Sherlock is pacing, thinking. This goes on for about twenty minutes, I don't interrupt, I know he won't appreciate the distraction. At some point he mumbles.

"Could just do it? I mean one person against... No... no..." he sideways glances at me. What is he thinking? I don't think I want to know. He stops suddenly and spins on his heel, clicking his fingers at me.

"Phone! Phone!" I hand him the phone and for a moment I feel like a nurse assisting in surgery. He dials and speaks as soon as the person on the end answers.

"Lestrade? We're going to have to fake it, fake it really well. I've got some...friends who might be able to help. I'll phone you back within the hour. Ok? Ok." He disconnects the call and turns to me.

"John I need you to talk to Mycroft. He must know that Trafalgar Square is expected tonight and I need him to be a little less vigilant on his adjudicating this time." I sigh.

"Why am I going? I mean, I will of course but... just wondering."

"Because he likes you. He'll listen to you, all that 'for queen and country' claptrap." He looks at my expression. "Sorry. But he will, he'll do it for you. If I go it'll just be a row and he'll get pompous." He's right and I nod.

When I get back from getting dressed there's already a cab outside. Sherlock helps me on with my jacket; I can tell he wants me to rush. As I leave the front door he kisses me.

"I love you." I tell him; aware that this is the first time I've said it out loud, when I haven't been coerced by orgasm and endorphins. His grin is beatific, serene. Why haven't I just said it before?

"Thank you." he says simply, kissing me again. Then he spins me around and propels me down the stairs with a firm slap on the arse. He laughs. "Be back as soon as you can!"

God know what he said to the cab driver but we're in Bethnal Green much quicker than the last time. I pass through the restaurant, this time the waiters smile and leave me alone as I go through the kitchen.

I open the fridge door, half expecting to see hanging meat and tubs of ghee but there instead is Miss Graham. She looks up at me and doesn't appear at all surprised.

"Here to see my Mr Holmes, Dr. Watson?" I nod but she is already reaching for the intercom. In a moment the door to his office opens and Mycroft voice shouts.

"Come in! Come in! Miss Graham, the tea please."

"I haven't got time for tea, I'm sorry." I tell him and he's out from behind his desk in an instant, even if he doesn't look anything like his brother his lightness of foot and quickness of reflex marks him out as a Holmes. He frowns and indicates a chair. I shake my head, he raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know how to say this Mycroft so I'm not going to mess about." He nods like he appreciates the sentiment.

"My delightful little brother needs me to not be too vigilant about the next stage of the game? Trafalgar Square. Am I right John?" I should have known really shouldn't I? I am still surprised. Mycroft smiles.

"Well as he had the decency to send you," his smile broadens it's predatory, "and not come and annoy me himself I will assist you both. I can't be seen to do anything of the sort obviously but I can... bend the rules a little. If I can't then who can?" I wonder briefly if there are lots of rules Mycroft has to bend to do whatever it is he considers his job. I decide to stop thinking about it, I'm not sure I want to know.

"Thanks, that's great... yep.. Great. Right! I'd better..." I gesture to the door with my hand. He smiles indulgently.

"Of course. Good night John. Pop by anytime I can help!" he waves, a little like a favourite uncle after a weekend visit, he's most disconcerting.

It isn't until I'm in the cab I consider what he said about Sherlock having the decency to send me. Hang on... no. No, surely not. Bloody hell.

I would ring Sherlock and tell him that Mycroft's agreed but he has my phone. I should get another, I think, then we'd both have one. It's ridiculous.

When I get to 221b Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan and a couple of other people from Scotland Yard who I don't recognise are in the lounge. Anderson's sitting on the sofa with a cup of coffee, someone else must have made it; it's in a mug Sherlock uses for his experiments with eyeballs. Oh well. Sherlock's standing at the window. He turns when he hears me come in the room.

"Well?" I nod; I'm not going to say anything about Mycroft in front of this lot.

"Ooh look your pet soldier boy's here." Sneers Anderson. I turn to him and take one step forward.

"Shut up Anderson, ok?" His eyebrows rise and I step again, he steps back. "Fuck off with your juvenile insinuations and sneery comments because who Sherlock is fucking, who I am fucking is nothing to do with you so just shut up. Ok?" I make to turn away and then go back. "Oh and that sofa, the one you're sitting on? Yeah we have." I raise my eyebrows, "on there. More than once." He jumps up, horrified. Sherlock laughs so much he's bent double. He claps me on the back and then kisses me, everyone tries to look away.

"Marvellous, marvellous." he chuckles. "Shall we tell him exactly what we did on that spot?"

"Maybe not eh Sherlock?" I'm laughing but I hope he gets the hint. Lestrade interrupts.

"Ok we've established that you don't take kindly to gay jokes and that you like to shag on the sofa, maybe against the wall too?" He looks meaningfully at Anderson, who is lounging against the wall now. Anderson lunges up and stares around him for somewhere that might be safe, he'll be lucky, I think. "Now I have a major murder investigation to wrap up if you don't mind?" Sherlock turns to him.

"Of course. I'm just waiting for my victim." Lestrade frowns and there are feet on the stairs. It's James, the Big Issue seller who rescued me from Mycroft's men. He smiles at me.

