestrade had moved up another level. And why had they not gone to John’s usual pub? Where had Lestrade taken him? Had they been alone…

“Oops! Wasn’t supposed to tell you”, John slurred not meeting his eyes. “But you would have deduced it anyways, wouldn’t you, my consulting detective?” he said with another beaming smile directed at Sherlock.

Sherlock turned red and almost spluttered. Almost. It was a close thing but in the end he managed a coherent sentence. “I’m not YOUR consulting detective”, he said with a huff lying back on the cushions and closing his eyes. There was a most strange fluttering sensation in his chest that he couldn’t quite understand.

He opened his eyes a second later feeling a hand ruffling his curls and John’s drunken breath warm on his face. “You are so cute when you are angry…did you know that”, John said in a soft voice full of wonder.

For a few seconds, an eternity, Sherlock’s turbulent gaze locked with John’s affectionate one and his mind seemed to shut down. He could only feel John’s hand in his hair, the warmth of his body so close to his and the hammering of his own heart. He looked into the blue depths of John’s eyes and felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice…it was frightening. He took a deep breath and said loudly, “And you are disgusting when you are drunk!”

John’s face crumpled and he moved away. Sherlock thought for an awful moment that he might be about to cry. Instead he got up from the sofa with a sigh and began to move towards his room, swaying slightly as he went. “Goodnight Sherlock”, he whispered.

Sherlock closed his eyes and curled up on the sofa feeling cold and miserable.

Chapter Text

The next morning John shuffled in for breakfast clearly hung-over and looking a little sheepish.

“God, my head feels like it’ll explode”, he said putting said head in his hands.

‘Embarrassed about being so drunk. Doesn’t remember anything more’, Sherlock deduced quickly.

“Yes, excessive alcohol consumption will do that to you”, Sherlock replied snarkily. John groaned in reply.

“I’ll make the tea than, shall I?” Sherlock said and bounced away to the kitchen leaving a surprised John muttering, “You never make tea”.

*****

John spent his Saturday lying with his eyes closed on whatever flat surface he could find. Sherlock spent his afternoon on experiments which thankfully didn’t produce headache-aggravating noises or nausea-inducing smells. He stroked his violin contemplatively a few times but backed off after seeing a murderous gleam in John’s eye.

By the evening, John was feeling much more like himself.

“I think I’ll step out for a walk. It’s quite a nice day outside and I need some fresh air…”, he said putting on his jacket.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope and for a moment struggled to forget about hydrogen molecules and understand why John seemed to be looking expectantly at him.
Then it came to him, “Oh. Yes. I’ll come with you. I need some air too”.

John smiled then and Sherlock knew he had said the right thing. He felt ridiculously pleased with himself as they set off from Baker Street.

Unfortunately as soon as they stepped out the door, John almost bumped into Lestrade who was clearly coming to meet them.

“Hello there…going out somewhere?” he enquired of John.

“Oh, hi Greg! We were just going for a walk…”, John began before Sherlock barged in, “What is it Lestrade? A case? It better be interesting!”

“Can’t I come and see you guys without a case? Just thought I’d drop in to see if John felt as awful as I did today”, he said with a grin.

John grinned back, “Oh I felt like shite. What did they put in those cocktails? We are never going back there again!” He began walking forward as Lestrade guffawed and fell into step beside him.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Sherlock asked in frustration.

“Oh just joining you for some fresh air. Nice to get the Yard out of your lungs a bit”, Lestrade replied cheerfully turning his attention back to John.

Sherlock gritted his teeth and walked beside John listening to how Lestrade (Stupid bloody Lestrade with his stupid bloody lopsided grin!) made smarmy conversation and how John laughed at what he said. (Why John? Why are you looking at him like that?)

A small poodle suddenly blocked Sherlock’s path and danced around his ankles. The dog’s leash was in the hands of a fat, middle aged man (office worker, henpecked husband, wife’s dog) who shrugged embarrassedly before trying to coax the dog away. Sherlock and the dog had a mini staring match before it directed a few short barks at him and trotted away proudly after its owner.

Cursing poodles all over the world, Sherlock looked up to see Lestrade and John had continued walking ahead. They were walking very close to each other. As Sherlock watched, Lestrade tilted his head closer to John apparently to catch what John was saying. Sherlock felt a now familiar feeling bubbling up through him.

