A/N: Here is a new story in the same 'verse as all my other stories. This takes place as a missing scene at the end of "The Blind Banker," but refers to several interactions that take place during the episode. ENJOY! :)

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The front door shut with a sharp thud. John pounded up the stairs, shrugging out of his coat as he went. Sherlock trailed behind, bewildered at the sudden anger radiating off his flat mate.

When Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, he caught a glimpse of John beginning the process of making tea. He winced as the tea kettle crashed against the side of the sink. The rush of the water as it filled barely covered the sound of John's furious muttering. Sherlock decided against turning into the kitchen, opting instead to walk straight across the landing to the sitting room. He hung his coat on the back of the sitting room door and then perched on the edge of the sofa.

Five minutes later, John entered the sitting room carrying two steaming mugs of tea. Sherlock eyed him with wariness as a mug was deposited on the coffee table in front of him. John retreated to his chair in front of the fireplace, sitting straight and stiff, measuring his breaths with precision.

"John…?"

"Shut it, Sherlock," he snapped.

Sherlock studied John's profile until his posture relaxed.

"John, why are you upset?"

"Seriously? You know why!" John's head whipped toward him, eyes blazing with fury. Sherlock could have sworn he saw a flash of hurt before John turned away again.

Sighing, Sherlock knew he would have to replay the conversation he had with Sebastian just before they left the bank. Closing his eyes to increase focus, he cued up the video in his mind and hit play.

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Once the smugglers had been rounded up, Sherlock and John took a day to recover from the events in the tramway. After they gave their statements to D.I. Dimmock, they found themselves once again entering the sleek, modern building housing the banking firm, Shad Anderson. Sherlock and John split up to accomplish their goals more quickly. Sherlock searched out the P.A. who unknowingly wore an extremely expensive little jade hair pin. John headed straight for Sebastian Wilkes to explain the hole in the bank's security and collect the rest of their fee.

Sherlock, with his mission accomplished, slipped away from the now shrieking P.A. Ahead of him, he saw John walk out the Sebastian's office door and head down the hall. Sherlock turned the corner to follow John when he found his path suddenly blocked by Sebastian. Attempting to slip past, Sherlock froze as Sebastian caught his wrist to stop him.

"So, you really have a thing for him." Sebastian said.

"What do you want now?" asked Sherlock, affecting boredom to cover his instinctive urge to recoil.

"Your colleague. You like him."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock clenched his jaw, sickened by Sebastian's implications.

The grip on Sherlock's wrist tightened almost to the point of bruising. Mockery filled Sebastian's voice as he leaned and sneered at him.

"You called him your friend. I saw your expression when he corrected you. The great Sherlock Holmes, who claims to be so vastly superior to the rest of the human race. You're pathetic. As if anyone would ever do more than barely tolerate you."

Sherlock's restraint snapped. He twisted out of Sebastian's grip and took a couple of steps away from him. Scanning the banker head to toe, Sherlock took refuge behind his observations. He rebuilt his armor with the deductions that flowed from them.

"You're still leeching off of others, using their talents to make yourself appear better in order to rise through the ranks. Much like you did all through University. The people at your 'business meeting' at the restaurant, they tolerated your presence only because they were seeking insider information. I imagine they left quite quickly after we interrupted. Ah, and then there is, of course, the affair with your boss' assistant. Pity. It won't advance your position. Nor will the publicity of one of your traders smuggling ancient Chinese artifacts into the country."

Sebastian's jaw dropped as Sherlock's words soaked in. Before he could retaliate, Sherlock stepped back into his personal space.

"You fall amazingly low on the scale of intelligence. John Watson is utterly incompetent at observation and deduction."

Sherlock paused and pressed one step closer. He kept his voice low, though no less fierce for its lack of volume.

"But he is positively brilliant compared to you. John tries to learn my methods, and actually understands them." Sherlock turned his back on the man.

"Don't contact me again. You need a lawyer, not a detective." Delivering the parting shot over his shoulder, Sherlock swept down the hall, anxious to escape the presence of his old classmate.

It was only as he replayed the scene that he caught what he'd missed before.

Sherlock had been so focused on leaving, he never saw John standing nearby, his face white with shock.

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Opening his eyes, Sherlock breathed, "Oh!"

"Yeah." John's voice was cold and flat.

"Ah, John…" Sherlock started.

"I won't accept any excuses, Sherlock," John warned.

John stood and walked with a slight limp to the kitchen to refresh his tea. Sherlock heard him curse as his mug clattered to the counter top.

