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“There are things-” John’s voice broke off in a way that made Sherlock’s gut clench, his breath held in a long moment of fear. When John didn’t continue Sherlock looked up from his experiment and turned his head slowly, cautiously, aware John had kept a skittishness for anything meaningful now. John stood in the open doorway of the kitchen, half turned. His gaze was focused nowhere, inside, his jaw set and lifting as he struggled with himself. Then he finished his turn and faced Sherlock, blue eyes unfailingly finding gray and holding. “There are things that I need.” John’s voice tightened, not quite breaking on the last word and Sherlock’s breath hitched at it. John said nothing after, just stared, and Sherlock forced himself to take a breath, to not react.

John responded badly to coldness, was too hurt and blind to see it for the defense Sherlock now knew it was. Instead Sherlock consciously eased the tension in his shoulders. “Okay.” He swallowed, mouth dry, all too aware that his time with John was always cut short. He had Rosie, work at the clinic, the confused grief he couldn’t seem to shake. “What do you need?” Sherlock’s voice, at least, was steady.

There was a gratefulness in John’s eyes that eased all the lines in his face for a moment, made him look like the John of years ago. The one who’d thought Sherlock was fantastic. The one Sherlock had stupidly left behind. Sherlock had to look away, blinking fast, and it broke the tension that held them still. John breathed out, slumped a little, ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing. You’ve been-” Sherlock couldn’t help looking up again. He had to see John every moment he could. Would stare at him for hours given the chance. Had. Just not since…

John smiled. It was a trace of himself, but a smile. “You’ve been great.” He said gruffly. “With me. All of this. Rosie-” Another voice crack and he looked away but not before Sherlock saw the scowl. John cleared his throat and pursed his lips. “I think,” He said very slowly. “I think that it’s time for some changes.” He looked back at Sherlock and took another step into the room. “Some small. Some-bigger.” His voice grew softer the closer he came and Sherlock couldn’t. Just-couldn’t. Breath. Think. React. John held his eyes and smiled slightly again, one hand half lifting then falling again as if deciding against- something. “I want you to know, though, that I’m not going anywhere. You told Mycroft I was family, the same is true for me. You and Mrs. Hudson are-” He swallowed and Sherlock couldn’t read the tone, his face, what he was fighting, struggling to say. “You are family.”

He stared and belatedly Sherlock realized he was waiting for a response. “Yes. Okay. Yes.” Sherlock grimaced and John’s smile grew. “You-you, too.”

John actually laughed, small and soft, just enough to make Sherlock miss the unrestrained giggle John used to have with a fierce ache. “Yes.” The moment was breathless, didn’t feel real. John stood near him, less than an arm length away, and he was smiling with amusement up at him. It could have been any moment in their history, their future. The threads of possibility flung out around them in endless spirals, the ends in shades of shadow and golden fog.

Then John took a breath, shoulders rising then loosening. “I probably sound crazy.”

“No.” Sherlock said immediately. It was instinctive, adamant. It made the creases appear at the corners of John’s eyes in thankfulness. Sherlock was afraid he might have blushed.

John held Sherlock’s eyes again for a long moment then nodded decisively. “All right.” He took a step back and this time Sherlock fought to not grimace. “I’ve got to go-” Again he seemed to stop himself and shook his head slightly, giving Sherlock a little smile as he headed towards the door. “People are never logical, are they.” It wasn’t a question but Sherlock of course had to answer anyway.

“Hardly ever.” He may have realized how much he’d been missing in life, may have realized how much Mrs. Hudson, John, even Mycroft meant to him, but the rest of humanity-

John laughed at the expression on his face. “You’ll hear from me soon.” He promised.

 

 

The house was for sale. Sherlock hadn’t seen John in two days, which was nothing really, but he couldn’t shake the terror that was growing in him. The unrelenting fear that he just didn’t know what to expect from John, not anymore. So here he was on John’s street, hanging in the shadows staring at the realtor’s sign in the patch of front yard. The street was quiet. The hateful neighbors at work, the tedious children at school. And Sherlock staring at a red and white for sale sign as if it could give him the clues he needed into John’s mind.

“Stop hovering and come in.”

