"Are you sure about this? I was under the impression you're quite definitively—"

"I dunno. But we both need sleep and I don't want to let you out of my sight right now, okay?" John tugged Sherlock's hand as he moved toward the doorway. "Figured we'd be a bit cramped on the sofa, is all. We can stay down here if you want. I'd offer to make tea, but..." He felt his cheeks flash with heat. "Uh, we haven't got a dish left, unless you want to eat off your petri dishes and drink your tea out of a beaker."

"I don't...what? No. I don't want anything." Sherlock's frown tried to decipher several things at once. "Not that it would be the first time I've dined from my lab equipment, and as such I don't particularly care, but why don't we have more mundane china anymore?"

"Uh...well." John was saved from having to explain right away by a tap on the doorsill. He glanced over to see Anthea, Mycroft's assistant, standing there with an amused expression on her pretty face and a rather large and laden-down companion behind her.

"Two words from Mr. Holmes, John. 'Don't argue.' We'll just leave it on the table for you. Dinner will be delivered in about four hours." She gestured to the man with her and he set several good-sized boxes marked "Mason's China - Mandalay Blue" on the kitchen table. Anthea nodded and they left without another word.

Sherlock's raised brow left John blushing again. Bloody hell, just say it and get it over with. "I...smashed all the china and glasses in a fit of terrified pique?"

The brow climbed a bit higher. "All of it?" Sherlock ran a considerate eye over the boxes and exotic eyes widened. "Oh. Yes, all of it. Well, you had been saying you wished we could afford dishes that matched."

John let a huff of laughter work its way through his nasal passages. "Hell of a way to take care of the problem. I just..." The days of catnaps and stress and everything caught up with him and he leaned his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder. "God, let's get some sleep before the catering shows up. Sofa, my bed, your bed, I really don't care right now. Just let me stay with you."

He half-expected to be pushed away or told not to be dull. Instead he found long fingers curled about his wrist. "Yes. That is quite a decent idea. I found negotiating far more exhausting than running across London. I would not mind relaxing for a moment while I process everything and catalogue it properly."

"Okay." Back to normal, it would seem. John knew that would happen; after all, the whole point was that he loved Sherlock exactly as the man was. He just hadn't expected it to vanish quite so suddenly. But it's okay. He knows, I know. It doesn't have to be said or demonstrated every second. The painful twinge in his stomach would go away after some sleep. Sherlock was here and he was all right. The rest would wait. "So, sofa then?" Neutral territory.

"Don't be absurd. You said it would be cramped for both of us and rightly so. My bed is closest and larger than yours." Sherlock tugged on John's wrist. "It's also more comfortable. Yours is frankly too hard and hasn't enough pillows. And I prefer my duvet."

John blinked. Wait a minute. "How do you know how hard my bed is? And how many, or few, apparently, pillows I have?"

He received a don't be an idiot look in answer. "I checked, of course."

"You checked?" The twinge in his stomach warmed a bit and he couldn't resist raising a brow of his own. "So, you what? Sneak up to my room when I'm at work and catnap?"

Oh, that was almost an eyeroll. "No. Your bed isn't comfortable."

John let the grin slip out. Too priceless to resist. "But you've been up there. Sniffing the pillows, were you?"

The faintest hint of rose appeared high on Sherlock's diamond-sharp cheekbones, petulance tensing his lips. "No." He leaned close, superior height forcing John to tilt his head to look up. "Did it never occur to you that you aren't the only one who doesn't care for being here all alone, John? You aren't the only one who worries when one of us isn't here." Sherlock opened his bedroom door and swept his arm in a grand gesture. His fingers fell away from John's wrist. "After you."

A few minutes later, John snuggled down into the rich folds of cotton, not bothered at all by the fact they both wore only boxers and T-shirts. He was too tired and too relieved to give it much thought at all. He turned over and watched Sherlock's brow furrow at the ceiling. "What did you agree to? In your...negotiations. You didn't actually agree to back off, to let him just go on with his diabolical schemes, did you?"

"Not completely, no." The frown deepened. "I had to offer him something, though." The detective gave a small huff and turned his head to John. A small smile appeared. "Nothing you need to worry about. It should be peaceful for a while."

"You can't tell me, can you? That was part of his terms. He's still trying to fuck with your head, drive a wedge between us." The soft flick of Sherlock's gaze back to the ceiling said more than any words could have. John entertained the mental image of snapping a skinny psychotic neck for a long moment before he let it go and settled back, his hands clasped behind his head. "Not happening. I trust you. You bought us time. And we won't underestimate him again. I can't shut off the worry completely, but I'll trust you on this. You'll let me know when it's time."

Deep laughter rolled into the corners of the room, filling it. "I told Moriarty it wouldn't matter." Sherlock rolled onto his side, face alight. "He didn't believe me. He's an idiot. For all his genius, he can't see you. That's why we'll win in the end."

"As long as you see me." John let his eyes drift closed, let the tension and the fear float up and out and away. He smiled when soft hair tickled his cheek and a warm weight settled next to him, relaxing, almost cuddling. John wrapped one arm around slim shoulders, pressing a kiss against dark curls. "He can try to make all the dark bargains he wants. But as long as you see me, damn straight we'll win."

Nothing had ever felt as good as Sherlock's arm about John's waist, pulling him close, holding him warm and secure. "I will always see you, John."

END