Sherlock had been acting weird. Not that he ever acted normal, but John had noticed the small changes in his best friend. First of all, he'd stopped keeping body parts in the fridge. John wasn't complaining as last week he had stormed out after finding male parts in the coffee.

'For science,' Sherlock had stated. John hadn't stressed the situation further not wanting to know where Sherlock had gotten it from.

Secondly, Sherlock had gotten through a whole case without either punching Anderson or comment on his intelligence. And thirdly, he had stopped using nicotine patches to help him think.

To most people, this would be seen as a good thing. John did have to admit that he did relish in Sherlock's new found maturity. Though he did miss seeing Anderson's face after Sherlock mocked him.

One day, in 221b Baker Street, after getting back from a case, Sherlock turned to his friend.

He didn't say anything, and John felt to awkward to move.

Sherlock's eyes scanned him, his eyebrows scrunching and unfurling as his eyes sharpened and softened with each deduction he made of John.

'Sherlock, you alright?' John asked finally, buckling under the pressure of the situation. Sherlock's head shook softly, not as a gesture of No, but a signal to wake up. His deep blue eyes widened and he smiled.

'Of course,' he said, clapping his partner on the shoulder. Sherlock, without another word, darted up the steps taking them two at a time. John let out a long sigh and followed his friend.

'JAWN!' Sherlock barked from the living room. John, thinking that he was in some peril, sprinted from his room to where Sherlock lay. After seeing the detective sprawled out comfortably on the couch he rolled his eyes and cocked his head.

'Yes?'

'Get me my laptop,' Sherlock demanded.

'Why couldn't you get it yourself?'

'It's in our bedroom,' Sherlock replied.

John paused. 'Our?'

John could swear he heard Sherlock inhale sharply.

'Yes, of course,' Sherlock said quickly.

'Yes, of course what?'

'Yes, of course I meant mine,' Sherlock snapped like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

John sighed and fetched Sherlock's laptop.

Sherlock snatched it out his hands without so much as a thank you.

'Your welcome,' John muttered.

Sherlock's eyebrows knotted. 'For what?'

John let out a cold laugh, snatching his keys and coat. 'I'm going out. Don't text me, I'm not doing you any more errands.'

Sherlock seemed oblivious to John's statement, his ears only perked up when the he heard the door knock.

'Shut up!' He yelled. More knocking. 'John! Can you get that?'

More knocking.

Sherlock finally pulled himself up and sulked downstairs.

John was at the door. His hood was pulled over his head as the rain beat down, his face was obscured by the yellow plastic.

'When did you go outside?' Sherlock asked, dazed.

'I left two hours ago!' John cried.

'Oh,' Sherlock said. 'You could have said something.'

John snorted, pushing passed Sherlock and peeling his wet coat off.

'You took keys, though,' Sherlock stated. John's back was turned to him as he hung his jacket off and kicked his shoes off.

'I got attacked,' he muttered, so quietly that Sherlock almost didn't hear.

'What?'

'I got attacked!' John barked. 'They took my wallet, my phone and my keys.'

Sherlock looked at John with eyes of sympathy. There was a large bruise forming on the side of his cheek, little bubbles of blood were brewing under his skin. Sherlock extended a skinny hand towards John's face. Instantly, John dodged his hand, batting it away.

'It's fine,' Sherlock said softly. His hand was still wavering in the air, he reached for Johns face and caressed the wound. John winced, but Sherlock ignored him. John's skin was damp with rain and blood, his cheek was boiling though the rest of his body was almost ice. He had a five O'clock shadow that roughened up his face, the stubble tickled his hand. John's eyes widened and met Sherlock's.

There was a moment of complete silence till John cleared his throat, and Sherlock's hand fell to his side.

'You should get that cleaned up,' Sherlock said, almost in a whisper. John coughed again and nodded, he darted upstairs without a second look.

Sherlock remained in the darkened hall, watching John's shadows dance on the stairs.

His legs felt weak and he he was too nervous to go upstairs. The sound of running water came from above him, the pipes gurgled in complain.

