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Description
Written for whodyathink

Life was so conventional. So accustomed, customary, standard, typical. Just so dull. Sherlock hadn't had a case in months and John hadn't had a clue what to do with him for weeks. So there they sat, in the middle of a park, John sitting in silence, Sherlock staring at a rubix cube of which he had completed about fifteen times in the last ten minutes.
"John, I'm bored." Sherlock stood and started to walk around the bench in circles, still clenching the rubix cube tightly.
"I know you are. I am to." John looked up into the clouds, as if it would bring some excitement to their lives.
"Why can't London hurry up and get in trouble? All I ask for is one crime." Sherlock ran his long lanky hands through his thick tangled hair and stopped on the spot, pulling at his curls so hard they could have fallen out.
"You sound like a backwards super hero." John gave him a smug smile, to which Sherlock was totally oblivious. He spat back,
"Shut up John, I told you. Don't make people into heroes. They don't exist." John stood also, wiping the smile off of his face.
"I was making a joke, Sherlock. Do you remember those?" John swiftly turned against the wind and started to walk away, making his hair blister in the wind.

Sherlock screwed up his face in frustration and left in the opposite direction, why was life so tedious? He had to go home and settle down. Maybe if he found a rat on the way home he could start some new experiments?
John on the other hand didn't go home, instead he headed towards Soho.

Lately John had realized his feelings for Sherlock, he knew he loved him. But what he didn't know was how to let Sherlock know that he loved him. He had tried quite a few times to create a romantic scene of which he could use to tell Sherlock how he felt, but all had ended with Sherlock saying "John I'm bored." Or "Just tea thanks."
Of course this had frustrated John, but he had found other ways to release his frustrations and lust...
---
Sherlock got out of his cap, throwing far too much money at the cabby, and walked towards the battered front door of 221 Bakerstreet.
As he entered, the stench of Mrs Hudson's cooking wafted through the corridor.
"Sorry my darling, I burnt my cake! Where's John?" Mrs Hudson came skipping down the corridor holding a cake which had been burnt to a crisp, her face beaming a smile which was too big for life. Her happiness annoyed Sherlock so he ignored her and ran up the staircase without a backwards glance, his long coat trailing behind him like a ghost.

Sherlock got to his (open as always) front door and bellowed,
"For God's sake John!" He picked up a pillow from the sofa and chucked it across the room, smashing several experiments and probably John's laptop, but he didn't care.

Sherlock was yet to realize his feelings for John. Although he was most probably the smartest man on earth, he had the mind of a gold fish when it came to love. He had noticed how John would occasionally look him in the eye for a bit too long; he had also caught John staring at him quite a few times, especially after he had just got out of the shower; when his wet curls hung limply down his face and his bare chest had the slightest layer of water over it. But he had thought nothing of it. Sherlock's feelings for John where clear to his conscience, but Sherlock had locked that away years ago.

"Sherlock, you better not be breaking my windows again!" He heard Mrs Hudson call from 221a. Sherlock simply ignored the shout and chucked another pointless item across the room, this one turned out to be the TV remote, but it hit nothing of any importance and smashed against the wall. Falling abruptly onto the sofa, Sherlock tore off his scarf and coat and chucked them towards the door.
Mrs Hudson came through the door just in time to get Sherlock's garments in her face. Ripping them from herself she exclaimed, "Sherlock for god's sake, what is wrong?" She looked at Sherlock with those worried eyes but Sherlock had crawled into a ball and turned to face the wall lying on his side. "...Sherlock?"
"FUCK OFF." Sherlock roared, which made Mrs Hudson jump and scurry away to the safety of 221a.
---
At this moment in time John was in a cab, on his way to Old Compton Street, Soho. The cap driver had given him the funny look that cabbies always gave him when he went to this street, but John didn't care. He knew that this road had a gay bar on it. But he didn't care because that was precisely where he was going...
--
As Sherlock lay curled in a ball in his empty flat, the feeling of loneliness and boredom started to grow within him. As he watched the dust particles swim through the claustrophobic air he wandered why he had acted so harshly to John. He never liked upsetting him, but he always managed to in some way or another; even if it was unintentional.

Loneliness soon overcame his boredom and Sherlock's mind started to imagine John. How John must hate Sherlock. How he must want to just shoot him right in the heart. How John so plainly didn't want to know Sherlock any longer. How John would soon be moving out due to boredom and hatred. These feelings, which were now controlling Sherlock's thoughts, caused him to do something he hadn't done in a long while.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and slammed the draw open, inside he reached for a kitchen knife. He took the knife and held it up in front of his face, admiring it.
"This will do." He said allowed. Then he walked slowly into his bedroom.

He hadn't been in his room for a while; it had become noticeably dustier over those few days.

