Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"John, I've come to the conclusion that I am in love with you." Sherlock stated.

The day had started quite typically. Sherlock had been whining about being bored. He refused food from John multiple times, talked to the skull, flopped on the couch in various contorted positions, then went to his old standby of experiments on the kitchen table with some new chemicals that had been delivered. John had been milling about as well: he had cleaned up around the flat, watched some Doctor Who, tried to get Sherlock to eat multiple times, and was now sitting in his chair reading a fantasy novel.

So, back to our situation: "John, I've come to the conclusion that I am in love with you." Sherlock said almost casually. He looked up from his fizzing beaker to watch John's expression.

It seemed to take John a moment to comprehend what the words truly were. When he did, he looked up from his book sharply to meet Sherlock's eyes.

"Are you having me on?... Is this some sort of experiment, or something, on human reactions?" John, at first glance, looked quizzical with the beginnings of anger starting to show. But Sherlock could see many emotions flicker through his eyes and body below the surface: fear, hope, arousal, joy, defensiveness, and…terror?

"No-"

"Then it's for a case right? You need to see how someone would react to a person saying that to them?" John sounded both angry and slightly desperate. His tongue darted out to lick his lips nervously.

"No of course not John. I wouldn't do that to you." Sherlock paused. "I've also come to the conclusion, through observation and deduction, that you are attracted to me and most likely have feelings for me as well. You had to have noticed the emotional and sexual tension between us lately, given how good you are with emotions. Even I noticed."

John's whole face flushed red. "But- but- but I'm straight. I'm straight." The second time came out almost like an order to himself.

"Human sexuality is much more fluid than people think. Most people on Earth are bisexual but never act on it or even consciously know." Sherlock had put his beaker and dropper down on the table and headed towards John.

"No! I'm not gay. I can't be. I just can't-" John's voice caught and he shut his eyes for a moment. He was now beet red, sweating, and jittery.

Sherlock reached out to take John's hand in his and drew tiny circles with his thumb over the back of John's knuckles. Sherlock saw John's pupils dilate, his breathing become faster, and he felt his pulse quicken; all signs of arousal.

John felt himself start to respond to this simple touch from Sherlock combined with his intensely focused stare into John's eyes. It was all too much: too fast, too soon, too male, too much what John had been trying to avoid his entire life… ever since that happened.

"I need air." John managed to choke out before he tore himself away from Sherlock and bolted towards the exit.

He managed to hear Sherlock calling his name a few times before he shut 221B's door. John ran, feet slapping sharply on concrete. He tried to concentrate on taking the chilly air into his lungs and then exhaling it, not even caring where he was headed. He started to feel the beginnings of a panic attack; that horrible shakiness in every cell of your body, like they're all having mini-earthquakes; the dizzy headed feeling, his vision started to bend and warp in front of him; his heart felt like it was being squeezed over and over by something strong and electric. He hadn't had one of these in a while. The nightmares usually only caused small ones, not full-blown panic attacks.

It was all crashing down around him, his whole freaking world. All those feelings and urges for men he had forced down and blocked the past 25 years or so were coming back to him all at once. He was remembering in vivid detail each moment with Sherlock that caused him to feel something way more than friendship. Because he did care for Sherlock, god he did, but how could he be with any man, ever, after that man damaged him so badly. John could still feel his touch on his body. He suddenly ducked in an alley and vomited as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Chapter Text

John had wandered around for close to an hour trying to collect his thoughts and get himself back under control before returning to Baker Street. He knew he cared deeply for Sherlock. Knew he couldn't bear to be separated from him. Knew that if Sherlock ever found out about that thing that he would be disgusted and leave John, leave him forever. Knew if they got any closer Sherlock would figure it out. But it was so hard, because for the first time John felt just a hint of hope, hope that someone could love him and he could love them back.

Mycroft was right about his trust issues, but he didn't know what they were caused by, not even his therapist did. His mind started to put up the barriers that usually came up around events or relationships this emotional. It was a defense mechanism to keep his heart safe, to keep it from being pulverized into tiny pieces one more time. When he became a soldier it made it easier to slip into this state of being. The army gave him an escape from home, a calling, a distraction, and a discipline to hide his roiling emotions beneath the surface. The army gave him back control over his own life, it taught him how to protect himself, and it let him help and protect others.

As he reached the door to 221B his mind decided that he would tell Sherlock that he couldn't do it, that he just felt friendship for him, that he didn't want Sherlock like that. Basically he would lie. John's feet carried him up the stairs almost robotically. He registered sounds of someone frantically pacing in their apartment then stopping…Sherlock. He steeled himself for the impending conversation; back straightening, shoulders pushing back, deep breath. Soldier mode basically. He opened the door.

John's breath whooshed out of him at the completely unexpected sight in front of him. Sherlock looked frazzled, worried, scared even. His hair was mussed up from his hands having run through it many times, his shirt collar had been tugged at (from nerves or for air John couldn't tell), and his whole body was rigid with visible stress, but the most haunting were his eyes. Those ethereal turquoise eyes, normally so controlled, were bursting with worry and fear and raw emotion. Yes John had seen him passionate about his work, angry, frustrated, bored, had seen him fake tears, but this was completely unlike anything John had ever seen from him.

"John-" Sherlock paused and his hands nervously wrung together. He raked his gaze over John noting the sweat stains on his shirt, and the salt marks from tears on his shirt, but for the life of him couldn't figure out what John was feeling. Sherlock had never been great with emotions; he was far better at deductions of the mind and body, not the soul.

John seemed to regain his breath at last. "Sherlock…I-" the word caught in his mouth.

Sherlock tentatively brought his hands up to caress John's trembling one.

"Sherlock I just need some time, to figure things out." WAIT, WHAT? John thought. This was NOT what he had planned on saying; this was not what his brain was telling him to say! His mouth continued, "I care too, but I'm not sure what to do right now." NO NO NO, stupid mouth what are you doing?John thought desperately. It seemed his head and heart were not in agreement and one was mutinying.

Sherlock's body visibly relaxed and the animalistic quality seemed to leave his eyes.

"I'll wait forever for you John." Sherlock paused and looked into John's sea blue eyes so John would realize the significance of what he was saying. Sherlock knew there was no one else for him, no one even remotely close to John: John's infinite complexity (never saying or doing what Sherlock expected) and his complete acceptance of Sherlock's eccentricities named just a few elements of John Sherlock found irreplaceable.

Sherlock continued: "You know my feelings so I will wait for you to take some time to reflect upon your own feelings."

"Um, right. Okay… Thanks." John stumbled out. Seriously mouth, really? Disobeying orders again damn it. John thought.

They continued to stare deeply into each other's eyes when Sherlock's phone beeped with a text. They jumped and separated suddenly, both their hearts beating a mile a minute. Sherlock snatched his phone up with his usual fervor when hoping for a case and was rewarded.

"It's Lestrade. He has a case. Woman shot in her home, wealthy, valuables were stolen. This is the second one in 3 days." Sherlock seemed to be excited by the last sentence. "Let's go John, no time to waste." His body was already at the front door grabbing his coat and scarf before he stopped, turned his head, and asked the question in his usual voice with an undertone of…something. "You do still want to come, right?"

"Er-, Yeah sure. Business as usual…this doesn't change us being colleagues, or friends." John said with his usual warm smile Sherlock loved so much. He grabbed his coat and followed the already eager Sherlock to the cab. How the man always managed to procure a cab at a moments notice was beyond John. The detective was already in his 'case' state of mind, running options through his head with the little information from the text.

John leaned back to relax in the black vinyl seat. What a right mess he had gotten himself into. He would have to figure out what the bloody hell to do, but right now he was content to bask in the glow of Sherlock's brilliance, to just appreciate these moments with his best friend…who was possibly more than a best friend.

Chapter Text

John and Sherlock arrived at a posh flat on a wealthy street filled with grand buildings with equally grand cars in front of them. To the outside world it looked like any other day, simply Sherlock and his follower striding in to solve another case. No one found the looks John was giving Sherlock, when the detective wasn't looking, any different than usual. Everyone already thought they were in a relationship.

The detective and the doctor strode under the neon crime scene tape and past the two officers guarding the front door. Sherlock noted the subtle signs that a machine lock pick tool had been used on the lock. Lestrade met them in the foyer (quite an imposing room with a marble staircase running round the side). His notepad was clutched in his left hand and his right waved at them to follow him.

"Yelena Lukanov is the victim. She lives here with her husband who is away on business, no children or pets. She has two shots to the chest near her heart. It looks like a robbery gone wrong but the weird thing is all of her cash, credit cards, and most of her jewelry is still here. The items that seem to have been taken are paintings, art, and antiques, and only a few rare pieces of jewelry. It's like they picked around the other pieces to find what they wanted. Possibly she could have walked in on them or they surprised her here and decided to kill her. The maid found her, she's the one who could tell, approximately, which items were stolen. The maid said most of the jewelry is still here, only some very rare, expensive pieces were taken." Lestrade wasn't wasting any time; he gave them all this information as he led them to the body in the living room.

The room had red and purple oriental rugs with plush sofas and chairs. A striking fireplace was in the center; dark marble brick like the staircase. The floors were expensive wood paneling. It was all slightly overdone.

"Hey freak! You and your groupie come to muck up our investigation again?" Sergeant Donavan called out to Sherlock. She was standing next to a table knocked on its side that was right under an obvious marking of a missing painting. The wall was lighter in a square and there was a nail head towards the top that had been hammered in to hold up a framed object.

"Oh Sally, delightful as ever seeing as Anderson kicked you out around 2 a.m. because his wife texted him that she was coming home. May I repeat: try not to be so obvious about it and remember to bring your own deodorant next time." Sherlock hadn't even looked at her, he was already observing the scene.

Sally blushed and opened her mouth to retort when Lestrade said with a tired sigh, "Knock it off you two. We have two murders to solve so lets all act like adults." Sally shut her mouth and went back to work.

"John tell me about the body, please." Sherlock said. Lestrade was the only person who seemed to notice unusual please at the end, but he quickly dismissed it from his mind.

"Course." John said as he stooped down to examine Yelena Lukanov. She was lying on her back, her limbs splayed out from the fall, and a pool of blood surrounded her.

"She's been dead approximately five hours. Two gunshot wounds to the chest. One hit the heart; one hit the thoracic, or chest, cavity. She died instantly and fell to her back on the floor. The placement seems trained but not professional or military. They knew how to shoot a gun and where to shoot to kill. She's dressed very well, not necessarily tastefully. Probably liked to flaunt her wealth, I mean look at this place it's bloody extravagant. No marks of restraint or any other damage except the bullet wounds so it doesn't look like she was here the whole time and they were waiting to kill her. Most likely she surprised them or vise versa."

"Very good John, very good." Sherlock briefly noted that John was starting to relax more (after the events of this morning) now that he was working. The consulting detective turned his attention back to roaming the scene, taking in each detail.

"There are multiple sets of footprints, different sizes and different shoes, so definitely a team of thieves, looks like 4 people, plus a possible getaway driver. One person could never have carried this much art and antiques on their own. The footprints have some sort of sediment in them. All of them do. Definitely take samples and run them at the lab.

"They had some brand of van waiting outside to haul everything and everyone away fast, there are large tire marks from a delivery type van outside. Also there was some sort of mechanical lock pick used on the front door; not real lock picks. That suggests professional thieves who planned to get in and out fast and not look suspicious standing at a door for five minutes trying to pick a lock.

"They also knew exactly what they were going for. They didn't take everything valuable, only specific items. I need to look at the files from the previous crime scenes and see if there were any other crimes that match this pattern, they may have only been robberies and not murders. They're prepared to kill but they don't seem to plan on it. I need more information to see why they pick these houses and these items in these houses. And I need to talk to the maid, see what she knows about the items and if she saw anything. Come along John." He finally seemed to take a breath before striding out of the room with a swish of his coat.

"Brilliant Sherlock." John replied as he went to follow him, no one noticed (especially not John) that there was more depth of feeling to his eyes this time, more love in the look he was giving Sherlock.

Sherlock thrummed with the thrill of a case. John loved to watch him in these moments. The detective seemed so alive, so full of vigor that John got a secondhand buzz just being near him. They headed back out the front door to where the maid was, wrapped in a bright orange shock blanket. A young street cop was handing her a warm drink when Sherlock and John arrived.

"Hello ma'am. My name is Sherlock Holmes, this is John Watson, and we're working with the police to solve Mrs. Lukanov's murder. Could you answer some questions for us?" Sherlock was acting his slick, sweet character so not to scare the poor woman into an even more shocked state.

"Yes, anything to help Miss Yelena. She was so good to me, God rest her soul." She said in a thick Bulgarian accent.

"Thank you. Can you tell me about the items that were taken? Anything specific about them?"

"Many were paintings and antiques she brought or bought from her home country, Bulgaria, and a few were from famous artists around Europe. She was quite the collector. There are pictures in a newspaper. They took photos of her house and her art collection. They were doing a piece on European art and collectors here in London. The only jewelry missing are the pieces that were handed down in her family. Oh Mister Pero will be so sad to have lost those, they were her favorites." She wiped a tear falling down her cheek. "That is all I can remember, I am sorry I cannot be more helpful."

"And did you see anything suspicious when you found her? Or even recently, any unusual people lurking around the street?"

"No I found her just an hour ago. The murderer was already gone. I don't think I've seen any…" She paused and brought a hand to her temple. "Wait, there was a man I remember seeing twice walking by the house. Both times he bent down to tie his shoe, which I thought was odd. I don't remember much what he looks like, just white, dark hair, medium height. Regular looking guy, you know?"

"Thank you for your help." Sherlock strode away. "John we need to go find the case files for the last murder and see if there are any other robberies that have similarities." He was at the street by now, John trailing behind him, and he held out his hand and a cab appeared.

~o0o~

They were at Scotland Yard in the case file room, a dark room in the basement filled with filing cabinets, sitting at a table with copious files and papers splayed out on it. Sherlock had found three other robberies that matched the profile of the two murder/robberies Lestrade had told them of.

"In all of these robberies the only items taken have been foreign art or antiquities and older jewelry, also usually from another country. They must have a reason. They leave everything else, all other valuables. Quite a few of them have been in plain sight at the scenes. All of the houses are wealthy homes and families. Hmm. What did you find John?"

John had been searching the web for mentions of the victims' names especially anything about their house or their art collections.

"Well, Yelena Lukanov was definitely in the paper, and it extensively mentions her art collection. Two of the other families were part of a European art organization that meets around London. I can't find anything about the other two. But they may have flaunted their collections in public not in anything written or recorded." John had borrowed a laptop from a nice officer upstairs. He put the computer on the table and then reached his arms high above his head to stretch the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. They'd been at this for almost four hours now. He tilted his head backwards as his body arched to loosen his muscles more. He didn't see when Sherlock's gaze trickled over his taut body appreciatively, lustfully even, before the detective put his mask of indifference back on.