He walked up to the pair quickly and interrupted rudely with a quick deduction about the man with the imbecilic dog. “…and that’s why I will never have a dog!” he ended his tirade.

“I kind of like dogs actually…”, John said slowly and Lestrade immediately pitched in, “Yeah me too. Faithful little buggers. Well as I was saying John, this Saturday…”

(Damn it!)

Sherlock unceremoniously cut him off and began deducing everyone walking past them hoping to shut up Lestrade and impress John. But after yet another passerby gave him a dirty look, John poked him in the ribs warningly, “Stop it Sherlock!” before turning back to Lestrade with an exasperated smile.

Sherlock felt angry and frustrated and…hurt. “I’m going home”, he announced and turned around abruptly.

“What? Wait a minute…Sherlock”, John grabbed his arm. “We’ve barely walked till the park”, he said gesturing.

“I don’t feel like walking anymore. It’s boring”.

“What? But, but…I thought you wanted to get some air”, John stuttered. Looking distressed, Sherlock noted with satisfaction.

“I did, but the stupidity of everyone around me is more suffocating than lack of air!” he bit out shaking off John’s grip. (Come back with me John)

“Look, don’t force him to stay. He’ll just be miserable. You know he gets bored so easily”, Lestrade said to John putting a hand on the small of his back and beginning to walk away from Sherlock.

He called out over his shoulder, “You go back to your experiments Sherlock. I’ll keep John out of your hair for a bit…” Then leaning in towards John, “I know a nice little Indian place near here. Has the best chicken tikka masala I’ve ever had. Maybe we can go there for dinner?”

Sherlock walked away at a furious pace resisting the urge to look back. He couldn’t believe there had been a time when he had tolerated DI Lestrade. Right now he felt like killing him with his bare hands.

It was quite clear to him what was going on. Lestrade was flirting with John! Lestrade had plenty of women to hit on besides having an on-off relationship with his ex-wife. He had seen how even Sally Donovan and some other women at the Yard looked appraisingly at him. But no! That wasn’t enough! Now apparently he had set his sights on John, Sherlock fumed. It could NOT be tolerated! John was HIS…(what?) His…(what?) his… blogger…flatmate…friend…?

*****

John came back quite early. Didn’t have dinner then, Sherlock noted.

“I brought Chinese. And you’re eating it whether you like it or not!” John yelled from the kitchen. Sherlock didn’t answer but steepled his hands under his chin and looked off into the distance. His lip may have quirked upward for a second.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Sherlock observed as John went about his work in an unusually good mood humming as he did the dishes and not even getting really angry when Sherlock set the table on fire.
“Do you know when I was younger, I wanted to be a fireman?” was all he said smiling at Sherlock, as he put away the fire extinguisher and they looked at the charred remains of the table. Mrs. Hudson wailed and scolded Sherlock but he could not hear her over the roaring in his ears. He was thinking of John as a fireman and finding that certain parts of his anatomy were behaving in a very unexpected fashion. (Why? Pyromania?)

He swallowed as he admitted to himself that all his mania appeared to be centred on John.

But what about John who seemed to be so happy these days being besieged by texts from Lestrade. Sherlock had checked. Lestrade’s texts had moved beyond casual and into moronic. He now asked John what he was doing, how his day had gone at the surgery, whether he would like to meet up and so on. John replied to all his texts. John had been going to meet him for dinner when Sherlock had set fire to the table.

The idea that John might be slowly warming to Lestrade’s advances made him feel strangely cold and hollow so he pushed those thoughts away. He kept testing John’s loyalty in small ways and John rarely disappointed him. He still asked him to eat, to sleep, he argued with him and he watched his back. But he might do that for any good friend, a small voice whispered at the back of his mind. John had also not shown any interest in a woman for quite some time now but he had begun to jog regularly and started taking better care of himself.

Just the other day he came back home with a new royal blue colored shirt. Greg had apparently gifted it to him, that sly silver fox!

“Do you like it Sherlock? Belated birthday present. Greg said it complemented my eyes”, he said modeling it around the sitting room as Sherlock glared at him over the laptop. John’s laptop of course.

“Your birthday was two months ago! And if you had a modicum of sartorial sense, you wouldn’t need me to tell you just what a monstrosity that shirt is!” Sherlock said venomously.