The words made Sherlock jerk and blink in surprise. John was in the door smiling at him. He looked unsurprised to see him and not angry to find him. Sherlock let out a breath and took a cautious step forward. John vanished back inside but the door hung open. As if the man didn’t regularly have assassins and villains of all kinds after him. Sherlock tucked his coat close around him and stepped inside shallow darkness. The lights in the house were off, the curtains half pulled. The contents of the room spilling into boxes. There was no furniture in the main room anymore but for what Rosie needed. The dining room was stripped to a stool at the counter of the kitchen. There were dirty dishes in the sink.

John appeared from the hallway. He looked exhausted but determined with a closed box in his arms. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?” He asked as he passed. Sherlock’s mind spun with all possible meanings to the question. John dropped the box without care in a stack by the door then turned and faced him, fingers flexing. “We weren’t supposed to meet for anything?”

“You’re moving.” Sherlock blurted and his face felt like stone, his chest hollow.

John squinted up at him a little. “Yeah. Can’t stay here.” He made one of those exaggerated John expressions. “Well, yeah I could but who’d want to? Nosy neighbors, boring part of town and this place-” He gestured around himself at the daffodil walls and the pale curtains. “Well it was never me, was it.” He looked back at Sherlock who just stared, once again struggling to function. “It’ll take a bit of time to sell but there’s no reason not to get a head start.”

“Where?” Sherlock managed to croak. And John twisted around rather quickly at the word, as if seizing on it.

John stared. It was too dark in the room to make out the look in his eyes. Why were all the lights off? Why hadn’t John told him he was moving? Why wasn’t John saying anything? What was he waiting on? “Where? Where are we moving?” John asked as if it wasn’t the obvious question. The most important question. There was another long stretch of seconds, the time taffy between the words. Sherlock could see the thoughts crossing John’s face, but couldn’t read them. Maybe wouldn’t? Then John sighed. “Not sure yet.” He answered finally and turned away to fuss with something Sherlock didn’t bother to pay attention to.

Sherlock opened his mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again. Should he? He wanted John home.

John turned back briskly. “Something will come along.” He said with forced confidence into the silence. “So. Did you need something?” He asked, lifting his chin again and this time it wasn’t the shadows that hid his thoughts.

“No.” Sherlock answered, his insides warring. He wanted so badly, but he couldn’t. Right? “I just thought I’d drop in. That’s what family does, right?” There, that was smoother. More confident. A bit more normal.

It made John smile and poke him once in the gut, barely felt through coat and suit and shirt. Affection. “You were stalking the house, not dropping in.” He teased. “Come on. You can help move boxes.”

Sherlock scowled, feeling more in sorts at the tone. “How did you know I was there?” He watched John shuffle boxes around the half empty bedroom. His and Mary’s old bedroom. Sherlock didn’t go inside.

“I always know where you are.” John answered almost absently then shot Sherlock a little smile as he fished a military looking box out of the closet and set it aside. “Or at least where to look for you. In the shadows of the street, behind a kip, from a window, through one of the homeless network.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but relaxed some more, leaning in the doorway and trying not to think of anything else. “So this is what you meant the other day. About things you needed.” He kept his voice causal, too.

John grunted and didn’t stop what he was doing. “Some of it, yeah.” He headed across the room but in a forced stride, to keep himself busy. “I-” He paused and glanced over at Sherlock. “It’s…unnerving to say these things out loud, the things I’d like to have done.”

“The things you need.” Sherlock repeated, his voice low. The tone echoed in the mostly empty room and Sherlock ducked his chin in, using the collar of his coat to hide his unease.

John nodded and faced him but off to the side, speaking more to the wall than to Sherlock. “I-would like to change Rosie’s name.” Sherlock blinked at the sudden idea. A dozen questions spun through his mind, including a few less than stellar comments about the baby’s namesake. It made sense but John didn’t need his thoughts nor approval. He swallowed them all back and cocked his head.

“To Sherlock I assume.”