"Looks like we need to head to the lab. I believe the sample I've procured from the footprints will be our final puzzle piece."

"When did you… Never mind." John said and smiled, realizing he wasn't really surprised. The man could be quite sneaky when he wanted to. He probably got the sample when John was looking over the body.

~o0o~

"Of course!" Sherlock declared.

They had been at Bart's for two hours while Sherlock ran tests to determine the chemical compounds of the substance from the shoe prints.

"What?" John replied. He had been watching Sherlock with avid interest. That lithe cat-like body, perfect marble skin, gorgeous neck that led to the luscious triangle of chest at the open buttons. His feelings for the man were getting harder and harder to ignore now that they had been brought to the surface. Calm down Watson, bloody hell. I thought we were trying to stop this from happening. John thought to himself.

Still looking through the microscope Sherlock started rattling off his findings. "Sodium chloride mixed with trace amounts of magnesium, zinc, potassium, iron, and calcium. Sea salt. Trace amounts of bacteria consistent with the Thames. Also there is sediment from an older concrete substance. The thieves must be storing their loot in a warehouse near the Thames, probably near the docks. No one would look twice at a group of people loading items in and out of a warehouse. Now which one?"

Sherlock sat back in his chair. His hands came up in front of him to move around and his eyes darted back and forth as if seeing a computer screen. He would mumble 'no' or 'not there' every few seconds, ticking off each possibility. After a few minutes he grabbed John by the shoulders and exclaimed, "Got it. We've got them. Let's go."

Both noticed that where they came in contact with each other felt burning hot. A blush started to creep up John's neck when Sherlock whirled away. He was practically skipping with the rush of having solved a case. In the cab John managed to text Lestrade quickly to meet them at the warehouse and bring backup. The DI texted back to wait because he was delayed, but knew they probably wouldn't.

~o0o~

John and Sherlock had the cab let them off a little ways away from the warehouse and walked the rest of the way. Everything was silent but for the lapping of the Thames. When they reached the grey concrete building John pulled his gun from the back of his trousers and Sherlock bent down to pick the lock to the blue metal door. It took some finagling but they finally heard a small click and the door leaned open. They both entered as silently as possible because though there was no van outside or lights on inside, there still might be a guard.

They headed down a narrow corridor that led to a larger storage space. Most of the stolen goods were stacked in rows, separated by type of item (paintings, vases, antiques, jewelry, etc) and only partially covered by tarps to keep the dust off.

Sherlock stepped up to the paintings and whispered to John. "Yes, it's here, not all of it, but most of it. I'm guessing they have this storage space so close to the water because they must have someone take it out of the country for them and sell it. That must be why they only take foreign pieces, because they sell better outside of Britain and selling the goods here is too risky. Seems to be a smuggling ring with this as their new location."

John was standing close to the corridor entrance as he whispered back, "Great, solved the case, now we should leave before we get caught and wait for the poli- Nnnng!" Just as John was turning around at the small noise behind him he felt a piercing pain burst through his skull. He stumbled dizzily, eyes shut in pain, when the person kneed him in the ribs to knock him over. Sherlock made a growling noise and leaped at the attacker. John managed to pry his eyes open, he had to get to Sherlock, had to help him. He saw a glint of metal from a gun that Sherlock and the attacker were struggling over and it made his heart freeze. John tried to push himself up but the room was tilting.

Sherlock managed a punch to the man's face and then tried to weaken the man's grip on the gun with blows to his wrist. The attacker put both hands on the gun and pointed it at the left side Sherlock's chest near his heart. Sherlock struggled to push the gun away and keep the man from firing.

John was almost on his feet now, his hands scrabbled for his gun on the floor. He could see the back of the criminal, but the man was blocking his view of Sherlock. He could see Sherlock's arm muscles straining to push the man's arm away when he heard a loud BANG! Sherlock's face flashed surprise, then pain as he collapsed to the ground.

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

Chapter Text

Previously:

The attacker put both hands on the gun and pointed it at the left side Sherlock's chest near his heart. Sherlock struggled to push the gun away and keep the man from firing.

John was almost on his feet now, his hands scrabbled for his gun on the floor. He could see the back of the criminal, but the man was blocking his view of Sherlock. He could see Sherlock's arm muscles straining to push the man's arm away when he heard a loud BANG! Sherlock's face flashed surprise, then pain as he collapsed to the ground.

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

-----------

John's soldier instinct kicked in and the rush of adrenaline flushed away the dizziness and pain from his head injury. The world focused into startling clarity, his mind registered each and every movement, each and every dust mote swirling in the air. He focused on the enemy with the gun who has just shot his best friend.

Without removing his eyes from the enemy, his hands promptly found his own gun, which immediately went to aim at the man. As the enemy angrily turned towards John, gun still raised and wildly looking for a new target, John fired. The bullet went straight through the man's right shoulder with a spray of blood following it. He collapsed to the ground with a moan and John went over to kick the pistol out of the man's limp grip. It skidded across the floor with an echoing clatter. He checked that the man was unconscious before rushing to Sherlock's body on the dirty warehouse floor. He wouldn't be any good to Sherlock if the criminal wasn't incapacitated (and attacked them again) so he had to check him first, as much as it pained him.

His adrenaline rush was fading fast now; the focus draining and the energy in his cells evaporating like steam. His body was quivering and he was starting to feel the pure terror seep back into his heart, his soul. Sherlock was lying on the ground and blood was seeping out onto his chest and arm near his heart. John froze at the sight. The image seemed to stick in his head making this one second feel like an infinity. Oh god, what if Sherlock was dead? He looked dead. John suddenly couldn't bear the thought of Sherlock being dead…and not having ever been with him.

A loud gasp startled him from his stupor.

"Ouch! That bloody-well stings." Sherlock said in a strained but mostly normal voice. His right hand came up to touch his left arm hesitantly and he winced as he sat up.

"Wha- What?... No, no, no. I saw you get shot in the chest. How are you okay?" John's eyes were wide and his body trembling as he knelt down beside Sherlock.

"Oh that. Well, you thought you saw him shoot me in the chest. During the struggle I managed to push the gun between my arm and my side. That was when he pulled the trigger. It seems to have only grazed the inner part of my arm and the side of my chest. Not much damage, but those spots do tend to bleed more than others." Sherlock rambled. He was too focused on his wounds and trying to get his coat off to see them that he hadn't noticed how affected John was yet.

John's shaky hand came up to tenderly brush Sherlock's face, his thumb grazing over Sherlock's sharp cheekbone. Sherlock looked at him, surprise emanating from every pore.

"I-" John's voice caught, but he continued in the same soft tone. "I thought you were dead…. I thought I had lost you." His cobalt orbs bore into Sherlock's silver ones.

They leaned towards each other unconsciously, but just before their lips met they heard a loud shout of 'POLICE!' before DI Lestrade and his officers burst into the warehouse. They whipped their heads back but stayed close and still touching. John's ears turned scarlet and he looked down at the floor for a moment. 'What the bloody hell are you doing John Watson. My God, get yourself together.' John thought while staring at the dusty concrete floor.

"John, Sherlock are you alright? Shit, who's that on the ground?" Lestrade yelled as he moved towards them, his gun drawn.

"We're fine Lestrade, but John here will need medical attention-" Sherlock began to reply before he was cut off by John.

"You're the one who got shot and is bleeding. You need medical attention more than I do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I wasn't shot, I was grazed by the bullet thank you very much. And if you hadn't noticed you are bleeding as well."

"What? Where?" John said, his hand reached up to his head and he was in fact bleeding from the back of his head, though it had mostly stopped by now. He felt a twinge when he touched the tender area but ignored it. "Oh. Right you are. But you still need medical attention." John had finally stopped shaking and was morphing into doctor mode. He could analyze this mess of feelings later but right now Sherlock's health was more important. His hands came up to put pressure on the detective's bleeding arm. He knew the graze right over his ribs would be too sensitive for pressure and it must have been smaller than the arm wound as it was bleeding far less.

"I'm glad you're both alright but can you please tell me why a man is bleeding on the ground." Lestrade said exasperatedly. Sometime during Sherlock and John's not-so-private- private chat Lestrade had signaled to one of the constables to call for an ambulance and another constable to see if the man on the floor was all right.

"He's part of the group of robbers who are actually part of a larger smuggling ring. They brought their goods here, as they must have someone who illegally ships these stolen items abroad to sell. He snuck up on us and hit John over the head. I struggled with him and he shot me, then John shot him in self-defense." Sherlock gave John a look of pride. "He should be fine though. Look he's already starting to come to. I'm sure that if you interrogate him he'll give up the names of his cohorts."

"Honestly you couldn't have just waited could you?" Lestrade gave a weary sigh. His radio made a static noise before they could hear a voice saying that an ambulance was here. "Alright let's get you both out of here and to the medics. I'll deal with this one." He pointed to the awakening criminal.

"Come on Sherlock, up you go." John said and he placed Sherlock's uninjured arm over his shoulders and gently pulled the tall man to a standing position. Sherlock made a small grimace as the movement jarred his wounds.

John felt sizzling fire lick at each and every point Sherlock was touching him. It was a curious feeling, quite nice in fact, but John kept expecting Sherlock to feel cold with death. He couldn't shake that horrible feeling of almost losing Sherlock. He led them out the front of the warehouse to the waiting ambulance and eased him onto the gurney.

"Him first." They both said at the same time to the medics. John rolled his eyes and Sherlock smirked his smug grin.

The medics looked at one another with laughter in their eyes but didn't giggle. "As there are two of us how about we check you over at the same time. Happy?" The female asked.

The two friends nodded in agreement and the medics started their work. John didn't need any stitches, the wound was small but he did have a large lump and bruise on the back of his head. They gave him an icepack and an anti-inflammatory. Sherlock needed eight stitches on his arm before they wrapped it up and got away with no stitches on his side. As John thought, the chest cut was much smaller, thank heavens.

John was very quiet throughout this whole process. He avidly watched everything the medic was doing to Sherlock and paid no attention whatsoever to his own care. He still couldn't believe Sherlock got away with such minor injuries. For that one eternity-like-second he was positive Sherlock was gone and it brought up so many feelings he had been telling himself he didn't have. Been telling himself to stop. Been telling himself he couldn't handle, not after what that man did to him. But the feelings were so strong now that they were overriding his defense mechanisms. It physically hurt him to think of not being near Sherlock anymore. It hurt his heart, squeezed it in a vice grip. His resolve to stop all this…love… he had for Sherlock was wearing down.

A hand on his arm brought him back down to Earth.

"John? John it's time to go. We can go home now." Sherlock paused to look in John's eyes and he quirked his own eyebrow up in a question. "Are you sure you're all right? You seem…off. I thought they said you only had a light concussion?"

"Oh. Yeah, I'm fine Sherlock. No worries. Let's get back, we both need to rest." At Sherlock's look he added, "And I'm not taking no for an answer." He decided to push his thoughts away until he was home, in bed, alone. Where Sherlock couldn't read every single thought on his face.

~o0o~

Back in the kitchen of 221B John had forced Sherlock to eat some toast and tea already and was finishing his own plate and cuppa. Sherlock could tell something was off with John. He was still unusually quiet and Sherlock had caught the doctor staring at him more than once.

"I think I'm going to hit the sack." John said finally. "You better go try and get some sleep too. Doctor's orders."

For once Sherlock didn't argue but John was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice. They both headed to their separate bedrooms, each giving the other one last look before parting.

~o0o~

John took off his bloodstained clothes and changed into his coziest pajama bottoms and shirt before sliding into bed.

His thoughts were racing. Why was this particular event affecting him so badly? Surely he'd seen Sherlock hurt many times before this. He'd saved the detective from many brushes with death, stitched him up, or sat with Sherlock at the hospital (the rare time or two Sherlock was forced to go). So why did THIS image of Sherlock lying dead keep flashing through his mind, make his heart feel like nails were being driven into it, make his stomach clench in fear and want and love?

'OH SHIT! I'm IN LOVE with him. Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit!' John thought savagely. His body curled into a ball around his head. It seemed his heart had won out over his brain and had finally made him see the truth. 'And he loves me back. Somehow. At least that's what he told me…but can I really do this, with a man?' He shivered a little at a memory he had tried to hold back for so long.

'But I love him right? I can't let my rape ruin the rest of my life. And it's Sherlock for Christ's sake; if it were anyone else I probably wouldn't be having this, um…conversation...in my own head? But it is and he's already accepted everything else about me. I love this insane, brilliant, beautiful man…Oh god, what do I do?'

These thoughts swirled round and round in poor John's head until he fell into a fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

John heard a loud bang and saw Sherlock's lengthy body crumble to the ground. He rushed to him but the sight made his heart stop.

Sherlock was staring sightlessly up at the ceiling and a bullet wound was bleeding sluggishly from his unmoving chest.

"No! Sherlock!" John knelt and scooped Sherlock up into his arms. "Please, please come back to me…. Sherlock? Sherlock please!" John was sobbing now. Sherlock was completely still.

John pressed his face into Sherlock's lush curls and screamed in pain. His heart felt like it had been pulverized. No not Sherlock. Please anyone but Sherlock. He sobbed and screamed until his voice was hoarse.

"Hunnnh!" John gasped for air as he bolted up from his dream.

His shirt was soaked in sweat, his whole body shook, and oxygen just wasn't coming fast enough. He knew it was a dream but it felt so real. It was so close to being real. And suddenly John had an all-encompassing, soul commanding, breath taking NEED for Sherlock. He needed him. Needed to feel his heart beating. Needed to feel his skin on Sherlock's skin. Needed to feel Sherlock's love. He couldn't bear to be separated anymore, damn the consequences.

This urge was so powerful, so intense, that John forgot about anything else. There was nothing but Sherlock.

John stumbled out of bed and rushed to Sherlock's room. He entered without knocking to find Sherlock blearily rubbing his eyes.

"John?" Sherlock's rasped tired but worried.

John strode over to the bed and pushed his dry, cracked lips against those pale, soft ones. His lips moved feverishly and desperately. His hands came up to cup Sherlock's marble cut cheekbones. Sherlock was absolutely still for so long and then a magical thing happened. John felt Sherlock's lips kiss him back, slowly at first. John would even describe it as tender. But it wasn't long before Sherlock's lips became just as desperate. John nipped Sherlock's lower lip, drawing it into his mouth and sucking before letting it go with a 'pop'.