Sherlock sat next to his bed, leaning on it. He held his fore-arm out in front of him and took a deep breath. He held the knife to his arm then exhaled.

Slowly he slid the knife against his skin. A sharp searing pain swarmed up his right arm and into his shoulder. Sherlock let out a slight gasp but then cut deeper. The pain was oh so good and seemed to make his brain tingle intensely. The agony spread through Sherlock's entire body, he leant back with his head on the bed and let his left arm drop to the floor. He watched as the velvet red liquid slithered down his arm and stained the dull, rough carpet.

"The things you do to me, John."
---
John handed the money over to the cab driver then got out of the car. He slammed the door a bit harder than he would have liked to, then walked further down the road. As he walked he looked up to a well known sign to him, it read "Molly Moggs."
He got to the door then entered.

Immediately upon entering the atmosphere changed. It was a dark room with bright coloured lights and it was very claustrophobic. John was used to this though and so squeezed through the crowds to his usual seat at the bar.
When he sat the bartender, who had recognised him, came over and said,
"The usual then?" John gave a swift nod then took out his wallet to pay.

John had come to Molly Moggs many times before. Usually whenever Sherlock was out, or that they had had an argument. John would come to this bar to find a man, any man of which would be willing to sleep with him. Usually John would sleep with this man but leave in the morning; this man was usually so plastered he had forgotten who the hell John was anyway.
Coming to Molly Moggs had become customary to John now, and so he was well known in the place.

As he sat he noticed a man across the room, he gave him a slight smile and a nod, to which the man returned a joyful warm smile and started to walk over. John straightened himself up and turned to face him.

The man was slightly taller than John, his dirty brown curly hair was cut perfectly for his head; his eyes were the brightest shade of blue John had seen in a long while. (Considering Sherlock's hadn't shined like that for many weeks now) He was wearing a tweed jacket with braces. It was a nice look which suited his slim body.
"Hello. I'm Marc Hall." Marc held out his hand to shake Johns, John shook his then said,
"John Watson. Fancy a beer?"
"I would love one." John ordered the beer and then he and Mark started to talk. Mark was a nice bloke, after only a few minutes John started to enjoy his company.
---
By now the blood on Sherlock's arm had dried. He reached for the knife which he had left on the floor and slowly placed it against the other arm, ready to cut. But then he heard a voice in the back of his calculating head,

What's the point, Sherlock? Doing this won't get John back.

Sherlock had no idea who this voice was, but he had the strangest feeling it was that stranger he called his conscience...

Really Sherlock, just think. Why be here harming yourself? When you could be holding John in your arms, whispering all those things you love about him into his ears...

"But I don't have any feelings." Sherlock stated aloud.

Of course you do you idiot. Now go out there, and tell John how you feel.

"And how do I feel?" Sherlock gave himself a questioning look,

Don't tell me you haven't noticed? The looks; the stares; the smiles; the invitations to sleep in his bed for god's sake! It's blatantly obvious.

"I thought he just wanted me to sleep..."

And then it hit Sherlock, he had realized his feelings for John! A sudden rush of knowledge came colliding with his brain and he knew, he loved him.

He stood immediately and ran for the door, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way out. He swiftly picked up his keys and left the house, slamming the door behind him. He called for a cabby, but then suddenly realized, he had no idea where John was...

He got out his phone and started to write a text.

Where is John? I need to know. SH

He then scrolled down his contacts and sent the message to Mycroft. Within seconds there was a reply.

Why do you want to know? MH

Don't be stupid, now isn't the time. Just tell me. SH

Molly Moggs, Old Compton Street, Soho. MH

Sherlock's face dropped. Isn't that a gay bar? What is John doing in a gay bar? But either way. He had things to tell John, so he set off to Soho.
---
"Umm. John?" John finished the sip from his glass and lazily put it down on the bar, "Do you fancy coming back to my place?" John didn't even have to think before he said,
"Love to." Marc gave him a wink and they walked over to the table to collect their coats.
---
Sherlock walked in to the bar just in time to see John walking out with another man.
Who the hell is that?
Sherlock's face fell. John had another man, a boyfriend no doubt. A burning sensation started to overwhelm his thoughts; John wasn't going to be his. Visions of him and John embracing on the sofa were washed over with visions of Sherlock, alone in the darkness, whilst John was out with his boyfriend.

Sherlock clenched his fists and turned to walk out the bar, but something was stopping him. Something wasn't right. For some reason, Sherlock knew the face of the man John was with. He turned back to get one more glance, just to check, but they were gone!