John looked at him suddenly and barked a laugh, sharp and stressed. Sherlock smiled as John continued to laugh, the sound easing from tension to real humor as John drew close. “No, you cock.” He leaned against the wall beside Sherlock, the laughter fading. He stared somewhere between Sherlock’s sleeve and nothingness. There were a few beats of silence, his easy breaths. “I didn’t get much say. Not in any of it.” He said finally. Sherlock swallowed a pang of pain that he could be included in that statement. He forced a breath and decided silence was the best response in this case. “Mary wasn’t the Mary I have in my head.” John admitted all in one breath and at Sherlock’s quick assessing glance he ducked his chin and shook his head. “No. I don’t- see her anymore.” He said thickly and clenched and unclenched his hands. “Not for a while, but that wasn’t Mary. The one in my head. She was quick and clever and sweet. She sparkled with good humor and-” Sherlock’s heart fell into a lump in his gut, suddenly queasy. “And she wasn’t real, was she.” John said tightly. Not a question. “I know she wasn’t. It was an act in the beginning. The way to draw me out. After that, well, I could see but I-” John jerked, stopping himself. “Sorry.” He gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “You’re not my therapist.”

Sherlock shook his head quickly, nudging closer. “You can say any of it.” He said quickly, before he grew too frightened. “You can say anything.”

John looked up at him, caught his eyes again. They were blue and shining, even in the shadows. So full of emotion Sherlock blinked his own quickly, feeling a knot grow in his throat. “Is it petty to want this? To not want to burden my daughter with the name of a woman I’m not sure was even real?” His voice was tight with tears and he looked up at Sherlock so…beseechingly.

“No, of course not.” Sherlock said immediately and with every ounce of confidence he could possess. “In fact, I think it sounds incredibly sensible.” He straightened a bit, forcing casualness to help John grow calm. “Do you have a name in mind?”

“There’s a list.” John said around a deep breath and he straightened, pulling a much abused piece of paper out of a pocket and handing it over.

Sherlock unfolded it, pressing the creases out with his fingers and squinted at the scrawled names. “John, these are horrible. Any? Who names their kid Any?”

John snorted. “That’s Amy you twat.” He shoved Sherlock affectionately and went back to the boxes. “And if you have better ideas, let’s hear them. Then you can make Mycroft get the paperwork through for me.”

Sherlock smiled wickedly at the thought, flopping onto the bed that John obviously barely slept in to give his thoughts. “Oh, the tediousness of such a thing will annoy him greatly.” He said with relish, just to hear John laugh again.

 

 

Baby girl Wren Adalet Watson giggled every time Sherlock said her new name. It annoyed Mycroft greatly and the look of pure tortured tedium he gave Sherlock every time was worth every second in the man’s office as John signed necessary paperwork. “Is that absolutely necessary?” He groaned as Wren giggled and kicked her feet.

John grinned. “Better laughing than crying, Uncle Mycroft.” Then he blinked innocently at the man who paled at the title while Sherlock laughed out loud.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “Just wait until mother hears you’re using a family name.” He muttered dangerously.

John just shrugged and flipped over another paper. “She’ll need family of all kinds.” Sherlock made a disagreeing noise at that but John just smiled and ignored him. “Including overbearing uncles.”

Mycroft sighed and collected the paperwork a bit briskly, all but snatching the last page out from under John’s pen. “I think that’s about it.”

John gave a dramatic, thoughtful frown. “But I’m pretty sure-”

“It’ll be fine.” Mycroft cut off briskly, leveling John a look. John just grinned back and straightened in his seat and looking over at Sherlock. Sherlock gave him a little smile around the baby’s head, unable to hide his pleasure with John teasing Mycroft and just everything in the world at that moment. “By tomorrow all records will show that your baby was born Wren Adalet Watson.” Mycroft added, shuffling the papers fussily.

John frowned slightly. “Is that-” Mycroft leveled him a look and John stopped, lifting both hands. “No, I’m sure you know best in this instance.” He said, looking suddenly tired and too thin. Sherlock glared at his brother for changing John’s mood so abruptly and Mycroft looked mildly back.

“Any other private records the two of you need amended today?” He drawled, lifting one eyebrow at his brother who scowled back.

“No. I’m sure you’ve done more than enough.” Sherlock said sharply, standing. “Wren and I are extremely grateful.” He sneered sarcastically. Wren, once Rosie, burbled in seeming agreement from Sherlock’s arms, fists swinging. “Come, John. I think we should celebrate.”

He headed towards the door briskly, not willing to hear anything else his brother would try to say (or heavily hint at). John, of course, stood and hovered a moment. “Thank you, Mycroft. Really. This means a lot to me.” Sherlock turned to see Mycroft’s face turn mildly uncomfortable. Mycroft opened his mouth to demure but John stuck out both his chin and his hand stubbornly. “’I mean it.” Looking a little uncomfortable, Mycroft stood and shook John’s hand as if unsure how to do it without being condescending. “And I mean it about being an Uncle to Ros- Wren, too.” John said with a little smile. “I trust you to treat her like family.” Out of John’s mouth it was both a warning and acceptance. Mycroft blinked twice, looking rather more thoroughly bewildered beneath his cool exterior than Sherlock expected.

