Hello all. Hope you like this. I do. Note: quite unedited. My phone likes to autocorrect random things, sorry for spelling mistakes and things that make so sense.

Discaimer: as much as I wished I owned Sherlock, I don't.

John was out of town. He had gone to visit his sister Harriet in Bath for a week. The flat was empty, too empty for Sherlock Holmes. It reminded him of the times before John, when he was lonely and there was nobody to appreciate his genius except Lestrade. Not that Lestrade really counted.

Sherlock woke up the morning after John had left, limbs sprawled around him every which way, a splotch of dried drool on his pillow, the covers tangled and flipped over in an absolute mess around his feet. In the left corner of his room next to the window, a stack of textbooks was perched precariously against the overloaded book case. Clothes were strewn over the rarely used armchair next to the cabinet, and a very old and very cold cup of tea sat on the windowsill.

Sherlock stretched, taking an inventory of the way he felt that morning. His white tee shirt riding up to reveal a trail of dark hair from his bellybutton disappearing below the line of his plaid pajama pants. He made his way into the living room, plopping down on the couch and making to ask John to get him a cup of tea when he realized that John wasn't there. Sherlock didn't like not having John there. Not that he would ever admit it to himself, but it was true.

Without John there, Sherlock had nobody to motivate him to actually do anything, to clean or move, to eat or sleep. Sherlock Just lay on the couch for hours, watching the sun glide across the ceiling. As the colors of the room changed from sharp, bright tones, to soft warm ones, too cool dark ones, Sherlock barely moved. Except to roll over. Once. The air grew cooler as he pulled his dressing gown around him. He missed his John. He missed the glow that would come from his computer screen as he sat in his chair by the fireplace and wrote on his blog. He missed how he almost constantly had tea, and it was tea made right. Not too strong, not too weak. Perfect. And how John actually cleaned things. Sherlock preferred to leave things as they were.

The next day ran much the same way as the previous. Sherlock did nothing but missed John. At one point he decided to call John, and even got as far as picking up the phone and dialing the first two digits, when he thought better of it. He didn't want John to think that he couldn't go a few days without him.

Sherlock decided to get up and get something to eat. His stomach felt vaguely empty, and he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He padded across the floor, narrowly avoiding a stack of old newspapers before making it to the kitchen and flipping on the light. He opened the cupboards. Nothing. Empty. John usually did the shopping, and seeing as Sherlock hadn't been doing much of anything for the past few days, it made sense tat there was no food in the flat. Sherlock sighed and slouched to his room to put something more suitable on or public viewing.

He walked down the damp London street, pulling his coat tighter around him and pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. The biting winter air ruffled his curls and stung his face, turning the tip of his nose a bright cherry red. He went into the resturaunt he had gone into with John on their first case together. It was mostly empty, only one man sat in the corner sipping his coffee and reading what seemed to be a week old newspaper.

Sherlock took a seat next to the window, resting his head against the coldglass. He could vividly remember the last time he was here. The first time someone had ever mistaken them for a couple. But was it somistakne? They rarely left each others sides, and their relationship was quite domestic. Sherlock coils think of nothing but his partner while he was away, and he had to admit it. John was attractive.

Sherlock loved the way his tee shirts would stretch tight over his well toned chest, not all of the muscles havingdisappeared from his army days. He loved the way John preferred to wear woolen jumpers. He loved how neat John was, making up for how disgustingly unclean he was. He kept Sherlock entertained and out of trouble. Well most trouble.

Some nightshe caused more trouble than he knew. Sherlock had no sexual preference. He was bisexual orpan sexual or whatever. And he was very attracted to John. He couldn't evethree member the last time he'd had sex. It might have been that barely of age boy 3 years ago or the blonde from the night club. He could get anyone he wanted if he wanted. But the only one he really wanted, the only one he really wanted to fill with his cock, to be buried into, was John.

Sherlock had fantasized about John, often while in the shower, making sure not to leave evidence of his activities. He'd first picture a situation when he was with John. Maybe John was his submissive slave, maybe he was johns. Maybe he had John in his back fucking him like a girl. Maybe he had John tied up to the bed, teasing him, biting him. Sherlock would lethimself get as hard as possible, making sure not totouch his cock, no matter how much he wanted to. Then he would slowly stroke it, imaging John doing all of the work for him. When he got to the point of coming, he'd draw it out. He wanted his orgasms to be worthy of John. He'd burst with his seed everywhere, panting with the effort of it. Then he'd clean himself up and walk about like nothing had happened.

He wasn't sure if John knew how he felt about him. He hoped he didn't, that would just call unnecessary attention to their relationship. Which was supposed to be a platonic partnership. Although, he had been thinking of calling attention to their relationship. It wasn't love, really. Sherlock was sure he was incapable of love. It was probably closer to an obsession.

He was lurched from his thoughts by a waiter asking him what he wanted to drink, and then the owner, the one he had helped out, came over to speak with him.

"Where's your boyfriend?" he questioned. "Or are you not still together?" he smiled, wiping a spot of grease from the edge of the table cloth.

Sherlock considered correcting him but bit his tongue. He paused to unfold his napkin and lay it across his lap before saying, "We're still together, thank you. John is out of town visiting his sister."

The man gave him a smile. "I bet you miss him. Will he be back soon?"

"Yes, in 3 days." The waiter from before brought Sherlock his food.

"Well, I'll leave you to it." the owner clapped him on the shoulder and exited into the kitchen.

Sherlock finished his dinner in silence, noting the absurd amount of coffee the man in the corner was drinking, and left the resturaunt. It was late and Sherlock was beginning tobefell lonely, something he had never felt before. He missed JAhmed and he wanted him there that instant. For the second time Sherlock pickedhip his phone and dialed Johns number. He answered on the third ring.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John said softly.

"John," Sherlock said sharply, "I'm not sure how to put this, but I miss you."

John chuckeled into the phone. "I miss you, too. Don't worry, I'll be home in three days. Have you eaten?" a note of concern clouded his voice.

"Yes." answered Sherlock truthfully. "ONce. I had ravioli at the resturaunt up the street. The owner, do you remember him? He asked if we were still together."

"And what did you say to him?"

"I told him we were."

"You did? Why? We're not.. I mean I don't think.. We're just friends, Sherlock."

"Yes, I know. But John, I've found that I'm attracted to you. "

"Oh." John sounded surprised. "Well, I'm attracted to you, too."

"I miss you John Watson. And when you get home I'm going to kiss you. Okay?"

"Oh.. Sherlock.. Uh.. Okay.."

Herlock hung up the phone, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt strange. His heart fluttered in his chest. He couldn't wait to feel John Watsins soft lips on his. Three days, he whispered.