Without even thinking Sherlock ran out the door they had left at, he saw the cab roar off in to the distance but knew he could still get to the cab.
"Right turn only, red light, give way sign, one way system and level crossing." He turned to his left and ran down a dark, misty alley.
---
"So, where do you live then?" John was looking out the window trying to figure out where they were going.
"Oh, we aren't going to my house anymore. Change of plan." A smug smile started to immerge across Marc's face, his eyes had suddenly become sinister and grimace.
John noticed his change in expression and started to worry,
"W-what do you mean?" He had tried to cover up his tremor but had failed miserably.
"Just keep quiet." All of a sudden Marc pulled out a gun from inside his pocket and pointed it at John, "Or things could get ugly. Francis," He turned to look at the cab driver, still pointing his gun and John, "Lock the doors please." John heard a click beside him and his muscles tensed.
---
The wind was cold and spiteful against Sherlock's face. As he leaped over a dust bin, almost stumbling on his fall, he knew that the cab would be right around the corner.

As he turned it he collided straight with the taxi, he slammed himself against the window, causing the driver to come to an unexpected halt.

Sherlock ran up the side of that car and banged on the window bellowing,
"OPEN THE DOOR!" He glanced into the cab to see a man holding a gun against John, the bastard.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" Johns face was bright red; he looked scared out of his life. The man next to him gave a slight wave his hand to the cab driver. Sherlock heard a click then flung the door open, but before he could grab John the gun was pointed at him.
"Step back Sherly boy." Sherlock knew who it was now; the low and ominous voice had given it away. It was Marcus Hall, also known as Mark. He was a supposed mastermind, known for collecting his victims himself, then getting others to kill them. But of course he was always there with a gun at hand, just in case things got messy.

"Mark Hall. What are you doing coming after John?" Sherlock gave a slight smirk, to which Mark put the gun down. He started to climb out the car and dragged John out with him, pushing him onto the floor he then returned his gaze to Sherlock.
"I needed to get to you of course, and this was the only way I could see."
"Urgh, how dull. Well it took you a while didn't it?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, but upon taking his eye contact away, Mark made a swing for him. He punched him in the left side of his jaw, causing his to scream out in agony. But they were in such a part of London that the worry of people hearing him was unneeded. No one would be able to notice their screams from here. Sherlock thought to himself, Mycroft could probably see all of this, but no doubt he won't be wanting to help me out.

Mark stood tall, leaning over Sherlock with the gun pointed at him. Out of the corner of his swelling eyes, Sherlock saw John crouching on the floor, holding onto his shoulder; no doubt he had fallen at an awkward angle and hurt his already injured arm.

"I could kill you now, Sherlock. In fact, I will. But not before I see you suffer. You see, me and the guys," Sherlock and John both knew that "The Guys" meant other evil people whose plans Sherlock had screwed with. "We think that you should stop messing with us, you have got us in enough trouble. So we have come up with a plan, a plan to kill you. And this is it. You like it?"
Sherlock gave out a long ignorant breath,
"Oh don't act so bored, this isn't all the plan. There's more. Johnnie-boy, get over here." He called to John as if he was a dog; Sherlock gave him a slight nod to say that he should follow the orders. John slowly crawled over to Mark, clearly in pain as he was holding onto his shoulder. When he was by his side, Mark let out a gun shot, nearly hitting his hand. John let out a slight scream and his breathing became fast, the fear in his eyes became visible and Sherlock reached forwards to grab the gun.

"No-no-no, Sherlock. Touch me or John and I'll kill him." He let out a dark cackle with made the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand up on end. He had to sit and watch, watch as his only friend was tortured.

All went silent until Marc let out another gunshot, this one only missing Johns head by a few inches. John shuddered and fell forwards head on his knees. Sherlock had to think of a plan, but what could he do? Mark let out another cackle and then aimed the gun at John's foot, Sherlock knew this wouldn't kill John, but it would put him in a lot of pain.

Mark had his back to Sherlock, leaning over John. Sherlock took this as his chance, he untied his scarf and held it with either side in each hand. He slowly got up as Mark put his finger on the trigger. Just as Mark shot, Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck tightly, causing his shot to miss and hit the taxi.

"RUN JOHN!" Sherlock struggled to scream as Mark shook in his arms, but he kept his grasp.

John didn't obey and instead got out his phone to call the police, still keeping an eye on Marc. He then saw that Mark had dropped the gun and grabbed it to take it out of his reach. He got to the police and explained the incident, and they told him they were on their way.

Mark was losing breath, but Sherlock didn't want to kill him. He got him on the verge of death then released the scarf, leaving his gasping for as much oxygen as he could in the spiteful air. Mark then sat next to Sherlock, he had clearly given up. But just in case Sherlock pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed him to a lamppost.

"Where did you get those?" John questioned.

"I stole them off Lestrade a few weeks back, left them in my pocket by accident." John nodded then held his hand to his shoulder, there was a searing pain running through it and he knew something wasn't right. He pulled his jumper back slightly to see that the scare had torn open, leaving a sore red gash on his shoulder; it could be easily cared for. But for now he was in pain.