“You’re entirely welcome, Doctor. John.” He replied somewhat haltingly. “But would you mind if I called her Adalet?”

John grinned. “Until she can show a preference, I don’t see why not.” He let go of Mycroft’s hand and his body language was military straight, respect to a fellow officer. “Just, maybe don’t kidnap her friends without talking to me first.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Doctor.”

John laughed and turned to smile at Sherlock whose throat suddenly felt tight at the sight. He couldn’t breath at the sparkle of joy, light in John’s eyes. Something he hadn’t seen the like of in…years. Sherlock smiled back somewhat wobbly, grateful for Wren in his arms who wriggled, enough of a distraction between him and John. “So,” John said as the office door behind them shut silently. “A celebration?” He asked.

Sherlock hummed in response, turning to lead the way down the hall. “Angelo insisted.” He answered. “Both Molly and Mrs. Hudson will cry.”

Striding beside him, John just grinned. “Sounds like a great way to spend the day.”

 

 

John quit the clinic he’d been working at. It wasn’t the same one he’d met Mary at anyway, but it was the one he’d worked at dealing with his confusing grief and the awareness of being a single father. Sherlock had been surprised by the action, but the relief that filled John afterwords was visible to even Mrs. Hudson who gave Sherlock a knowing look when John showed up to tell him. Sherlock ignored it and Wren was a significant distraction from any more telling looks as John slumped into his chair by the fireplace. “I’ll have to find another job. Baby’s aren’t cheap.” He said, watching Wren gurgle around her first in Mrs. Hudson’s arms.

“You’re a nice doctor, it’ll be fine.” Mrs. Hudson soothed, half listening.

“Tea?” Sherlock asked, fidgeting and uncomfortable. He flung himself out of the chair, irritated without quite knowing why.

“Ta.” John said, leaning his head back and covering his eyes with one arm. “Actually I’m going to talk to Mike and Molly. There’s a few things at Bart’s that could be interesting, if my association with Sherlock won’t be a deterrent.” He teased, smiling around his forearm. Sherlock grinned at the thought but John made a chiding noise without even looking. “And don’t even think of it, Sherlock. I will not get you more access to Bart’s.”

Sherlock made a dismissive noise, but poured up tea. “It’s not worth even discussing, John.” It was a given. He carried the cups in, Mrs. Hudson waving off the offer of a cup. She looked calculating and mischievous as John sat up for tea, tossing Sherlock a quick smile of thanks. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously but sat in his chair to be near John. “Bart’s will be more exciting for you.” He said, catching John’s eyes.

John grinned around his tea cup. “You’re more than enough excitement some days.” He teased.

Sherlock half froze. “You want to come on cases again?” He tried to ask it casually but by the look Mrs. Hudson shot him he had a feeling that to her, at least, he was an open book on this.

“Yeah, of course. I mean; if you’ll have me.” John said, leaning over the arm of the chair to dig a cloth out to toss to Mrs. Hudson. Wren had reached a drooling stage and the shoulder of Mrs. Hudson’s dress was taking damage.

“Anytime.” Sherlock said quickly. Too quickly. He flushed and distinctly didn’t look over at Mrs. Hudson. “I mean I’ll have you whenever. Anytime. Yes.” He babbled, face now on fire.

John glanced at him, still smiling, but either didn’t notice or didn’t react. “Good. I’ll talk to them tomorrow. We’ll see what happens.”

“Well, you’ve always got us, dearie.” Mrs. Hudson said soothingly. “For whatever you need.” She tried to catch Sherlock’s eye but he stared determinedly into his cup. “In fact, you look tired, John. Why don’t I take this little Wren for the night and let you rest? Mrs. Turner next door will be so jealous if I bring her over.” She grinned and ignored the dirty look Sherlock shot her.

John perked up, trying and failing to look reluctant. “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Hudson stood and held out a hand for the diaper bag. “She’s got plenty of things stashed downstairs and after all this you could use a stress free night.” She looked at Sherlock. “Oh! Did you tell Sherlock the house sold?” Again, she shot a look over John’s head at Sherlock and he tried to scowl back.

