Bubbles. Bubbles of various sizes surrounding his body floating upwards, wherever upwards was. His curls floating around his head, seemingly moving up and down to a song that he was unable to hear. His dressing gown and his pyjamas were kind of floating around his limbs as well, but it was so peaceful and quiet he hardly cared. He closed his eyes letting himself drift into the coolness around him. It was almost like being underwater, but that would he would not be able to breath. His eyes opened in terror and he tried to swim to where the bubbles were headed, but the surface seemed unreachable. He opened his mouth, in order to shout for help but there was no sound, just more bubbles coming out, leaving his lungs feeling painfully empty.

Sherlock opened his eyes to meet John´s fixed on him. John´s nose was almost touching his own, and he was saying something. But it seemed to be so far away, Sherlock was unable to understand what it was. John´s hands were on him as well. One was on his right shoulder, the other holding his left wrist in a firm grip. Slowly, Sherlock's senses returned to him. "Sherlock! Breathe come on! Take a deep breath in, you can do it" Once he realised what John was trying to tell him, Sherlock exhaled the breath he did not know he had been holing and inhaled, almost painfully, seconds later.

"That´s it, nice and slow. What on earth have you been dreaming about Sherlock?" John asked, while he let himself fall back against the bed´s headboard, he looked kind of exhausted. "I…was…underwater….couldn't breath…..horrible" Sherlock managed to say between ragged breaths. "Yeah, I got that part, you almost suffocated. It was hard to wake you as well, you kept punching and kicking" John said and then he asked, "How are you anyway? Feeling any better?" Once Sherlock had caught his breath, he just stared at John for a few moments, as if to check for himself, if he felt any different. Then he let his head flop back onto the pillow "Nope" he said, "nothing´s changed. God I hate this!" He turned to his side, away from John, and brought his knees in, curling up in a tight ball. The doctor got out of bed and around it, to face the detective. "Come on" he said, pulling the sheets tight around his friends shoulders, tugging him in. "Give it a few days and you´ll be right as rain again. I´ll make sure of it" he straightened his back and turned to leave, when Sherlock caught one of his wrists in his hand and said "have you been here all night?" John looked a bit amused "Yes, but I fell asleep right next to you, sorry wont happen again" Sherlock let go and John left for the kitchen. He could swear he had heard something that sounded like "I don´t mind" coming from the bundle of detective, covered in white sheets.

When John came back, carrying two cups of steaming hot tea, Sherlock had not changed his position. John almost thought he went back to sleep but when he lowered himself on the edge of the bed, Sherlock´s eyes flipped open. "I should eat something" He stated, taking the cup John offered him into his hands, while he sat up and leaned against the headboard. "Wait? Has your fever gone up?" John said resting one of his hands on Sherlock´s forehead. The detective gave him a confused look. "No, still the same. Can you repeat that last bit for me please? I think I have misheard it" Sherlock just pushed John´s hand away, "Don´t mock me! Yes, I said I should eat something, but fine I wont of you don´t want me to." He crossed his arms over his chest and looked the other way. "Oh Sherlock," John said in a soothing tone "I did not want to upset you. It´s just, well, you barely ask for food I just tried to be funny. So what do you want to eat?" "I don´t care, soup or something" the detective replied, still looking away "so, you want me to make soup? Or is canned soup alright, too?" John wanted to know "Canned will be fine, thank you," Sherlock said "I won't be able to taste anything anyway."

With that John got up and headed for the kitchen.

A few days later, Sherlock was right as rain again, as John had promised he would be. And on top that, they were on a case. A double murder, which as Sherlock put it, was very promising to be an interesting one.

They were also back, to their usual distance. Which was not exactly to John's liking. He had liked them getting closer but he was not sure about Sherlock`s point of view, so he did not bring it up. While John was having a discussion in his head, about weather he was into men or not, Sherlock was crouching down next to one of the victims, to get a closer look. "John," he said turning ´round "What do you think about this?"

Startled and ripped from his thoughts, John tried to make sense of the scene in front of him.

