I'm back! I'm sorry for the hiatus, I've had a lot of work and these chapters have been written very slowly in my small amount of spare time. I'm currently neglecting my History prep to get it up! XD

Hopefully this extra long chapter will make up for it- THE DINNER PARTY OF REVELATIONS.

Thanks to Kim, my beta.

John rapped hard on the glossy black door, clutching a bottle of wine in his free hand. Anderson hadn't been lying- it was a nice neighbourhood. John hadn't even heard of Rosings Park until Anderson had mentioned the place, but it turned out to be a quiet little patch of nature in central London. Anderson's house was opposite- small for a Victorian house, but very classy. The snowfall made it look like a Christmas card, gently drifting down in front of the Christmas wreath that hung on the door.

The door was opened almost immediately by Molly, who took the wine from him with a smile. "Come in! We've only got one more to come now."

The inside was pleasant if cold- it was all glass and metal, sleekly designed, but didn't really feel like a home. Anderson was in the kitchen chopping up vegetables and grinned when he entered. "Ah, John! Glad you could make it."

"Nice place you've got here," John replied, in an effort to make conversation.

"It is, isn't it?" A smug smirk was plastered on his face. "Of course, I share it with my flatmate Sally, but I enjoy living with others. You haven't seen the house, have you? That's a shame. Fancy a tour?"

John felt like the appropriate thing to do was to say yes, but Anderson did not wait for a response. "Well, this is obviously the kitchen/living area- I do so love open plan design. It feels more sociable, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

Anderson took them into a dining area. "This is where we'll be eating tonight."

The ceilings were high, compensating for the spectacular table dominating the centre of the room, however John's eye was caught by one particular corner, where a magnificent grand piano stood. All classic, clean lines to go with the minimalist feel of the rest of the house. It looked daunting yet seemed to call out to be touched. "It's a beautiful instrument," said John, as he ran his fingers over the smooth, dark ebony wood. It was obviously well looked after. It felt like satin to touch and had an almost mirror like sheen to it.

"Yes. I don't play it myself unfortunately, but it's nice to have around. You enjoy music, don't you, John?"

"Yes, I do."

"Ah. Of course. Now, let me show you the best part." He led them up the narrow stairs and out a set of glass doors. John had to admit, the view was breathtaking. They were on a balcony, overlooking the park. He could see a frozen pond at its centre, untouched by humans, and the deep woodland that surrounding it was covered with a blanket of snow. In the distance, Canary Wharf was visible, a shining citadel of modern architecture.

"It's beautiful," John sighed with a slight dreamy tint.

Anderson grinned smugly "I know. Sometimes Molly and I just sit out here for hours, simply taking it all in. It's all very romantic. I defy you to find a more romantic spot in any other part of London." Something in the way that Anderson spoke seemed to say 'look at what you could have had', and John did not appreciate it.

"Ah, so this is the famous John?"

John turned around at the sound of his name to see an elegantly dressed black woman, her hair beautifully styled and a wide smile on her face. "Sally Donovan," she extended a hand, "Hi."

John shook it. "John, John Watson."

"Pleased to meet you." She seemed friendly enough, but there was something shark like and predatory about her smile, like she was about to devour him. "So you live in the same house as Molly?"

"Yeah, she lives with my sister, and I live on the floor below."

"Oh! How nice. How many people live in your house?"

"Six- two on each floor."

"Ah! How cosy, I love it." There was the sound of a doorbell. "That'll be Sherlock," she said smoothly, walking towards the stairs.

John's jaw dropped, and he glared at Molly. "Sherlock?"

She avoided his gaze guiltily. "Er…"

"I will kill you," he hissed.

Sally returned with Sherlock on her arm, who seemed genuinely taken aback at John's presence. "Sherlock, this is John Watson. John, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"We've met," John muttered, shaking Sherlock's hand reluctantly.

"Oh!" Sally smiled. "That's great- saves the awkward introductions, eh? Let's all grab a pre-dinner drink, I've been gasping all day."

They walked awkwardly downstairs, Molly shooting him the occasional apologetic look which he returned with scorn.

Sally grabbed some drinks from the fridge, which she handed out. Molly returned to preparing the food in the kitchen whilst the others sat down in the living room.

Sally positioned herself next to Sherlock, very close to him. "So John, how do you know Sherlock?"

"His brother dated my flatmate for a time."

The atmosphere grew even more awkward. "Ah. I see. I'm guessing it didn't end well?"

"Not particularly, no."

Another awkward silence fell. John took a sip of his drink. "How do you two know each other?"

