My dear friend Iriya (AO3) has been betareading again. Thank you, dear!

Chapter 10: A New Sherlock

Mrs Hudson was not an idiot. She heard muffled talking somewhere around the house so she busied herself with what she could, trying to make as much noise as she was able to. She was not going downstairs again; it was a lot of effort to come up already.

It was no surprise when Sherlock appeared from his bedroom with pyjamas and dressing gown on, that was quite the norm. The reddened lips and the little pink spot on his jaw - visible even with the stubble - now that was new. She looked at him from head to toe and a teasing smile started to appear but then she saw his face.

"Oh, dear."

"Not a word, no matter what you've deduced." Sherlock washed his hands in the sink and sat in front of his warm tea. He drank it all with a few gulps and grabbed a sandwich from the tray, waving the empty mug at Mrs Hudson in a silent plea - order, actually - for more.

"Is John...?" she started, taking the mug and waving in the general vicinity of Sherlock's room.

"Bathroom."

"Are you alright?" She paused.

"Never better."

She tutted. "You need to talk to that man."

"Shut up," he said through a mouthful of sandwich.

"You did, didn't you?"

"Shut up, Mrs Hudson."

She got closer to him and trapped his hand between hers and the table. She wasn't strong but her grip was determined, he didn't dare to draw his hand away. You never knew with her.

"He gets you, but what do you get? Think about yourself for a minute, will you? It's none of my business now but I'll make it mine if he hurts you." She was tempted to add 'again' but that would be overstepping over the already thin line they had, and that would only hurt him further.

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Sherlock."

"I know… I know."

**..**

"You didn't say anything."

It was almost 8 pm and Chloe had called telling them she was going to come by the flat around this time as she still didn't feel very well earlier but she was also eager to talk to them soon. John was reading in his chair after an uneventful day – he had slept most of the morning – and Sherlock was on his laptop on the desk by the window, refilling his glass of water every few hours. They had asked Mycroft to bring Rosie tomorrow evening – aware of the possible remains of the liquids – so the light was dim and there was an unusual silence for this time of the evening.

They secretly loved it and they both felt guilty about saying it outloud.

"Hm?"

"This morning, in the bathroom," John continued, his eyes trained on his book. He swore he could hear Sherlock's heartbeat quickening. "I thought you were going to recite something… from a book."

Sherlock cleared his throat but kept up the impersonal way John was talking. "I usually do that when I need stimulus."

"But you did it in the kitchen."

"Yes."

"And later you didn't."

Sherlock smiled and turned his torso to look at John whom in turn lifted his face in his direction. "I guess we can both agree I didn't need any more stimuli this morning."

John's face turned crimson but his eyes rested on Sherlock without hesitancy, he nodded. "I think I noticed."

"I'm sure you did." The silence that followed was charged; their eyes trained on the face of the other. "The effect," Sherlock said after some seconds, clearing his throat and turning to his laptop again, "might last a few more hours; we climaxed this morning therefore shouldn't be an issue tomorrow. I sent the coat and the rest – your jumper included – to the drycleaners around the corner, even if the chemical must be completely diluted by now."

"Even with a little of it, I'm sure his wife is going to be very happy," John smirked, his eyes settling back on his book.

"Will she?"

Sherlock turned again and the mirth in his eyes made John grin.

There was noise downstairs; Mrs Hudson's greetings and a soft voice asking for Mr Holmes. A few moments later Chloe Hilton sat in their client's chair.

She was obviously affected. She had tissues with her and her eyes were rimmed with red. As they talked every now and then a tear would escape her eye. She was trying very hard not to collapse. John felt awfully sorry for her.

"So, to sum this up," he said with his pencil and notebook in hand. "Your partner is in prison for three days and maybe more after? I thought she was going to walk free."

"This morning she confessed what happened in New York years ago. She wasn't the guilty one but she participated with Abby Slaney and was an accomplice, so maybe they're going to leave her in prison."

"She was an accomplice," Sherlock shimmed in. "But she was also being threatened. We only need to prove it. That's why I let you come so late in the evening."

"Prove it?"

"Yes." Sherlock got up from his desk and took a few things from the kitchen. He tossed an envelope in John's lap and came back with enhanced photos of several fingerprints, a few papers with chemical notes on them and another envelope. Right on cue, the doorbell rang and Sherlock sprinted to open the door downstairs, his dressing gown dramatically flapping behind him.

Chloe and John just shrugged to each other.

