A/n: This is a sequel I promised for my fic Better Than None. I suggest you read that first or you might be a bit lost.

Part One

I Want You To Want Me:

The Attempted Seduction of Doctor John H. Watson

John was home and that was good. But John was back in his old room and that was bad. Sherlock was in agony, to have the thing he wanted so close but unable to have it, to touch it. It was frustrating and awful and Sherlock hated it. Was this how John had felt, being around Sherlock? If so, then Sherlock could almost understand John's relationship with Moriarty.

Almost.

For the most part, Sherlock just didn't get it. John was good, he was moral. Admittedly not completely moral, he had killed people, he enjoyed a good murder almost as much as Sherlock did, he craved danger and excitement. But underneath all that John was a good person, he was Sherlock's antithesis of what it meant to be human. He was Sherlock's moral compass and then John had gone and done something so immoral as sleep with a known killer and Sherlock found his world shaken.

It did not, however, deter Sherlock's wanting. Being in the flat with John now was like a slow torture and Sherlock wanted to end by crossing the space between them and crawling into John's skin. His mind had run rampant with fantasies of stripping John bare and licking every inch of him. Of wrapping his arms around him and feeling the warmth of John seeping into him from their closeness. Of crawling into John's lap as he sat in his chair reading the paper and kissing him until breathing became a necessity.

It made Sherlock's blood boil to think that Moriarty had had all that, had probably done all that. Had seen John in a way Sherlock had not, had been inside him, had spent the night with John in his arms. Sherlock chastised himself for turning down his opportunity to have the same. But Sherlock couldn't waste his time regretting it. No, regrets were a waste and didn't change anything. Instead he focused his energy on getting John to feel that way about him again, to get the bond between them back to how it once had been.

Unfortunately, John was making it extremely difficult. He only talked to Sherlock when he had to, going to work and then coming home and locking himself up in his room. It was rare for them to share a meal together, the only thing they seemed to do together was pass each other on the stairs as one left when the other returned home. It was obvious John was avoiding him and Sherlock needed it to stop.

John refused to come on cases so it would have to happen in the flat. If they could get back to their normal routine, maybe things would start to get better between them. The more time they spent together, the more likely it was that they could renew their friendship.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa staring up at the ceiling and working the problem. The main issue was that the more time Sherlock spent in the main area of the flat, the more John retreated to his room. He had to find a way to get John out into the open and stop hiding away. He had been so busy lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even heard the doorbell ring until John went walking past grumbling "I'll get it, shall I?"

Sherlock listened as John shuffled downstairs and talked to whoever was at the door. The spoke for a while and Sherlock was curious as to who it was. They hadn't been expecting anyone, if Lestrade had a case he would have been brought right up. So it must have been someone they didn't know, which made it most likely a client, female going by how long John was talking with them. A distinct giggle came from downstairs, too high pitched even for John's oddly endearing giggle. Definitely female then.

Sherlock felt fury coil in his belly and took an instant dislike to this woman even without meeting her. The last thing he needed at this point was competition for John's affections. He decided instantly to turn down the case even if it was amazingly interesting. She would just have to rely on the incompetence of the police.

Then Sherlock got an idea on how to be sure this new woman would stay far away from John. He started biting his lips, scraping his teeth against them until they were red and swollen. He ran his fingers through his hair until it was properly tousled. Stripping off his clothes, he shoved them under his desk until he was just in his dressing gown, which he tied loosely to show a healthy amount of his chest. He concluded by pinching his nipples until they were red, hard nubs.

With a quick glance in the mirror, he thought he looked fairly debauched. He nodded at his reflection and then opened the door. "John are you coming back to bed or…"

John and the woman turned, both of their eyes widening when they saw Sherlock. It took everything in him to suppress the triumphant grin threatening to break on onto his face. John got over the shock quickly and scowled at Sherlock, his hands curling up into fists.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Sherlock said, pulling his dressing gown closed tighter, feigning modesty. He smiled at the client as he made his way down the stairs and stood closer to John than was necessary. "Who is this darling?"

