A/N: Welcome to chapter three! Hope you enjoy the very destructive and really quite pitiful mess Laura and John's relationship has become. But remember, for every bit of angst you'll be rewarded with happy times later on down the road.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

John stared down at the front page of The Times in utter disbelief, rage pulsing through him as his eyes scanned the article without retaining any more information than the headline. He'd dropped his toast with jam when he'd spotted the paper on the doorstep, but didn't bother to pick it up as he burst back into the flat.

Woman Claims Fake Genius Innocent, Cites Assault as Proof

"Laura!" he screamed, not in the least worried about disturbing the building's other inhabitants. "Laura!" he shouted again, slamming the door when he wasn't immediately met with a response.

"What, did you set the toaster on fire again?" She asked as she padded into the kitchen from the bedroom in one of his old t-shirts. He hated the way she still managed to look adorable with her fuzzy socks and wild hair when he was trying to be furious.

Her voice sounded nonchalant enough, but John noticed the flicker of a smile she tried to hold back as she talked. She already knew exactly what had enraged him.

"What did you do?" he growled, and Laura shrugged, no longer bothering to hold back her shit-eating grin. She looked as if she'd done this just to bother him. Perhaps she had.

"I told the truth," she told him with an air of haughtiness, as if that somehow made her superior, and John threw the paper onto the counter. He scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a heavy groan, dreading what was to come now that Laura had thrown all reason out the window.

"God you're the smartest woman I've ever met but you can be such an idiot sometimes," he sighed, and Laura looked as if she might hit him. He wished she would, if only to give him an excuse to punch something. He'd performed many a DIY home repair in the wake of their fights; John had a habit of punching walls, while Laura preferred smashing plates and mugs.

"Do you realize what this means now? Do you?" he demanded, his hands balled into fists.

"It means the truth is out," she told him confidently. "It means-"

"It means you're going to be interviewed and interrogated and harassed. It means they're going to pick your story apart piece by piece trying to prove you wrong. And they'll do it all under a spotlight, with millions watching. They're going to say you lied about the whole thing, for whatever reason. That you made it all up for the attention, or because you were in love with him, or because you're unstable, or because-"

"Enough!" Laura screamed, on the brink of furious tears, but John wasn't done. He was just so angry, so incredibly pissed, that she'd done this to herself. Couldn't she see he'd been trying to protect her when he'd told her to leave it alone? Couldn't she see all he'd ever wanted to do was look after her? But she hadn't wanted his help, his sympathy and understanding. And so he wasn't going to give it to her now.

"They'll tear you apart. They'll talk about your childhood, about Irene and Sebastian. They'll try to invalidate everything you've done since then, your career and your life with me and Sherlock- everything about you will be destroyed for all the world to see," he raged, his voice full of emotion. He hated that Laura had placed herself in this position. But his anger was really directed at the people who would do these things to her, the scumbags who had no regard for her welfare as long as they could get a good story out of it.

"I don't care," Laura told him, her voice now resigned and emotionless, and the three short words were like repeated stabs to John's heart. He hated it when she closed herself off like this. "I don't care what they say. I did what I had to do," she told him like an exhausted warrior returning home from battle.

"Goddammit," he muttered to himself. She still didn't understand.

"Laura, love, it doesn't matter what you said to them," he told her, taking a deep breath to calm himself and speaking in the calmest tones he could manage. "They'll discredit what you said about Sherlock and anything and everything you've ever said before or after. They'll ruin you so they can keep their fake genius story."

He reached out to touch her arm as he spoke, and to his surprise she let him.

"I had to try," she whispered, her voice thick with tears now, and John pulled her into a hug. He couldn't remember the last time she'd let him touch her like this- even the last time she'd let him touch her at all.

"I know, love. I know," he whispered, daring to place a kiss on her forehead. He let out a sigh of desperate relief when she didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," Laura muttered into his chest, her words so quiet John couldn't be sure he hadn't imagined it.

This was how it always began. A row, followed by an apology from one of them, concluded by a melancholy and even somewhat depressing fuck. That had been the extent of John and Laura's love life since she'd become obsessed with proving Sherlock's innocence. The past month hadn't even seen that woeful series of events; Laura had been cold and standoffish, refusing to even come within a foot of John.

"What was that?" he asked, lifting her chin with a finger.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, looking up at him with big soft blue eyes. John had half a mind to ask for permission to kiss her, she looked so innocent and fragile. But he leaned down without a word, hesitantly brushing his lips against hers; it had been so long since they'd kissed he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. Almost.

Laura kissed him back, soft and slow but with a touch of want that hadn't been there in so long John nearly didn't recognize it. She lifted her hands to wrap around his neck, and his hands found their way to her thighs beneath her tshirt. His touch traveled higher, grazing her underwear and along her stomach until he'd made his way to her breasts, softly squeezing the way she liked.

Laura moaned into the kiss, and John felt his breath catch in his throat when she reached down to massage him through his boxer shorts. He was almost dizzy with pleasure after going without the slightest touch from her for so long. He reached forward and grabbed the counter behind Laura to steady himself, inadvertently crowding her against the barrier.

She shifted to kiss at his neck as John reached down and gripped her thighs, lifting her up and depositing her on the countertop. Her hands were in his hair now, and John let out a moan of his own as he ran his hands up and down her deliciously soft bare thighs. He reached higher and pulled off her underwear, depositing them on the floor as she spread her legs and scooted closer to the edge of the counter.

"Tell me what you want," John whispered as Laura whimpered and squirmed against him, and he reveled in just how different this was from their normal dejected fucking. This was lively, energetic, hungry even. This was hot.