Sally laughed and slapped Sherlock's thigh, leaving her hand to linger. "Our parents are very good friends. We went to the same primary school. Of course, Sherlock went off to Harrow and I went to Roedean, but we always met up in the holidays."

Of course. John didn't know why he hadn't realised before- both brought up in a little private school bubble of reality, where they all called each other by their last names and wore ridiculous school uniforms. "Sounds lovely," he lied, "to remain such close friends with someone you've known all your life."

"Well, you and Greg are still friends," Sherlock spoke for the first time since he arrived.

"Yeah, but we've always gone to the same schools, we've never really been apart. You too must be very good… friends," the lengthy pause made Sherlock flush, and Sally's smile faltered slightly.

"Yes. The closest of friends." John saw Sally's hand brush suggestively against his thigh, but Sherlock tensed and shifted away from her touch, yet his eyes remained locked on John.

Anderson re-entered the room, oblivious of the tension. "Sally decorated the whole house. Exquisite, isn't it?"

He grimaced. "Yes, of course. You have wonderful taste."

Sally's laugh was rich and throaty. "I'm very interested in modern design, I've never been one for cosy homes." John frowned inwardly at the contradiction to her earlier statement, but said nothing. "Some of the squalor the others in my class live in- positively squats! And they call it eclectic, can you imagine?" her eyes widened dramatically to show just how horrified she truly was at mere suggestion.

John grimaced again at the thought of his own bedroom whilst Sally continued. "Of course, Sherlock is just the worst. I don't know how he can live like that! I've offered to redesign the whole place, but he won't listen, will you Sherlock?"

Sherlock ignored her words. "We didn't really say hello earlier," he said to John, "… hello."

John wasn't sure why Sherlock tried to make conversation, there was an awkwardness in his voice that could have nothing to do with him enjoying John's company. "Hello." he replied warily.

Sally gave a slight frown. She stuck her arm out. "Colin, be a dear and fetch me a drink."

Anderson gave her a sickly sweet smile. "Of course."

Once he had left, she chuckled. "Isn't he sweet? And Molly too? A little rough around the edges, perhaps, but I'm sure I could sharpen her up. Always so obliging…"

"A little too much so."

"Oh, I don't know about that. She'll make Colin a good little wife."

"She's capable of far more," John said abruptly.

A pause, before Molly herself stuck her head around the door. "It's ready!"

And not a moment too soon. They wordlessly travelled into the dining room, no-one acknowledging the deep routed tension. John seated himself next to Molly and Anderson, who he somehow found less irritating than Sherlock and Sally, as hard as that was to admit.

Dinner started well, with pleasant and inoffensive small talk that John listened patiently to. Anderson regaled them with tales from his days at school, and Sally raved about how she and Sherlock used to put on little plays when they were children.

"And Sherlock demanded that he got to play the princess!" she laughed. "Isn't that funny?"

Sherlock flushed. "I was six at the time, Sally."

"Well, thank god you didn't keep cross dressing- lord knows what your mother would have thought!"

John restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"You were quite the little actor, though. Maybe you should have gone into the stage."

"It's not my natural environment. I prefer things with a little more grit."

"Oh, come now. You enjoy the arts, whether you pretend to or not. You play that damn violin of yours incessantly."

"It is a beautiful instrument," Molly added, the first time she'd spoken for a good while, and Sherlock gave her a brief smile.

"I hear you play the guitar, John," Sally asked, as Anderson took away his empty desert plate.

She smiled widely, but there was a forced quality to it, it didn't stretch to her eyes. "I shall have to hear you play some time." John thought he detected a hint of amusement in her tone. "Tell me- do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"A younger sister. She lives with us in the house."

"Ah! It must get grating living with the same people after a while, especially one you've spent your whole life with!"

John smiled fondly for thinking of Harry. "I love Harry to pieces. We fight sometimes, but I can never stay mad at her."

"What does she study?"

John felt as if this dinner had become an interrogation. It was as if Sally was gaining as much information as possible in order to judge him. "Drama."

"Aha. Perhaps Sherlock should transfer and spend more time with her?"

"It's a good course, apparently," John said lightly.

"I'm sure. Sherlock's always been more academically focused, though…"

John took a bite of his food. "Oh, Harry gets good grades, she just never pays attention. She's always done well, and because I work hard I keep up with her."

"Oh." Sally looked a little taken aback. "That's good. Were you both privately educated, John?"

"No. We went to the local comprehensive with our friend Greg."

"Ah, I see. You had a tutor, then?"

"No."

"Oh!" She barely concealed a smirk. "How interesting. You hear such stories about the schools in London, I'm glad you didn't slip through the system."