"I'm Annie, Annie Holden." The woman introduced herself. She was attractive but not overly so. Nice hair and good teeth. Her nose was just a bit too big for her face and her eyes were too far apart. She was exactly the type John would go for, well in his league so there was no fuss trying to get them interested. She was just old enough to be done with casual sex and getting ready to settle down. Obvious from her tan line as she bent forward to reach out her hand to shake Sherlock's. The shirt she was wearing showed a subtle amount of her cleave but as she dipped forward, her tan-line showed she had worn much lower cut shirts. There was also a stain on her handbag from when she'd accidentally smudged some lipstick, a much more provocative and darker shade than the one she was currently wearing. She was trying to attract a man but not just for one evening.

Sherlock had to keep himself from growling at her and slamming the door in her face. Instead he easily slipped his arm around John's waist and gave it a light squeeze. "John, how rude of you to keep this poor woman waiting on the doorstep. Why don't you bring her upstairs and make her some tea while I put on something a bit more decent?"

John turned to Sherlock with his teeth clenched, looking ready to start throwing punches. Sherlock simply smiled and gave John a quick peck on the cheek. "John, don't keep the poor girl waiting. It's cold out and she'll catch her death."

John grabbed Sherlock by the front of his dressing gown and pulled him close. Sherlock felt a shiver of anticipation run through him as John angrily manhandled him. He didn't think that would be the type of thing he would enjoy but apparently his body had other ideas as his cock stirred. John had his lips close to Sherlock's ear, his stubble rubbing against his cheek with his face hidden from the client. "The only person who should be worried about death is you." He whispered harshly. "Darling." He added loud enough for the client to hear and then gently pushed Sherlock away.

"Come on Annie." John said leading her upstairs while Sherlock trailed after them, feeling slightly flustered. When he got to the sitting room, Annie was in John's usual chair while John was in the kitchen making tea and being quite noisy about it. Sherlock had to pass through the kitchen to get to his room and he wondered if John would say something else.

Sherlock walked past, his head held high. He would not apologize for his behavior and if John was expecting it, he would have a very long wait indeed. He could feel John's eyes following him as he walked to his room, which is what compelled him to undo his dressing gown just as he got to his bedroom door and slip it off. He threw it onto the bed and kicked the door closed, knowing that John had gotten a fairly decent view of his backside.

He changed quickly, whistling to himself as he did so. He had a client who hopefully would bring him something boring and said client also believed John and Sherlock were lovers and would therefore keep her grubby hands to herself. He slipped on a crisp white shirt that stretched across his chest so tightly that it struggled to stay closed. He undid one more button than he normally would have and then tucked the shirt into his dark trousers.

When he got to back to the sitting room, John was sitting across from Annie in Sherlock's leather chair. Both of them sipped their tea, chatting as they did so. Sherlock decided to push his luck and sat on the arm of John's chair, putting his arm across the back so it brushed against John's shoulders. "What, no tea for me?" Sherlock asked with a pout.

"If you want tea, make it yourself." John shot back bitterly.

"No matter." Sherlock leaned forward and plucked John's cup from his hand, taking a sip. John glared at him but Sherlock ignored it. "Tell me about the case Miss Holden."

"Hold on a second." John requested, getting out his small notepad and a pen.

"That's my John, always taking down the relevant data." Sherlock said, smiling down at John fondly. The client smiled as well but there was a flash of jealousy in her face.

While she talked, Sherlock tried to pay attention but was somewhat distracted. He had seen a small freckle on John's back, right where his jumper collar ended. He found himself wondering what else he didn't know about John's body, what else was hidden underneath those frumpy clothes. Then he found himself distracted by the smell of John's hair. It smelled like London air and tea and the milk and honey scent of his shampoo. He realized he had an overwhelming urge to drop his face and bury his nose, getting a good whiff of the scent. This led to Sherlock wondering if John's hair would be soft or coarse and so naturally he pushed his fingers up into John's hair and started to stroke. John stiffened for a moment, his whole body going rigid but slowly he seemed to relax as Sherlock worked his fingers through the fine, softness of John's dishwater colored hair.