"Well, I'd say they were murdered. Obviously, but they were not killed here. Because there is no blood anywhere and no sign of a struggle. Also their bodies were arranged to look peaceful. Maybe a sign of sentiment might also be a message or something. Someone took a lot of time and effort to arrange this" at the last word, he made a gesture with his hand, in the direction of all the flowers, neatly put in place, surrounding the dead bodies.

Sherlock just looked at him for a few seconds and then said, "Have you been practicing?" John flushed "I… well I´ve had a good teacher, right?" He said more to the ground, than to his friend.

They did not talk on the cab ride to Barts. Sherlock was the first to speak when they entered the morgue; Molly was nowhere to be seen. "John, I …I just want to make sure you understand. Like I said when we first met. I consider myself married to my work and…well, about last week I…" He did not seem to be able to find the words. Funny thing, John thought. Sherlock Holmes, Mister punch line and yet he could not find the right words.

"It´s okay, Sherlock." John said, to break the silence. "You were sick. I was worried and unprofessional. And I am still not gay, so no worries, OK?" Having said that, John felt guilty for not telling the truth. Or was he telling the truth? He was not quite sure.

But what he was sure of was, that Sherlock's expression changed, the moment he had finished his sentence. It did no longer show embarrassment, for whatever he had tried to tell John moments ago. It was disappointment. Sadness even.

"Right." The younger said, his voice breaking a bit.

Before John could say another word, Molly entered. She seemed surprised to see them. "Oh, I did not expect you two this early. The bodies just got here and I have lots of paper work to do, so it might take a while." She said, dropping her papers on a nearby table.

"No problem, we were just leaving" Sherlock said and left, without loosing another second. "I erm…did I do something?" Molly looked surprised "No, it´s fine. Not his day I think. We´ll come back later," John said, turning to leave. When he was halfway through the door, Molly said, "He looks sad, you know?" The doctor turned back around "excuse me?" He asked. "He looks sad, when you are not here, or when he thinks you can´t see him" She replied. John gave her a confused look and stepped through the door.

It was raining outside, and Sherlock was gone. Not knowing where to search for his friend, John went home.

He was surprised to find, that Sherlock also had gone back to their flat. He was sprawled out on the couch and a nicotine-patched arm was covering his eyes.

„So, this is a three patch case?" John said, while he was hanging up his soaked coat. "Obviously" was the only reply he got. Sherlock then turned to face the wall. John stood there, staring at his friends back. So what he had said earlier, was not forgotten?

He sat down in his chair, opened the newspaper and began to read. But a few seconds after he had started, John folded the paper in his lab and said," What's the problem, Sherlock?" "No Problem at all John" came the reply from the couch.

"If it is about what I said, I did not mean to be rude. I just, I am not sure… I thought you were implying.." great, now he was the one who could not find the words to say whatever he had tried to say just now.

Sherlock on the couch turned to face John. His arms around his knees, his satin curls brushing against the leather of the couch and his ice blue eyes darting over the older man in the chair opposite him.

"John, do you like me?" He asked. John met his gaze "Of course I do Sherlock, why else would I…" "No!" Sherlock interrupted him "let me rephrase that, do you love me?"

John's mouth went dry at that question, he thought for a moment or two, and said "I don´t know Sherlock, I honestly don´t know" "How come?" Sherlock wanted to know.

"Hard to explain, what about you though, do you…you know, love me?" John felt, as if his heart had stopped beating. Waiting for the answer, which might bloody well change his whole life.

Sherlock inhaled sharply "I think I do" he said. And then there was silence. The next thing that happened was the newspaper falling to the floor as John stood, "You think, you do? What is that supposed to mean?" He wanted to know.

"You are the first person I ever had…well, feelings for and I just don´t know if it is, what everybody calls love. Because if it is, then I am not sure I want it."

"Explain" John said, closing the distance between the two and sitting down on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.

"It feels as if something is wrong with me. One moment I am happy because we´re on a case together. The next, you tell me that you are obviously not gay and it feels like I am having a heart attack. I don´t know what to do, what to say around you. That is why I kept my distance. No idea if you noticed or not. See? I can´t think straight when I am around you. It is both nice and scary as hell. I.." A hand on his head interrupted him. John was leaning forward, stroking through his curls. "Say something" Sherlock demanded.

"I can do one better" John said leaned forward until their lips met.