Chapter 15

                                    

                                          
The next few days went along slowly, Sherlock insisting on being John's servant until he felt well again. Other than Sherlock insisting to John to let him help, the two men talked very little, and crime was slow and boring. 
                          
Until a week later.
                          
John had just fully recovered from his nasty cold. He was showering, depressed as usual because of the "breakup". All of the sudden he heard loud footsteps coming to the shower.
                          
"JOHN!" Sherlock joyfully yelled.
                          
John was so excited that Sherlock wasn't down that he responded just as joyfully, "What is it?!"
                          
"There's been a murder down on Breaklam street. Details later. Now hurry up, the game is on!"
                          
(A/N: I completely made this street up :D)
                          
John smiled hugely to himself. This Sherlock was the Sherlock he loved.
                          
The past several days had proven to be an unfortunate improvement for Sherlock. He seemed sharper than he'd ever been, solving tons of cases that he deemed "mind-numbingly boring" in less time than it took to even explain the case. Now, finally, it was Sherlock and John again, just them against the world. He was finally dressed, until he remembered something:
                          
The engagement ring.
                          
Surely Lestrade would notice that John wasn't wearing the ring. John figured any questions about their now-cancelled (or postponed?) engagement would definitely depress Sherlock, and he couldn't take another minute of Sherlock's sad eyes. 
                          
John headed up to Sherlock's room (they had agreed to sleep in their own rooms from now on). He only had to rifle through a few drawers before he found the ring tucked in the bottom of Sherlock's pants drawer. 
                          
John slipped the ring on.
                          
He then put on his coat, stuffing his left hand in the pocket, and him and Sherlock headed out the door. 
                          
{Time Lapse}
                          
After a slightly awkward cab ride, Sherlock and John arrived at the crime scene. They walked up to the body, Sherlock lifting the "Crime Scene" tape for John as he always does. 
                          
A fifty-something year old man, with large gashes up and down his shirtless body. The fatal wound, though, was caused by two small puncture wounds in his left arm. Sherlock examined these closely, as John bent down to examine the body as well.
                          
"Notice anything?" Sherlock said in...The Voice. 
                          
John, to his sincere embarrassment, shivered at his voice and cleared his throat. "About 50? Looks like a businessman, by the state of his trousers. Two puncture wounds in his arm, obviously the cause of death. But why two? One could have been sufficient, if the poison was strong enough. But why the slash marks?" He said, waiting for Sherlock to take over.
                          
Sherlock's eyes held something odd in them, John thought. If he wouldn't have known better he would have called it love.
                          
"Brilliant." Sherlock said. John waited for Sherlock to add something like "Brilliant for your tiny mind to understand," but he kept quiet.
                          
"Really?" John asked, pushing his luck. 
                          
"Really." Sherlock said, and then jumped up.
                          
"Right, then. Cause of death is cyanide poisoning, judging by his left sleeve and the markings on his arm. The reason there are two puncture wounds is because the killer goes by the alias The Snake. My homeless network will find him eventually. He did such a shabby job of the murder I doubt he's anything clever, sadly."
                          
Lestrade thanked him and John, and they called for a cab. 
                          
As soon as they had told the cabby their address, Sherlock asked, "Why are you wearing it?"
                          
"What?" 
                          
"You know what. The engagement ring."
                          
John gasped before he could stop himself. He had forgotten to conceal that damn thing! 
                          
"Uh, I just, didn't want Lestrade to ask any questions."
                          
"Why not?"
                          
"Because then you'd be...different."
                          
"Different?" 
                          
"You know what I mean. The way you've been for a few weeks now."
                          
Sherlock was silent for a full minute before he spoke. When he finally did, his voice was barely above a whisper.
                          
"You know, it wasn't you."
                          
"What?"
                          
"It wasn't you who made me completely obsessed with you. It was me."
                          
"It's still my fault."
                          
"How?"
                          
"Well...I mean look at you now. You're cleverer than you've ever been, ever since we--that...happened."
                          
"John, it was because my mind was empty. When a sociopath's mind is empty, dangerous things could happen. Keeping me alone with my thoughts was possibly the worst thing you could do. No matter what I try to consume myself with, my thoughts always wander back to you. There's no controlling that." Sherlock's words were bitter, with a hint of hurt. 
                          
Just then, the cab arrived at Baker St. As they both climbed out, John exclaimed a bit loudly, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!". He hurried into the flat, Sherlock close behind him. 
                          
John continued as soon as Sherlock closed the door. "I want the best for you. You need to stop worrying about me! Without me, you--"
                          
"Would be lost," Sherlock finished, his head drooping. "John, I'm not sure you realize how difficult this is. To share a flat with someone I'm completely and utterly in love with, yet letting them think that the best thing for me is to live a life alone and full of torment within my own mind. I have lived like this for my entire life," he said, his voice shaking. "Please don't make me live like this again."
                          
"God, Sherlock," John said. "I love you so much. I had no idea what I was thinking. I'm s-so sorry. I never knew--"
                          
Sherlock silenced John with a kiss, melting onto his mouth. John's hands went around Sherlock's neck instantly, pulling him into the kiss. It had been so  long.
                          
(SMUT IS COMING! -Morgan)
                          
Sherlock pulled John to his bedroom, their mouths still interlocked. They fumbled with the doorknob and entered in.
                          
Sherlock broke away, breathless. 
                          
"Are you sure you want to--?"
                          
"Yes," John said, breathless as well.
                          
Sherlock kissed John again, slowly taking off his shirt. John followed suit. 
                          
(A/N: Hahaha, get it? I'm terrible at jokes.)
                          
Sherlock unbuttoned John's trousers as they laid on the bed. John's cheeks reddened as Sherlock slipped off his pants, revealing his hardened member. 
                          
John slowly removed Sherlock's clothes as well.
                          
"Ready?" Sherlock asked in The Voice.
                          
"Ready." John said.
                          
(A/N: That's all I'm going to put for their sex scene. I'll add a few innuendos next chapter, don't worry. ;) love you all xx)