Sherlock found himself agreeing to take a case with no idea what it entailed. John had managed to be distracting even with the promise of a case. Reluctantly, Sherlock stood up to shake Miss Holden's hand as she left. John went over to the window and watched her get into a cab. The moment it drove away, he turned to Sherlock, his face red with fury.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, wanting to make John sit back down so he could continue running his fingers through his hair. Maybe make him strip down so Sherlock could examine every inch of his body and discover what was there, first with his eyes then with his hands and finally with his tongue.

"You can't just do that!" John insisted, his voice getting louder.

"Do what?"

"That, what you just did. You can't just act like we're a couple."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked in bewilderment. He felt John was blowing this completely out of proportion.

"Because we're not a couple!"

"Irrelevant. I had a perfectly sound reason for how I acted." Sherlock said confidently.

"Which was?"

"She giggled." Sherlock frowned deeply.

"So?"

"She wanted you."

"Again, so what Sherlock. People are allowed to be attracted to me. It doesn't give you the right to act the way you did." John yelled, closing up his notepad and slamming it onto his desk.

"Oh?" Sherlock snarled, closing the distance between him and John in seconds, trapping John against the desk with his hands. "So you're saying you didn't like it?"

"No, I didn't."

"Liar." Sherlock smirked, pressing in closer against him. "Then why were you aroused?"

"I wasn't."

"Halfway through you crossed your legs, trying to hide the way your trousers were starting bulge out."

"How do you know that wasn't about her?" John inquired, quirking up his eyebrow.

"Because I caught you staring at my chest. My shirt is rather tight, isn't it? Any moment these buttons might just pop off."

"Sherlock, stop."

"If I opened your notepad right now and turned to the page you were just writing on, I would find a sentence that had been started but never finished. You began writing, got distracted and had to abandon it to catch up with what she was saying. I find you hopelessly distracting as well. I didn't catch a word she said."

"Sherlock, knock it off."

"You want me, I want you. Let's stop this charade and just fuck already." John looked slightly taken aback by Sherlock's use of such vulgar language, something us usually avoided. Sherlock ducked his head down, ready to press his lips to John's when John brought his hand up and stopped him.

"There's just one problem Sherlock." John said narrowing his eyes. "I don't want you."

"You're lying again." Sherlock said with conviction. He had to be lying. Sherlock had already proven that he was the cause of John's erection. Why was he fighting him on this? Why couldn't he just concede so they could have sex? "You could have me over this desk in five seconds if you wanted. Or riding you in one of our chairs. Perhaps if I spread myself open for you on the couch. Getting to either of our bedrooms is a bit longer than I'm willing to wait."

"Sherlock, you're embarrassing yourself." John said trying to shuffle off but Sherlock kept his body firmly pressed against John's, caging him in.

"I'm not embarrassed." Sherlock shrugged, leaning forward so his lips were brushing against John's ears. "And I'm not the one whose erection is poking into my thigh."

"Yeah, well don't flatter yourself, it doesn't take much to give me a stiffy these days."

Sherlock smirked. "But you are attracted to me?" he hadn't meant for it to come out as a question but it did anyway.

"Well you're attractive."

"But you won't sleep with me?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"No, I won't." John shook his head.

"Why not? You wanted me once, what changed?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, searching John for some sort of answer.

"Jim." John sighed heavily and Sherlock took a step back at the sound of his name. "Jim happened. I moved on Sherlock, sorry. I fell in love with someone else and even though it didn't work out, it doesn't mean I'm just going to fall into your arms the moment you ask me to. Too much has happened Sherlock and just because I moved back into Baker Street doesn't mean that I'm ready to forget it all. And I certainly don't need you throwing yourself at me."

"Throwing myself at you?" Sherlock asked indignantly. "I was not throwing myself at you."

"Really?" John smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "And what would you call it then?"

"Propositioning you." Sherlock corrected.