John felt a flash of anger, suddenly defensive. "Our school was good. It was very supportive."

"I'm sure."

Another awkward, yet familiar quiet spread throughout the group as they ate in silence for a few more moments, before Anderson spoke. "So Sherlock, I hear you have a younger sister yourself?"

Sherlock seemed to liven up. "Yes, Georgiana. She's a wonderful girl, everyone says so."

John was surprised at just how enthusiastic he seemed. "She certainly seems it from what you've said."

Sherlock's head snapped round towards John "You remembered," Sherlock replied, for once seeming genuine, the corners of his lips lifting minutely. "I'm glad. I'd love for you to meet her."

"I'd like that," he replied, though not forgetting what Jim had said about the girl. He had decided not to judge her until he'd met her himself, if that indeed ever happened.

Sally's eyes darted between them and she frowned. "How about we all have a drink on the balcony?"

"That sounds lovely," said Molly. "I'll just clean up."

"Molly," John said kindly, patting her arm. "You've done too much tonight. Let me do it."

Sally, Anderson and Molly chatted as they walked upstairs, and John began to load the plates into Sally's dishwasher. It was only when he turned around to collect the last few, that he realised Sherlock was still there.

"God" he exhaled "I didn't see you there."

"I'm sorry John," he said, taking a step forward. "Here, let me help."

"I'm fine, honestly."

"Please, I may as well."

John nodded, somewhat stunned at the pleasantries. "Thank you."

They began to load the plates together, neither saying a word until John finally spoke. "Sally seems nice."

"You're not as good a liar as you think you are, John," Sherlock replied, slightly amused.

"Well, alright," John was flustered, "I was just trying to be nice."

"No, no, that's not a bad thing." Sherlock seemed embarrassed. "Forget it."

Again there was silence, except for the clink of the dishes and pans as they hit the metal.

"I've told Georgiana a lot about you."

"Oh?"

"All good things, I assure you."

John laughed. "Now I know you're lying."

"I'm really not," Sherlock said softly. "I think she wants to play a duet with you."

John could not suppress a smile this time. From the way Sherlock was describing her, she was nothing like Jim had said, but then again he would be biased. "From what you've said I doubt I could keep up."

"You're very skilled on the guitar, John. You mustn't put yourself down."

John grabbed the final lot of plates and pushed them down forcefully. "Flatterer. Are you trying to mess with my head?"

Sherlock shut the machine. "No! I doubt I could if I tried, to be quite honest…"

John found himself inexplicably drawn to the man. "Is this an attempt to make up for that terrible first impression, then?"

Sherlock, for the first time, seemed genuinely vulnerable. "Unlike some, I don't easily integrate myself with new people. I never seem to be able to judge the situation…"

"Yeah, well maybe a bit of practice wouldn't inconvenience you too much," John snapped rather harshly, but regretted his decision immediately and sighed. "Sorry. I didn't mean that quite as badly as it sounded."

"Don't be." Sherlock was an awful lot closer to him than John remembered, quite imposing this close up. John himself was jammed with his back against the worktops.

"I," he found himself flushed, "I'm not great with people I don't know either."

"We're more similar than you think." Sherlock's voice was a low murmur, and he moved a hand gently to the work top next to John. He was trapped by Sherlock's body, except it didn't feel like an aggressive movement. Quite to the contrary, in fact, its presence, radiating heat, was most welcome.

John regained his senses. "Excuse me, I really ought to get back to the others." He brushed briefly past Sherlock in his haste to extricate himself, cursing inwardly for whatever it was that had made him react in this way. It had to be the booze. It had to be.

Sherlock did not follow him up the stairs, which was a blessing, and John met Molly on the landing. "Having fun?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. "You owe me."

"Was Sherlock down there with you?" Molly's voice was teasing.

"Yes… Why?"

"Oh, no reason… He just seems very fond of you, is all…"

John snorted at the idea. "Oh, please. I'm pedestrian, remember?"

Molly sighed. "Oh well. The others are out on the balcony, if you want them."

John restrained himself from making a particularly sarcastic comment and walked out onto the balcony, admiring the still falling snow.

"Did Sherlock help you?" Sally asked rather sharply.

"Yes," John replied curtly, "it was very… kind of him."

"Have a nice chat?" She seemed aloof, but John could sense the edge in her tone.

"He told me a bit more about his sister. She seems very talented."

Sally visibly relaxed. "Yes, she is. We're very close, I'm like her sister."