“Oh…is it that bad?” John said looking crestfallen.

“I think you should consign it to the garbage dump without further delay”, Sherlock said at once. “I can take you shopping the next time you feel like it. From the way you look at my suits, I assume you will agree that I have some expertise in the area.”

John turned pink for some reason and escaped to his room mumbling incoherently. Sherlock didn’t find him wearing the shirt after that and made a mental note to destroy it the moment he had a chance.

The next day, Sherlock decided that two could play this game. He bought a trendy black jacket and presented it to John.

“Erm…something for you…because you know, birthday and all that…didn’t get you anything…I mean besides that book on Victorian murderers…and that was…well you can’t wear it. And it’s getting colder. The weather I mean. On the news today. They said it would get colder. So thought you might need a jacket to keep you warm. Though you do have jackets…and jumpers. So many jumpers…that beige one…beige is it? Looks warm…suits you. And the one with the stripes. You look nice in that too…. And the red shirt…and…and… Ahem, this is for you”, Sherlock ended abruptly, suddenly aware that he had been babbling dangerously.

John gave him a broad smile and put on the jacket over his shirt. It fit him perfectly of course. “Thanks Sherlock! I love it! So, how does it look?”

“Good. Good. Fine”, Sherlock managed, turning away shyly.

“And I did enjoy the book about the murderers”, John called out behind him.

*****

But Lestrade was not to be so easily outdone. The next weekend, he showed up on his bike to take John ‘out for a spin’ as he put it. He looked rakishly handsome in his blue jeans, leather jacket and Aviators, carrying his helmet under one arm. His windswept silver hair and lopsided grin added to the overall impact.

Sherlock thought about how easily he could kill him with one well placed Baritsu chop to the neck.

He had to make do with a murderous glare instead as John hurriedly put on his jacket and rushed out with him before Sherlock could work up a convincing argument. Obviously this ride had been planned earlier.

Sherlock looked down at them from behind the curtains, seeing how John got on the bike behind Lestrade, his body pressed up against the inspector, one hand gripping his shoulder, his head tilted close to Lestrade to catch what he was saying… As he watched with a pain that seemed to stab him to the core of his being, Sherlock saw Lestrade laugh and pull John’s other arm around his own waist before roaring off down the street.

Sherlock had not thought it was possible for him to feel like this. He had trained himself to be on his own. (Alone is what protects me) But sometimes it turned out people became part of your life whether you wanted it or not. John had not thought twice about taking off with Lestrade. And left Sherlock feeling abandoned and utterly wretched. Sentiment, he deduced bitterly. Apparently he was just as susceptible to it as the rest of the common wealth.

His phone pinged. ‘Tell him’.
It was Mycroft of course. Sherlock typed out a flurry of curses, glad to be able to vent his anger on the interfering bastard.

He had to try harder, Sherlock resolved. He could not afford to lose John.

Chapter Text

The next few days, saw Sherlock at his most attentive. He cleaned up the worst of his experiments and made John tea. He didn’t sulk on the sofa and avoided taking John with him when he went to Scotland Yard. He watched crap telly with him and hid his phone. He listened attentively as John told him about his day and played the violin for him at night.

As he looked at John smiling beatifically at him with a glass of wine in one hand, while he played him some of his favourite pieces, Sherlock was reminded of the night John had come home drunk. He wondered what he would do now if John ran his hands through his hair and looked into his eyes. The thought made his skin tingle and his heart pound.

There was a sudden heat wave in the city and almost in direct correlation, an increase in petty crimes, which kept Lestrade busy. Sherlock was pleasantly surprised to find that dull, uninteresting burglaries and brawls could have such positive side effects.

*****

Then Lestrade called up with a case that involved triple murders. Of triplets. In three different parts of the country. At the exact same time. Needless to say it was like Christmas for Sherlock. Even though he could still barely stand Lestrade, he could hardly refuse. He was coldly civil to him and tried to keep John close by his side. For the next two weeks, he and John were too busy chasing the killer across the country for him to worry too much.

The chase ended in a dark alley in London. Sherlock and John crept up behind the killer confident that they had him cornered. Sherlock had already texted Lestrade their location.

“Franklin, we know you killed the Baskerville boys. There is no getting away now. Put your hands up and step into the light slowly”, Sherlock said loudly while John pointed his gun at the dim moving shape he thought was the suspect.