"Ah, well I decline." John nodded and went upstairs to his room, leaving Sherlock feeling dejected and alone. Still, it wasn't in Sherlock to give up something he wanted that easily. John had been in love with him at one point and Sherlock was confident that he could get things back to the way they were.

XXXX

Sherlock lived for the small moments where he got to touch John. They were few and far between, a brush of an elbow here, fingertips touching there, but all in all it was something. Mostly though, John just drove him crazy. John seemed to have decided that since he'd spoken his piece and told Sherlock he wasn't interested, it was all right for them to cohabitate the entire flat again. So Sherlock saw more of John than he'd seen in weeks, with John strutting about the flat in his well fitted jeans and way too adorable jumpers that Sherlock now knew kept secrets hidden underneath. They were secrets he wanted to unlock and soon.

Sherlock finally got another chance for physical intimacy with John during the Holden case. It turned out she was being blackmailed by someone who had caught her having an affair with a married man. It would have been dreadfully dull if they hadn't discovered the man she was sleeping with was a higher up of a London crime syndicate.

They were running through the streets being chased by two mobsters with guns when Sherlock pulled John through an unmarked door that had been slightly ajar. They tried to keep their breathing as quiet as possible as Sherlock waited to hear the mobster's footsteps go past. He was standing very close to John and it felt like every inch of his skin was electrically charged. John was practically panting in his ear and all he wanted was to press himself flush against him.

Sherlock could just make out John's features in the darkness and could just barely see John staring at him. Their eyes locked and Sherlock saw an opportunity he didn't want to waste. "John." He murmured softly and then pressed his lips to the army doctor's.

Sherlock nipped at John's bottom lip to keep from moaning loudly. He'd been dreaming and remembering the softness of John's lips ever since that first time they'd kissed. He got caught up in Yes, Finally, John, John, John, Mine, Yes, Oh God, that he couldn't even tell if John was kissing him back. But he definitely noticed that John snapped his head away, breaking the kiss.

"Sherlock." John hissed angrily. "Get your hand off my cock, NOW."

Sherlock looked down and discovered that yes, his hand had in fact slipped down into John's trousers and was currently wrapped around his penis. Sherlock had been so busy worrying about John's lips that he had been hardly paying attention to the rest of what his body was doing. Slowly and carefully, he removed his hand and then held them up in a surrender, stepping away from John.

"Apologies." Sherlock grumbled. "I suppose I misread the situation."

"Yes, I suppose you did." John said, squaring his shoulders before checking to make sure the coast was clear and then disappearing through the door. Sherlock stood there for a long time, analyzing the data and wondering how he could have misread the signs.

XXXX

It was raining as Sherlock and John chased after the cab containing Annie's blackmailer. Sherlock hadn't worn his coat because of this fact, his white button down shirt soaking through in a way he hoped was appealing to John. But as the rain kept pouring down, he really wished he had his coat.

Eventually the car sped up enough to lose them and Sherlock and John gave up the case. Sherlock let out a frustrated groan before it turned into a shiver. John looked over at him and sighed. "You're going to catch your death you bloody great git." John shook his head with a small chuckle. "Well come on then."

John opened his arms and without thinking Sherlock took a few steps forward and collapsed into them. John, even though he was wet as well, was so blissfully warm. Sherlock slipped his arms around John's waist, under his jacket, trying to get some warmth. His body was shaking from the cold but Sherlock hardly noticed, too wrapped up in being pressed against John with John's arms around him.

"We should get you back to the flat." John said, gently rubbing his hand up and down Sherlock's back.

"Can't move." Sherlock mumbled, burying his face in John's neck.

He never wanted to move because John was actually willfully touching him and it was so intimate and wonderful. He wanted more of this, more of John reciprocating the affections Sherlock had. More of John holding him close and showing that he cared.

Unfortunately, a black car pulled up to the curb behind them and Sherlock groaned in protest. John turned his head and noticed the car as well. "Mycroft?" he assumed and Sherlock nodded his head.