"Does she give you much trouble?" John asked, intrigued as to whether Jim's accusations were true. "I mean, a teenager must be hard work…"

"Oh no, she's a darling." Sally sipped her wine. "No-one has a bad word to say for her, she's wonderful. Anthea loves her too, and she's a hard woman to win around- oh, of course, have you met Anthea?"

"Yes," John said, recalling the unpleasant woman. "A friend of Mycroft's. Sherlock seems very close with his family."

"Oh yes, he is. He's deeply protective; recently, for example, he stopped his brother from dating a deeply unsuitable guy."

John's blood ran cold. "Oh? What was his name?"

"I can't remember. All I know is that he was very different to Mycroft, and not that keen on him in the first place."

Sally had clearly forgotten everything John had told her about Greg, or not listened at all. "Who was he to judge that?"

"Believe me, John, he didn't sound very special. What was the word Sherlock used? Ah- pedestrian, that was it. He's not missing out."

John found himself overcome with anger. ""Excuse me. I'm feeling a little unwell."

"Oh really?" said Sally, not sounding concerned in the slightest. "Colin, get John a glass of water."

Anderson seemed only too eager to obey Sally, but John shook his head. "I don't think it would do much good. I think I may go home, if that's alright with you."

"If you feel that's necessary, then of course."

"Thank you for inviting me. Sally, Colin." He left as quickly as possible, meeting Molly half way up the stairs.

Molly seemed delighted. "Hey John! I've just been chatting to Sherlock, and he seemed a bit flustered." She caught his expression. "What's wrong?"

"I'll explain later, I promise you, but I have to go home. I'll talk to you when you get back, OK?" He kissed her on the cheek. "Have a nice evening."

"... OK?" she replied as John hurtled downstairs, grabbing his coat from the hook on the door. He made his way onto the street, snow was still falling as he struggled in his attempt to put on his coat in a fit of rage.

How could he have been so blind as to think that Sherlock had not been involved in the breakup of Greg and Mycroft? How could he have been so stupid?

And to think, he had found himself attracted to Sherlock. He never would have acted on it, of course, but he cursed his own weak will anyway.

"John!"

He froze in the snow, seething. He knew that smooth baritone.

"Leave me alone, Sherlock," he spat, as calmly as he could muster. John heard the crunch of Sherlock's footsteps on the new snow as he moved closer. "I mean it, will you just-"

He stopped as Sherlock grabbed his shoulder and span him around, gripping hard even once John was facing him. "I can't, John. I just can't."

"What? Why?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Because I think I might love you!"

Now that John had not been expecting. "Don't mock me, Sherlock." He turned and began to walk away again.

Sherlock blocked his path once more, placing a hand against his chest. "I mean it, John." He grasped the material and pulled John closer to him, and John's head subconsciously tilted up to meet him. Sherlock's kiss was just like the man- a strong, almost violent attack on the mouth. John came to his senses at last and pushed Sherlock off him, making the taller man stumble.

There was silence. "You're... You actually mean this, don't you?" John's astonishment was beyond expression. He felt the heat rise in his face as he stared back at Sherlock.

Sherlock bit his lip, as though thinking. "Love was an unwise word to use. I have after all only just met you. But I've- I've never felt this degree of infatuation towards any human being before, especially not for someone so..."

Up until that point, John could not help but feel flattered. Sherlock was, in the eyes of many, a catch. He could not deny that he was attractive. "So?"

"Well, you know," Sherlock replied as if it were a normal comment to make whilst declaring your love, "you're so..."

"So?"

"Ordinary."

John felt his shock return to anger again. "Oh."

Sherlock had not picked up on his tone. "It's been agony. These feelings you inspire in me, I'm not used to them. All this tenderness, all this nervousness... I cut all of them out, a long time ago, and I don't want to feel like this... But I can't. My emotions will not be repressed."

John would not, could not speak.

"And for the one who makes me feel so ardently to be someone so utterly unsuitable... I mean, you're of average intelligence, your friends are irritating, your sister is out of control-"

"You will leave my sister out of this, do you understand me?" John hissed.

Sherlock looked surprised. "What?"

"Leave Harry out of this."

"I'm sorry if I spoke without thinking, but it's only because when I'm around you..." he struggled to describe it, "I cannot control myself. Please, John," he almost whispered his name. "I need you more than I could ever say."

Again he attempted to kiss John, but this time he pushed Sherlock back. Sherlock gaped. "John?"

John laughed bitterly, glaring at the man before him. "You say that you're nervous, you pretend to ask me about this, but in reality you just assumed I'd want you back, didn't you?"