"How's your arm?" Sherlock looked at John with almost a worried look in his eyes.
"It should be fine. Just needs a clean and a patch." Sherlock nodded then turned back to Mark,
"You better not send anyone else after me," He then remembered his recent boredom, "Actually... I don't mind, but not too soon." Mark looked at him, perplexed. He turned to John and spat,
"What the fuck is he on about?" But John didn't reply, he just smiled at Sherlock's words and rubbed his shoulder, which was starting to bleed.

The police arrived and Lestrade got out of the car, he turned from John, then to Sherlock and then to Mark.
"I'm not even going to ask how the hell you caught Mark Hall. But thanks anyway." He gave them both a smile then un-cuffed Mark. "Where did you get these cuffs?" Sherlock and John exchanged a smile then started to giggle uncontrollably, Lestrade just left them to it.

Lestrade left with Mark in the car. Sherlock sat beside John, his shoulder had been cared for by the ambulance but he had no need to go to hospital. John turned to look into Sherlock's bright blue eyes, (they were bright blue again!) They stared at each other for a few moment too long when Sherlock stated.

"We better get home. I have an idea that there will be someone after us in a few days." Sherlock started walking into the darkness, John sat up and started to stand,
"Us?" Sherlock stopped in his stride and turned round to John,
"Yes us." He smiled that brilliant smile then started down the alley, John followed on.
---
When they returned home John went straight to the kitchen,
"Would you like something to eat Sherlock?"
"Just tea thanks." Sherlock replied.

John prepared the teas and placed them on the coffee table. He sat beside Sherlock and exhaled deeply.

"Well that was a busy day, huh?" Sherlock remained silent not noticing John. He had questions whirling around in his head that just had to be asked; he knew they would come out in the end so started,

"John. Why were you at Molly Moggs?" Johns face froze, he lent back in the sofa and wiped the back of his hand against his forehead; Sherlock could see he was nervous.
"John?" Sherlock leant forwards and placed his hand on Johns thigh, he had intended it to land on his knee, but clearly his aim wasn't very good this evening.

John shuddered at Sherlock's touch, he then looked up into Sherlock's blue inviting eyes.

"I-I'm going to have a shower." John stood abruptly and left the room, leaving his tea to grow cold on the table.

Sherlock knew that he would go to have a shower, then go straight to bed so as to avoid Sherlock. But Sherlock needed to speak to John; he still had things to tell him, feelings to express. Sherlock waited the exact 8 minutes and 47 seconds for John to finish in his shower, he then heard the bathroom door unlock. At that point Sherlock rose from the sofa and went out to the corridor. He walked through the door just in time to bump into John, dressed in jeans, shirt and beige jumper. Perfect.

John stepped back after the collision then muttered a small sorry, but before he could walk off, Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"John. I need to tell you something." John held his breath then turned to face Sherlock.
"Sherlock the reason I was at Molly Moggs is,"
"John I need to tell you that I,"
"I love you." They said together. Both pairs of eyes widened and they gave each other a smile.
"I have come to realize, John. That my feelings towards you have been more than I had expected." John rolled his eyes then said,
"Cut the shit Sherlock, no need to act smart now." Sherlock smiled, he looked down at their intertwined hands and pulled John closer.

Their noses almost touched and they could feel each other's breath upon each other.

"John, you are the most important thing in my life, I would risk anything for you. I know I treat you like a piece of dirt sometimes, but yet you still seem to cope with me. No one has ever done that before, and I truly appreci-" John leant in closer to Sherlock and their lips touched, Sherlock felt a tingle of elation run through his veins.

After a few moments John felt Sherlock's hands creep up his back and up to his shoulders. He started to run his lean dainty fingers through his dirty blonde hair and pushed himself closer to John.
John placed his hands on Sherlock's hips and started to pull him closer, John was stronger and so won control, he lead Sherlock into the bedroom and they fell back against the bed. John lay on top of Sherlock and they broke their kiss,
"Sherlock, I love you." Sherlock smiled and they returned to their kisses. John opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock's eyes were glinting in the darkness and John felt as if he could see right into Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes to feel the full intensity of the kiss, he then slowly started to pull Johns jumper off of him, then he un-buttoned his shirt. He felt John's muscles beneath the fabric and rubbed his hands against them.

John gasped as Sherlock rubbed his hands down his body; he took his lips off Sherlock's and kissed him on his neck. It was then Sherlock's turn to gasp.

*A few Hours Later*

They lay together in the bed, John half asleep; Sherlock wide awake, contemplating the last few hours. John was in his arms; holding him as close as possible to him.

Sherlock looked at John and smile, he knew. John knew how Sherlock felt, so Sherlock felt happy. Simple as that. He leant forwards and whispered in Johns ear,
"I love you John." He saw John smile within his half-sleep then kissed him gently on his temple.