He was back a few seconds later with Inspector Martin, who just grabbed everything Sherlock put in his hands, he barely managed a hello before he was barraged with Sherlock's enthusiasm.

"Water wastes are under Abby Slaney's responsibility; every chemical process unsuccessful to provoke a reaction from the clients – according to the thermal spectre from the cameras – she would flush them down the toilet in frustration." He did a full-body flourish when he turned to Martin to explain – John hadn't seen one of those almost in five years – and continued, placing an envelope in Martin's hands. "I did a quick research on the water solubility of the components, also about chemical warning labels according to the norm; if you read the jars Abby Slaney took from Elsie Patrick – by force, I should add –" He put a bunch of photos in Martin's hand "Were legally labelled with the corresponding warnings according to each of the components used. This does not end here, whatsoever. John noticed some boxes." John frowned so Sherlock turned to John and squinted at him. "I saw you. I know all of the jars inside those boxes come with a warning label because I used the same brand before, that's why you recognised them." John said a small 'oh' in understanding, impressed because he never imagined Sherlock was observing him. Sherlock smirked, put another envelope in Martin's hands and continued, "Now about the cameras. The cameras were the key, thanks to Wilson's nephew; I did a quick research on PIEDRA and I have the components used in the formula before the one Elsie Patrick improved - and very skillfully, I must say –" He put three papers on Martin's hands at this, "– And all of the dangerous components were left off the new chemical formula but some of them were still in the dangerous spectrum when combined with some others, which is exactly what Abby Slaney did when flushing several at the same time, even if they were diluted with a higher percentage of water… hence the water wastes with chemicals in it. You've got now all the evidence in your hands. I hope you'll make good use of it." He eyed the papers in Martin's hands and turned to John. "See? I told you we could use the new printer."

Everyone in the room – except for Sherlock – stood rooted to the spot. Martin took a few seconds blinking at everything in his hands. Sherlock's eyes were fixed on John, who was positively beaming. It took Martin a sigh to make him turn back to reality.

"Oh my God, oh my God… thank you, Sherlock Holmes." The name was said with such reverence John frowned and then hurried to comfort Chloe. She started to cry, her hushed thank yous were repeated like a prayer.

"Wow. Okay. As I said, the job is still yours if you want it." Martin smiled at Sherlock as he started to review every paper in his hands.

"I know that's not everything, detective." Sherlock's smirk was smug. He couldn't help it. "When is Wilson Hargreave coming up?"

Everybody turned to look at him.

Martin was the first to speak. "How did you know he's waiting outside?"

"You were looking at Chloe and smiling every few minutes. You know she's going to be thrilled to reunite with her fiancée's godfather."

**..**

"Well, you were right," John said, taking cups of tea, empty trays and everything back to the kitchen. "She was keyed up, could barely wait to tell Elsie."

"Yes!" The sarcasm was so evident – high-pitched and a dragged e – even though John was not looking, all of the nervous energy Sherlock displayed earlier was now replaced with boredom. "The best part was Mrs Hudson listening to the commotion and coming up to offer tea and biscuits to celebrate. How marvellous!" Sherlock said from his melted position in his chair. His head was thrown back and his bare feet moved every few seconds across the carpet.

"Ha! I bet that was her favourite bit. Rosie would have loved it!"

"Well… she doesn't like people, either."

"She does!"

"No, really. I noticed and then Celia told us the same. I trust her in these things."

"She did? She's usually happy with people."

"That's only when you are around. You are her father."

John flushed and took a proud gulp of air (Sherlock secretly waited for these John's proud-papa moments). He cleared his throat and tried to change the topic. "What is Celia to Mycroft anyway?"

Sherlock lifted his face a bit. "She's an MI6 trained agent who happens to have a nanny training. She used to be undercover for families in which the kids are usually the targets."

"That's… awful and impressive."

"Yes. She's also a very good boxer."

"You're having me on."

"Nope."

John's giggles were soft at first until they turned into a peal of high-pitched laughter. Sherlock's chest felt heavy with the wonderful sound, he had never imagined he was going to hear John laugh so much this week.

"Now what's my life! Now even our nanny is an MI6 trained agent? What's next?" Sherlock was about to defend but he saw John's humour behind his words, it wasn't an accusation as he feared, so he just smiled.

The silence following John's laughter was easy and homey. He was cleaning and soon Sherlock was next to him to offer some help out of habit.

But he never anticipated the need he was going to feel as soon as he was close to the other man. It seemed that after having had a taste of John's skin and smell, he was never going to have enough. He distracted himself by grabbing plates and cups to put them in the cabinets, moving the photos on the table to the side, some of himself on awful green and red on display. He felt his cheeks turn pink. The leaf of aloe vera was something he didn't even want to look at.