“Oh, yeah. At a good price too.” John said absently. “The movers got all the donations and things out today.” John was back to sipping his tea and by the way he licked his lips after was thinking of getting up for a biscuit.

Sherlock’s insides ached. “Have you found a place then?” He asked, terrified of the answer. Mrs. Hudson was trying to catch his attention but he ignored her, eyes on John’s face, trying to read the answer there.

John looked so reluctant, something uncertain crossing his face that made Sherlock want to scream. “No, not yet. But the house sold well. We can stay in a hotel or something for a few days.” He stood and headed for the kitchen, opening the cabinet Mrs. Hudson kept stocked with biscuits. Even John’s favorite kind, despite how little he’d been there the last few years. “You know Mycroft actually offered his place for a bit. I think he’s planning to be away, but it was nice, that.”

Biscuits found, John came back into the room, opening them noisily. Mrs. Hudson shot Sherlock a disappointed look, nuzzling Wren close. “Well, I’m glad you have so many people who care John.” She said rather pointedly and tilted Wren towards him. “Say bye bye to Daddy, Wren.” She cooed.

John murmured something adoring, making Wren giggle and bussed a kiss to her forehead before giving Mrs. Hudson one, too. “Thanks a ton, Mrs. Hudson. If anything comes up just call.”

She waved him off, shrugging the diaper bag onto one shoulder. “It’s my pleasure, John. Not all the time, mind you, I’m not your nanny.” She teased.

“Just a beautiful Godmother.” John grinned back and laughed when Mrs. Hudson swatted him affectionately. When he turned back to his chair Mrs. Hudson mimed talking to John behind his back then rolled her eyes dramatically at Sherlock’s glare.

“Your charm is wasted on me, young man.” Mrs. Hudson said and tossed a hand at Sherlock that said he was hopeless before heading for the door. “You two boys have a good night!” She chimed.

“Good night, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock ground out from behind his teacup.

Unconcerned, John flopped into his chair again and ate a whole biscuit in one bite, giving a full body sigh. Comfortable silence reigned for a few minutes, the kind Sherlock had missed so much that he only now knew how to identify that particular ache. Then suddenly John blinked and sat up. “Oh, I didn’t think. Do you have plans or anything tonight? I can go-” He seemed to suddenly feel he wasn’t welcome, that he wasn’t home and the thought made the backs of Sherlock’s eyes burn.

“No. Stay. Please.” His voice came out low and a little rough and John stared, suddenly sharp and observant. Sherlock cleared his through and shifted in his seat, sitting up a little higher. “You are always welcome here, John.” He said, not quite meeting the other man’s eyes. Sherlock could feel the stare like warmth along his face and shoulders. Like the sun after days and days of fog. It had been years. Sherlock flicked his eyes up to John’s face and the look there, a dawning sort of hope. The next words were hard but Sherlock found them spilling out. “You always have a home here, John. Whenever you want it.” He couldn’t breath after it. His pulse pounded in panic, an erratic beat, too fast to keep any good record of the time it took John to respond.

“I’m a package deal, now.” John breathed, his eyes unwavering on Sherlock.

Sherlock blinked. He lifted his head and frowned a little. “Of course.” Was he not clear? He thought he was being clear. He knew he’d mess this up-

“You’re doing fine.” John half laughed, leaning forward, one hand out towards Sherlock. Sherlock realized his panic was spilling over, spilling out of him and choked a bit, unable to process. “I was hoping you’d ask.” John admitted a touch bashfully. “That day you came to the house.”

“I thought you needed-” Sherlock stumbled, a little confused.

“I said there were things I needed.” John cut in, voice suddenly more confident. The tone made Sherlock look up and their eyes caught. “To get rid of the house I’d bought with her. To free Wren from a name I was afraid neither of us would shake. To start again.” He laughed a little bit, self deprecating. “I’ve started over in life so many times now.” The laughter fell away. “But each time what I wanted most was- is- you.” The last word ghosted through the room. Sherlock felt he could see it; a flurry of gold dust motes, a curl of tantalizing smoke shimmering between them. His chest ached.