Description
Written for whodyathink

Life was so conventional. So accustomed, customary, standard, typical. Just so dull. Sherlock hadn't had a case in months and John hadn't had a clue what to do with him for weeks. So there they sat, in the middle of a park, John sitting in silence, Sherlock staring at a rubix cube of which he had completed about fifteen times in the last ten minutes.
"John, I'm bored." Sherlock stood and started to walk around the bench in circles, still clenching the rubix cube tightly.
"I know you are. I am to." John looked up into the clouds, as if it would bring some excitement to their lives.
"Why can't London hurry up and get in trouble? All I ask for is one crime." Sherlock ran his long lanky hands through his thick tangled hair and stopped on the spot, pulling at his curls so hard they could have fallen out.
"You sound like a backwards super hero." John gave him a smug smile, to which Sherlock was totally oblivious. He spat back,
"Shut up John, I told you. Don't make people into heroes. They don't exist." John stood also, wiping the smile off of his face.
"I was making a joke, Sherlock. Do you remember those?" John swiftly turned against the wind and started to walk away, making his hair blister in the wind.

Sherlock screwed up his face in frustration and left in the opposite direction, why was life so tedious? He had to go home and settle down. Maybe if he found a rat on the way home he could start some new experiments?
John on the other hand didn't go home, instead he headed towards Soho.

Lately John had realized his feelings for Sherlock, he knew he loved him. But what he didn't know was how to let Sherlock know that he loved him. He had tried quite a few times to create a romantic scene of which he could use to tell Sherlock how he felt, but all had ended with Sherlock saying "John I'm bored." Or "Just tea thanks."
Of course this had frustrated John, but he had found other ways to release his frustrations and lust...
---
Sherlock got out of his cap, throwing far too much money at the cabby, and walked towards the battered front door of 221 Bakerstreet.
As he entered, the stench of Mrs Hudson's cooking wafted through the corridor.
"Sorry my darling, I burnt my cake! Where's John?" Mrs Hudson came skipping down the corridor holding a cake which had been burnt to a crisp, her face beaming a smile which was too big for life. Her happiness annoyed Sherlock so he ignored her and ran up the staircase without a backwards glance, his long coat trailing behind him like a ghost.

Sherlock got to his (open as always) front door and bellowed,
"For God's sake John!" He picked up a pillow from the sofa and chucked it across the room, smashing several experiments and probably John's laptop, but he didn't care.

Sherlock was yet to realize his feelings for John. Although he was most probably the smartest man on earth, he had the mind of a gold fish when it came to love. He had noticed how John would occasionally look him in the eye for a bit too long; he had also caught John staring at him quite a few times, especially after he had just got out of the shower; when his wet curls hung limply down his face and his bare chest had the slightest layer of water over it. But he had thought nothing of it. Sherlock's feelings for John where clear to his conscience, but Sherlock had locked that away years ago.

"Sherlock, you better not be breaking my windows again!" He heard Mrs Hudson call from 221a. Sherlock simply ignored the shout and chucked another pointless item across the room, this one turned out to be the TV remote, but it hit nothing of any importance and smashed against the wall. Falling abruptly onto the sofa, Sherlock tore off his scarf and coat and chucked them towards the door.
Mrs Hudson came through the door just in time to get Sherlock's garments in her face. Ripping them from herself she exclaimed, "Sherlock for god's sake, what is wrong?" She looked at Sherlock with those worried eyes but Sherlock had crawled into a ball and turned to face the wall lying on his side. "...Sherlock?"
"FUCK OFF." Sherlock roared, which made Mrs Hudson jump and scurry away to the safety of 221a.
---
At this moment in time John was in a cab, on his way to Old Compton Street, Soho. The cap driver had given him the funny look that cabbies always gave him when he went to this street, but John didn't care. He knew that this road had a gay bar on it. But he didn't care because that was precisely where he was going...
--
As Sherlock lay curled in a ball in his empty flat, the feeling of loneliness and boredom started to grow within him. As he watched the dust particles swim through the claustrophobic air he wandered why he had acted so harshly to John. He never liked upsetting him, but he always managed to in some way or another; even if it was unintentional.

Loneliness soon overcame his boredom and Sherlock's mind started to imagine John. How John must hate Sherlock. How he must want to just shoot him right in the heart. How John so plainly didn't want to know Sherlock any longer. How John would soon be moving out due to boredom and hatred. These feelings, which were now controlling Sherlock's thoughts, caused him to do something he hadn't done in a long while.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and slammed the draw open, inside he reached for a kitchen knife. He took the knife and held it up in front of his face, admiring it.
"This will do." He said allowed. Then he walked slowly into his bedroom.

He hadn't been in his room for a while; it had become noticeably dustier over those few days.

Sherlock sat next to his bed, leaning on it. He held his fore-arm out in front of him and took a deep breath. He held the knife to his arm then exhaled.