John understood the sudden heaviness so he started to talk to ease it. "I want to know… I'm still curious about Wilson…?"

"Hargreave."

"Hargreave. Why would a man in his seventies care so much for a woman that's not even his daughter? He left everything in the States to come here and protect her?"

"Love is a vicious motivator," Sherlock said absentmindedly. John just lifted his brows.

"He was in love with her?"

"With her mother. I remember how nervous he was when she was around to check on her husband when he was in prison with Frank. She was young and I suppose she was aesthetically pleasing, for the usual standards."

"That's your way to say someone's pretty?"

"Beauty is a construct based on childhood –"

"Yeah, yeah, you've told me. Go on."

"After that, I suppose he was hopeful when Elsie's father died but she was faithful even after his death. He was in very serious business with Frank Hudson, though."

"Frank Hud- Mrs Hudson's Frank?"

"Yes."

"Amazing."

"I helped Wilson to put Hudson and Patrick behind bars. Both were condemned to a death sentence. Mrs Patrick died of a heart attack when she was 38. Her daughter Elsie was around 17. She started to study due to a benefit but then her father's past caught up with her… long story short, her father left debts, very dirty business with mafia."

"I see… And Abby Slaney, is she going to stay in prison?"

"Most likely."

"How many people did she…"

"Eight known in which we were able to trace PIEDRA, but I was reading about two or four more possible cases in the States. None in the UK whatsoever. Maybe they'll deport her back."

John whistled. "So it was an international mafia case coming to you by mere casualty."

"To us. And no, there are no casualties."

"I had my doubts. And... Elsie…? I thought she was testing products on Chloe but..."

"She was testing them on herself. Obviously since they were close, Chloe also inhaled some of the concentrate the same way you did this morning. She was never directly exposed but Elsie was also making sure she released the antidote before going to sleep, so she was never in any danger except for last night."

"Antidote you mean, natural hormones released in climax."

"Yes, like we did this morning."

They were very close as they spoke. It was already natural, so many lines had already been crossed. Everything was so blurred it was easy to cross them again. Sherlock could reach out. He really could. He could ask for an encore or maybe just blame the residues. He could. He could reach out his hand and grab John by the shoulders. He said he would wait but then this morning he had put his face oh-so-close and John had let him. He could do that again, test the waters. See how far he could go. He could place his hands on John's face to keep him there and just devour him. He could finally taste the mouth that had haunted so many of his dreams. He could finally put his nose next to John's and just let them slide together and smell. Or maybe he could just grab John's hands, intertwine their fingers and press his chest to John's.

He saw with horror his hand getting closer to John's without his mind's permission. He couldn't stop it but gave John's hand two little taps with his fingers to cover for it.

"Pass me that wet towel." Sherlock inhaled sharply and grabbed a chair next to him, all nervous energy again. "I think we didn't use this chair today except when we threw our clothes on it, did we?"

John obeyed by default and was already giving Sherlock a wet flannel. "Why? What's going on?"

"I need…" Sherlock was on his knees checking below that chair, he also had a cotton swab from his gown and was rubbing it against the chair even though apparently there was absolutely nothing on it.

"I don't see anything."

"Maybe it's already dry."

"Sherlock."

"I mean it. It can be dangerous for Rosie. I'm going to burn this chair down." He was rubbing the wet flannel against the chair now. "But maybe if I dilute it with water first…"

"Sherlock, really."

Sherlock was on his feet and making water run down the flannel by the tap, then he was on his knees positively wetting the chair again. And the floor. And his trousers.

"Holmes." That was Captain Watson's voice. Sherlock's spine straightened up.

"What?" Sherlock looked up, feigning offense.

"I mean… we can take the chair downstairs to Mrs Hudson's garden and open the hose, let it dry a few days outside."

"Oh."

"But you had to be dramatic."

"You like me being dramatic." As soon as the words were out of his mouth he looked down and cursed internally.

"God help me, I do." John smiled and soon disappeared with the chair downstairs.

When Sherlock came back to himself his knees were completely drenched and John said Mrs Hudson goodnight.

**..**

There was no trace of unjustified arousal in the morning. So Sherlock took a shower and got dressed like any other day. Rosie was coming back this evening so he self-imposed to double-check the flat for any possible trace of the aphrodisiac. John was at the clinic so his results were not going to be biased. He was pretty much self-conscious of John's effect on him – he had stopped denying it long ago – so he took the aloe leaf without thinking about its implications, one of John's jumper that was on the sofa, went upstairs and threw everything onto John's bed.

