Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are part of the BBCverse of Sherlock. I wish I did. But I don't. So I merely write this for fun. Please do not sue.

Title: A Scandal In Belgravia- A Different Take

Genre: Drama, mystery, angst, general, friendship

Warnings: Language, Death.

Spoilers: The name of the fic is the name of the episode of Season 2.

Summary: The wife of a self made billionaire has been murdered in her hotel room, in Belgravia. Sherlock is called in when there seems to be a connection to the wife, and he then reveals what the connection is, causing quite the scandal in itself. While Sherlock and John work the case, Sherlock reveals to John what his connection is to the woman. Meanwhile, the men are still recovering after the events of their face off with Moriarty at the end of The Great Game, and coming to terms with what the other means to them.

Author's Note: Due to season 2 being delayed for over a year, and season 1 being set in 2010, I'm going to keep in line with the time line. This case is taking place in the year 2010. So as stated in prologue the date was August 21st, and the year 2010.

Chapter 13- A Bond That Goes Deeper Than Friendship

Location: 221B Baker Street

Date- September 3rd, 2010

Time: 8 pm.

"I'm sorry," John says slowly, "can you repeat that?"

"Oh don't be obtuse. You heard what I said," the crazy genius says irritably.

"I hear you talking some craziness," John has no idea where this all came from. But he's going to get to the bottom of this. "You want us to end all association with each other? For me to stop helping with your cases, and to move out. Why?"

"Why are you asking?" Sherlock looks confused. "I thought you would not have a problem with it. You get to live your life without the hectic demands that mine bring on me. Do you honestly like me playing my violin at three in the morning, or when I go for days not saying anything, or the fact I never do the shopping, or I leave things all over? Or have heads in the fridge?"

"That last one there, I don't really care for," John admits. "But I've given up trying to get you to do the shopping, you won't do it. When you are playing well, it helps me get back to sleep. Only when you're playing purposely bad it's annoying. The not talking bit.. it can get unsettling sometimes, but I've learned to handle it."

"John, you are not happy here."

"Don't tell me what I am or am not," John says sternly. "I am happy here. It's crazy, it's never dull, it has it's quiet moments, but it's not dull. It's home. I am happy living here."

John can see that whatever Sherlock had stored in that brilliant mind of his had not expected John's arguments.

"This is not going the way I thought," Sherlock mutters. "This is the most logical, reasonable thing to do, yet you refuse to do it. Why do you keep being so unpredictable? You are supposed to be predictable."

"Can you just tell me what is going on?" John asks, ignoring the dig.

"You wouldn't understand," he says hastily.

"Oh for God's sake, try me."

Silence. Then; "Because it's too dangerous John!"

Somehow, this sounds like one of their usual arguments they've gotten into in the past. Although John's usually the one on the recieving end of Sherlock's rebuttals, insults and sarcasm. This has gotten switched up.

"I've survived living with you for... I moved in January 31st.. so we're into seven months now. I do agree it's a bit dangerous at times, especially with your experiments-"

"This has nothing to do with my experiments. It's too dangerous for you. It is too dangerous for you to continue associating with me."

There's a sense of desperation in Sherlock's words there. John hears it.

"How?" John asks quietly.

Sherlock inhales, and drops down into the chair next to him. "Moriarty," he says softly.

Now we're getting somewhere.

"Ah." John nods. "So are we finally going to talk about what happened then? Because you've been avoiding it for ages."

"He's alive," Sherlock says dully.

"Yes, I imagine he is. Someone must have gotten him out, planted the burned body."

"He's going to get his revenge." His tone is flat now.

John nods. "Thought as much."

"You remember how he said he would? If I didn't stop prying?"

John frowns. "Honestly? No. That night at the pool... A lot happened. My memory isn't as good as yours."

"I remember what he said."

"Of course you do."

"He said; "If you don't stop prying, I'm going to burn you," Sherlock recites, his eyes distant now. " He said 'I'm going to burn the heart out of you.' "

John stays silent, just nods.

"Of course I made that comment about not having one."

"Sounds like you."

"His response rebutted that. '"But we both know that's not quite true,' is how he answered." Sherlock then looks at John. He swears the man looks resigned. "Then he made the slightest indication towards you."

Oh. Well...