"Nice to see you looking so well Dr Watson." I nod.

"Yes, I don't think I got to thank you James." He shakes his head like it's no big deal.

"Ah! James! Excellent." Sherlock takes him off into the kitchen and starts to give him a potted version of events.

"You're going to murder me Sherlock?" he laughs and shakes his head.

"Yes, that's about the long and short of it," nods Sherlock. James doesn't even think.

"No problem Sherlock. Where are we doing this?"

"Trafalgar square in one hour, outside the gallery."

"Can I have a cup of tea first? It's bitter out there."

"Of course, John, make James a cup of tea while I go and find Mr. Doyle." Sherlock disappears upstairs and I put the kettle on.

About forty five minutes later I'm in what on the outside is a van for a national bakery outlet, but inside is a state of the art surveillance van.

"I'll never buy a pie from them again." I say to Lestrade who has one ear covered by an enormous headphone and is watching a monitor. He grins without moving his gaze.

On the screen, large, flat and frighteningly clear, I see Sydney Doyle approach James where he is selling his Big Issue on the steps of the National Gallery. They seem to talk briefly and Doyle cocks his head, indicting the back of the marble stairs, out of main sight of the Square which is filled with tourists. As they walk the view on the screen changes to show them coming down the secluded area where the ground is littered with crisp packets and detritus of the day's tourists. They seem to argue and Doyle produces something from his coat which flashes brightly. James clutches his side and falls to the floor, something dark and liquid spills out from his body.

"Looks realistic enough." Grunts Lestrade as Doyle leaves the scene and we watch him cross the square and get onto a Routemaster bus for Hackney. Lestrade shouts to the driver and the engine starts up.

"Best get out before the ambulance arrives. I'll drop you off at home."

I'm in the flat with the news on when Sherlock gets home. The special bulletin has interrupted the late night film and the footage of Trafalgar Square, cordoned off and flashing with police and emergency service's lights is on the screen. They've interviewed some tourists and some commuters, the former awed at ending up on national TV, the latter annoyed at being halted in their progress home.

"I've got to get this off me." he says as he goes up to the bathroom. "Two old ladies propositioned me twice in Hackney before I could get back on the Tube. What can I say? I'm a magnet for them John!" I smile to myself.

"Need a hand?" he chuckles.

"No not tonight, I just want to get clean. I'd love some toast though." I listen as the taps gurgle on and the bath fills. Ten minutes later he's downstairs in a towel. I pass him the toast and a cup of tea.

"Thanks," he mumbles as he eats one piece in two bites. He sits on the sofa next to where I was sitting. For a few minutes we watch the news bulletin in silence and the only sound is his crunching. He puts down the plate and finishes his tea with a noisy gulp. Then he laughs.

"What?" I turn to him and switch the television off. He is still chuckling.

"Anderson's face." he pulls a dreadful impression of Anderson's expression and laughs again. I join in. Soon we are both laughing and I can barely breathe.

"Well... he deserved it. Git." I wheeze.

"On the sofa, several times." He grins, "Genius, just genius." Wow. High praise indeed. Then he sobers up. "This afternoon, before you went to see Mycroft..."

"Yes."

"Well, do you realise that's the first real time you've said you love me?"

"I've said it before. Definitely."

"Yes I know but it was the first time that you've said it without me handling your genitals." I can't help but laugh at his word choice. He raises an eyebrow. "What? It's true."

"I know it is... it was just your turn of phrase... anyway I suppose it was the first time. Here's the second." I cup his face in both of my hands and he smiles. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, I am in love with you, madly." I add kissing him. He is still grinning so it's not much of a kiss. Then he lets out a long breath, like he's been holding it forever.

"That's better," he says quietly, softly. "I know you do." It's my turn to smile now.

"I'm sorry I've not been more... up front about it..." I shrug and spread my hands.

"I've considered this John. On the surface it seems strange that I should be the one declaring my feelings when, up until very recently, I wasn't even sure I had feelings at all." His hands are steepled under his chin. "Then, on further reflection, I realised that you're bound to feel somewhat under confident, overwhelmed even, by being in a relationship with someone of my superior intelligence..." he looks at me and I try to keep a serious face. "What?" he challenges me.

"Nothing, carry on. It's fascinating." He nods as though it's obviously fascinating.

"So I think I understand why you are so reticent to express your feelings to me, after all you must be feeling slightly over awed, but John," he turns to me, his whole body shifted so that he is towards me, one leg folded under his body. "John, you don't have to worry. I find you more than a little interesting and I can't imagine I shall ever get bored of working you out." He smiles at me as though I am some interesting experiment, I've seen him use that smile on the violin before he assaults it. Bloody hell.

"So, what happens now then?" I ask pointing to the television. "Do you think they'll believe it?" he shrugs.

"It depends how convincing you were for Mycroft."

"Yeah about Mycroft..."

"What? What did he say to you?" he's giving me that look again.

"Nothing. Nothing. He just said something about you sending me because you knew he'd do it for me. Why would he do it for me?" Sherlock smiles and it's a little terrifying.