Slowly he slid the knife against his skin. A sharp searing pain swarmed up his right arm and into his shoulder. Sherlock let out a slight gasp but then cut deeper. The pain was oh so good and seemed to make his brain tingle intensely. The agony spread through Sherlock's entire body, he leant back with his head on the bed and let his left arm drop to the floor. He watched as the velvet red liquid slithered down his arm and stained the dull, rough carpet.

"The things you do to me, John."
---
John handed the money over to the cab driver then got out of the car. He slammed the door a bit harder than he would have liked to, then walked further down the road. As he walked he looked up to a well known sign to him, it read "Molly Moggs."
He got to the door then entered.

Immediately upon entering the atmosphere changed. It was a dark room with bright coloured lights and it was very claustrophobic. John was used to this though and so squeezed through the crowds to his usual seat at the bar.
When he sat the bartender, who had recognised him, came over and said,
"The usual then?" John gave a swift nod then took out his wallet to pay.

John had come to Molly Moggs many times before. Usually whenever Sherlock was out, or that they had had an argument. John would come to this bar to find a man, any man of which would be willing to sleep with him. Usually John would sleep with this man but leave in the morning; this man was usually so plastered he had forgotten who the hell John was anyway.
Coming to Molly Moggs had become customary to John now, and so he was well known in the place.

As he sat he noticed a man across the room, he gave him a slight smile and a nod, to which the man returned a joyful warm smile and started to walk over. John straightened himself up and turned to face him.

The man was slightly taller than John, his dirty brown curly hair was cut perfectly for his head; his eyes were the brightest shade of blue John had seen in a long while. (Considering Sherlock's hadn't shined like that for many weeks now) He was wearing a tweed jacket with braces. It was a nice look which suited his slim body.
"Hello. I'm Marc Hall." Marc held out his hand to shake Johns, John shook his then said,
"John Watson. Fancy a beer?"
"I would love one." John ordered the beer and then he and Mark started to talk. Mark was a nice bloke, after only a few minutes John started to enjoy his company.
---
By now the blood on Sherlock's arm had dried. He reached for the knife which he had left on the floor and slowly placed it against the other arm, ready to cut. But then he heard a voice in the back of his calculating head,

What's the point, Sherlock? Doing this won't get John back.

Sherlock had no idea who this voice was, but he had the strangest feeling it was that stranger he called his conscience...

Really Sherlock, just think. Why be here harming yourself? When you could be holding John in your arms, whispering all those things you love about him into his ears...

"But I don't have any feelings." Sherlock stated aloud.

Of course you do you idiot. Now go out there, and tell John how you feel.

"And how do I feel?" Sherlock gave himself a questioning look,

Don't tell me you haven't noticed? The looks; the stares; the smiles; the invitations to sleep in his bed for god's sake! It's blatantly obvious.

"I thought he just wanted me to sleep..."

And then it hit Sherlock, he had realized his feelings for John! A sudden rush of knowledge came colliding with his brain and he knew, he loved him.

He stood immediately and ran for the door, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way out. He swiftly picked up his keys and left the house, slamming the door behind him. He called for a cabby, but then suddenly realized, he had no idea where John was...

He got out his phone and started to write a text.

Where is John? I need to know. SH

He then scrolled down his contacts and sent the message to Mycroft. Within seconds there was a reply.

Why do you want to know? MH

Don't be stupid, now isn't the time. Just tell me. SH

Molly Moggs, Old Compton Street, Soho. MH

Sherlock's face dropped. Isn't that a gay bar? What is John doing in a gay bar? But either way. He had things to tell John, so he set off to Soho.
---
"Umm. John?" John finished the sip from his glass and lazily put it down on the bar, "Do you fancy coming back to my place?" John didn't even have to think before he said,
"Love to." Marc gave him a wink and they walked over to the table to collect their coats.
---
Sherlock walked in to the bar just in time to see John walking out with another man.
Who the hell is that?
Sherlock's face fell. John had another man, a boyfriend no doubt. A burning sensation started to overwhelm his thoughts; John wasn't going to be his. Visions of him and John embracing on the sofa were washed over with visions of Sherlock, alone in the darkness, whilst John was out with his boyfriend.

Sherlock clenched his fists and turned to walk out the bar, but something was stopping him. Something wasn't right. For some reason, Sherlock knew the face of the man John was with. He turned back to get one more glance, just to check, but they were gone!