He brought his head back down again, this time at a much better angle. He teased Sherlock's succulent lips open with his tongue and dove in to meet Sherlock's. When their tongues met they both moaned at the tingling electricity feeling created.

John straddled Sherlock's hips without losing mouth contact. He shivered with arousal and fear when he felt Sherlock's bulging erection slide against his own. The arousal was far stronger and he forced the fear away. He needed more skin, more Sherlock, and started to unbutton the man's pajama top. That's when Sherlock's hands (which at some point had migrated to John's cheek and his hip) pushed John back slightly and broke the kiss. They were both panting loudly.

"John." Sherlock gasped. He tried to gain his breath back before continuing. "John. What's going on?"

John took a breath but never left the younger man's gaze. "I- I want yo- No, I NEED you Sherlock… I've fallen for you completely…" His thumb brushed over Sherlock's cheek gently. He wasn't quite ready to say 'I love you' full out, but he knew Sherlock would know exactly what he meant. "…And I'm ready."

"Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive? I have to know." Sherlock's eyes were tentative yet hopeful as they started into John's.

"God yes." John replied with a smile. It was their line.

Sherlock pulled John down until their foreheads were glued together so he could whisper his words right against his army doctor's lips. "I love you too, John Watson."

Then their lips met in a kiss full to the brim with love. It started out slow and sweet but transformed into one of passion and need. John's hands went back to the buttons of Sherlock's purple silk pajamas, tugging them out of their slots. When his lips tore away from Sherlock's to suck and nip at the newly revealed neck and chest Sherlock moaned John's name. It wasn't enough, he needed to feel skin against skin, and feel that wonderful heartbeat against his own. Sherlock seemed to read his mind as usual and pulled John's t-shirt off with a bit of a struggle.

"Beautiful." Sherlock whispered. John made a microscopic flinch at the word, but didn't seem to consciously realize it. Sherlock did. "You really are." Then he was kissing John's neck, his tan chest, his puckered scar, and his pert nipples.

"Oh, God. Sherlock." John said in a voice made hoarse by pleasure.

Sherlock took this opportunity to flip them so John was on his back and Sherlock was straddling him. While continuing his ministrations Sherlock untied John's pajama bottoms and slid them off. He pulled his own off quickly as John's fingers were fumbling unsuccessfully at the tie. Both now only clad in boxers, Sherlock lay back down on John and felt John's hips grind up against his. Oh and it was brilliant. Their straining erections only separated by two flimsy pieces of fabric. Their lips met passionately as they grinded against each other again and again.

Sherlock sat up, wanting to finally feel John's fully naked body against his, and John's lips followed Sherlock's not wanting to break contact. They finally broke apart gasping for air and their foreheads pressed together.

Sherlock kissed John's mouth briefly before working his way down to John's neck. His injured arm went to caress and hold John's neck and his uninjured arm made it's way down to the band of John's boxers and started to pull them down. That's when John's body jolted and shivered violently. Sherlock froze.

~o0o~

John's whole body went rigid, his breathing was harsh and much too fast, and he started shivering. Sherlock immediately backed off.

"John? John what's wrong?" Sherlock tried to speak in as calm a voice as he could manage. He looked into his love's eyes but they weren't right. Something was off. Sherlock realized that John's eyes weren't focused on him. He was staring at something but his gaze was distant and removed. He wasn't here anymore.

John's breathing was becoming even more labored; the shivering was turning into quaking.

"Joh-" Sherlock started to say.

"NO! Please stop. No don't touch me. Chris, stop it. Please stop!" John was whimpering and his hands had come up to protect himself from an invisible enemy (well, invisible to Sherlock).

Sherlock was sitting on the other side of the bed not touching John at all. 'Who the hell is Chris?' Sherlock thought.

"John, it's okay. It's me…. It's Sherlock. Remember?" Sherlock got no response so he gently placed his hand on John's shoulder.

John screamed and launched himself off the bed and into the corner of the room. He curled into a protective ball, rocking himself back and forth and sobbing. Occasionally he would mutter words: No, please stop, don't touch me there, please don't hurt me, Chris stop, I won't tell anyone I swear, please don't.

Sherlock was absolutely terrified now. He had figured out John was having a flashback, but this did not seem like an army flashback. Sherlock had a horrible notion as to what it could be and it caused a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was so painful seeing his strong, brave army doctor reduced to this.

He decided he needed to rouse John from this nightmare, NOW. John was beyond scared, Sherlock could see a sheen of sweat over his whole body and was getting really worried.

"John?" He began to approach John slowly with his hands held up to show he wouldn't hurt him. He knelt down beside John, still giving him room, and started to speak in a very calm, soothing baritone.

"John?... It's me Sherlock, remember?... Please wake up John, come back to me. It's Sherlock. I'm here. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

John's rocking had slowed then stopped. His breathing had started returning to a normal pace. At last he lifted his head up. He stared at Sherlock vacantly.

"Come back to me my love." Sherlock whispered gazing into John's unfocused eyes. The same eyes he usually loved for their expressiveness, the silent smile within their depths, the calculating gaze at a crime scene, the raw emotion when John thought Sherlock wasn't looking.

At that last whispered sentence John seemed to jerk back into awareness. John gasped and slapped his hand over his mouth in horror.

"Oh god. Sherlock!" Then John dove into Sherlock's arms and hugged him frantically. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, so sorry." John said over and over.

Sherlock's arms wrapped around John and he rubbed his back soothingly. He was still terrified but was trying not to let it show.

"It's ok John. You didn't do anything wrong. It's ok." He kissed the top of John's head before asking hesitantly, "What happened to you John?" Though he suspected already.

John's body went stiff and he buried his face into Sherlock's chest even more. "Before I tell you, you have to promise you won't look at me differently. That you won't leave. Please Sherlock promise me." John's voice was muffled but Sherlock could still hear the raw desperation in it, the fear.

"Of course John. Nothing could make me see anything but you. Nothing could make me love you any less. I promise." Sherlock placed another kiss into John's blonde spikes.

"I was…nng." John made a choking noise. "I was raped by a man, multiple times, when I was 10." John took a steadying breath but he refused to look at Sherlock, preferring to talk to his chest. "His name's Christopher McGran he was only 20. He worked for the school mentor program. He would make up these outings to get me alone and the first few times he never did anything so I thought he was nice. But then he started taking me to secluded spots. He would hold me down, strangle me, he would hit me in ways that wouldn't leave marks, and he would rape me." John shuddered viciously.

"I can still feel him, those disgusting hands touching me around my neck, blocking off my air, hitting me, holding me down, then going someplace no one has a right to go without permission, especially on a kid. Hnn- I can still feel the pain and the tearing so deep inside me and the blood running down my legs."

Sherlock's eyes widened as far as they would go. He felt water running down his chest and realized they must be tears, John's tears. Sherlock's arms held John a little closer.

"He threatened to kill me if I told anyone; he threatened to hurt Harry too. For a 10-year-old kid that's a really scary thought. Someone finally figured it out and they arrested him. He's been in jail ever since. Seeing as I was a minor my name was kept out of the case file for protection purposes. Probably why Mycroft didn't know. It wouldn't have come up directly in his search." John gave a dry chuckle without any heart in it.

Sherlock wasn't sure how to react to something this emotional, but he was furious, livid that someone would hurt John. 'No one has a right to make John feel like this. No one.' Sherlock thought angrily. If this Christopher person wasn't already in jail Sherlock would kill him right now, would hurt him for hurting John. He pushed all his anger back down below his mask. John didn't need to see this. John needed acceptance and support now, not anger.

"Oh John. I'm so sorry this happened to you. I hate that someone hurt you like that. But I still love you. This doesn't change how I see you." He continued giving John soothing touches.

John looked up at him with awe. "Really? You're not disgusted by me? You're not thinking of leaving?"

"Of course not John." Sherlock's eyes stung and he tried to hold back his tears. "You are still my John, no matter what. What happened to you doesn't change that."

Tears streamed down John's cheeks anew. "Thank you Sherlock. I was so scared about you finding out. I haven't really told anyone before."

Sherlock realized this was probably why John had all those girlfriends and none of them lasted long. Why he slept on Sarah's sofa that time even though they were dating. He probably hadn't had sex with most of the women he had dated. He had probably gotten to that point and stopped the relationship (or the women had gotten too curious about it so he found ways to end it). He may have had feelings for men before but never acted on them because of such a horrible experience. That was why he was so freaked out about a relationship with Sherlock, a man, and kept saying he was straight so forcefully. And dear god, all those nightmares John had at night. Sherlock would bet anything that quite a few of them weren't war nightmares. Some were, definitely, but given the flashback tonight was this strong this obviously wasn't the first time it had happened. He was pulled out of his thoughts by John's voice.

"I think I'm okay now. It was just a particularly bad flashback." John blushed a little before continuing. "I hope you know it wasn't you, you didn't do anything wrong. It was just my first time with a man, first real time, and that mixed with the shock of today and other things probably caused the flashback…. Can we… can we try again some other time?" John blushed an even deeper shade of crimson. "I think I just want to try to sleep. Tonight that is."

"I know John. And yes we can try again, but we'll take it as slowly as you need to. I told you I would wait for you forever John Watson." Sherlock smiled and kissed the top of John's head again. It was fast becoming a habit.

"Can…can I sleep here? With you?" John asked nervously.

Sherlock checked John over quickly to make absolutely sure he was all right before replying. "I'd like that." John smiled.

He pulled John up with him and moved them towards his bed. He pulled back the covers and they both lay down facing each other. Sherlock hesitantly wrapped his arm around John's hip and up his back. His eyes silently asked if that was okay.

In reply John did the same and he tangled his legs in Sherlock's. His fingers ghosted over Sherlock's spine (far too skinny) before settling near his sacrum. His toes tickled Sherlock's calf muscle.

The consulting detective could tell John was getting very drowsy. It had been a long and exhausting day.

Sherlock's lips chastely kissed John's as he whispered, "I love you, John. Sleep now. I'll keep you safe."

"Thank you." He mumbled.

John's arm squeezed Sherlock's back before he closed his eyes and nestled his head in Sherlock's chest once more. He fell into a deep sleep, breathing in the unique, comforting, and just-plain-Sherlock smell.

Sherlock settled himself in for a night of close and careful watching to make sure John didn't have a nightmare or another flashback. But only a couple hours later his eyes closed and his body went limp with sleep.

Come morning the two men were sleeping peacefully, so tangled around each other that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

Chapter Text

John woke in Sherlock's bed. He shivered as the chilly air sent goose bumps over his skin and scrunched up in the covers even further, but the annoying 'beep beep' of his alarm clock was not stopping. He sighed before stretching out and slamming the off button. He really did have to get up and go to work but he was so exhausted from having been up over two days straight with Sherlock on a case that still wasn't solved. And he hadn't even slept well that night. A nightmare woke him up and he had trouble getting back to sleep. Although the nightmares of his rape and the war had lessened dramatically since he and Sherlock started sharing the same bed they would still come. When he woke up in a cold sweat, shouting and shivering Sherlock would hold him in his arms and whisper soothing words until John was back to himself.

He rolled over to Sherlock, who was sitting upright, hands at his temples, and flicking through his mind palace. John delicately brushed his hand over Sherlock's toned chest and breathed in that wonderful Sherlock smell he had come to love so dearly. It brought so many memories back. Sherlock seemed to exit the maze that was his mind and he looked into John's eyes with a knowing smile as they both thought of exactly the same memory. Could it really have been almost 6 months they had been together?

-Flashback (6 months ago)-

Sunlight gently streamed over the intertwined tan and ivory bodies. It sparkled over the beautiful pair of hands clasped around each other. It flickered against the shorter golden legs tangled around the long, pale ones. It glistened against John's freckled nose and cheek and mouth nestled so perfectly against Sherlock's flawless chest, snuffling quietly with sleepy breaths.

Sherlock awoke first. Upon finding John wrapped so entirely around him, in Sherlock's own bed, he was only surprised for a millisecond before his mind caught up with the events of the night before. John, his wonderful John, had admitted he cared deeply for Sherlock. He had also admitted as to why he had been so adamant about trying not to care for Sherlock; and what a horrible secret it was. Sherlock instinctively kissed John's forehead, like he'd been doing it forever, and held him a little closer. He hoped beyond all hope that when John woke up he wouldn't think he had made a mistake or leave because he was afraid. Sherlock would do everything in his power to keep his army doctor right where he was: by Sherlock's side.

John gave a particularly loud snuffle, almost a snore really, and began to come to. He was somewhat confused at the warmth that seemed to surround his whole body, at the smell that permeated his nose, and at the expensive satin sheets that definitely weren't his. 'Oh God.' It all came rushing back to him: the warehouse, Sherlock almost being killed, the nightmare, figuring out he was in love with Sherlock, then that all encompassing need for his flat mate, almost having sex with said flat mate, and dear god worst of all telling Sherlock his darkest secret. 'Shit, shit, shit, shit. 'John thought.

John opened his eyes to see a very smooth pale chest staring back at him. He backed his head away and looked up into Sherlock's pale green eyes. Any thoughts of saying that this was a mistake or trying to stop what was happening between them were banished at the heart wrenching emotion in Sherlock's eyes. There was so much love in those green orbs as they stared down into John's navy ones, but also fear and raw vulnerability. John could tell Sherlock thought that he was going to leave, and that it would break his heart into tiny pieces. So John did the only thing he could think of to stop that pain: he kissed him.

It was really time to give up the charade. It seemed like 95 percent of John had completely given up denying his feelings for his brilliant detective, it was just that little piece that kept niggling away at him to stop, to protect himself from further pain. And it seemed that little part was getting smaller, or at least less powerful, each moment with Sherlock.

He could feel some of the stress relax out of Sherlock's muscles as he kissed him. He finally pulled his lips back.

"So, um…I'm in your bed am I?" John asked embarrassedly.

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, yes you are."

"Heh." John laughed before his face went serious again. "And…and you know- I mean I told you about…"

Sherlock's smirk disappeared instantly. "Yes. You told me what happened."

"And you didn't flee in horror or run away screaming?" John said with a hint of awe in his voice.

"I can assure you I am right here and have been so all night."

"Mmm." John paused and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. "So, I suppose we need to talk. About us I mean."

"That would be most advantageous."

"Good, because I do have some questions. And we have to figure out what this is." John waved his finger between the two of them. "How about we get breakfast and talk? Oh and I need to check your stitches."

"Do I have to eat it?" Sherlock pouted.

"Yes, you have to eat something. You've barely eaten in days and you lost some blood last night so you need to get something in you." John said in his usual way. It was nice to realize not everything had to change.