Sherlock looked for the first time confused. "I-"

"Usually in this scenario, you're supposed to thank the person, however repulsive you may find them. And if I could feel any form of gratitude, I would do exactly that, but I can't. I never wanted you to like me, Sherlock, at least not after our first night out. I am sorry that I've caused you such agony, believe me I did not intend to. But I hope that all the reasons you have just listed mean that you can get over me easily."

Sherlock visibly paled, even in the cold of the snow. "John, I didn't mean it like that!"

"Oh please. Even you are not so emotionally stunted that you don't realize how insulting what you've said is."

Sherlock was angry now. "It took a lot for me to say that, John, you could have at least attempted to react kindly."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have listed my faults in your twisted attempt at seduction. Maybe that works with some people, but it doesn't with me. I have every right to react angrily. But that's hardly my only reason."

Sherlock frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend not to know!" John could barely feel the cold anymore, such was his anger. "Greg, Sherlock. Greg and Mycroft. How could I possibly want someone who ruined, perhaps forever, the life of my best friend?"

Sherlock reddened. "Do not be overly dramatic. I have ruined no-one's life."

"You don't deny breaking them up, then? Destroying the relationship of a couple who adored each other, maybe even loved each other, and leaving them both miserable?"

Sherlock paused, seemingly in an effort to regain his control. "I do not deny it. I allowed Mycroft to escape the fate I have now chosen."

John laughed harshly. "And that, that would be enough, but I have other reasons, you know I do!"

"What do you mean?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

"Say it then!"

"Jim! How can you excuse what you've done to him?"

The effect on Sherlock was immediate- suddenly Sherlock was aggressive, almost frightening for John to behold, but he stood his ground.

"Why," Sherlock started, almost unable to speak, "Why does Jim matter?"

"I care about him. Deeply."

"So- You've- You've been together. Together."

"My God, what are you, 12?"

"Answer the question, damn it!"

John held Sherlock's gaze. "Yes."

To his surprise, Sherlock looked for a moment distraught, but quickly regained his ice cold sneer. "I just thought you had more taste."

"How can you be so callous after what you did?"

"Oh, after what I did? I'm the bad guy here?" His words dripped with contempt.

"You took away his future, his life! Now he's working in a bar, when he could be so much more! And yet you can mock him and ridicule him like that's nothing!"

Sherlock stepped closer again, his face very close to John. "So this is your opinion of me. Thank you for explaining my many faults in such detail, it must be a weight off your mind. But maybe these would have been excusable if I hadn't highlighted your own."

"Oh, piss off Sherlock." He began to walk away but stopped at Sherlock's laughter.

"Go ahead, run away, just like you always do!"

He swiveled on his foot. "Excuse me?"

"All you ever do is run, John. You never face the problem, you just put it aside. That's what you did with Molly and it's what you're doing now."

"Alright then, fine! Go ahead, say what you like!"

"I do! I was honest with you in admitting your flaws, flaws that even you know are there. You're one of those people who needs people to like you, and guess what? It isn't going to happen! Maybe if I'd flattered you beyond all reason we'd be in a much different scenario, but I'm not ashamed of my honesty! Do you expect me to find your ordinariness somehow attractive or endearing? For me to be pleased that you are not special in any way?"

John's anger grew and grew but he attempted to remain calm. "Flattery would have gotten you nowhere, although you have kindly spared me any sense of guilt. Thank you for that. There's no way I could have ever accepted you."

Sherlock's expression was a mixture of incredulity and embarrassment as John continued. "Ever since the first time I met you, I have found you unbearable. You are cold, heartless and cruel, and most of all you are unspeakably arrogant. Before a week had passed I knew that you were the last man on earth I could ever, ever love."

Sherlock stepped forward and grabbed John's collar, as if he wanted to hit him. John made himself stand his ground, and resisted flinching. But Sherlock's hand did not form a fist, and instead the pair's eyes were locked. Sherlock was so close to him that John felt his heavy breath against his face.

Finally, Sherlock spoke. "I understand." His voice was low, a rumble in his chest. "I'm sorry. I won't bother you again."

Sherlock walked away in the opposite direction, leaving John alone in the street. He made sure he was out of sight before gripping hard to the railing next to him. Christ, he felt weak kneed. It took a few moments for him to realize he was crying.

"You are a stupid, stupid child, John Watson. And you deserved that."

He walked off into the snow, thinking. The whole evening had been bizarre. Sherlock wanted him... That was insane to even contemplate. But he couldn't let himself dwell on the information; he had to remember what Sherlock had done to Greg and to Jim. His confliction was quickly resolved by the memories. He continued his hurried thoughts as he hailed down a cab, and returned to his flat to wait for Molly.