John was leaning into his space now, pressing into it, but not breaking it. His eyes were intense, his voice a little breathless. “Sherlock, say something please. Tell me you understand.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath, blinking, eyes skimming over his friend, his closest friend; deducing. “You can’t…want…me?” He breathed.

John straightened, eyes half wild and fierce, jaw suddenly set. “I always want you.” He said fiercely. “Listen here, Sherlock.” He titled forward, pressing in again. “I will move in here in a heartbeat and we will raise Wren together. We’ll solve crimes and she’ll never have a good sleeping habit and you’ll make her brilliant and we’ll keep each other safe. From everything. As much as we can. We will talk and we will fight and we will NOT make the same mistakes we’ve made before and when we make new ones we’ll work them out TOGETHER.” John wasn’t yelling, hadn’t raised his voice, but there was the confident Captain Watson surety that made Sherlock warm all over and some hope inside him grow. “Tell me you agree, Sherlock, because that’s non negotiable.”

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock said quickly, tightly. He was close to tears.

John grinned suddenly and leaned farther across the space between them. “Good. Then we just have to settle one more thing.” Before Sherlock could ask John reached up and stroked his fingers tenderly across Sherlock’s cheek. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath so sharp he choked on it, jerking back and coughing. His teacup rattled and steady, confident hands took it from him before it could spill. Sherlock tried to catch his breath, afraid to look away from John who was smiling; calm and slightly amused as he slid closer. Sherlock caught one hand and clutched it. “Give yourself a second.” John soothed, thumb stroking the back of his hand.

Sherlock took a deep breath then a second, clear and whole. “Pardon me?” He asked, straightening and tense.

John’s smile quirked. “And there’s my posh boy.” He said softly, the words hitting Sherlock somewhere he’d definitely have to think about later. John didn’t seem to notice as his smile gentled. “I love you.” He said again. “And we can work out whatever arrangements we have to, to fulfill our various needs and intimacies…”

Sherlock scowled. “Sex, John. For a man who thinks about it so much you should be able to say it.”

Looking amused, John leaned back again. “Sex then, however we need to work it out, well, I don’t need anyone else-”

“If you bring up the Woman one more time, John-” Sherlock growled, straightening even more.

John blinked and laughed, his full body giggle. “Okay then.” He took a breath, face pinkening. “I don’t really act on it much, but I said we’d talk and not make the same mistakes: I’m bisexual. And I’m not interested in anyone but you.” He grinned after that, bright and intimate.

Sherlock held his breath so he wouldn’t choke again. When he breathed again it was slowly, with concentrated effort. “None of it has ever really been my area.” He said, aware he was quoting himself from so long ago. John’s face changed slightly, a light shadow threatening but Sherlock smiled a little. “But I am a genius and therefore a very fast learner.”

John stared, eyes widening, smile turning from pleased to a new sort of wicked that Sherlock would definitely have to study more. “So you’re single then. Just. Like. Me.” Each word brought him closer, looming into Sherlock’s space.

“Only for about two more seconds.” Sherlock answered with a smug smile.

John smiled back. “One.” The word slid across Sherlock’s lips. Their noses brushed, the tension so high Sherlock almost couldn’t breath again. “Two.” Was said against his mouth then John was kissing him, hard and skillful. Nothing coy or slow or cautious about it. Sherlock made a hitching noise in his throat and his hands latched onto John’s arms, clutching. It lasted in one of those taffy moments again, both long and snapping away too fast. Leaving John leaning over him, sharing breath, both of them shaking. Sherlock stared at John’s closed eyes. He was filing it all away, recording it forever. Was this John doing the same, savoring? His lashes were gold against his still too pale cheek, his breath both deep and sharp against Sherlock’s face. The eyes opened, so brilliant a blue Sherlock recorded it away, too. “Okay?” John asked, tense. Cautious.

Sherlock stared. How could he not see it? Sherlock was bursting with how ok it was. He was electrified. He was on fire. “Yes.” He let out, holding back so much more. John smiled, relieved, and Sherlock frowned slightly. “I do require one more thing, I believe.”

John focused a bit, looking away from his mouth to his eyes, wrinkles forming across his forehead. “Anything.” He said simply, curious, a touch puzzled.

“I think you need to call me posh boy again. It caused some very…interesting reactions.” Sherlock said seriously, keeping his voice low.

John’s eyes darkened and that wicked smile came out again as he leaned over Sherlock. “That can definitely be arranged.”