"He was right."

"Right about what exactly?"

Sherlock exhales. "You remember our conversation during the pips? After the old lady died?"

John grimaces, remembering it clearly. Not the best conversation they had. "I remember."

"I can't bring myself to care about the victims, John. Caring gets in the way," Sherlock says simply. "It prevents me from adequately focusing, looking for the clues that are needed, to see the things that everyone else misses. I cannot do my job if I care about the victims. The criminals go free if I cannot do my job. I have to be free of emotion."

A memory surfaces then. Almost painfully. The pool. Sherlock looking shocked and distressed, hurt even, when John first steps out. Angry when John reveals the bomb.

Constantly looking over at him, his attention divided, uneven, not focused.

Sherlock panicking. He never panics. But he was panicking as he ripped off the bomb vest from John.

"All right? Are you all right?"

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

It's like a light-bulb just switched on.

John stares at Sherlock. He's leaned forward in the chair, head hanging as he has his hands clasped on the back of his head, looking like a man that has far too much weight on his shoulders.

Sherlock wants John to move out, to stop helping with the cases, to cease all association with him to protect him from Moriarty's revenge.

Sherlock cares about him.

John should be upset that he's being thought as a way to get to Sherlock. He should be angry that Moriarty would use him to hurt Sherlock.

But.. he's not. Strange.

"So, I'm your heart then, am I?" John asks amused.

"It is not amusing," Sherlock snaps, not looking up.

"In a way it is."

"No, it's not."

"From your point of view, I can see that."

"Can you?" Sherlock asks sharply, dropping his hands and looking up at him, his cool blue eyes burning.

"Yes," John says simply. "You see emotion as a weakness. I understand, honestly, I do. Caring prevents from focusing on finding the ones that hurt the victims. So, I'll just do the caring for you. After all, I am your heart," he adds, smiling.

"Don't joke about this John, it is not a laughing matter!"

"No, no it's not. Well, sort of. On one hand it is. The other hand it's not. But I have to look at it both ways. It's nice to know that the caring is reciprocated."

Sherlock pauses. "Pardon?"

"Sherlock, I care about you."

Sherlock stares about him. "How?"

"I don't know how. You're an arrogant git, lazy, self entitled, you have a superiority complex, you never do any cleaning, your moody, you shoot the walls when you're bored-"

"Better than shooting up cocaine, which would you have me do?" Sherlock says shortly.

John blinks at that. The topic of his drug use doesn't come up very much between them. In fact hardly at all. What he knows comes from basic information that Lestrade told him, and that Sherlock calmly admitted he did cocaine. Then told John if he wanted to know more, he would have to tell Sherlock about Afghanistan.

"Er right, well um.. well, we'll get back to that in a minute. But as I was saying, you are one of the most aggravating, self entitled gits I have ever met."

"I don't see how this tells me why you care about me."

"Neither do I.. somehow I just do. I like you too, when you're not annoying me, or leaving heads in the fridge, or insulting my blog."

"John... I can't have you-"

"If this is your way of being magnanimous, then you can shove it, Sherlock," John says bluntly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not moving out, I'm not going to stop helping you with your cases. I don't care if you think this is for my own good. I'm an adult."

"I'm not going to have you get killed because-"

"What? Because some madman has some a serious obsession with you? Because he considers me a weakness of yours?" John shakes his head. "No, I'm not a weakness. You are not weak because you care about me Sherlock."

"Why are you fighting this?" Sherlock asks bewildered. "How can someone who can be predictable nearly all the time, have such unpredictable moments? First you trying to sacrifice yourself at the pool, telling me to run. Then you put yourself in harms way with Søndergaard... you keep putting yourself into situations where you might die. I am not worth dying for John!"

John remembers what he said to Søndergaard

"You're willing to die, for him?"

John doesn't flinch. "Yes."

"You're a fool," Søndergaard says bluntly. "To be willing to die for someone else."

"If that someone else is worth it, then I hardly think I'm a fool." John counters.

"You are worth it, Sherlock."

"Don't go sentimental on me," Sherlock says coldly, although John can see his hands shaking a little.

"Sherlock, you don't get it do you? For someone so incredibly brilliant, you are completely stupid about this."

"I am not stupid."