He was quick to get out of John and bedroom (however, in a second he still got a glimpse of John's watch on the side table, of Rosie's pink jumper in the crib, of John's military habit of making the bed without a wrinkle).

Once downstairs, he heard Mrs Hudson coming up and smiled to himself.

"Look at him, all energetic in the morning!" She was cheerfully carrying a tray and had left the door of her flat open, Pink Floyd filling the space.

They talked about Mycroft and Rosie; she asked about the case and rambled a bit about a website she had found about creams and homoeopathic products.

"Doctors don't usually go for these things. I'm surprised John is even considering."

Sherlock remembered the aloe leaf. "He would have to be an idiot if he ever chose to ignore the power of nature." He smiled. "So many powerful poisons in a flower or a simple cactus." He stopped and frowned, just now realising what she had said. "When you say considering… considering what, exactly?"

Mrs Hudson laughed. Tea was almost finished. They were three songs in already.

"He came to my flat a few nights ago when Mycroft took Rosie and asked for the aloe leaf. He started to ask if I knew about your…" She made a gesture to her own back, "But he stopped there and didn't say any more. So I'm assuming he knows?"

Sherlock sighed. "It's been a long way. You know that."

She smiled, all teeth. "I know, all I'm saying is that you leave Rosie with me if you ever need some privacy." And she winked.

Sherlock lifted his right brow. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Keep telling yourself that, young lad." She stood and patted Sherlock on his forearm, taking the tray with her. There were a few biscuits left on it and Sherlock grabbed them quickly and put them on the table. "For Rosie," he said. She laughed all the way to her flat.

Sherlock didn't waste any time. It was nine in the morning. John had been out for two hours. He grabbed a cab to St Bart's, went into the lab, greeted Molly – it was better every day, not really awkward anymore – and checked the swab from last night. He found some traces of the component from the tea Mrs Hudson (gladly) hadn't drunk. Then he texted his results to Martin just in case.

He received two texts from Chloe letting him know about Elsie's reaction to Wilson and how happy she was – 'she's a bit in shock but she's so happy. I know her better than anyone else, so I know she's thrilled!'. Another text was, 'I can never thank you enough'. And then another one – very polite – from Elsie asking him to please charge the fees of his work to her account and not Chloe's. An apology was received two minutes later from the same number. A 'thank you so much' was received thirteen seconds later. He also received a text from Martin telling him the jury had accepted the evidence and was on process, 'With your evidence, Elsie presented mostly mitigating circumstances. She should be walking free soon or left w/ few months of social work.' Sherlock grimaced at the shortened with.

A text from John told him he was going to be home around 2 pm so they were due for a late lunch. Excellent.

He grabbed some Thai before coming back to the flat and as soon as he was inside, he locked the door just in case and started sniffing.

He tried the table first, his nose inches from where he and John had been the morning before. He waited for a few moments trying very hard not to think about yesterday's activities. He sat down and thought about the chemical components of aloe, of possible products he could make with a leaf and calculating quantities and components.

He also thought about adding some aloe in their diet, too.

The same treatment received chairs, sofa and sink, and soon he declared the zone free of aphrodisiacs. He opened every window in the flat just in case. He sat in his chair, texted Mycroft, checked his email and started to look for a new case. He didn't realise it was already four in the afternoon until he heard the door downstairs being unlocked and John walking with a few bags from the drycleaners a few beats later.

"Well, she had a big smile today," he said as a greeting with obvious humour, leaving the bags on his chair and smelling around. "Jesus, the flat is freezing- You got Thai?"

"Yes." Sherlock opened his eyes and walked to the bags with clothes. He opened them and smelled inside. "As I said, water-soluble," he murmured. "I checked the flat. Everything is in order and safe to bring Rosie back. I texted Mycroft."

"Thank you." John was already in the kitchen reheating the food and closing the windows. "Oh, I'm starving. How was your day?"

"Boring."

"Ha! Yeah, so was mine. How did you check the flat?"

"Sniffing around."

"Seriously? You didn't…" John turned around to look at him from head to toe. Sherlock felt like squirming a bit in place.

"Nothing. Nothing unjustified, at least."

"Unjustified?"

"Well, I didn't think about anything that could cause arousal."

"Ah." John turned to put some plates on the table. He cleared his throat. "Not madness, then?"

Sherlock smiled. "No."