In hindsight, it was clearly a bad move cornering a serial killer like that. As the silence stretched out, Sherlock pulled out his mobile intending to use the light from the screen as a decoy. His calculation about their suspect being unarmed turned out to be wrong.

As soon as he moved, a shot rang out and the next thing he knew, he was lying on the cold, wet street with his breath knocked out of him. John was on top of him having pushed him out of the bullet’s path. John looked into his eyes for a moment before rolling away quickly to fire a shot at Franklin before the man could fire again. Franklin cried out and slumped to the ground. The police arrived on the scene almost simultaneously.

“You ok?” John asked Sherlock as they both scrambled off the ground.

“I’m…I’m fine”, Sherlock panted out, “Good job!”

Lestrade had questions for them but he left Sherlock to rattle off his deductions to Donovan while he drew John aside. As Sherlock watched out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lestrade put a hand to John’s face. He rubbed John’s cheek with his thumb as if to wipe away some dirt. John was looking into his eyes. Sherlock found that his throat suddenly closed up so that he couldn’t speak. Donovan was saying something to him but he ignored her and began walking toward John.

Before he could reach them, Lestrade’s hands were on John’s chest and running downward even as he was moving closer.

“Lestrade!” Sherlock roared. “What the hell are you doing?!”

John looked a bit stunned and Lestrade moved back a little but didn’t remove his hand from John’s side.

“He’s hurt Sherlock! The bullet from Franklin’s gun grazed his ribs”, Lestrade shouted back and John winced as his roving hand touched something tender. Lestrade’s hand came away stained red and Sherlock froze. Lestrade tugged at John’s jumper and pushed it up his chest. There was a bloody gash across his ribs. “Paramedics!”

*****

“It’s just a minor graze, Sherlock”, John said in the taxi on their way back home. Sherlock had been silent ever since he saw the wound. He couldn’t get the image of John bruised and bleeding (because of him) - and with Lestrade’s hands on him - out of his mind.

“I’m sorry you got hurt because of me”, Sherlock said so softly that John could barely make out what he had said.

John shook his head sleepily, “It’s okay”. Sherlock looked at him - the paramedics had given him some strong painkillers which combined with the exhaustion were making him almost ready to collapse.

“Erm, you can rest your head on my shoulder if you want”, Sherlock said with a cough, “It’s going to be some time before we reach home.”

“Thanks”, John smiled up at him. He scooted closer to Sherlock and placed his head against his shoulder before closing his eyes.

Sherlock felt able to relax for the first time that day.

Chapter Text

They were supposed to go back to Scotland Yard the next day to finish recording their statements. But John still looked a little worse for wear as he slumped on the sofa.

"I'll take care of it. You need to stay home and rest", Sherlock told John as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"I'll just call Greg and tell him…." John began. (It was always 'Greg' these days not 'Lestrade'! Sherlock thought bitterly)

"I'll call you from the station if they insist on speaking with you", Sherlock said firmly, "you just relax. Mrs. Hudson will be along soon with something to eat...I've told her what happened. Call ME if you need anything".

"Stop fussing... I'm really fine…or at least I will be in a day or two. It's not a big deal", John grumbled mildly.

"Doctors really do make the worst patients", was Sherlock's parting shot.

*****

Sherlock didn't see Lestrade at the Yard which was a relief because he didn't know how to react to him anymore. It was also a pain because it meant he had to deal with Sally Donovan for the better part of an hour.

He texted John a couple of times but received no reply and assumed that he must have fallen asleep. On the way back home, he stopped at Tesco with some vague notion of buying something for John. All he could think of was tea so he bought a few varieties. Then feeling inspired, he bought milk as well. Mummy would have been proud to see him shopping like this, he thought with a grin, the Shopping Sociopath. Mycroft would probably ensure that she did get to see it, he thought sourly with an eye on the store cameras.

*****

He reached 221B in a much better mood than he had left it. The sitting room was empty but he could hear voices from the bathroom. He slowly walked closer to the door and was able to make out John's soft giggle and Lestrade's deeper one. John and Lestrade were together in the bathroom! The shopping bag almost slipped from Sherlock's hand as his vision began to turn red. He stood rooted to the spot for a moment before registering that the sounds had stopped entirely. As horrible images began to float through his head, he heard Lestrade say, "This might hurt a bit ok?"