Without even thinking Sherlock ran out the door they had left at, he saw the cab roar off in to the distance but knew he could still get to the cab.
"Right turn only, red light, give way sign, one way system and level crossing." He turned to his left and ran down a dark, misty alley.
---
"So, where do you live then?" John was looking out the window trying to figure out where they were going.
"Oh, we aren't going to my house anymore. Change of plan." A smug smile started to immerge across Marc's face, his eyes had suddenly become sinister and grimace.
John noticed his change in expression and started to worry,
"W-what do you mean?" He had tried to cover up his tremor but had failed miserably.
"Just keep quiet." All of a sudden Marc pulled out a gun from inside his pocket and pointed it at John, "Or things could get ugly. Francis," He turned to look at the cab driver, still pointing his gun and John, "Lock the doors please." John heard a click beside him and his muscles tensed.
---
The wind was cold and spiteful against Sherlock's face. As he leaped over a dust bin, almost stumbling on his fall, he knew that the cab would be right around the corner.

As he turned it he collided straight with the taxi, he slammed himself against the window, causing the driver to come to an unexpected halt.

Sherlock ran up the side of that car and banged on the window bellowing,
"OPEN THE DOOR!" He glanced into the cab to see a man holding a gun against John, the bastard.
"OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" Johns face was bright red; he looked scared out of his life. The man next to him gave a slight wave his hand to the cab driver. Sherlock heard a click then flung the door open, but before he could grab John the gun was pointed at him.
"Step back Sherly boy." Sherlock knew who it was now; the low and ominous voice had given it away. It was Marcus Hall, also known as Mark. He was a supposed mastermind, known for collecting his victims himself, then getting others to kill them. But of course he was always there with a gun at hand, just in case things got messy.

"Mark Hall. What are you doing coming after John?" Sherlock gave a slight smirk, to which Mark put the gun down. He started to climb out the car and dragged John out with him, pushing him onto the floor he then returned his gaze to Sherlock.
"I needed to get to you of course, and this was the only way I could see."
"Urgh, how dull. Well it took you a while didn't it?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, but upon taking his eye contact away, Mark made a swing for him. He punched him in the left side of his jaw, causing his to scream out in agony. But they were in such a part of London that the worry of people hearing him was unneeded. No one would be able to notice their screams from here. Sherlock thought to himself, Mycroft could probably see all of this, but no doubt he won't be wanting to help me out.

Mark stood tall, leaning over Sherlock with the gun pointed at him. Out of the corner of his swelling eyes, Sherlock saw John crouching on the floor, holding onto his shoulder; no doubt he had fallen at an awkward angle and hurt his already injured arm.

"I could kill you now, Sherlock. In fact, I will. But not before I see you suffer. You see, me and the guys," Sherlock and John both knew that "The Guys" meant other evil people whose plans Sherlock had screwed with. "We think that you should stop messing with us, you have got us in enough trouble. So we have come up with a plan, a plan to kill you. And this is it. You like it?"
Sherlock gave out a long ignorant breath,
"Oh don't act so bored, this isn't all the plan. There's more. Johnnie-boy, get over here." He called to John as if he was a dog; Sherlock gave him a slight nod to say that he should follow the orders. John slowly crawled over to Mark, clearly in pain as he was holding onto his shoulder. When he was by his side, Mark let out a gun shot, nearly hitting his hand. John let out a slight scream and his breathing became fast, the fear in his eyes became visible and Sherlock reached forwards to grab the gun.

"No-no-no, Sherlock. Touch me or John and I'll kill him." He let out a dark cackle with made the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand up on end. He had to sit and watch, watch as his only friend was tortured.

All went silent until Marc let out another gunshot, this one only missing Johns head by a few inches. John shuddered and fell forwards head on his knees. Sherlock had to think of a plan, but what could he do? Mark let out another cackle and then aimed the gun at John's foot, Sherlock knew this wouldn't kill John, but it would put him in a lot of pain.

Mark had his back to Sherlock, leaning over John. Sherlock took this as his chance, he untied his scarf and held it with either side in each hand. He slowly got up as Mark put his finger on the trigger. Just as Mark shot, Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck tightly, causing his shot to miss and hit the taxi.

"RUN JOHN!" Sherlock struggled to scream as Mark shook in his arms, but he kept his grasp.

John didn't obey and instead got out his phone to call the police, still keeping an eye on Marc. He then saw that Mark had dropped the gun and grabbed it to take it out of his reach. He got to the police and explained the incident, and they told him they were on their way.

Mark was losing breath, but Sherlock didn't want to kill him. He got him on the verge of death then released the scarf, leaving his gasping for as much oxygen as he could in the spiteful air. Mark then sat next to Sherlock, he had clearly given up. But just in case Sherlock pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed him to a lamppost.

"Where did you get those?" John questioned.

"I stole them off Lestrade a few weeks back, left them in my pocket by accident." John nodded then held his hand to his shoulder, there was a searing pain running through it and he knew something wasn't right. He pulled his jumper back slightly to see that the scare had torn open, leaving a sore red gash on his shoulder; it could be easily cared for. But for now he was in pain.