"He likes you John. Of course he does," this last comment is at my spluttering at the suggestion. "Why do you think he went to all that trouble to try to pay you to spy on me? he hasn't tried it with Mrs. Hudson, but then, Mrs. H isn't as much of a looker as you are." he waggles an eyebrow. He thinks I'm a looker, I think to myself. I smile. Hang on, Mycroft?

"Well, he's lovely and everything, well; no he isn't lovely at all actually is he?" Sherlock shakes his head gravely. "Anyway, there's only one of the Holmes boys who does anything for me." I end, oiling a face to indicate that my comment was a bit 'out there'. Sherlock laughs and puts his arm about me.

"I hope so John." He laughs.

The doorbell rings. I look at him and frown.

"Chinese," he says. "I ordered on the way home. Hope you're hungry." Strangely enough I am, I'm ravenous. He gets up and comes back with boxes. I go and get plates, forks and spoons.

We sit, eating our take away until my phone rings. I answer it, it's Lestrade.

"Hi, John just wanted to let you know that we're all set for tomorrow. Right after the documents are signed and the press conference is over we're going to arrest Fredericks. I think the rest of them will fall after that, we've got too much on them. The club photographs, the times of the murders link nicely to their meetings, it's enough for them to know we've got a strong case. No one's kicking up a fuss down here so I think the Trafalgar square business has had the thumbs up. So, I'll speak to you tomorrow right? Tell Sherlock thanks won't you?"

"Yes, great I will. Thanks Geoff." He puts down the phone. "Geoff," I explain to Sherlock and tell him the plans for tomorrow. He nods and I think for a moment he's sad it's all over, that there is no more mystery to solve, no more disguises to don and chase about London in. Then he smiles and stands up.

"Bed." He says empathically. I start to protest, I haven't even touched my chicken fried rice but he's insistent.

He leads me to his bedroom, it's surprisingly tidy. I look astonished and he smiles.

"Mrs. Hudson's offered to have a tidy up in here." I can't think why she would unless he asked her too; she's desperate to mother him. He pulls me close to him and kisses me softly. "I was just thinking the excitement was all over..." he murmurs in my ear as he licks along the tip of it, I shudder and I feel him smile against my skin. "And then I realised that I still have an enormously exciting lover too enjoy." He chuckles as my breathing gets a little wobbly at his words. He puts one hand on my backside and pulls me closer; I can feel him hard against my hip bone. I lift my face up to him and reach up with my hand so that I can kiss his lips; he stoops so that it's easier. After a moment or two of soft kisses which are becoming more and more heated he stops.

"I think I have to lie down before my knees give way entirely." I laugh but it's the first time he's said anything like that to me. Something that admits I have an effect on him, something without me 'handling his genitals'. It's sweet and surprisingly erotic.

He lies down and pulls me with him. We lie on the bed, fully dressed and kiss for what seems like hours. I kiss his chicken pox scar, his high cheekbones, his strong jaw and he kisses me like he's exploring and committing me to memory. He probably is.

In silent agreement we undress each other, slowly and searchingly. This isn't like any time before, there is no hurry, no desperation in our actions, we know that we have time. His long fingers skim over my body, touching my scars.

"How did you get this one?" he asks gently. I tell him. I tell him about the dark hours in the black room, the men with the electric cables, the pincers. I tell him about the bag on my head, the video they made me record for my folks at home. I tell him about the muzzle of a gun being pressed through the bag to my temple. He listens; his eyes never leave mine like he is drinking in my story through his gaze. When the story is over and my eyes, dry of tears but smarting from the memories, are closed he kisses my lids.

"Thank you." he whispers and I know he isn't just thanking me for telling him my story, it's that too, he's thanking me for loving him, accepting him when so many people he meets cannot even fathom what he is.

"It's no problem." I tell him. I stroke him gently, soothingly until he moans my name and his hands seek me out. We move together, our desire building until it is a fierce crescendo. He tells me he loves me and I tell him the same. We whisper our love this time. It's just between us two. I lie there and a soft lull comes over me; I am falling asleep in his arms. Some part of me knows that, though this is the end of this adventure, my real adventure has only just begun.

I think it's the end of this adventure! Don't worry, Mycroft is inviting himself to 221b for dinner soon and he's got something he needs help with.

PrincessNala (LMJO), Peachsilk ( a doll), Darmed (I like having a stalker!), Clubba Bear (my fic husband), Tasty- Kate( crazy American), 2cajuman2( always up for fun), Tanya Zsa Zsa (regular as clockwork), Munchieees(such a star), Aelfric's cat(tea expert), Nellyington (to the point), mrs winny (likes the funny parts) and Despairandcupcakechild (doesn't normally review ! yay!), you have just been bloody fantastic over the last two weeks. I have so enjoyed your comments, ideas, observations and madness. Please don't forget me, the new story will start before the end of the weekend but I can't promise the regular (i.e. daily) updates bc work starts again on Thursday! But I will be continuing in the adventures of Sherlock and John!

OHOB, what did I do before you, Reggie, thanks for putting up with all the times I snuck off to type and left you with edie, your mum, the electrician, the removal men. Cx