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Two Faced

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"Hello, love," John greeted as he returned home from a day at the surgery. It seemed innocuous enough, but the fate of his whole evening rested on the response to those words.

"John, good, you're home. Did you pick up the eyes from Molly?" Sherlock never even looked up from his microscope so he missed John's sigh of relief. He wandered over and pressed a kiss into the top of the detective's head before storing the eyeballs in the refrigerator.

It was so much easier with Sherlock. Generally, there was no need for any pretending , though the day he slipped and said the "other guy's" name had been a challenge. Luckily it was a common enough monikerthat he passed it off as a former lover and thankfully Sherlock accepted that. If he ever slipped and said Sherlock's name with the other guy…John shuddered at the thought.

John assumed that anyone who loved a person with a split personality faced some degree of challenge but he would wager that it was nothing compared to what he dealt with on a daily basis. When the main personality was the world's only consulting detective and the second personality was the detective's arch-enemy who also happened to be the world's only consulting criminal, things could get a bit dicey.

"Fancy a take away tonight?" he asked on returning to the kitchen after changing clothes in the bedroom he shared with Sherlock. He shared the other bedroom with Jim, which could get a bit confusing, but such was his life. "There is a new Indian place two blocks over and I hear their chana masala is superb."

Sherlock finally looked at him, and smiled. "Whatever you like, John." That was how he knew he was dealing with Sherlock. He didn't do nicknames or terms of endearment. He was always simply "John" to Sherlock. He appreciated that while the two men were very similar in many ways, there were easy enough ways to tell them apart.

The evening passed quietly. Following dinner, John crashed on the couch to watch an old Doctor Who episode with Sherlock laying his head in John's lap, thinking over details of their last case, and relaxing under the feel of fingers running through his dark curls. As the episode came to an end, with the Doctor saving the day once more, John noticed Sherlock's breathing is slow and even.

"Come on, love. Let's go to bed." Shaking his shoulder gently, John nudges him from the sleep he claims not to need. Too tired to do much else, Sherlock removes all his clothes but his pants and collapses into bed. John smirks, shaking his head while smiling lovingly at the man, and undresses as well. Putting everything away neatly, as opposed to Sherlock who just leaves the clothing on the floor, he turns back to see his eyes closed and his breathing deep. Approaching the bed, an arm raises up, invitingly lifting the blanket, under which John climbs happily, falling asleep in his lover's arms.

The next morning finds John curled around the lanky body next to him, practically purring as long fingers run through his short, sandy hair.

"Good morning, love," he murmurs, burrowing his face deeper into the long neck, pressing sleepy kisses on the skin.

"Is there anything you want to tell me, my pet?" comes the voice he knows so well, yet still manages to seem so different every time this happens.

"Quit the theatrics and just ask, Jim," he growls, knowing that playing games is never going to get him very far, but at the same time continuing to press the kisses along collarbone and shoulder.

Jim rolls on top of him, pinning him to the mattress. "Why, my dear, are we sleeping downstairs? Have you done something to my bed again?"

Sighing dramatically, John looked up at him. "I guess you were bound to find out about the eyeballs eventually." Running his hands up his back, John tugged him down for a rather brutal kiss, nipping at his lips and tongue. "I don't know why I try to hide anything from you."

"Oh, pet, you don't have to hide those from me. I don't know where you get them from, and it's probably best that I don't, but the fact that you bring home body parts, well, let's just say it is one of my favorite things about you."

"And the fact that I am a crack shot, of course, as nothing to do with it?" John asked, rolling them over so this time he pinned the deranged mastermind to the bed. Since becoming lovers with the man, he had managed to stop his most heinous plans, primarily by distracting him with sex or target practice.

Jim grinned, "My, my, my ,Johnny boy, you are aggressive today aren't you? But Daddy is not in the mood. We're going out. A film, perhaps?"

One of the perks of being with Jim was that he actually enjoyed pop culture, where Sherlock just deleted it, so John was thrilled to finally be able to see Avengers. It had been weeks since Jim had last appeared, and Sherlock was starting to get concerned that perhaps Moriarty was planning something big since things had been so quiet on the crime front.

"Did you enjoy the film my pet?" Jim asked as they left the theatre. "Loki was by far the best character on the screen, do you not agree?"

"To be honest, I quite liked the Hulk. There's something attractive about a mild mannered man who can turn into a rage machine at a moment's notice." John often wondered if somehow Jim and Sherlock knew that they shared the same body. Neither ever commented on the missing blocks of time from their lives, so perhaps, somewhere in there, they just sat back and let the other take control for awhile. Or maybe not. He had no idea how to even ask the question.

"Ooh, should I be jealous?" Jim lilted. "As long as it wasn't that Tony Stark. Too much like Sherlock. Both intelligent. Both beautiful. Both sickeningly attached to saving the miserable ordinary people."

John rolled his eyes. "You don't even know what Sherlock looks like. He could be hideously deformed for all you know. And you know, I only have eyes for you, love. Should I be jealous that you think Stark is beautiful?"

"He doesn't hold a candle to you, my dear. You're eyes are like a copper fire. If I ever get my hands on Sherlock Holmes, I will use that flame to burn him." Jim's hand tightened around John's as he spoke. "Would you like me to make him into shoes for you, my pet?"

"I can't imagine Sherlock shoes would be very comfortable. But don't worry, dear, if I ever see him, I promise to get my hands on him for you." All over him, John supplied silently, as they headed for home.