Sherlock huffed but consented and they both untangled themselves to find clothes and head to the kitchen. Sherlock noticed the blush that crept up John's neck when Sherlock stretched his long-limbed body, still clad only in his boxers. His eyes raked appreciatively over John's equally unclad body.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting at the kitchen table with two cups of tea and many pieces of toast with jam.

John cleared his throat. "Um, so I have some questions if you don't mind."

"Fire away my dear John." He noticed John smile at his words.

"Alright then. You remember the first night we went to Angelo's? You said you were married to your work. So how do I fit in there?"

"Ah yes. I do still deem my work important, it is what keeps me going, what keeps my brain from rotting. It is the most important thing in my life…except for you. You seem to have burrowed your way into my being and I can't deny what I feel for you anymore. At the time I didn't feel this way of course, so what I said then was accurate."

"Ok. So what do you want from me? What do you want from us?"

"I want you, all of you. I want us to be together, I want us to be boyfriends or lovers or whatever you want to call us. I don't do anything halfway, you need to know that John." Sherlock's eyes burned into John's and he spoke with a fire that made John's soul smolder.

"I'd like that Sherlock. I don't want halfway either." John reached over and squeezed Sherlock's hand before lacing their fingers together.

They were silent for a moment before Sherlock continued. "I should warn you that just because we are in a relationship doesn't mean I will stop my work. It still is essential to my life. I'll still be my difficult, messy, experiment creating, moody self. I hope you understand that and won't hold it against me."

"You do realize that's part of the reason I fell in l- I mean I fell for you. I wouldn't have you any other way." Sherlock beamed at that and John rubbed his thumb in tiny circles across the back of Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock realized that John just wasn't ready to say love back to him so he didn't comment on the slip up. "Keep going I know you have more questions."

John took a moment to organize his thoughts. "You implied at one time or another that you were asexual, and up until now I've had no reason to doubt it, but if I remember last night correctly you didn't seem even close to asexual."

Sherlock smiled a naughty smile at the thought of last night and it made John flush red yet again. "I've never been a very sexual person. I wasn't at all in high school. I only experimented a few times at University so I could see why people commit crimes over such acts. After that I stopped entirely and had felt no urge or need for it since. It all seemed completely pointless… until you came along that is. So again I was telling the truth at the time, but you just seem to… change everything inside me."

John smiled. "You change me too. You make me feel alive, really truly alive, and you make me feel wanted and needed."

John sighed a deep, world-weary sigh and Sherlock looked him over worriedly trying to deduce what was wrong. "I… I should really give you the chance to leave right now, before this goes any further." John said in a broken voice and Sherlock's heart froze. "Look Sherlock, I'm damaged. I don't know if I'll ever be able to act normally in this relationship. I don't know when the flashbacks and the nightmares of my rape are going to stop, if ever. And I care about you too much to not say anything before I drag you down with me." John couldn't even look at Sherlock.

Sherlock darted up from his chair and crushed John into a hug. He tenderly stroked John's hair while he whispered fiercely into the man's ear. "No John. No! I am not leaving, not ever, not when I finally have you. Nothing could ever send me away. What you told me doesn't change how I see you, and if it does it only makes me see you as an even braver man than I thought you were. So, don't you dare give up on me now. Do you understand?"

John trembled with emotion. How on earth had he possibly gotten this lucky? "I understand…. Thank you Sherlock." John kissed Sherlock's chest through his dressing gown. "Thank you."

-End Flashback-

Both men smiled. John kissed Sherlock chastely on the lips knowing Sherlock wasn't up for anything more this morning as he was to embroiled in his double murder case.

"I'm going to grab a shower and head to work." Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. "Yes I do still have to work, we need the money. I'll be back later tonight. Have fun solving the case and call me if you need me of course." John said with a smile.

Sherlock was already heading back into his palace so John didn't expect a response. This case had been a difficult one, which was probably good in Sherlock's book, but it made John worry when he didn't sleep or eat for so long.

~o0o~

John made himself a quick cup of tea and some toast and sat on their couch to eat it. He turned on the telly to see what the weather was going to be today and sat back against the pleather cushions. Those same pleather cushions they lay upon when Sherlock had convinced John to get help for his PTSD reactions to his rape…

-Flashback (5 ½ months ago)-

They had returned from a case a few hours previous and Sherlock was still coasting on his 'solving high'. John had gotten him to eat only because he fed him by hand, an act that got both parties involved more than a little hot and bothered. They were now cuddling and kissing on the couch with some crap telly on in the background.

The kisses had started out relaxed, lazy even, with their tongues trailing over each other slowly. Sherlock liked to trace and memorize every detail of John's mouth, his neck, his face, and even his chest with his tongue. He liked observing exactly which spots made John gasp, made John pant like he was running, made him squirm, made him moan with pleasure. John particularly went crazy for the indent right behind his left earlobe.

Their kisses started to get very heated and both men's hands began to tug at clothing. John had gotten Sherlock's sexy, purple shirt unbuttoned and was exploring the newly bared skin beneath. Sherlock had begun to tug John's shirt out from his pants but when he brushed against John's cock John went rigid. Sherlock froze but quickly moved his hands away. John's breathing turned into harsh gasps and his body shook slightly.

"John? John, it's me Sherlock. It's just me. You're safe." This was the third time something similar had happened since that first night (not including the nightmares). Sherlock could tell that this time though John was still in the present, he was having more of a body response memory than a full flashback.

John's body calmed down at the words. He took a deep breath. "Oh shit. I'm sorry Sherlock. I thought I was getting better. Damn it."

Sherlock's hands went to stroke John's hair and face soothingly. "It's alright John."

"Still, I'm getting really aggravated. All I want to do is be with you and my stupid memories are preventing that." John huffed wearily.

Sherlock spoke cautiously, "John, I think it might be time to go see Ella." He was expecting a vehement refusal of his suggestion. John didn't really like his therapist, to be honest Sherlock thought she didn't help at all with his war PTSD, but she might be able to help. He knew John had never told her about his rape. Sherlock was the first person outside of his family he had told.

John sighed and kissed Sherlock's lips. "I think you might be right." He tucked his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck so his next words were muffled. "I'll make an appointment with her."

-End Flashback-

John blinked out of the memory and glanced at the clock. He was late. He would have to run to get to the tube station. He dumped his cup and plate in the sink and grabbed his coat and scarf. He yelled a quick goodbye to Sherlock, knowing he probably wouldn't hear it, and ran out the door. He had to run so he wouldn't be too late. Hopefully he wouldn't miss his first patient.

He arrived at the station, rushed down the stairs, and slipped through the doors of the train just seconds before they closed. He sat down in a remaining seat and looked out the window. He was reminded of the time he was sitting in this train on the way to his therapist's office, tormenting about whether to skip the appointment or not.

-Flashback (5 months ago)-

The stop was coming up. John sat in the train's plastic chair and waffled between "accidently" missing the stop or getting some bloody courage and just doing the appointment. His morals won out, he had promised Sherlock after all, and himself for that matter. He had to take control of his life. He could not let this dictate his budding relationship with the most wonderful and brilliant person on Earth. No. Way. In. Hell.

He begrudgingly picked his body up from the chair as the computerized voice over the speakers told him they were at the station and made his way out and to Ella's office.

"So John, I haven't seen you in quite a while. You usually like it when I get right to the point so, why are you here today?" Ella had her pad and pen out on her lap and was looking at John with mild interest.

John shifted uncomfortably. 'Come on John you were a soldier in Afghanistan, surely you can handle this.' John thought to himself.

He let out the breath he was holding. "Ok… um, so I'm dating Sherlock Holmes. Yeah, and we've been trying to…um consummate the relationship and I can't do it because I keep having vivid flashbacks of when I was…" John cleared his throat nervously. "When I was raped as a child. I was wondering what you could do to help me."

Ella thankfully didn't bat an eye. "All right. So can you tell me about these flashbacks? If you are comfortable, of course. And about what triggered them?"

John told her everything. It felt a bit cathartic actually. It's not that he never dealt with his feelings about his rape, but it was a new and scary thing to actually tell people about it.

"Look, I just need to stop these from happening. I can't even make love to my boyfriend because whenever we go too far I can feel Chris's hands on my body, and his smell, and his-" John shivered. "-Ugh everything. And I need this to stop."

"Well it sounds like to me that you're having more of a bodily flashback reaction than a mind flashback. This happens sometimes with very traumatic events, even people who have recovered well after such events can have the memory triggered at any time. It involves the event having been so traumatic that it overwhelms the coping mechanisms and it isn't stored properly in the brain. Thus any stimuli that bring you close to a feeling of the event can trigger a physical reaction and/or a flashback. There is a technique that some therapists know how to use called EMDR, or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. This technique can help you process these painful memories and decrease their influence to allow your coping mechanisms to work properly. If you are up for trying it I am trained in EMDR. It does take time to work, but it has been shown to be quite effective."

"Yeah, let's try it. I want my life back." John said in a firm voice.

Ella smiled. "Good, we can start immediately. Again this can take some time to have effect and in the mean time you can still do what you want with Sherlock. You can go as far as you are comfortable and if you are absolutely sure you can keep going then of course feel free. But if you are feeling extremely uncomfortable and edgy or are having a flashback I advise you to stop or slow down because we don't want to re-traumatize your brain any more than it already is. That would be a step back. The goal of this therapy is to desensitize your reactions."

"Alright, thanks."

"Great. Are you ready to start?" John nodded at Ella. "Now, I want you to pick a place that makes you feel safe, that makes you feel good about yourself…"

John worked with Ella once or twice a week for many months after this. And he was glad to say it was working. Not right away of course, it still took almost two months for the therapy to take noticeable effect: his flashbacks had lessened, he had less nightmares, and his negative reactions to a man (Sherlock) touching him had lessened drastically. He would still have reactions but he would use his technique to calm himself down and they were able to continue. By five months later John was doing extremely well and was down to one session every other week.

-End Flashback-

~o0o~

Sherlock had been in his mind palace for hours when he decided to perform an experiment that would hopefully help the case. As he measured the rate that blood would drip in a cold apartment he noticed his dressing gown had drops and smudges of red. He ignored the mess until his experiment was finished and the results were filed away in his mind palace.

He strode into his room, well it was sort of his and John's room now, and dumped his dressing gown and shirt on the floor. He grabbed a clean shirt, navy silk, and went to the sink in the bathroom to wash off the specks on his arms. He grabbed the forest green washcloth hanging off the bath rim, wet it and began wiping down his arms. All of a sudden he got delightful goose bumps when he remembered just what he had used this washcloth for three months ago.

-Flashback (about 3 months ago)-

Sherlock had been thinking of John all day. John was set to come home from the A&E soon and Sherlock couldn't wait. He had kept his and John's physical attempts to a minimum since he had started therapy almost two months back. He hadn't wanted to push John too far again until he was closer to recovery. Not to say they hadn't been making out like teenagers at a drive-in-theater, or sleeping in the same bed (waking up every morning practically tied in knots around each other), or cuddling on the couch often. They just hadn't gone any further. But Sherlock knew John was getting better now and he had planned all the last two days to try something special… if John was up for it.

He heard John walk through the door and go through his usual routine: scarf off, coat off, shoes put in a neat row underneath them, then making his way up the stairs. Sherlock smiled. John opened their door, looked around briefly, and when he found Sherlock sitting on the couch he went right over and gave him a good snogging.

"Hello, love." John whispered into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock could tell John wanted him, if not for the desperate way he was attacking Sherlock's mouth, or the possessive fingers running through his dark curls, then the hard bulge he felt against his thigh. This would be a perfect time to try his experiment with John.

He pulled back from John's lips and John whined at the loss. "I have an idea. I have an idea that just might work and if you're willing to try then come to bed with me."

"Oh really? And what is this so called idea you have?" John panted.

"I believe if I pleasure you but don't give your mind time to catch up then you may not have a flashback. Obviously if it doesn't work or you say no at any time I will stop, but I have a feeling it might work."

"Hmm, you know that actually has some merit. It goes along the lines of what Ella has been saying, that it's a trigger and if my brain doesn't have time to analyze then I won't get the body reaction. It just might work."

"Exactly my dear Watson."

John stared into Sherlock's, today, crystal blue eyes lovingly. "And I don't know if I could say no to anything involving you and a bed right now. Besides, I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. I've been doing really well lately and I know I'm getting better."

"My thoughts exactly." Sherlock smirked naughtily. He was actually a bit nervous inside but he was very good at masking emotions he didn't want to show. He grabbed John's hand and led him to their bed.

"Lay down." Sherlock said to John. "Let me do all the work, just let me know if you want to stop, okay?"

John nodded. Keeping his hand twined in Sherlock's and their gazes locked he lay down in the center of their bed.

Sherlock straddled John's thighs and hungrily took the man's lips in his own. He nipped and sucked. He swirled his tongue inside John's mouth teasingly. All the while his fingers had unbuttoned and pushed off John's shirt. He knew the key to success for this was to have John be so distracted that he wouldn't even have time to react.

His lips moved down the tan neck. He made sure to only kiss and not hold John's neck in any way as he found that was a sure fire way to induce a flashback. John told him it was because that horrible man used to strangle him when he raped him, and while he enjoyed kisses to his neck, he was not comfortable with hands around or touching his neck.

His tongue licked its way around every single one of John's favorite spots until the good doctor was panting like a runner. Sherlock moved his way down to John's firm pecs. He tickled them with his tongue until he finally got to the now stiff nipples. He swirled around them and worshipped each one with teeth and tongue and lips. John was moaning with pleasure and his hands went up to grasp hard at Sherlock's dark curls. While John was sufficiently distracted he worked off his jeans and underwear quickly. John didn't even notice. 'Fantastic.' Sherlock thought.

He worked his way down John's muscled stomach, lavishing each inch of skin with lips and hands. His hands stroked down John's thighs and made random patterns over the sensitive skin, occasionally scraping with fingernails. His mouth reached John's lower belly and his chin bumped into John's dripping erection.

"Ah! Sherlock!" John yelled. Sherlock nearly stopped for a moment before John continued in his aroused voice. "Don't stop. Sherlock don't stop."

Sherlock smiled and kissed the taut skin right above John's cock before taking John completely into his mouth. John's back arched powerfully and he pushed his head back into the pillow. The moans coming from his mouth were making Sherlock so hard, but this was about John so he ignored his own needs.

He licked a stripe up the back of John's cock then plunged his mouth back down, taking in as much of John as he could. He could feel that John wasn't going to last much longer and a bolt of pride went through him that he did this to John. He made John make those noises, he made John's muscles tremble with desire, and he would make John orgasm.

He hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard as his tongue swirled around the head of John's erection. He could taste the salty precum and smell John's musky, sweaty, woodsy scent. His hands came up and tweaked John's nipples then went down to slide along John's thick shaft. And that was when John came with a loud yell and Sherlock's name. Sherlock swallowed as much of John's ejaculate as he could. He could feel John's body quiver with forceful aftershocks and the hands in his hair finally loosened.

He slid his way back up John's body to cradle his head in his hands and kiss him lovingly. When they broke apart Sherlock spoke. "So, how was it?" He was the teensiest bit nervous.

"Bloody hell, that was amazing." John panted. He kissed Sherlock thoroughly. "Mmm. It worked, it really worked. God I want to do that again." He laughed breathlessly before noticing a certain hard something poking into his thigh. "Oh. Um, you want some help with that?" He smiled a wicked smile.

"I don't want you to over-stimulate you all in one go." Sherlock said, though his erection really was starting to get painful.

"Sherlock, I'm fine. Better than fine really." John kissed him on the lips for just a moment. "You are my boyfriend and I want to do this ok? I'm not made of glass, I won't shatter."

"Only if you're sure." Sherlock stared into John's eyes tenderly.

John responded by turning and kissing Sherlock. His hands made their way down to Sherlock's pajama pants and tugged them down around his thighs. Sherlock's cock sprung out from its hold, already leaking heavily. John wrapped his hands around his lover's shaft and stroked. He never lost contact with Sherlock's mouth, swallowing each and every moan. Sherlock was already close to the edge having seen John come and was fast approaching his release.

With a few more tugs and a brush of John's thumb over the head he came over both their stomachs with a shout. "Ahh! JOHN, oh John. I love you."

John gently brought Sherlock back down with sweet kisses and touches. "I love you too Sherlock."

Sherlock had a quick recovery time and soon realized that John was drifting off and they were both still covered in sticky white liquid and sweat. He rolled off the bed and to the bathroom where he got the forest green washcloth wet with warm water. He came back and wiped John down gently, then himself, and threw the cloth on the floor. He lay back down and spooned himself around a very drowsy John Watson.

"I love you John." Sherlock whispered into John's neck and gave it a quick peck.

"-Uv –oo." John mumbled as he drifted into a peaceful rest.

-End Flashback-

Sherlock remembered they had been inseparable after that. Sherlock even refused a small case from Lestrade, saying it was not even remotely as interesting as exploring John could be. And while in those first few weeks they did not go all the way, they certainly found plenty of other things to occupy their time. Sherlock had not wanted to rush, John was getting better and that was all that mattered. Although it really was inevitable that they would get there… Sherlock drifted back into the 'John wing' in his mind palace and found one of his favorite memories.

-Flashback (almost 2 months ago)-

Sherlock had gotten a mildly interesting case. The reality was he hadn't had a case in days and he was bored out of his mind, 'rotting' as he would say. So off he and John went to the murder scene. He had it solved within ten minutes but decided to keep Lestrade waiting as punishment for calling him out on such a plebian case. Honestly what was the man thinking?

He asked John for his opinion almost absentmindedly. He had been training John's observational skills and while he was no Sherlock Holmes, he was getting better.

John looked over the body again, then over the scene. They were in a more suburban neighborhood in the backyard of a small house. The woman who lived there with her husband and son had been stabbed and left in the garden.

"Well, she's been stabbed ten times and both stabbings and the high number of wounds indicate a crime of passion. The murderer was enraged and wanted to cause her pain." John looked over to the muddy shoe prints near the body.

"It rained last night and the footprints left are definitely male and quite large. I remember seeing a similar tread of shoe inside but it looked like it had been washed recently. When we met the husband I noticed he has small feet so it can't be him, and her son is only eight. The husband said his brother was staying with him up until recently, I remember because he was trying to call his brother when we got here. I'd bet that the brother killed her in a crime of passion, either he had an unreturned crush or they were having an affair and she broke it off which made him very angry. That's why he moved out, but he came back to kill her." John said straightforwardly.

Sherlock stared at him with wide eyes.

John assumed that meant he had gotten it wrong. "I mean it's just a guess. I could be completely wrong."

"You're right." Sherlock's voice was filled with awe and pride and…arousal? Yes, because that was the sexiest damn thing he had EVER seen. John had just observed and deduced the scene as Sherlock had trained him to, but he far outshone anything the detective expected. Bloody hell he was getting hard right there, thank god for his long, billowy coat.

Sherlock cleared his throat. When had it become so tight? "Yes John, you are correct. It was the husband's brother. He has an obsessive personality, probably some sort of undiagnosed mental illness, and was making violent unwanted advances towards our victim. When she finally told him outright to stop and leave her house he did but his rage was bubbling beneath the surface. He came back later that night when he knew his brother would be at a football game with his son and killed her."

Sherlock swooped over to John and threaded their fingers together before tugging him back towards the road.

"You have everything you need Lestrade, we'll be on our way now." John looked at Sherlock questioningly but didn't fight as he was tugged towards a waiting cab.

"But Sherlock-" Greg Lestrade was cut off before he could even finish.

"Even your meager police force should be able to take it from here. We're leaving. Now!" Sherlock managed the last word before shoving John inside the cab and climbing in almost on top of him.

"221 Baker Street please." John said distractedly. Sherlock was pressed tight up against him and was rubbing his thumb in tantalizing circles over John's palm.

Sherlock stroked John's jaw with his other hand until the man looked straight into his eyes, his completely black, lust blown eyes.

"Do you have ANY idea how sexy you just were?" Sherlock's voice was rough and steamy.

John's whole face turned crimson and his pupils widened seductively. "Oh really Mr. Holmes. And what are you going to do about that may I ask?"

"Well, since I don't want to scare this cabbie into crashing the car…" His voice lowered and he moved to whisper directly into John's ear. "…I suppose you'll have to wait till we get home to find that out now won't you?" He gave John's ear a lick and felt blood pool in his groin as John shuddered with pleasure and anticipation.

The following fifteen minutes were filled with a palpable tension as the two men attempted to keep from groping each other in the back of the cab. Sherlock couldn't help it when his hand drifted to John's thigh and started drawing little circles with his finger.

When the cab pulled up to 221 B John muttered a "Thank god" and Sherlock threw some bills across the divider. In a heartbeat they were out of the cab and stumbling through their door wrapped around each other. They somehow managed to get up the flight of stairs and into their bedroom without breaking their kiss. Their hands were frantically tearing clothes off until they both felt fully naked skin against fully naked skin. They both moaned sensuously and fell to the bed as one unit.

"John, can I?" Sherlock kissed John's neck. "Please can I?" Another kiss. "I promise to take care of you." Sherlock moved back up to John's mouth and delivered sweet little pecks. "I love you John."

Sherlock could see the anxiety make its way through John's expressive eyes. Then he saw John shut them and do his EMDR technique of separating himself from his trauma reaction and when he opened them his eyes were clear and calm again.

"Yes," was all John said before he smashed his lips against his lover's.

Sherlock was momentarily stunned by the overwhelming trust that was being put in him. It both scared him and filled him with joy.

They made love slowly and tenderly. Sherlock was sure to be very gentle with John. He put every ounce of feeling he had into his kisses, his touches, his thrusts. He felt so complete with John surrounding him so, every sense was completely dominated by  John . He could feel him with every cell, every nerve, he could smell his one-of-a-kind scent, he could taste his body with his tongue, and he could see John's nude body beneath him.

"John! John, I love you. And I'm never letting you go. Not ever." He made sure to thrust into John's prostate with every sentence until the good doctor was writhing beneath him.

Sherlock watched as John came fiercely, shouting Sherlock's name. His cum shot across both their stomachs and his muscles clenched around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock thought this was the most beautiful thing in the world, John crying his name, quivering in ecstasy below him, and at that sight he came.

Sherlock was kissing John's lips delicately when he noticed a salty wet taste against his lips. His eyes shot open to find silent tears slipping out of John's cobalt eyes. His heart clenched.

"John?" He asked quietly, sure he had hurt his wonderful doctor. "John what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"Thank you. Thank you for showing me what making love really means." John squeezed Sherlock closer.

Sherlock kissed his forehead and wrapped himself as tightly as possible around John.

-End Flashback-

Sherlock really needed to get back to the case and stop reminiscing. This was getting ridiculous; he couldn't keep becoming so distracted by John. John wasn't even there for Christ's sake. Sherlock sighed and put his mind back to his very puzzling double murder.

~o0o~

John was waiting for his last patient of the day. He had a five-minute break and he just really missed Sherlock. Sherlock had been distant the past few days. It always happened when he was on a particularly vexing case. John was used to it by now. He understood Sherlock's need for the work, for the stimulation. He also understood Sherlock's dark moods, whether on a case or off. Or at least he knew how to deal with them.

-Flashback-

Sherlock was in one of his dark moods and when he was in one of those moods he tended to say things he didn't mean, often about John; stream of consciousness sort of thing. John had learned to take these with a grain of salt as they say.

When Sherlock said, "Damn it John, can you please stop thinking, you're messing up my deductive process." John would just nod and try to make his mind go blank. If Sherlock was really worked up John would leave the room and give his boyfriend some space.

When Sherlock said, "I can't take all of this idiocy surrounding me. It presses in on me like I'm drowning in an ocean. John can you at least try to elevate your thought process please? It's enough I have to deal with Anderson…" John just said 'okay', and ignored any other insults hurled his way. It really wasn't any different from when they were just flat mates and nothing else. He couldn't expect a man as brilliant as Sherlock to change his personality drastically just to fit his lover.

When Sherlock said, "John I'm bored. Everything is so dull. Everything! There are no cases and no clients and my brain is just ROTTING! I need a cigarette. John where are they? Tell me where you hid them?" John would simply ride through the rough patch and keep Sherlock's cigarettes away from him (also try not to let him take too many nicotine patches, bloody hell the man was going to poison himself someday.)

If John ever got a little upset over Sherlock's words he would leave the room or say he had to go grab some milk. Sherlock would always apologize later when he was back to himself again. John would just smile and say nothing more.

Occasionally if Sherlock was bored John could tempt him by giving him full range to explore John's body for however long he wanted. This was only in a specific-bored mood and John was learning fast what each mood called for.

-End Flashback-

John finished up his last patient and his notes. He was walking out saying a cheerful goodbye to Sarah and the other doctors and nurses when he heard his name called by the receptionist.

"Dr. Watson?"

"Yes Diane?" John made his way over to the desk.

"You got some mail sent to you. Here you go. Have a nice evening Dr. Watson."

"Thank you Diane, and please you can call me John." He said as he grabbed the three letters from her hand and strolled out the door eager to get home to his man.

On his way to the tube he went through the letters. The first was an advertisement for a new flu vaccine they were trying to get the doctors to use. He flipped it to the back and looked at the second. It was a computer deal, spam basically, jeez they were really good at getting every address possible. The third caused some confusion for a second. He opened this one and took out the single sheet of paper. The letter inside caused him to stop in his tracks so suddenly that two people barreled into him accidently. 'Oh Dear God.'

~o0o~

Sherlock was stomping around the flat. This last clue didn't make sense. None of it made any sense. There was no rhyme or reason to the murders that he could find. He was beyond frustrated and had descended into one of his dark moods.

He heard John's distinct footsteps ascending the stairs. They sounded a little slower than normal, probably tired. He hadn't gotten much sleep and had worked a full shift at the office. 'No, no, no! Damn it I shouldn't be thinking about John I should be thinking about the case.' Sherlock thought angrily to himself.

He had his back to the door but heard it open. "John you are such a distraction. I can't concentrate. I can't solve the bloody case and it's driving me absolutely insane. I can't afford distractions, not when I need the work so badly. Sometimes I wish you just-" But he was cut off mid-sentence by a quiet gasp.

He turned his head to look at John and what he saw stopped his heart cold. The look in John's eyes, it was of a broken man. He looked absolutely crushed, demolished, shattered. It was a look he never dreamed he would see from John.

"John- John?" Sherlock asked nervously.

John stumbled back as if physically struck. His eyes filled with tears as he turned and ran out the door and into the street.

Sherlock was shocked but tried to follow yelling, "John? I'm sorry. John wait!" But it seemed as if John didn't even hear him as he sprinted away from their home.

"What did I do?" Sherlock whispered as he hung on to their gate. "John what did I do?"

What happened? Sherlock didn't think he said anything he hadn't said before when he was in his dark place. But John always, always, would simply just ignore it knowing Sherlock wasn't saying the truth, knowing the detective was just frustrated. What was different this time?

"John!" Sherlock called desperately into the twilight.

Chapter Text

Previously:

"What did I do?" Sherlock whispered as he hung on to their gate. "John what did I do?"

What happened? Sherlock didn't think he said anything he hadn't said before when he was in his dark place. But John always, always, would simply just ignore it knowing Sherlock wasn't saying the truth, knowing the detective was just frustrated. What was different this time?

"John!" Sherlock called desperately into the twilight.

Sherlock had stayed at the front gate long after John's silhouette disappeared. Twenty-three minutes and forty-eight seconds after John had run off to be precise: he counted. He waited there, right in front, so in case John decided to come back he wouldn't miss it. His hands clenched the iron railing and his eyes were wide and searching. He studied each body, each face, and each shape to see if they matched John's. After twenty-three minutes and forty-eight seconds passed he finally went back inside, hoping that John might just need some time to cool off… but that broken look in John's eyes still haunted him.

Sherlock dragged himself reluctantly up the stairs and into the apartment. He needed to review exactly what happened, via the record in his mind palace, to see if he could solve what was wrong with John. John would surely come back soon… right? He always had before.

Sherlock flopped himself on the couch, facing the door. He pulled up the memory from twenty-seven minutes previous, but kept part of his brain on alert for any sounds that could mean John had come back.

He rewound the memory to right before John came in. He remembered he was frustrated with the case and John for distracting him from it (even though he hadn't been home), he was in one of his moods, he heard John come up the stairs and enter the door. He started on one of his rants. "John you are such a distraction. I can't concentrate. I can't solve the bloody case and it's driving me absolutely insane. I can't afford distractions, not when I need the work so badly. Sometimes I wish you just-" But he had stopped immediately at the quiet gasp that came out of John's lips and turned to look at John. That's when he saw the look in John's eyes he would never forget. It was the look of a broken man. He forced himself to look deeper: John had frown lines and tension in his face, his body was stiff, he had tears in his eyes, and had visibly flinched away from Sherlock. Sherlock just couldn't be sure if these had started before or after John had gotten home. He was positive that nothing he had said was any different or any worse than things he had said before. So why was John so upset?

Sherlock exited his mind palace and looked at his clock again. Twenty more minutes had gone by. He pulled out his phone and furiously clicked at the keyboard.