"How's your arm?" Sherlock looked at John with almost a worried look in his eyes.
"It should be fine. Just needs a clean and a patch." Sherlock nodded then turned back to Mark,
"You better not send anyone else after me," He then remembered his recent boredom, "Actually... I don't mind, but not too soon." Mark looked at him, perplexed. He turned to John and spat,
"What the fuck is he on about?" But John didn't reply, he just smiled at Sherlock's words and rubbed his shoulder, which was starting to bleed.

The police arrived and Lestrade got out of the car, he turned from John, then to Sherlock and then to Mark.
"I'm not even going to ask how the hell you caught Mark Hall. But thanks anyway." He gave them both a smile then un-cuffed Mark. "Where did you get these cuffs?" Sherlock and John exchanged a smile then started to giggle uncontrollably, Lestrade just left them to it.

Lestrade left with Mark in the car. Sherlock sat beside John, his shoulder had been cared for by the ambulance but he had no need to go to hospital. John turned to look into Sherlock's bright blue eyes, (they were bright blue again!) They stared at each other for a few moment too long when Sherlock stated.

"We better get home. I have an idea that there will be someone after us in a few days." Sherlock started walking into the darkness, John sat up and started to stand,
"Us?" Sherlock stopped in his stride and turned round to John,
"Yes us." He smiled that brilliant smile then started down the alley, John followed on.
---
When they returned home John went straight to the kitchen,
"Would you like something to eat Sherlock?"
"Just tea thanks." Sherlock replied.

John prepared the teas and placed them on the coffee table. He sat beside Sherlock and exhaled deeply.

"Well that was a busy day, huh?" Sherlock remained silent not noticing John. He had questions whirling around in his head that just had to be asked; he knew they would come out in the end so started,

"John. Why were you at Molly Moggs?" Johns face froze, he lent back in the sofa and wiped the back of his hand against his forehead; Sherlock could see he was nervous.
"John?" Sherlock leant forwards and placed his hand on Johns thigh, he had intended it to land on his knee, but clearly his aim wasn't very good this evening.

John shuddered at Sherlock's touch, he then looked up into Sherlock's blue inviting eyes.

"I-I'm going to have a shower." John stood abruptly and left the room, leaving his tea to grow cold on the table.

Sherlock knew that he would go to have a shower, then go straight to bed so as to avoid Sherlock. But Sherlock needed to speak to John; he still had things to tell him, feelings to express. Sherlock waited the exact 8 minutes and 47 seconds for John to finish in his shower, he then heard the bathroom door unlock. At that point Sherlock rose from the sofa and went out to the corridor. He walked through the door just in time to bump into John, dressed in jeans, shirt and beige jumper. Perfect.

John stepped back after the collision then muttered a small sorry, but before he could walk off, Sherlock grabbed his hand.

"John. I need to tell you something." John held his breath then turned to face Sherlock.
"Sherlock the reason I was at Molly Moggs is,"
"John I need to tell you that I,"
"I love you." They said together. Both pairs of eyes widened and they gave each other a smile.
"I have come to realize, John. That my feelings towards you have been more than I had expected." John rolled his eyes then said,
"Cut the shit Sherlock, no need to act smart now." Sherlock smiled, he looked down at their intertwined hands and pulled John closer.

Their noses almost touched and they could feel each other's breath upon each other.

"John, you are the most important thing in my life, I would risk anything for you. I know I treat you like a piece of dirt sometimes, but yet you still seem to cope with me. No one has ever done that before, and I truly appreci-" John leant in closer to Sherlock and their lips touched, Sherlock felt a tingle of elation run through his veins.

After a few moments John felt Sherlock's hands creep up his back and up to his shoulders. He started to run his lean dainty fingers through his dirty blonde hair and pushed himself closer to John.
John placed his hands on Sherlock's hips and started to pull him closer, John was stronger and so won control, he lead Sherlock into the bedroom and they fell back against the bed. John lay on top of Sherlock and they broke their kiss,
"Sherlock, I love you." Sherlock smiled and they returned to their kisses. John opened his eyes to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock's eyes were glinting in the darkness and John felt as if he could see right into Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes to feel the full intensity of the kiss, he then slowly started to pull Johns jumper off of him, then he un-buttoned his shirt. He felt John's muscles beneath the fabric and rubbed his hands against them.

John gasped as Sherlock rubbed his hands down his body; he took his lips off Sherlock's and kissed him on his neck. It was then Sherlock's turn to gasp.

*A few Hours Later*

They lay together in the bed, John half asleep; Sherlock wide awake, contemplating the last few hours. John was in his arms; holding him as close as possible to him.

Sherlock looked at John and smile, he knew. John knew how Sherlock felt, so Sherlock felt happy. Simple as that. He leant forwards and whispered in Johns ear,
"I love you John." He saw John smile within his half-sleep then kissed him gently on his temple.