"So, the flat is clear."

"Yes."

"You mean... case's over."

"Yes."

"Okay." John cleared his throat again. "Good." He started to serve the food and Sherlock put the kettle on.

They talked about Rosie for a while. Then Sherlock told him about the idea of including aloe in their food sometimes. John nodded as he chewed, but then fell silent when the topic came up.

"About the aloe… I was thinking about massaging your scars."

Sherlock chewed slowly and carefully. He swallowed, needing time to answer. Thousands of replies passed through his mind, each with a different outcome. But there was nothing to hide anymore, was there? He couldn't remember a time in which he didn't have to hide anything from John. He was always careful with his words; one or the other flirting was allowed, but now? What could he possibly say?

"When?"

"Tonight, if you want. The leaf is already cut so I should think… where's the leaf?" John looked around the kitchen.

"On your bed." When John's brows almost hit his hairline, Sherlock hurried to clarify. "I left it there because I needed to clear the table, so I moved everything I knew wasn't contaminated to your room."

"Ah."

"Unless you need another reason for the leaf to be on your bed." Sherlock tried for light teasing but it came out as thick flirting instead. "Which is, you know… fine."

"Ah, no. Not my bed." Now it was John's turn to clarify when Sherlock's brows rose up. "No, I mean, Rosie sleeps right next to me."

"Uh-hu."

"Yes. And I know you tend to be… vocal."

"I thought you were talking about massaging," Sherlock said and had to swallow whatever it was inside his mouth.

"I am."

If Sherlock's sigh was a bit shaky nobody acknowledged it. "Aloe speeds up cellular regeneration and my scars have been there for years, so... you'll probably need a lot more than just aloe to get rid of them."

John was looking at his almost empty plate as if looking for answers but his eyes were blank. "I should have asked before. I should have… done so many things differently."

There was a small pause and Sherlock moved his hand tentatively towards John's across the table. He noticed John getting tense and making a little gesture as if to take his hand away. Sherlock just moved his thumb over John's knuckles twice and moved his hand away first instead.

"I appreciate it, John. But I told you before it's quite idealistic."

"And I told you I want to help, didn't I?" John got to his feet and walked over to his jacket. He picked something from his pocket and put it on Sherlock's side of the table. "I have a colleague working at a cosmetic lab, Mike gave me his number. I asked him on the phone and went to grab it this morning before going to work. It's their star product on scar removal, it even works on keloid scars which are the hardest to clarify. I thought…"

John was looking at some point between the table and Sherlock and the cream bottle. His face had a very deep frown and his voice was clipped. Sherlock knew that look. He knew his friend needed to talk. It was a big effort to shut himself up considering his brain worked in a frenzy; every little gesture and noise coming from John being processed and their implications deduced.

"They're not ugly, Sherlock. Your scars, they mean something. But they mean something I want to delete. I don't know if I want to delete them because they mean how of an awful friend I was to you… but your back, I remember your back, it was flawless. I… I want to remove your scars, it's all I can think about. I'm a selfish man, Sherlock. It's like I'm doing this for myself. And I feel awful because of it."

Sherlock remembered that little fantasy when he was coming home, so many years ago. He sighed.

"You're angry."

John took a few seconds to answer. "It's like I'm living in anger, yeah. I want to come clean with you. Can I come clean with you? I'm not angry at you." He lifted his face to look into Sherlock's eyes where he saw concern and curiosity, but not a trace of pity and that was exactly what he needed. "I'm angry at myself, I usually am. I hit you, years ago and I was never able to say how sorry I was. And the letter. I failed you so many times. I failed Mary, and I almost failed Rosie. I hate to admit how much of an arse I've been. And you…"

There was a pause. Sherlock held his breath when John came closer and put his hand over his on the table.

"You are making me better; you are keeping me right."

Sherlock's heart was about to rip out of his chest and walk out by free will and throw itself out the window. He couldn't take his eyes off John. His hands were shaking. He struggled to rein in his trembling lower lip and John was looking at him with a frown, his face bright with pure concern like a kid waiting for his mother to forgive him.

"And Sherlock, I thought I was better than this. Realising how much of a bastard I am makes me angry. I always thought I was a good man. I wanted to be. I joined the military and was set to give my life for anyone there. Reality hit me hard and I can hardly forgive myself."

Sherlock lifted his hand slowly, shaking all the more noticeable but he didn't stop. He remained in his chair and grabbed John's forearm, his thumb unconsciously rubbing a soothing pattern on John's jumper. All of his being was screaming to comfort the man in front.