Sherlock followed him as far as the kitchen doorway. John kept his back to the room and his shoulders hunched defensively. However, Sherlock could still see the tremor in John's left hand that caused him to drop the mug. The tremor combined with the limp revealed just how deeply the partially heard conversation cut into the army doctor.

"John, you missed some of what I said," Sherlock began.

"Wonderful." John's voice was brittle. "What else would you say? Did you tell him I was a soldier? That I got shot? Or about my nightmares, or that I'm a cripple who can't…" John abruptly choked off his words.

Sherlock immediately identified the emotions John tried to hide. Bitterness and a deep self-loathing filled John's words. Feelings he understood himself, all too intimately.

Hearing them in John's voice twisted something inside. For the first time since he was a young boy, empathy for someone else began to stir in his heart. The very heart Sherlock kept securely locked away in a vault, in the dungeon of his Mind Palace, like a relic best left alone.

Sherlock shook away those thoughts, returning to the present conversation.

"John, sit down."

When John didn't move, Sherlock quietly added, "Please."

John clenched his fists at his side in a visible attempt to reign in his anger and hurt before he turned. With a curt nod, he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat.

Sherlock took a seat across from him. He knew he needed to be completely honest and forthcoming. If he wasn't, John would know, and then John would leave. The realization swept over him that he desired this person to stay in his life. He didn't want to be alone any longer.

Sherlock filed that revelation away for future study. Then he gathered himself to explain, picking his words with care.

"Sebastian implied that I fancied you. He didn't stop when I tried to brush him off. So, I decided to be very blunt. You didn't hear everything I said. You only caught the first portion, before I leaned in to make my point.

John pursed his lips, then scrubbed at his face with both hands. "I am afraid that I may regret this," he muttered. "All right, tell me the whole thing."

Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes to pull up the conversation, intending to only repeat the part John missed. There was a minor malfunction with his mental hard drive. He repeated the whole interaction, verbatim.

When Sherlock opened his eyes, John was staring at him, the last bit of anger draining out of his expression.

"Did you mean what you said?" John questioned, "About being… about the trying bit? About understanding?

"Of course," Sherlock sniffed. John seemed inordinately surprised at the compliment. One that even Sherlock recognized as very backhanded.

The ghost of a smile lightened John's countenance, before it slipped away again as he began to explain his own actions.

"Sebastian is an arrogant sod. I dealt with gits like him in the army all the time, with their superiority complexes. He was baiting you from the moment we entered his office," John said, his voice steely with contempt.

"When you introduced me as your friend, it was clear he didn't believe you. If he'd challenged you on that, you'd have gone off on him, Sherlock, and probably gotten us kicked out. So, I said colleague to try to keep it professional, to defuse the situation as much as possible. I could tell you wanted to get to the actual work, and so I tried my best to speed it along."

Sherlock glanced down and away, processing John's words. Someone bothered to try to make it easier for him to work. Someone, John, actually wanted to help him retain a job and complete it. No one had done that for him before, except perhaps D.I. Lestrade from time to time.

"Hey, Sherlock?"

John met his eyes across the table when Sherlock looked up.

"I do consider you my friend. Thank you for introducing me as yours. But maybe let's stick with 'colleagues' when we're on a case, yeah? At least, until people get used to the idea that I'm here to stay," John smiled.

"You are?" Sherlock murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

"What?"

"Here to stay?"

"Yeah, as long as you want me to." John shot him a wicked grin. "Besides, I quite enjoy the looks on people's faces when I show up. For some reason, they all seem to expect me to have given up and moved out already."

"Then they're too dull to observe your stubborn streak," Sherlock said, dismissively.

"I think you've clearly established your opinion that most everyone is an idiot," John chuckled.

For a split second, his thoughts stalled as the implications of their conversation sank in.

John did more than just tolerate him.
John liked him.
John was not giving up on him.
John planned to stay.

Blinking, Sherlock became aware of John studying him intently. Whatever John searched for he must have found. A smile lit up his face and John regarded him warmly for a moment.

Sherlock tried to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in response.

John nodded once, seeming to understand no more words were needed. He stood and turned away to search out something to eat.

Sherlock allowed his smile to grow behind John's back.

"Ironic" Sherlock thought to himself, "I've smiled more in the last month and a half than I have in the last ten years."

He admitted to himself that his world had begun to shift the moment John walked into the lab at St. Bart's. Strangely enough, Sherlock discovered he didn't mind nearly as much as he thought he would.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed the story. It's a wonderful feeling to finally have gotten something published after so long! I do have other stories in the same 'verse as this, just no where near ready, or not completed yet. Gonna have to chase down my muse! :) Please read and review!