"I want you," Laura panted, dipping her hands into his shorts to pull more insistently at his cock. John stumbled forward, letting out a gasp and leaning his forehead against hers as he panted desperately.

"Prove it," he breathed, and Laura pulled back to give him a challenging look.

"Down on your knees, Captain Watson," she commanded, and John's face flushed red for a moment before he did as he was told.

She scooted to the edge of the counter, her thighs on either side of John's head, and placed a hand firmly in his hair. John moved forward, placing his mouth against her and smiling to himself when she let out a soft whimper. He licked at her soft and slow, then harder, pushing against her opening before circling around her clit. Both her hands were in his hair now, desperately pressing his face closer against her.

John devoured her with all the hunger and gusto he'd kept pent down over the past few months, and Laura let loose all the cries and whimpers and moans he'd so desperately missed. After just a few minutes of going about his duties John felt Laura's muscles begin to clench, her thighs restlessly jerking beside his head. She cried out and tightened her hands in his hair to an almost unbearable degree as she came, John furiously licking and sucking to prolong her orgasm as much as possible. She lay back in exhaustion once she'd finished, but John quickly jumped back to his feet and shucked his boxers. He pulled at his cock as he watched her, her face flushed and her chest heaving as she sat there with her legs spread wide for him.

"Come here," Laura panted, reaching forward to grab John's hips and guiding him towards her. John let out a low groan and let his eyes fall shut as he pushed into her, tight and wet and warm around him. He could have probably reached orgasm just by sitting inside of her. But then she began to roll her hips into his and it was John's turn to let out a whimper, burying his face in Laura's neck as the most indescribable pleasure coursed through him. He reached up to play with her breasts again, loving how plump and warm they felt in his hands, her nipples hard beneath his fingers as he squeezed and tugged.

He knew he wasn't going to last long as he began pumping into her with more energy and Laura wrapped her arms around him to pull him closer. She was panting into his ear, every breath hitched with a slight whimper at the end, and it was all he could do not to explode from that sound alone.

"John," she whispered, tightening around him, and hearing his name on her lips was enough to make his cock quiver inside of her. "John, John you're so good to me," she panted, and John was nearly knocked off his feet with the force of his orgasm. His entire body shuddered as he came, nuzzling into Laura's neck and gasping for breath.

She let him stay there once he'd finished, rather than pushing him away and retreating to another space as she so often did once they'd had their typically sad and emotionless moment.

As he stood pantsless in the kitchen with Laura's hands lazily trailing up and down his back, John couldn't help but wonder if this was a sign of things to come. Perhaps now they would be closer, perhaps if she would finally let him in they could begin to repair the shit that was their lives. Ever the optimist, John snuggled closer to her and hoped the worst was over now.

Laura couldn't sleep.

In the early days her insomnia had been her body's defence against all too realistic dreams of Sebastian's attack, imagining Sherlock leaping from that ledge, thinking of what might have happened if John hadn't grabbed Sebastian's gun in time, wondering what those men might have really done to Mrs. Hudson, thinking of her sister and how many times she'd been left or abandoned by her.

When she finally did fall asleep, she'd often jerk awake at the sound of a tortured cry from John. The two never shared their dreams, but she knew he thought of Sherlock, of the horror he'd witnessed that chilly morning. She used to roll over and pull him close, comforting him through his troublesome sleep with soothing whispers and gentle kisses, running her hands through his hair and along his back until his breathing evened out again.

But not tonight. Tonight she would let him whimper and scream.

She wanted him to feel the pain and frustration she felt as she thought about what would happen now. John had been right this morning when he'd told her that her one attempt to make things right had been in vain. She knew now that there was nothing she could do, but that didn't make the realization any less painful. She felt like screaming and crying, like raving and ranting, like punching and kicking John until he lost control and finally, finally hit her back. But she knew he never would. He would never be the man she wanted him to be- the sort of man she could hate. Because Laura wanted so desperately to be able to hate him, to blame all her woes on the man who shared her bed.

But he only ever gave her reasons to love him. She knew she was difficult to be around these days- and it wasn't as if John was an agreeable ray of sunshine either- but he refused to give up on her. And Laura couldn't stand it. Everyone else she'd ever loved had left her - why wouldn't he? Why did he insist on sticking around and prolonging her pain, reminding her that she didn't really deserve all he'd given her? Why did he torture her like this?

Laura rolled over and looked at John. His face was twisted in fear and pain, his brown dampened by a light sheen of sweat. Unable to help herself, Laura shifted closer towards him and wrapped him in a comforting hug, placing a kiss on his forehead and gently whispering sweet kindnesses in his ear. She could never hate this man, she thought with a deep sigh; no matter how angry and pained she was, she would always look after him.

Something had been different about today. They'd taken a step closer to what they used to be, to how they used to be with each other. But it had still been far from enough; the sex had been better than usual, good even, but that didn't change the fact that everything else was still in ruins.

They'd been in love once. Laura still loved him, there was no denying that. She loved him so much it hurt. But things had changed. The didn't talk anymore, unless to argue. They didn't touch anymore,unless as a sad conclusion to one of their many arguments. They didn't laugh together, spend time together, enjoy each other's company together. They were no longer in love.

And part of Laura couldn't help wondering if perhaps no matter what they did, they couldn't be in love anymore. Perhaps they'd needed Sherlock in their lives to reach that state of happiness that lets love in. And that thought was perhaps the most depressing idea Laura had entertained to date. Because if that were true, it meant she and John could never be happy again.

Damn the concrete permanence of death.

A/N: Like that little bit of dramatic irony there at the end? Next chapter Molly returns, and Sherlock finally makes an appearance! Yay dead detectives!