"You've been through a lot," he started to say and John snorted without humour.

"Don't make up excuses for my behaviour."

"I'm not, I'm just stating a fact." At John's face of incredulity, he went on, "You have. I'm not justifying you. There's nothing to justify. But... sometimes we need to do wrong to understand what's right."

John was looking at him intently.

"My father told me that," Sherlock added, aiming for a smile.

"When?"

"When I was beating myself for failing you, years ago."

"And what did you do to stop that?"

"I… I started to concentrate on what I wanted. You know what they say, don't you? You don't know what you have until you've lost it. When I noticed I could make you smile and laugh like before… I think I started to be… grateful?" He pulled a face. John smiled through his frown, his eyes were so very intent. "Also…" Sherlock sighed. He looked down. "Also…"

"You're amazing."

"Hm?"

"You're brilliant... and amazing. You're the best man I've ever known."

Sherlock was so taken aback his lips started trembling, eighty percent of his confidence was gone. "Thank you."

"You were saying…? Also…?"

"Ah. Yes. Also, you moved back, with Rosie… and I want to be better for the both of you. I promised."

There was a pause. The silence was heavy. Sherlock's mind was, for once, in a waiting mode, attuned and waiting for whatever was going to leave John's wonderful mouth. Within a few milliseconds he realised it was hope.

"Y'know, Sherlock," John sighed. He grabbed the much larger hand on his and just held it. Sherlock let him. "I'm going to massage your scars tonight. I'm going to grab that bloody lotion and you're going to let me because even if it's for my selfish self I will do it because I need it to be alright with myself, with you. You might be alright with me but I'm not and I know that now. I'll…"

Sherlock held his breath.

"I'll do my best."

"That's… that was…" John looked up at Sherlock's surprisingly soft voice. "Your therapist would say that was very brave. The me from five years ago would have said that's quite idiotic. But today I think it's brilliant."

John exhaled some air through his nose. "Brilliant?"

"It's an idea, isn't it? You came up with it, and you're going to do it either way because you already deduced my answer. And you also reasoned that's what you need and also going to help me by proxy so yes; brilliant."

"Or the old Sherlock is right and maybe we're both idiots, now."

"Do I have to be jealous of my old self?" Sherlock smirked but at John's lack of response he went pale. "Oh." He inhaled. "That was one more deduction than expected." He felt John grab his hand with determination now and he looked over the other's face intently. "You miss him. You miss the old me. You want the old me. And you feel guilty because of it."

"Wha-? No! Oh God. No, Sherlock, that's not..."

"I know I'm not wrong, John." Sherlock removed his hand from John's grasp and swallowed. "I know what I see."

"Sherlock."

But Sherlock was already taking his phone, coat and scarf. "Mycroft is coming in an hour," he said as he hurried for the stairs. John was still trying to make sense of it all when he heard Sherlock stopping for a moment in the foyer downstairs so he rushed before losing sight of him. Sherlock was rapidly throwing his dressing gown over Mrs Hudson's chair and replacing it with his coat.

John had never grabbed someone's arm so fast before.

"I… I know what you deduced." John cursed mentally. "Sometimes I forget you can read my mind like that." He tried to look into Sherlock's eyes but the other man's icy and closed face made it nearly impossible.

Sherlock sighed, stopped moving but didn't lift his gaze. "You see, I know when I'm right. Is that what you needed to come clean with me?"

"Hell, no. No. I don't even understand it myself."

"Then speak up." Sherlock finally looked up; a gaze so intense John had to swallow. "What is missing in me?"

"Fuck. Nothing. Nothing! You're perfect. I just…"

"John."

"Yes. I know. Let me…" John's jaw moved, the same movement he always did when making a decision. Sherlock waited but turned his torso away from John. "Tonight."

"Uh?"

"Mycroft is coming in an hour, you said. I'm going to take care of Rosie, put her to sleep early. After that please make Sherlock Holmes come back home." He paused for a moment. "The new one."

"The new one."

"The new one, yes."

Sherlock frowned and turned to John. He definitely never ceased to amaze him.

"Whenever I fuck this up…" he made a gesture between the two of them. "You come with a newer, better version of yourself. Please believe me when I say I'm jealous. It's small stuff or sometimes big stuff, but somehow you always come up cleverer, sharper… polished."

"It's always something…" Sherlock gritted his teeth and sighed after a second. John made a questioning noise. "No. Yes. I mean…" Sherlock shook his head. "I'll be back early; I want to see my girl."