John had finished cleaning his wound when Sherlock appeared at the bathroom door.

'You should tell Lestrade,' he said.

'I'm not going to go and tell tales to Lestrade,' John said with a twitch of the lips.

'You were attacked, though.'

'I killed a man,' John stated. 'I'm not a hypocrite and a killer.'

'You sound like you don't know which is worse.' Sherlock leaned against the door frame. 'Thank you, John.'

John's eyes softened and he turned to face his friend. He smiled.

'I mean it,' Sherlock continued. 'You saved my life.'

John felt his other cheek turn scarlet. 'You're welcome.'

John turned away to the mirror to check his dressing, when he turned back to the door, Sherlock was gone.

He was sitting in the living room, his hands under his chin, his eyes shut. On his arm he had plastered two nicotine patches. Bad habits die hard, John guessed. Sherlock wasn't working on a case, so John pondered what it was that required the patches – which he only used when he was stuck or confused. They were his Get out of Jail cards. On the table next to Sherlock there was an empty carton of patches.

He'd only bought these four days ago and they were a pack of twenty.

'You alright, Sherlock?' John checked. Sherlock didn't reply – he never did when he went to his mind palace. He just sat there muttering words that John couldn't make out. Now and then he'd hear his name being mentioned, but that was normal. Sherlock always subconsciously thought of John, and John knew that.

Night was slowly drawing. The sky soon turned black and Sherlock still hadn't uttered a single word.

John made tea for both he and Sherlock. He offered it to his friend, but was ignored.

He found himself drinking the two.

A few hours later, Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

'John,' he called out. John was sitting across from him, but Sherlock seemed to look right through him.

'Sherlock?' John said. John seemed to suddenly appear in Sherlock's eyes as he looked started and confused.

'Two patch problem?' John asked gesturing to his arm. Sherlock tensed up and avoided John's eyes.

'Two patch problem,' he echoed.

'You haven't got a case, though,' John pointed out. Sherlock looked down, almost ashamed.

'John,' he blurted out suddenly. 'I'm so sorry if I've ever upset you, or used you. I'm sorry if you get hurt because of me, or if you hurt anyone for me. I'm so sorry, John. I really am, I've messed up, John. And it involves you.'

John was silent for a moment. He took a deep breath. 'What happened, Sherlock.'

'I can't say.'

'Why not?'

'Because you'll hate me,' Sherlock said bitterly.'

'You know I'll never hate you, Sherlock. I mean, yes, you can be a right prick but I'd never hate you. Just tell me what's wrong, I can help. If it's Moriarty or Mycroft, tell me so that I can look out for them.'

Sherlock scoffed.

John stood up slowly and walked over to Sherlock, his breaths were long and he walked slowly. He seemed to take hours to Sherlock. He crouched down beside him and looked him in the eyes.

'Sherlock,' John said softly, 'how did you mess up?'

There was silence in the flat, neither of them even dared breath. Sherlock leaned down so that his mouth was next to John's ear and whispered:

'I fell in love with you.'

John's heart stopped as Sherlock's thudded. He could hear the fear and tension in Sherlock's heartbeats.

Sherlock's head pulled away till he was face to face with John. He leaned in and kissed him. They exchanged oxygen like a machine as John kissed Sherlock back. But the moment was to perfect, and John pulled away in nearly seconds.

'John ...' Sherlock said quietly.

'Is this why you've been acting strange?'

Sherlock laughed. 'How do you mean?'

'The body parts gone, your relationship with Anderson and I thought you'd stopped using the patches.'

Sherlock leaned in again. 'You were my two patch problem.'

Their lips met once more, and neither of them wanted to stop. Their tongues interlocked and Sherlock grabbed John's back, clawing at the fabric of his shirt. John's hand sneaked up Sherlock's shirt and he felt his cold skin and the drumming of his heart. His other hand ran through Sherlock's curls, clinging at his skull and caressing his neck.

'Sherlock,' John said as he kissed Sherlock back, 'I love you, too.'