John helped Sherlock into the car, which Mycroft was not in, small mercies and all that. There was, however, a pile of blankets, that John took no time in covering Sherlock in. But even when he was wrapped completely in the warmth of them, he rested his head against John's shoulder and sat as near to him as he dared.

XXXX

When they got back to the flat, John lit the fire in the fireplace and made Sherlock tea. For his part, Sherlock changed out of his wet clothes and took a hot shower. Sherlock smiled to himself as he thought about their hug earlier and decided it was a very nice start. It had been physical intimacy initiated by John, which seemed like a step in the right direction.

As he sat in the sitting room, sipping his tea, he felt almost drunk on John. The closeness they shared, even if it was a bit strained lately, was unlike anything he'd ever had before. No one had shown Sherlock the sort of kindness John had and that had to mean something, right? Why was John there if he didn't enjoy Sherlock's company? Sherlock would have to wait and see if John would continue to initiate contact between them. The best thing to do would be to stop any contact on his end and see if John would begin to miss it and therefore start touching Sherlock.

But then John had the nerve to walk through the flat in nothing but a dressing gown, rubbing his hair with a towel after just taking his own hot shower, and everything Sherlock had been planning went straight out of his head. He was going to do something rash and he considered it all John's fault for tormenting him. How was that view of his legs and small sliver of his chest supposed to be enough for anybody? It was like a peek at what was underneath and it was driving Sherlock mental.

Which is how he justified what happened next. He waited until John had retired to his room, calculated how long it would take John to fall asleep and then silently made his way up to John's bedroom. The door creaked slightly when he opened it, making him cringe but John didn't seem to stir. He made his way over to the bed and made sure John really was asleep before he slipped under the covers to join him. He fitted his body against John's and then wrapped his arms around him. He gave a small, contented sigh as he felt that familiar warmth spreading through his skin. He nuzzled at the back of John's neck, placing soft kisses against John's skin.

John shifted, pressing himself back against Sherlock so his arse rubbed against Sherlock's crotch. Sherlock froze, waiting to see if John would wake up. When he didn't, Sherlock ran his hand along John's stomach, mapping his body just like he'd fantasized about. He skipped John's more intimate areas and instead ran his hand along John's leg. He had just gotten to John's knee when John's hand shot out and grabbed Sherlock's wrist.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

"I was cold." Sherlock replied simply.

"That's why we have blankets and a fireplace Sherlock." John said, turning around to face him.

"This was much quicker and convenient." Sherlock gave a one shoulder shrug and wished John would turn back around and go back to sleep.

"Sherlock." John raised his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation. "This has got to stop."

"You hugged me today." Sherlock said accusingly.

"And you think that was an invitation to slip into my bed and molest me in my sleep?"

"I wasn't –"

"Yes, you were." John said through gritted teeth.

Sherlock wiggled closer and pushed one of his legs in between John's. "I can't sleep."

"So?"

"I can't turn my brain off." Sherlock explained further, reaching out and playing with the hem of John's t-shirt.

"Sherlock, get to the point."

"He said." Sherlock slipped his hand under the soft, worn shirt and placed his hand flat against John's stomach. "He said you could help. That you could make it stop."

"Who?" John asked, looking puzzled. "Who said?"

"Moriarty. On the rooftop. He said you would make it so all I could do is feel. I want that John, I want it. John please." Sherlock surged forward, closing his eyes as his lips pressed to John's. It was the briefest contact and suddenly Sherlock hit the floor. It took him a moment to figure out what had happened and to sort himself. As far as he could tell, John had actually pushed him off the bed.

"John?"

"You just stay the hell away from me Sherlock." John shouted, throwing the covers back and sitting on the edge of his bed. "Jesus. Jesus." John covered his face with his hands and Sherlock didn't like it. He didn't like not being able to see John's face. "All this time I thought it was me you wanted."

"It is."

"No it isn't." John yelled, getting to his feet. "You just want some sort of genius brain off switch, which for some reason you think is something I can provide. You don't want ME."

"Of course I do." Sherlock said, jumping to his feet. "I want you John."

"Think about what you said before. I want that. I want it. Nothing about wanting ME."