That did it! Sherlock threw down the bag and kicked open the bathroom door ready to shred Lestrade to bits. His roar of fury died on his lips as he stopped short at the scene in front of him. John was seated on the closed toilet with his shirt unbuttoned but otherwise fully dressed. Lestrade was kneeling in front of him - also fully dressed - and with a bit of cotton in his hand.

"Sherlock…?" John said a little uncertainly looking at Sherlock's thunderous expression. "Greg was helping me change the dressing…"

"Get. Out." Sherlock told Lestrade holding on to the vestiges of his temper. Barely.

"What? Why? Just came by to see how John was doing. He needed some help…"

"I can help him! I'm here for him! You don't need to do anything! Just get out!" Sherlock yelled. A part of his mind dimly registered that he sounded childish and more than a bit mental but he was too enraged to care.

"Sherlock stop it now! What's got into you?" John said sounding bewildered and annoyed.

"Lestrade leave now before I throw you out!"

"I'd like to see you try! Have you gone completely mad?!" Lestrade answered drawing himself up and locking eyes with Sherlock.

"Leave John alone. He's MINE", Sherlock said menacingly inching closer to Lestrade.

"Yours?!" Lestrade snorted. "He's not a toy Sherlock!"

"I never said he was! Leave us alone!"

"Give me one good reason why! What? John can't play with anyone except you?" Lestrade taunted.

"Shut up you two! Sherlock I really can't understand what's wrong with you! And Greg… I think…I think you had better leave now... I'll call you later", John said standing up.

"There is nothing wrong with me", Sherlock said angrily shaking his head before glaring at Lestrade and walking out.

"Take care John", Lestrade said with a sigh, "I'll catch up later." He made his way down the stairs and Sherlock heard the front door bang closed behind him.

"What…what was that Sherlock? What was that strange display you put on back there?" John demanded angrily as he came out of the bathroom buttoning his shirt.

Sherlock was sitting as still as a statue in the armchair.

"Don't even think about going off into your mind palace now because I'm just going to drag you right out of it! " John said threateningly.

Sherlock looked up at him and said heatedly,"As usual John, you see but you do not observe! You don't understand what Lestrade is up to!"

"Well then, enlighten me! What is he 'up to' besides being a good friend and trying to help me?" John said crossing his arms across his chest.

"He is flirting with you! Has been for the last few weeks! Appears to have run through all the women in the world and has now fixated on you as his next target!" Sherlock said in a rush.

John looked mildly stunned. Then he began laughing…

"It's not funny! Lestrade is trying to hit on you! I won't let him!" Sherlock said angrily.

"He is not, Sherlock! He is just a really good friend" John said still giggling then wincing as a sudden movement caused him pain.

"You know I am always right!" Sherlock said jumping up and beginning to pace about the room.

"Usually right", John corrected now clearly amused.

"He wants you to be there at all the crime scenes, he texts you too often, he stands too close to you, he wants to go on walks with you, he wants to have dinner with you, he wants to dress your wound, he…he touches you", Sherlock spat out.

John looked at him. "You do all of that as well", he said quietly.

Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned to look at John, the colour rushing to his face. "Yes well…", he said before his brain shuddered to a halt.

"So let me understand this", John said moving towards him. "It's okay for you to do all this but no one else can? When Greg does these things, he's hitting on me but when you do it…?"

Sherlock seemed to have frozen. His normally pale skin was now a bright shade of red and his usual eloquence had clearly deserted him.

"I… I…", Sherlock stammered. He took a deep breath and tried again, "Yes, it is okay for me to do it."

"Why Sherlock? Why is it okay?" John asked softly. He was standing very close to Sherlock now. Sherlock could see how his pupils were blown and his breathing had quickened. He was not surprised to find something similar happening to himself. The chemistry WAS incredibly simple…

"Because I love you John Watson! Because you are mine. And I don't share!" Sherlock said bending his head down, grabbing John in his arms and crushing his lips against John's (surprisingly soft) in a passionate kiss. When he drew back to catch a breath, he saw John looked as dazed as he felt.

"Finally", John whispered as he grabbed Sherlock's shirt and pulled him back in.

*****

Texts sent later that night:

'Mission accomplished. Thank you. MH'

'My pleasure! GL'