John? SH –7:17

John, are you okay? SH –7:20

John I'm sorry. Please come back. SH –7:29

John I'm starting to get worried will you please contact me? SH –7:35

At least tell me if you are safe. I don't care if you are mad at me just tell me if you're safe. SH–7:42

Damn it John! Call me if convenient, if inconvenient CALL ANYWAYS! SH –7:46

Sherlock had been fidgeting nervously while waiting for a reply, his texts growing more frantic each time. He wanted to be mad at John, he really did. After all the man had been unwittingly distracting him all day and walked out in the middle of a fight (was it even a fight?), but Sherlock had a horrible feeling in his chest that he could not get rid of.

Sherlock started to pace. His Italian loafers made soft clicking sounds as they rushed over carpet and wood. His hand was clenched around his phone just waiting for it to buzz. The seconds ticked by slowly and just when Sherlock thought he was going mad his phone rang.

He answered it so fast he didn't even look at who it was. He just hoped it was John.

"Hello? John?" Sherlock said with a note of desperation.

"Um, hi? Is this… Sherlock Holmes?" Replied a female voice.

Sherlock's hand clenched into a fist, it wasn't John then. "Yes, speaking."

"We've never met before, but my name is Harry, Harry Watson." The voice was a bit slurred. Sherlock suspected she'd been drinking, but wasn't completely drunk, just buzzed.

"Yes, John's spoken of you. Have you seen him this evening?" Sherlock decided to get right to the point.

"Um, yeah. That's actually why I'm calling." Harry paused. "…Look I think you need to find him. Something's wrong, something was off tonight with him but I don't know what. Hell, the fact he even came to see me is odd."

Sherlock felt his heart beat a little faster. "When did you see him? What was wrong? Or at least what did you notice that would make you call me?"

"He came over almost forty-five minutes ago. Just showed up out of the blue. He looked like he'd been crying or something, I dunno. His eyes were red and puffy. He asked if he could come in and I let him. I made him some tea and was trying to ask what was going on and that's when I really started to notice something was off."

"What did you notice?"

"Well he wouldn't drink the tea, just sat on the edge of the chair. He seemed really tense and whenever a loud noise would come from my neighbor's flat, they're renovating you see, he would flinch and his hand kept reaching around to his back…"

Sherlock froze. John kept his gun in his back waistband. He would never reach for it unless he was scared or in danger. This was much bigger than what Sherlock had said. Sherlock still had no clue what was wrong with his boyfriend, he only knew he had to find him, and soon.

Harry continued, not noticing Sherlock's silence. "…He seemed… I dunno how to describe it really."

'Probably because you are drunk', thought Sherlock acidly.

"He mumbled something like 'he shouldn't be here' and danger and he just got up and left. It took me some time to find your number but I thought you should know. I don't think he should be alone right now, I'm really worried."

'Me too,' thought Sherlock. "Thank you for calling me. I'll find him. Goodnight." Sherlock hung up without waiting for a reply.

In that moment Sherlock steeled himself to do something he never thought he would willingly do, but when it came to John nothing would stop Sherlock. He dialed the number.

"Mycroft, I need your help."

~o0o~

"Ah Sherlock, what a pleasant surprise." Came a snobbish voice through the phone speakers. "Did I hear you correctly, dear brother? You need myhelp?" The smug grin was practically oozing through the words.

"I don't have time for your games Mycroft. Gloat all you want; I need your help. It's about John." Sherlock's voice didn't have a single note of attitude; he was honestly pleading with Mycroft. Something was wrong with John and Sherlock had to find him.

"What do you need?" Mycroft went from teasing to serious in a second flat. He knew his brother was not to be trifled with when it came to anything about Doctor John Watson.

"John's gone, I think he may be in trouble. I need to look at your CCTV footage. I need to find him Mycroft."

"A car will be there in three minutes. A laptop linked with the footage will be on your seat. Once you find him tell my driver where to take you."

"Thank you Mycroft." He heard Mycroft's surprised noise at the 'thank you'.

"Let me know if you need anything else, dear brother."

Sherlock hung up and was already heading out. As he shut and locked 221B's front door a long, black car pulled smoothly up to the curb. He opened the rear door and swooped in to find a laptop sitting on the seat next to him. He pulled it to his lap and opened it to find it was already on the CCTV footage.

Sherlock pulled up the footage from outside 221B; he had a hunch. He zoomed to when John was coming back from work. The footage showed John, body tense, as he walked up to their door and paused before entering. Sherlock was right; John was already upset before he came home to Sherlock.

He Googled Harry Watson's address then found it on the CCTV footage. He fast-forwarded till he could see John enter. John had wiped his eyes with his sleeve just before going in to the flat. Then he found when John left and followed him on the cameras until he saw John enter a cheap bar. He noticed John was looking around a lot, almost checking to see if someone was following him. Sherlock kept going through the footage but it looked as though John hadn't left the bar. Sherlock hurriedly gave the address to the driver, who sped off. He found his thumb absentmindedly stroking John's face on the computer screen.

~o0o~

Ten minutes later the car pulled over to the side of a dingy, moderately populated street. Sherlock noted the bar had grime coated windows and bright neon signs for inexpensive beers. This was not a place John Watson would normally enter.

Sherlock swooped out and into the bar, his coat swirling behind him. The smell of stale beer hit him like a wall. He quickly searched the bar to find his lover hunched in a booth towards the back of the room. There were only six other people, plus the barman, in the establishment, most of which were at the counter.

Sherlock walked over to his army doctor, slowing a bit when he was close.

"John?" Sherlock says gently.

John's head whipped around and his arm, hidden under the table, tensed until he registered Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock." John breathed out shakily, the word barely even a sound.

His usually kind blue eyes, the ones Sherlock could spend days gazing at, the ones that light up when they see Sherlock or hear Sherlock, were wild and scared now.

Sherlock slid into the booth, right next to John. He noted the untouched beer on the table and saw John's left hand clenched in a trembling fist on his thigh and his right arm still hidden out of sight. He knew in normal life John's hand could tremor and that in situations of danger his hand wouldn't, but in cases of extreme terror it could tremor violently. Sherlock decided to proceed with caution, he had to know what was wrong with John, but he needed to take care of one thing first.

"John. John can you give me the gun please?" Sherlock whispered so no one else in the bar will hear him. He slid his hand under the table to John's tense one holding his Browning L9A1.

"That's it." Sherlock said gently as he pried John's stiff fingers off the sleek pistol without resistance. He took the gun and discretely placed it in his pocket before threading his fingers through John's. John hadn't moved a muscle.

"John what's going on? Look if it's about what I said," Sherlock knew that couldn't have provoked this sort of reaction but he needed to get John talking, "I'm sorry." Sherlock paused, waiting for something from his love, anything. "John I-" but he was cut off by a harsh, haunting whisper.

"He's out." John's eyes watered. "They let him out." The 'him' was said with such disgust that Sherlock felt a bolt of nausea go through him.

"You mean-" Sherlock started before he was interrupted again.

"Christopher fucking McGran!" John's hand clenched tighter around Sherlock's. "They let a goddamned child rapist out of prison, for good behavior. A rapist with good behavior?" John spat the words out of his mouth like they were acid.

"Oh John." Sherlock thought he knew why John ran. John must have been coming home to tell him and with his world already falling to pieces around him Sherlock's words must have made it feel like his only ally was not even on his side anymore. 'Shit you stupid, stupid detective. You shouldn't have let him go. You should have found him sooner.' Sherlock thought.

"I got a letter, at work. It basically said 'Just to let you know, we've let your extremely violent attacker out of Pentonville three fucking days ago. In case you wanted to know. Have a nice fucking day.' Three days? Three days?" John was furious now, but the terror was bubbling beneath the surface. "He could have done god knows what in three days. He could have found me in three days and I would have been none the wiser until BAM!"

Sherlock picked up on this key sentence immediately. Something about the way John said it set off alarm bells in Sherlock's head.

"John…" Sherlock shifted so he was completely facing his love and gently drew John's face towards his own so they were eye to eye. His hand stroked John's cheek softly. "John do you have any specific reason to believe he would come after you again?"

John flinched violently.

"John? John I promise to keep you safe but I need to know." Sherlock continued stroking his lover's cheek soothingly.

"Yes." John breathed the word out. "At the police station…we crossed paths when they were bringing him in. He swore he would get back at me for sending him to prison. But, god, this was more than twenty-five years ago." John squirmed in discomfort at the memory.

Sherlock could tell John was holding back on exactly what was said, but he could fill in the blanks. He shuddered internally at the thought.

"I'll keep you safe my love." He kissed John's forehead.

John's next words were mumbled into Sherlock's neck and Sherlock felt them more than heard them.

"I'm scared."

Sherlock's chest tightened painfully. "I know love. I know."

"Can you take me home now?" John sighed, but Sherlock could still feel the tension in his small body. Sherlock hugged the doctor close for a second and he hugged back.

"Of course." Sherlock said and he helped John up.

They exited the bar hand in hand and got into Mycroft's waiting car. Sherlock noted John's surveying soldier eye check the street over twice as they headed towards the car. Usually Sherlock only saw this from John on a case, but this wasn't a case and he'd never seen John's gaze this paranoid. Although are you really paranoid if someone might actually be after you?

Sherlock helped John in the car first, and then scooted in after him. He told the driver to take them home. The seat was vibrating slightly, not from the engine, which was silent; no, it was John's trembling. Sherlock hugged John close. He stroked the fine gold hairs on John's head and he pressed his lips against John's forehead. They stayed like this for the short duration of the ride.

The car pulled up to 221B and Sherlock pulled John out and quickly into their home. He still noticed John's frantic glances around the street in the few seconds they were outside. They headed up into the apartment. It was only once they were safe in the living room, both doors locked securely, that John spoke.

"Can- can we go to bed? Can you hold me tonight?" John's eyes searched Sherlock's.

"Of course John. Why don't you head up and I'll make you a cup of tea. I'll be up in a minute I promise." Sherlock kissed John's temple and gave him a quick hug.

John sighed reluctantly. "Yeah, yeah alright." He headed wearily to their bedroom.

Sherlock acted quickly, he put tea on (he needed a viable excuse), and then set out to hide John's gun. He was worried John might have a nightmare or flashback, grabbing the gun in the midst of his terror with the chance of hurting himself or Sherlock, or that John might simply snap. Whether this fear was more on Sherlock's part or on John's, well, he didn't think too hard about that. Either way he didn't want the gun to be near John tonight. He put the gun in the cabinet with his chemistry equipment; John hardly ever went in there.

The tea whistled and he promptly made it the way John liked it and followed John's path into their room. John startled at the noise. He was sitting rigidly at the edge of the bed, still fully clothed and on top of the covers, most likely lost in his thoughts. The look in his eyes when he saw Sherlock stole the detective's breath from his chest. It was fear, need, terror, love, longing, hurt, and a hint of that soldier bravery all wrapped into one.

Sherlock placed the tea on the nightstand and went to hug his soul mate. He wanted to painfully maim the person who could put such a look in his soldier's eyes.

He stripped them both down to their undergarments and guided John under the covers. He curled around him and prepared for a long, nightmare filled night.

"I love you John. I love you more than words can express." Sherlock whispered against John's golden locks.

John made a choked sob. "I love you too. Oh god, I love you too." John buried his face into Sherlock's marble chest and the next words could barely be heard.

"Please don't leave me."

"NEVER." Sherlock said fiercely. He squeezed John even harder; making sure to press his chest against John's to feel that wonderful heart beat.

Sherlock watched as John fell in to a fitful sleep. He made sure to stay up all night so he could soothe John at the first sign of a nightmare.

Neither of them noticed the man standing in the street, around 4 am, looking up at the window of 221B.

Chapter Text

"No!"

John's arms were tied and he felt large hands roam his body and settle around his neck.

"No! Stop Chris!"

John's breathing was harsh with fear. He felt one disgusting hand roam down towards his waistband, shoving against him roughly; the other tightened its hold on his throat. He felt like retching as the hand shoved his trousers down.

The hands felt so big, unusually big… and he felt so small, just small and helpless….

Wait- none of that made sense; he was a grown man now right? He had been in the army?... His surroundings warped as his mind fought the vision.

This was just a dream, just a memory…

…

John gasped awake.

He was being held in slender, pale arms, Sherlock's arms. He felt Sherlock's lips kiss his forehead. He tilted his head up to kiss those lips and saw worry breaking through the composed face.

"I'm okay. Just a dream." John said breathlessly.

Something niggled at his mind. Something from the dream was…off? Was that the right word?

Sherlock huffed.

"Look, let's just go back to sleep. We can talk in the morning alright?" John replied to the huff knowing exactly what it represented. Sherlock could do a lot with a sigh or a huff or a non-word noise.

Sherlock sighed tiredly in reluctant agreement. He really was exhausted, he had been up with this impossible case for days and now this had happened with John. It had been a long week.

John began to say one last thing (something like 'thank you for not leaving last night') but Sherlock read his mind and responded before it was even said.

"I'm never leaving, John."

John clutched Sherlock closer and felt his lover relax against him and he tried to as well, but it was like there was an itch in his brain. It kept bugging him; something was off with his dream, and possibly his reaction to Christopher being let out of jail. He would let Sherlock sleep, and use the next few hours of the wee morning to mull over his thoughts.

He ran over the nightmare in his mind, as much as it disgusted him; he had to figure out what wasn't right.

~o0o~

Sherlock stirred from his slumber to the sounds of grunting. His immediate thought was that John was having another nightmare, but he soon realized he couldn't feel John's warmth or vibrations anymore. There was no second weight on the bed either.

Sherlock eyes shot open to the sight of his boyfriend practice sparring with the air. Punches and kicks were thrown with tight precision. Probably only Sherlock would be able to notice the microscopic weakness of John's left punch due to his gunshot wound.

Suddenly Sherlock saw John drop to the ground and perform twenty pushups, flip over, and then twenty-five sit-ups in quick succession. Sherlock hoped this was John going back to normal and not John having even more of a break down.

"Good Morning." Sherlock said as he sat up against the headboard.

John's eyes went from soldier concentration to kindness as he stopped and looked over at the now awake detective.

"Morning."

Sherlock became somewhat wary. This was all just too 'fine' after such emotion last night.

John saw this right away and came to plop down next to him on the bed.

"So," John wove his fingers through Sherlock's softly. "I've come to a realization."

"OK." Sherlock raised the end of the word higher so it was almost-but-not-quite a question.

"I was feeling a lot of fear yesterday, terror more like." John felt fingers tighten around his. "And my dream helped me realize something." The fingers tightened further. "Well that and some things my therapist has told me.