"About this, yes you are. Sherlock, I want you to listen to me. Face me. This is important."

Sherlock stubbornly looks out into the kitchen.

"It's time you face the facts," Ah there, he's looking at him now. Glaring. But then he's not surprised. "I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere. My place is with you, Sherlock. By your side."

"You stay by my side, you die." Sherlock says flatly.

"So you want me out of your life, so you no longer have to worry about me? So you can stop caring, and become even more an rude arse to people. That's it, isn't it? You never came to care about anyone else, consider anyone else a friend, and now that you have considered me to be a friend, I'm in the line of fire. Well, I have to say, that's something I'm used to."

"John-"

"Sherlock," John interrupts another protest. "I got a glimpse of an idea of what I was getting into when we first met. You laid out piece of my life in your lab, dashed off the address to where we will meet, you name, winked, called out afternoon to Mike Stamford, then left in a matter of a couple minutes. It was further laid out when we chased after the taxi. My fate was sealed the moment I shot that cabbie only twenty four hours after meeting you. How many people would kill for someone just twenty four hours after knowing them? And then, after seeing how you are, I moved in. Most people would have moved out after a week, but no, I am still here. Through the black moods, the childlike fits, the body-parts in the fridge, the shooting the wall, the running around like mad and being woken up at 3 am. I haven't even listed it all, and it would take me all night to do so. Simply put, I am here. I am not going to go anywhere. Just like how Donovan can't get rid of you, you can't just simply get rid of me."

Sherlock stares at him, and John thinks he actually made the man speechless.

First time for everything.

John moves his chair forward, to get a bit closer to Sherlock. "Sherlock," he says quietly, "we don't have a normal friendship. No one can have a normal friendship with you," he notices a corner of Sherlock's mouth curve upward just a little. "What we have is more than friendship." In truth John doesn't know what to classify what they have. They bonded through fire so to speak, and the bonds tightened that night at the pool. Sherlock, deep down inside, obviously feels that bond, and not sure how to handle it, this argument was his attempt to cut it.

"This isn't something that can be easily severed," he continues, his voice quiet, but firm. "You can't delete this. What you and I have been through since meeting each other... this thing between us.. I've only ever seen it happen between soldiers in the battlefield. We have our own battlefield that we navigate through here in London, and now there's a far more deadly enemy out there waiting in the wings to strike. Sherlock, this is a battle you cannot go through alone. I won't let you walk through this battlefield alone. Whether you like it or not, I am going to walk with you. By your side. Where I belong."

John pauses, his gaze never wavered from Sherlock as he said his piece. He could see the wheels spinning in that brilliant, always thinking, never shut off mind. Trying to come up with a counter, a rebuttal. Trying to refuse.

"I suggest you get used to it," John adds for good measure, then decides to use a saying of Sherlock's. "Accept it. After all, it is the only logical conclusion one came to with all the facts."

A smile this time.

"Is that so?" Sherlock says in a slight drawl.

"Just so."

"I see." Sherlock sighs. "So I'm stuck with you, am I?"

"Fair trade, since I'm stuck with you." John's relieved he won this round, though he knows many more will be coming.

"One would say you have gone completely round the bend."

"People will say what they want. We both know the facts."

"True."

"So, with that utter nonsense, as you would say, out of the way, I just have one question."

Sherlock smiles. "Yes?"

"Tea?"

To Be Continued in The Hounds Of Baskerville...

Author's Note: Okay, so I intended to have a conversation about Sherlock's drug use, and John's Afghanistan days between the two of them come up in this story, but it didn't happen. These two had to have their own different conversation. And I don't see the point in doing another chapter, because the story is pretty much done. So, I imagine, if these utterly fascinating and frustrating men will cooperate, their stories will emerge in my take on The Hounds of Baskerville and bReichenbach Falls.

Also, I hope these last two chapters didn't give come across as too over the top. Or out of character. I kept on thinking as I was writing this story, and having the show play in the background, that Sherlock would come to realize in some way that John was different than everyone in his life. That John somehow crept past that cool exterior. And with Moriarty obviously threatening John, Sherlock would realize he didn't want John's death on his hands, conscience, so he would try to give John an out. Of course John is John. He wouldn't take the out. He'd force Sherlock to see the depth of their friendship.