"I do, I do!" Sherlock insisted, feeling rather helpless. How could John not understand that?

"Get out Sherlock. Get. Out. NOW." John hollered and Sherlock walked out, slamming the door behind him. He went downstairs and started pacing in the sitting room, unable to sit still. How could John be so stupid? Of course Sherlock wanted him. How could he not see that? Did he think Sherlock would go to all this trouble just to turn off his brain? Getting cocaine would be much easier and take a lot less effort. Maybe he should have told John as much. But there was no use talking to him when he was being completely irrational.

Sherlock tugged his fingers through his hair as he paced, wishing he were better at this. He didn't understand how relationships worked or social cues. How was he supposed to be expected to woo someone when he'd never done it in the slightest? He could sham interest for a case but he'd never felt like this before. It had never been real before. And with John, there was a lot at stake.

XXXX

Sherlock was lying on the couch, still working the problem when he heard the front door bang open. He looked around and noticed it was dark outside again. He'd missed an entire day, lost in his thoughts. Where was John?

For an answer to his question, John came stumbling through the door to 221B, tripping over his own feet. Drunk then, very drunk. "Sherlock!" John cried out happily and made his way over.

Sherlock sat up and got ready to help John upstairs to bed but John had a different plan. He made his way over clumsily and crawled into Sherlock's lap, sitting so he was straddling his hips. "Sherlock." John slurred in his drunken state and pressed his cheek to Sherlock's, rubbing them together slightly so his stubble scratched against Sherlock's face. "Fuck me."

"What?" Sherlock gaped at him, pulling away from him but not getting far as long as John was on top of him.

"You think, you think… all the time." John grabbed Sherlock's face and held it in his hands. "And you think you've been waiting for a long time but I will tell you (hiccup) Sherlock Holmes, that I have been waiting longer. Much longer. So I think…I think, I think not as much as you. But I think I get prop-prior-I get to go first."

"John, you're intoxicated." Sherlock said, trying to gently ease John off his lap but the army doctor held firm.

"I'm so horny." John whined, starting to undo the buttons on Sherlock's shirt. "And I think we should fuck."

"No, John, I think you should go to bed."

"Will you be joining me?" John asked, tearing Sherlock's shirt open and running his hands over his chest. Sherlock was not equipped to deal with this thing and dear lord John's hands were hot and talented and everywhere.

"No." Sherlock said but it didn't come out quite as final as he had hoped.

"I want to suck you." John said, starting to kiss down Sherlock's chest. Sherlock bit back a groan. "You want that, don't you Sherly?"

"Oh God." Sherlock did groan, half in distaste of the nickname and half because John had started palming Sherlock's erection through his trousers.

"You want to put your long, thick cock in my mouth?" John asked before dipping his tongue into Sherlock's bellybutton. "You want to see my lips stretched around your prick while you fuck my mouth, hitting the back of my throat?"

"John, stop it." Sherlock swallowed hard, knowing he might not have the strength to derail this situation, especially if John kept speaking like that.

"You want it, but you're not going to get it."

"No?" Sherlock raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Nope." John said bringing his lips up to speak directly into Sherlock's ear. "Because you don't actually want me and when you're having a wank to get rid of this," John trailed a finger over the bulge in Sherlock's trousers. "Just remember who rejected who first."

John got off Sherlock's lap and retreated to his room. Sherlock sat there for a few moments, feeling slightly dazed until he remembered his heavy and throbbing cock, aching for his attention. He ran to the bathroom and stood over the toilet, frantically stroking his cock. He pictured exactly what John had described, John on his knees before him, sucking him down to the root with Sherlock running his fingers through that lovely, soft hair, tugging on it just slightly.

He came with an embarrassingly loud cry of John's name and then sunk to the floor. He haphazardly brought his trousers up and then curled in on himself, dropping his head onto his knees. He forced himself to take deep breaths as he tried to think of the best course of action. How, precisely, was he supposed to deal with this?