"I think, that all this time I've still been feeling the fear of my ten-year-old self. This fear I have of Christopher is the fear of a child who had been abused by someone two feet taller and god knows how much heavier." John took a deep breath before continuing.

"In the dream I remember feeling so small, and like I couldn't fight back, because at the time I couldn't…. But I can now, I'm not small and helpless anymore, I'm a soldier and I'm strong. I need to start feeling my fear of him as the man I am now and not the child I was when it happened."

John paused before continuing. "I can defend myself, if need be, if he's even coming after me which we don't know."

Sherlock's body tensed at that possibility.

"So in the meantime I'm going to live my life. I'm going to sharpen my skills back up and help myself feel… strong again. Or at least prepared if anything does happen. And we're just going to go back to regular life: cases, the hospital, us. I'm not going to let this- him- change me again, take over my life. I'm in control now."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, this all seemed too easy. When had John even had the time to think all this through? Then he noted the dark circles that hadn't abated as much as they would normally with a full night's sleep for John, he noted the wrinkles around John's eyes, and the copious amounts of sweat (showing John had been working out for much longer than Sherlock had been awake for). He deduced John must have been up for hours thinking, probably since the nightmare. This wasn't a decision he had come to lightly or easily. This was… a deeply thought out conclusion.

Sherlock thought that it did make sense that the panicked reaction John had last night was exceedingly intense. Not very like the soldier he knew John to be. And sure there had always been John's PTSD, which probably factored into the fear last night, John had always had a vulnerable side (it was only recently Sherlock realized how deep that went). He could still be hurt and scared, understandably so, but this much fear of Chris would make more sense if he wasn't feeling it from who he was now but a memory of what he felt before.

This didn't mean Sherlock was any less worried now that John was less worried. There still might be a dangerous man after John and that was completely unacceptable to Sherlock. He would be keeping a keen eye out. He had a moment's thought of locking John away somewhere safe until the danger had passed. He pushed the thought back down.

For a second this amount of possessive protectiveness threw him for a loop. He was still somewhat unused to these bursts of emotion that would rush their way through his brain like a flash flood. The fact that he could easily murder, in cold blood, this Christopher McGran if he tried anything against John now or not was chilling. Not for the reasons most people would think, he didn't really have a problem with the death of a horrible person. It was more the fact that he would do it without a second thought, or any remorse, if it meant John's safety was ensured. Sherlock Holmes had never been one for intense displays of emotion; he still wasn't to tell the truth… except when it came to John. John seemed to be the exception to every rule. And he couldn't lie to himself: he was a self-proclaimed sociopath, not a real one. Not most of the time at least.

John interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm not saying this automatically stops me feeling this way, feeling this fear and all of it. I'm still afraid... but it's a step in the right direction. I need my life back, so I'm going to take it back."

Then John smiled his dazzling 'John' smile that Sherlock loved so much and kissed Sherlock smack on the lips.

Sherlock stared at him with bewildered eyes.

"So, let's get cracking on that case you were working yeah?"

Sherlock seemed hesitant. "John, are you absolutely positive? This all seems a bit fast… I just-"

"Sherlock love, I'm not going to break, I swear. And sitting around in the flat all day doing nothing isn't exactly going to help me get back to normal."

"Oh, I never said we would be doing nothing…" Sherlock said in a seductively deep voice. The one he knew melted John's legs to jelly.

John's eyes fluttered a bit and he leaned down to press his lips against his lover's.

"Mmm, save that thought for later." He leaned back, happy that Sherlock was treating him normally again. "For now, let's wrap up this case that I know is distracting some part of your brain. That way you can have all your attention available for later."

It really did feel good, freeing even, to just be Sherlock and John again. Not Sherlock and John and problems.

Sherlock sighed a not-very-believable annoyed sigh, his mind already returning to the work. "Well, as long as you promise."

Well to be honest, most of the paths of his mind were returning to the case but he still had a few focused on John and those paths (the massively overprotective and obsessive John-focused ones) decided to keep a close watch the rest of the day.

~o0o~

Sherlock and John had a long day dedicated to solving the case.

At the beginning of the day, at the police station going through records, Sherlock found he was agitated when any unknown male walked in John's vicinity. He ordered his mind to stop and think rationally, still keep a watchful eye out for McGran but control his emotions.

Then midday when they were at the most recent crime scene someone bumped into John's bad shoulder. Sherlock, mid thought-process, almost hit the person before realizing that it was simply a University student late for class. He was far too young to be Christopher McGran.

Sherlock noticed John was much more relaxed than last night. He would still be on the lookout, typical soldier (and seriously, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore a possible threat on his life), but it was only the normal level supervision like when they were hunting a criminal. It was not even close to as paranoid and frightened as last night.

Later, when John visibly flinched at the sight of a man on the street Sherlock started preparing for an attack. John grabbed his hand and told him it wasn't Christopher (wrong color eyes and different hair), it just looked like him for a moment. Sherlock shielded John from public view as he did his EMDR technique to calm down and separate his fear from reality. When he was done he smiled reassuringly and took Sherlock's hand.

By dinner the final puzzle piece had fallen into place and the two men were rushing after the killer. John had texted Lestrade to meet them there but they had been only minutes away from the location and arrived first.

~o0o~

When the murderer opened the door, to find Sherlock and John, he attempted to slam the door in their faces before sliding out the window and onto the fire escape. He shimmied down like a monkey.

Sherlock vaulted through the window with John right on his tail. Both feeling the rush of adrenaline as they fly down the steps and the hanging ladder. They hit the ground not far behind and continued to chase the man through the maze of alleys behind the apartment building.

The man, Philip Smithe, frantically upended trash barrels and crates hoping to slow them down, but to no avail. Sherlock leapt over them like an Olympian and John dodged and jumped them as if he was back in army training.

Sherlock could feel the adrenaline flood his veins, fill every cell until he was absolutely vibrating with energy. He knew the next left was a dead end so if he veered right Smithe would instinctively turn the other direction thinking he had an opening.

He was correct. The man turned into the left alleyway and the detective twisted his body around to follow, John hot at his heels. A high chain link fence blocked off Smithe's path.

Sherlock came up fast and yanked Smithe off as he tried to climb the fence. The man struck out as he fell, hitting Sherlock's cheek with his elbow hard. The detective stumbled backwards dazed and his back hit the brick wall knocking the breath out of him.

Smithe recovered first. He whipped out a switchblade from his pocket and lunged at the detective, completely in fight or flight mode. Sherlock, still dizzy, didn't have time to react before a small tan blur came flying at Smithe. That tan blur was John tackling the criminal. The detective was stuck between feeling worry and pride for his boyfriend as his the pounding in his head slowly faded.

The two men grappled across the pavement, both fighting to gain the upper hand. John kneed Smithe in the groin and in the moment of weakness he flipped them over so he was on top.

John grabbed the wrist with the knife and twisted backwards hard until the fingers couldn't hold on anymore. Then he kept twisting, twisting until he heard a snap. The man cried out in pain but threw a solid punch to John's ribs with his uninjured hand. John grunted in pain but didn't let it affect him. He propelled his knee into Smithe's face forcefully and the man went down without a sound, blood gushing from his nose.

John took a moment to breathe through his rib pain before going into doctor mode.

"Sherlock? Sherlock are you all right? How badly does your head hurt?"

The army doctor went over to his patient. He gently ran his fingers over the bruised cheekbone and around the back of the head checking for any other head injuries. He found none.

"You're okay. No concussion, just a bruise to your cheekbone and possibly your back where it hit the bricks."

Sherlock shook himself out of the last remnants of his dizziness. He realized he had been holding John's arms this whole time so he let them go. He could feel something wet on his fingers.

"Then why am I bleeding?" Sherlock said blankly. The wetness on his fingers was bright red.

John's eyes widened. "What? Where?" John reached out to check his love's hands but drew in a pained hiss as he moved his left arm. His adrenaline rush had faded enough for the pain to push through.

"John you're hurt." The words were faintly strangled. "Let me see. Let me see, you stupid, noble man."

Sherlock's hands came up, just as gently as John's had but in a different way. He opened John's sleeve and slid it back, trying to control the trembling in his body at the sight of his John's blood. He breathed a sigh of relief. The cut was 6 cm long but very shallow. It looked like a scratch and not a knife wound. Sherlock felt his tornado of emotion settle back down, it returned beneath the surface where it waits to leap out again when something happens to John.

The rest of the time was a blur. Lestrade and his team finally found them. They arrested Philip Smithe and took him to the Yard. Sherlock helped John get a bandage on his cut from the First-Aid kit in the trunk of one of the cruisers. The two men gave their statements and got a cab back to Baker Street.

~o0o~

John noticed Sherlock being particularly quiet at the scene and on the cab ride home. Usually the consulting detective was very chatty, excited, and even hyper after he had solved a case. John would call it a natural high of sorts. But his boyfriend was just silent. He seemed completely lost in his thoughts.

When they sat on the couch and it continued John had enough. He stepped up between Sherlock's knees.

"What's wrong Sherlock?"

Something dangerous flashed through the younger man's eyes.

"Please tell me."

All of a sudden Sherlock crushed John in a tight hug. John tensed in surprise but then hugged back just as fiercely. He moved so he was straddling Sherlock's thighs.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was quiet.

"I can't lose you." Sherlock whispered harshly into John's neck.

For a moment John was lost in the depth of emotion in those four small words. Maybe he wasn't the only one affected so much by Christopher's release.

"You won't, love. You won't I promise."

John kissed Sherlock's cheekbone before pulling back to see his eyes. The icy blue orbs were so full of raw fear and need and love and so many more emotions.

John stood up wordlessly and guided Sherlock to their bedroom. He knew Sherlock wasn't good at voicing his emotions; it must have taken a lot just to tell him those four words.

"Show me Sherlock. I know you can't tell me, so just show me." He kissed Sherlock on the lips, trying to put his own feelings of worry and love into it.

That night Sherlock worshipped every inch of John. He memorized every feel, every smell, every taste, every sound, and every inch of skin. He made love to him like it was the last time they ever would. He poured all his fear and agony and love and need into John, showing him what he couldn't tell him with words. And John took it all in, he took every single thing Sherlock had to give into himself.

They held each other close that night, sticky with sweat and sex, Sherlock fell asleep with his head right over John's heart. Over one of the many purple marks Sherlock had made claiming John as his, and he as John's, absolutely and forever.

Chapter Text

It had been four weeks since John had found out Christopher McGran had been released from jail. Both he and Sherlock had been watchful of their surroundings just to be on the safe side but there had been no sign of him. Sherlock had even gotten Mycroft to put an alert on Christopher McGran but after being in prison for more than half his life it was nearly impossible to trace him. More difficult because he had no credit cards, licenses, passports, or family.

Sherlock and John went on with their lives, just as John wanted. They both had been up for three days on a double homicide, John only catching a few minutes sleep here and there. Sherlock had an epiphany that afternoon and had literally pulled John out the door with him.

A few hours later they were sitting in Lestrade's office as he tried to get their statements and paperwork sorted. Sherlock noticed John's eyes kept sliding shut and his head kept slipping down then jerking violently upwards as he forced himself back awake. Sherlock sighed.

"John you need to go home. You can't even stay awake for a few seconds." The consulting detective's voice was humorous and only John could note the subtle worry underneath.

" 'M fine." John tried to shake himself out of his stupor but only managed to slump himself further into the chair. His eyes closed again and he started to fall forwards.

"You're not fine." John startled awake. "At any moment you're going to fall asleep and most likely get a concussion when you slip out of the chair and hit your head against the floor." Sherlock gave him a smug look.

" 'Ssstupid t'pay fur two cubs." John slurred but Sherlock understood the meaning (it's stupid to pay for two cabs).

"I can't have my blogger injured, it's bad for the work." As cold as the words seemed Sherlock was rubbing tiny circles into John's hand lovingly.

"Yeaalright." John relented. He was completely beat.

"I'll be home soon. Now go home and go to bed."

John pushed his tired body out of the chair and leaned over to give Sherlock a quick kiss before he left. Sherlock hummed into his lips. John smiled and stumbled out the door.

"Am I invisible or something?" Lestrade asked lightheartedly. He was very glad that Sherlock, and John too for that matter, was happy now. They were like two halves of one person.

"I won't keep you long, Mr. Lovebird, just give me the rest of the information and sign a few things then I'll let you go." He said with a smile.

Sherlock blushed lightly but kept his face composed.

~o0o~

John did his best not to fall asleep in the cab but it was just so damn hard. When they arrived at 221B he blearily paid the driver and shuffled inside and up the stairs.

As soon as he entered he saw a man standing in their flat.

"Hello Johnny." The man said with a sickening smile.

John froze where he stood.

"Hello Christopher." John replied flatly.

His drowsiness was gone in a flash, replaced by adrenaline as he switched into soldier mode and attempted to hide his feelings of fear and disgust. 'Just distract him. Sherlock will be home soon. Please Sherlock be home soon.' John thought.

"Ah, you remember. I did start to worry. Do you remember everything? Do you remember every little detail?" Christopher licked his lips obscenely as he looked up and down John's body crudely before continuing.

"I still do. And do you remember what I said to you at the police station? Hmm? I told you I'd come back for you. I'd get you back for twenty-five fucking years in prison." He yelled.

John stood with an eerie stillness. 'Stall, stall, stall.'

"How did you find me?" John asked.

"Well your blog helped, 'tho it never said your address. But it's an easy look online to find it after that. And I had some buddies to help me on the outside, that way I could know what you were doing but not run the risk of you recognizing me, heh, at least not too often. I did personally follow you a few times." He paused and ran his hand close to his groin. "You're quite hard to resist."

John held back a powerful urge to vomit, but just barely. 'Oh god, he's going to try to rape me again.'

Christopher continued in a dark voice. "I've been waiting for twenty-five years to get my hands on you."

"I'm not some weak little kid anymore Christopher." John felt the words pulse through his being like liquid strength.

John moved away from Christopher as he approached slowly until they were circling like two boxers. John calculated McGran was only three or four inches taller than him. He might be stronger but that made him slower too. John would have to be quicker.

John saw Chris tense his arm a split second before he threw the punch. John blocked it and quickly threw an uppercut to Chris's spleen, right under the ribs. Chris seemed shocked, like he wasn't expecting such a fight. John took advantage of his pause to punch his cheek forcefully but before he recoiled his hand Chris grabbed it. He yanked John towards him, throwing the army doctor off balance, and kneed him hard in his stomach.

John's breath whooshed out of him. Chris took the opening and spun John around to grab him in a tight chokehold, John's back to Chris's front. John felt hot, vile breaths on his ear.

"I've dreamed of this for years, planned out every single thing that I would do to you." Christopher breathed the words out harshly.

John just managed to hold back a shudder of revulsion as Chris's other hand made it's way down his body. All of a sudden he felt lips and teeth on his neck. John let out a strangled noise. The bastard bit him! He gave him some twisted form of a hickey.

But this was exactly what John needed, Chris distracted. In the guise of leaning away from Chris's attention John turned his body slightly then subtly put his left foot behind Chris's right. Then very fast he turned his body even more, his chest facing Chris's side, and bent down to squeeze his head out of the chokehold simultaneously he kicked the back of Christopher's knee with his foot, right at the pressure point, and down the man went.

John tried to punch Chris in the head before he could recover but he dodged it. John kneed him in the chest forcefully. Chris gave a pained grunt but grabbed John's leg and wrenched it upwards making him fall on his back. Chris attempted to get his breath back, the chest blow obviously did damage, but he was running on adrenaline and didn't stop.

Chris climbed over John to pin him down but at just the right moment John kicked his leg into the man's groin. Chris yelled and hunched over. John scrambled away; if he could just get to the door maybe he could get out. Then he felt hands grab his ankle and drag him back. A bolt of pure terror went through John but he wouldn't let it get the best of him.

John coiled power in his arms and when he felt Chris's body at the right place he struck his elbow back and heard a crunching sound. This only heightened Chris's rage, even as blood flowed freely from his mouth. He roughly turned John over then pinned the army doctor's legs with his hips and got one of John's arms pinned under his knee. Both of Chris's hands went straight to John's neck blocking off all airflow.

John's eyes went wide. His free arm scrabbled at the hands strangling him, scratching them, tugging at them, but he couldn't get leverage. Chris strangled John until he was on the edge of passing out then loosened his hands just enough so John could breathe a little. As one of Chris's hands ripped John's shirt so his chest was bare, buttons flying everywhere, John broke into a cold sweat.

The oxygen finally made it to John's cells and he fought back harder. He squirmed and bucked, trying to ignore the repulsive hardness he felt against his thigh, but he was too firmly pinned down. And his arm wasn't long enough to reach.

Chris ran his fingers over John's naked chest. Then all of a sudden he crushed his head down and bit John's chest. John's scream was choked, as he still couldn't breathe. Chris went for another brutal bite, a little higher, and his free hand made its way down to John's belt, unbuckling it. John felt like he was going to puke again.

John's vision warped as the hand around his throat tightened to where he couldn't breathe at all. Little black spots danced across his vision. 'If I'm going to go out, at least I went out bloody fighting.' John thought.

Chris moved to bite once more, right against John's collarbone. John saw an opportunity; he could finally reach Chris's face. He frantically scratched around Chris's eye socket hoping he could finish before he passed out. Chris grunted in pain but couldn't spare any hands to stop him. John finally found the spot he could poke Chris's eye out, literally, his vision almost completely black now, when all of a sudden Chris was ripped off of him.

~o0o~

Sherlock tore Christopher's body away from John's nearly motionless one. Chris rolled backwards about 7 feet until he hit the wall but scrambled up without pause. He was completely in berserker rage mode: all adrenaline and fury and completely focused on getting back to his prey.

Sherlock's brain went into a state of pure concentration. He noticed Christopher was already injured and wouldn't take much to go down. He shifted his center of gravity stabilizing himself. He had only moments because as soon as Chris hit the wall he stood and charged at Sherlock with a feral cry. He brought his fist back as he lunged and swung it around in a powerful roundhouse punch, planning to smash Sherlock's head in.

The next few moves happened in a mere two seconds. Sherlock moved his left foot towards the circle of Chris's attack, slide-stepping his right foot behind Chris's lead foot thus stepping inside the arc of Christopher's punch and effectively avoiding it. Sherlock snaked his right arm across Chris's chest, spiraling around his neck using Chris's momentum to steer him back and downwards so smoothly that his opponent hadn't even realized that his wild roundhouse had no one to connect to. Chris's back arched as Sherlock spiraled him backwards towards the ground, the man's feet continued right out from under him, gravity driving all the force of his backwards fall upon the back of his head into the hardwood. Sherlock thought that sickening thud quite satisfying and decided to repeat the pleasure, slamming Chris's head repeatedly into the floor with his hands, a fierce growl emanating from his throat.

"Mister Holmes! Mister Holmes we can take it from here." Two men in black suits had burst through the front door. Sherlock could tell immediately they were Mycroft's men.

"Mister Holmes, someone needs your attention more right now," the taller one continued.

Sherlock came back to awareness. 'John!' Sherlock rushed to where John was still struggling for breath. He couldn't stop his mind taking in John's state of undress; shirt ripped open, hickeys and bruises all over his chest and neck, blood smears on his chest, pants almost undone. John's face was still an alarming shade of red and he was pawing at his throat trying to get it to work. He could only take short gasps and the horrendous sound of his beloved's labored breaths shot fear through Sherlock.

"John?"

Sherlock remembered he had seen something similar before. John's trachea was spasming after multiple strangulations and wouldn't open up all the way. Luckily it wasn't fully crushed or John wouldn't be breathing at all.

"John I need you to trust me."

John's hand shot out to clutch his lover's. Sherlock stooped down and placed his lips on John's. The doctor's eyes widened as Sherlock held John's nose and blew into his mouth performing the second step of CPR, but on a conscious person. John felt the breath go down his throat and inflate his trachea and chest. Sherlock pulled back and John coughed out the carbon dioxide. John was able to take in a larger breath before the spasms started again. Sherlock repeated his "kiss" a few more times until John's throat stayed fully open. John sucked in huge breaths of air until he felt his body buzzing with oxygen again.

John pulled Sherlock into a tight hug and whispered how much he loved him. They held each other close until John noticed Mycroft's agents carrying Christopher out roughly. John had to pat Sherlock a few times before he finally let go.

"Wait!" John shouted.

"John?" Sherlock asked nervously.

"Put him down for one second." John walked up to the semi-conscious body on the ground. His whole body hardened into a soldier, not the kind lover Sherlock had seen mere seconds ago.

John stomped his boot viscously on Chris's face. The crack echoed around the room and blood started flowing freely. Chris moaned. He kicked twice more into Christopher's ribcage and once extra hard into his crotch then turned away.

"Get this filth out of my house."

Mycroft's agents heaved the groaning man out of their home and out of their lives.

Chapter Text

-Mycroft's agents heaved the groaning man up and out of their home, out of their lives.

The room was still and silent but for the two men's panting breaths.

"He's gone you know. Never coming back. Mycroft will take care of that." Sherlock said finally.

John smiled warmly and held out his arms. Sherlock immediately fell into the embrace.

"I know, I know." John whispered the words with awe.

John leaned back and took Sherlock's head in his hands.

"Do you know what this means?" John smiled and his eyes filled with tears. "I'm free. Sherlock, I'm finally free." He leaned their foreheads together and stared into that pale blue gaze.

"I'm free." John chuckled lightly. "God, I haven't felt this way in years. Even when he was in jail it was always haunting me, there was always the chance of him coming back." He leaned in to kiss Sherlock tenderly.

"It's like I had these chains wrapped around my body and my mind and my heart and my soul. And any move I made was so constricted, I felt like I couldn't breathe, I felt weighed down and trapped. I felt locked in this cage, but I could see-" A choked noise forced its way out. "-I could see exactly what I wanted but I couldn't get to it. I could just reach it, just touch it Sherlock, but I couldn't have it. Like I was me- but I wasn't. It was horrible. I kept trying to escape, to run away. But it never ended. I was just trapped." John took a deep breath before continuing.

"But now I feel lighter. The chains have released me. I'm no longer imprisoned inside myself." John smiled again. "For the first time I'm just me, I'm just me without anything else haunting me…. I. Am. Free."

Sherlock silently held his army doctor through this revelation and stared into his sapphire blue depths.

"There is one last thing I'd like to do, to sort of cleanse myself of it once and for all, get rid of the last chain so to speak. Could you help me?" John stroked Sherlock's face; he was starting to get a bit worried, as Sherlock had been nearly completely soundless this whole time.

John continued. "I really want to take a shower; wash… well just wash. I'd really like you to join me, if you want to?"

"Yes." Came the reply, hoarse with emotion. "I'd like that."

~o0o~

John led Sherlock to their bathroom. He turned on the taps and let the steam fill the room. Then he stripped and entered the shower. He looked expectantly at Sherlock.

"Just, give me a moment. I'll be right back." Sherlock said but waited till John nodded and slid behind the curtain to leave. He snatched up John's clothes and quickly dashed to the kitchen.

Sherlock couldn't stop his mind from observing every detail about the clothes: the blood smears, the saliva stains, the flakes of skin in areas, the scuff marks on the shoes, the sweat that wasn't John's. Over and over these details raced around in his head. He knew he could never look at these clothes again and not remember every single detail of what happened… even though he hadn't been there for most of it. So he shoved them in a trash bag and threw them out the window straight into the bin. He would buy John some new ones, nicer ones of course, and better fitting. Sherlock already had mapped out which shops (Harrod's store or Saville Road maybe) to get them by the time he had returned to the shower and stripped.

John was standing under the water, looking completely at peace. A waterfall of liquid rushed in rivulets over his golden body; each drop cleansing as they worked their way down. Sherlock's breath caught in his chest at the beauty and just for a second his mind stopped calculating and he just felt.

Sherlock slipped in behind John, chest to back, and wrapped his arms around to rest against John's stomach. John tipped his head back to rest against Sherlock's shoulder. They stayed just like that for a while.

At some point John put a soapy cloth into Sherlock's hand and they washed him together, fingers woven like a basket. They moved the cloth in gentle, circling motions, little trails of purifying bubbles left in the wake. Sherlock placed small kisses into John's hair, luxuriating in the smell of 'John' again.

John stepped into the spray and watched as the suds slid down his body and into the drain. Ahh, the final step was complete, the final bond broken. John was clean, and new, and free.

John turned himself around in Sherlock's arms so they were face to face. Their eyes said everything they couldn't: thank you, I thought I'd lost you, I love you, don't leave me, we're safe now, and so much more. They kissed softly, languidly, just kissed until the hot water ran out.

"Bed?" John asked simply.

Sherlock nodded. John turned the shower off and they got out and dried each other off slowly, not rushing, but each touch like fire shooting straight to intimate places and to deep corners of hearts.

When they got to bed Sherlock slithered his body on top of John's. He tried to ignore what his mind kept deducing from every mark on John's body: the bites and the bruises and the cuts. Tried to ignore that another man had touched his John.

"What's wrong love?" John could tell immediately Sherlock was upset.

Then Sherlock had an idea. John had done his cleansing ritual and now Sherlock needed one last thing to help erase, or at least calm, this from his mind.

"I- I can't stop my mind, it just keeps going at a thousand kilometers an hour. I can see everything and I hate it. I- I need to-" Sherlock couldn't get the words out, couldn't even explain.

"Oh." John's face softened and he brushed a curl from Sherlock's forehead. Of course he figured it out, Sherlock was his other half; "Your eidetic memory is 'haunting' you, so to speak. And the only way you can stop yourself from seeing images that hurt you is to 'delete' them or 'override' them."

"Yes." Sherlock whispered.

"Anything for you Sherlock." John's voice was equally hushed.

They kissed before Sherlock started his cleanse. He found the first bite mark on John's neck right below his ear. Sherlock brought his lips down gently, he swirled his tongue across the sensitive skin. He suckled it just enough to mark it as his own, to erase Chris from John's skin but not hurt John.

He continued down. He repeated the actions at the bite marks on John's collarbone, near his nipple, the middle of his chest. He erased Christopher's presence, he reclaimed them as his own, and he cleansed John's skin with his tongue and poured his love into the man until John was moaning and writhing at the sensation and the emotion.

"Where else?"

John knew he had to let Sherlock finish before they could succumb to their need for each other. John held out his fingers.

Sherlock kissed each torn, scratched, and cut finger.

John pointed to the bruise on his stomach. Sherlock licked his way across it, infusing himself into John's skin.

John pointed to his legs, where Chris had dragged him back. Sherlock caressed them and worshipped them.

Finally John pointed to his groin. Sherlock wove his fingers through John's then bent his head down to place tender butterfly kisses on his lower belly. John was moaning Sherlock's name and both were now completely hard. Sherlock nuzzled against John's arousal like a cat before licking it in long deep strokes.

"Sherlock! I need you now. Please, love."

Sherlock moved back up to John's head and gave him a passionate kiss. "Mine." He growled devotedly.

"As you are mine." John replied.

Their lips met in another deep kiss that sent fire down their spines. Sherlock found the lube on the nightstand and slicked himself up. Then he slid inside John's tight heat, so wonderfully, absolutely surrounded by John. They both groaned loudly into their kiss.

Sherlock thrust slowly and deeply. He wanted this feeling to last forever. They kept kissing for as long as they had breath, and then they just stared into each other's eyes as they gasped and panted. The sweet tingles when they brushed together electrified their beings and their hearts felt full to burst with emotion.

When Sherlock felt the build of pressure in his belly and the tingle in his thighs he reached down between them to grab John's hardness and stroke.

"Sherlock! Anh! I love you Sherlock. I love you. Ahhh!"

"I love you John, my John. Only you. My sweet John." Sherlock said between kisses against John's lips, his eyelids, his cheeks, and his forehead.

With one last stroke and thrust John came; his aftershocks squeezed around Sherlock so deliciously and he released himself as deep inside John as he could. He collapsed on John's chest and felt arms drape across his back. He lifted his lips enough to make one last love mark very softly, this one all his own, right over John's heart. Then lay his head down to listen to the sweet 'thump thump' and John kissed his raven curls before they fell into a deep sleep.

They held one another close that night; so close you could hardly tell where one ended and the other began.

~~Epilogue~~

Sherlock decided to make good on his promise and snuck out to the shops a few weeks later to replace John's clothes.

He found a lovely cobalt cashmere jumper, much more form fitting than John's usual ones; well, it was simply the proper size. Sherlock couldn't wait to see John in it, the color bringing out his eyes, the form fit accenting his muscles, the V showing John's stunning tan neck. Sherlock licked his lips. He also found a pair of tan khakis and some sturdier shoes that would hold up better running around London.

He was on his way back when a glint from a shop window caught his eye. He stopped to see what the silvery flash was and came upon a display full of men's wedding rings. He immediately went on his way, because no, he couldn't… could he? He wasn't the marrying type right? And would John even want…?

But there was that time the woman from the Department Store Murders kept flirting with John. And all the looks he saw women give John when they were out. And that case at the gay bar, well, Sherlock was not happy during that case. A ring might fix that… show the world that John was his and he was John's. And after all they'd been through…

…It was something to think about.