XXXX

John awoke with a long groan the next morning and buried his face in his pillow. He felt like shit and he almost never allowed himself to get that drunk, last night being a rare exception. He lifted his head up marginally and saw there was a glass of water and two pills on his nightstand. He smiled slightly and took them quickly, anything to relieve this headache.

Next to the pills was a post-it note with Sherlock's familiar flowery script. John had to squint just to read it. Come downstairs when you're up for it and I'll make you tea- SH. John smiled wider and brought his covers up over his head, needing to hide from the world for just a bit longer.

XXXX

Sherlock sat in his chair, fidgeting as he waited for John to come down. He had no idea what to say but he knew if he was simply kind to John, things might get back to normal. He was listening closely for any noise from John's room, hinting that the man was up. The moment he heard John's door squeak open, Sherlock was on his feet and turning on the kettle.

He busied himself making toast as John came downstairs. He watched John head to the bathroom out of his peripheral vision and waited. John went back into the sitting room and flopped noisily onto the couch. Sherlock wasted no time bringing him his tea and toast, setting it down on the coffee table.

"Any chance you could close the curtains, the sun is a bit much this morning."

Sherlock nodded and drew the curtains, dimming the light in the room. He noticed it made everything seem a bit more intimate and he wasn't ready for that. He quickly started for his room but John called out his name, making him pause.

"You don't have to rush off." John said quietly. "And I think we should probably talk."

"I'm fine." Sherlock insisted. "And you'll be fine once you're over your hangover. No need to talk."

"I still want to, Sherlock, please."

Sherlock took a deep breath and resigned himself to whatever came next. John had sat up and was patting the seat next to him. "You're not going to offer to suck me off again, are you?" Sherlock asked, wary of sitting down next to John.

John chuckled before biting into his toast. "No." he promised and Sherlock sat down next to him on the sofa. He placed his hands on his knees, where they weren't at risk of reaching out to touch John. He grew tired of waiting and started drumming his fingers against his knee.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"Last night." John explained. "I don't normally get that pissed and I shouldn't have said those things. I was…"

"Horny." Sherlock supplied.

"Cruel." John filled in. "I don't remember everything I said, but I remember that last bit and I was unnecessarily cruel and I don't want to be. And then you still put out aspirin for me this morning and made me breakfast."

"It's fine, John."

"It's really not Sherlock. I don't care that you've been acting like a madman the last few weeks. You don't deserve what I did last night."

"You were drunk."

"It's not an excuse."

"It is. How can you excuse my behavior but then condemn your own?"

"Because you're not good at this, you've never been good at this."

"At what?"

"People. You know everything about them but you don't understand them at all. You have no notion of boundaries or appropriate times to kiss your flatmate. You don't pick up on stuff like that."

"I know what I'm doing John. I've been trying really hard to get you to notice me."

"Yeah, I've noticed and last night I used that against you to make you feel bad. You rejected me and I guess it still sort of stung."

"I'm not rejecting you now."

"But you did, originally and I don't know what changed your mind, maybe I'll never know if this is just about Jim or if it's about something more. But I don't want our friendship to be about that. I don't want to be mean to you because you're allowed to say no to me Sherlock and I'm allowed to say no to you. It can't be all there is though, it can't be. We're stronger than that, right? We have to be. Whatever this thing is, friendship, something more, it's important for both of us, right?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"Good." John smiled. "Then we stand a chance."

"I'm glad." Sherlock said, getting up off the couch.

"There's just one more thing Sherlock." John said quickly and Sherlock turned around, dreading what that one thing might be. John was staring down at his hands, not a good sign. "I do want you. I've always wanted you. So I just think you should know that when I turn you down, it's not because I don't want it, it's because I'm not ready."

"So you're saying there could possibly be a point in the future where you will be ready?" Sherlock asked, hoping spreading through his chest.

John looked at the drawn curtains and then at Sherlock, his eyes were slightly glazed over as if he were very far away. "I don't make promises in the dark, they don't mean a thing."

Sherlock nodded and couldn't help feeling that these words held a deeper meaning for John, one that Sherlock didn't understand.