A/N I'm ba-ack! This cracky, fluffy romance is in response to the recent Letswritesherlock challenge, which was There's a First Time for Everything. Sadly, I may not be publishing this in time for the challenge, but what the heck, I'll publish it anyway.

My deepest thanks go out to I'm Nova and Old Ping Hai for their inspiration, constant encouragement and gentle nudging, else this would not have been written. I would be remiss if I did not also thank a certain undercover Timelord (or is it Timelady) (or do advanced beings such as Timelords/ladies not care about using politically correct terms)...anyway, this particular Timeperson spurred me on with a recent message of encouragement which was quite instrumental in getting me off my duff to publish SOMETHING, so also I send my gratitude to Birdie7272.

I respectfully suggest that everyone go and check out the works of these three wonderful authors (feel free to msg me for recommendations on which of their stories I like best-although my favorites change, depending on my mood).

Oops, I just sent everyone off to a different site, to read the works of I'm Nova, Old Ping Hai and Birdie7272, didn't I.

Is anyone even going to reading my story now? Hello? Hello! HELLO?

The sound of silence is deafening. (;D)

Speaking of different sites, this fic is now available in Thai, thanks so mocchafreppe (see below for link)**

Many Firsts

John sat in the old armchair (his old armchair), sipping his tea, which had been steeped the right way (not her way).

Looking in from the outside, his life was a shambles, a debacle, a catastrophe...

John smiled faintly, dropping his head back and relaxing for the first time in ages, because from where he sat in this red, over-stuffed chair (his red, over-stuffed chair) life was finally back to what it was supposed to be.

It was worth the bruise on his head to be out from under her talons once and for all. Now he and Lizzy could start their new lives together, without her.

Sadly, HE probably wouldn't want a boring old, single parent like John hanging around, but maybe, once in a while, perhaps, just occasionally, HE'D allow John to help on an occasional case?

John Watson felt rather than saw the consulting detective rush past like an express train. Looking up, he saw the express come to come to an abrupt stop, as if someone had pulled the emergency break. In slow motion, the train crashed into his chair, leaving his endless legs stretched out in front of him. His long fingered hands rose to his chin, no doubt praying to the god of endless cognition.

Naturally, there was no, 'Good morning, John!'

No, 'Eggs or waffles, John?'

Not even a, 'Why are you in my flat, unannounced, at 0830 in the morning, wearing my dressing gown, while Mrs. Hudson apparently has had to wash your clothes. Oh, and by the way, did you know your mobile is broken, John?'

Of course, the first two questions were the product of wishful thinking (meaning delusional thinking) on John's part. The final two questions were unnecessary. The doctor assumed that his dearest friend had already deduced all the salient points and was waiting to spring it all on John, when ever it would be the most dramatic. And this made John very happy indeed.

'God, this…this is heaven,' thought the doctor closing his eyes and sighing in a sort of wistful contentment, and pulling the borrowed dressing gown shut. The robe kept slipping open without warning; silk was such tricky, slippery stuff. But it was soft and smelled of his best friend, so John secretly reveled in it, while making sure that it stayed tied shut.

The blogger smiled again (Sherlock still let his blogger blog about interesting cases), and the blogger sighed again, contentedly wistful, because it didn't matter if Sherlock didn't speak to him for hours or even days at a time, or if the great detective played the violin at strange times, or even if the git left body parts all over the place, because finally, finally John was home...

...at least for a few hours.

'Might as well enjoy it while I can ', thought the doctor, sighing and telling himself it was fine.

John opened his eyes, and as expected, saw Sherlock, immaculately dressed in his bespoke black suit and sexy too-tight purple shirt.

'Ah…no, not sexy. Remember, we do NOT go there,' John chided himself sternly. 'Remember HE'S married to his work, which is fine; it's all fine.'

The consulting detective raised his brow, acknowledging his former flat mate's unexpected appearance in 221B on a rainy Wednesday morning. The lanky brunet leaned forward, elbows balanced on his bony knees, fingers steepled together, glacial blue eyes scanning John Watson, boring into him, deducing him.

God, 'I've missed this' thought John feeling irrationally pleased. 'Sherlock will deduce everything.' (Well, hopefully, not THAT. Everything except THAT. Except THAT is what I came here to tell him. Still, I'm sure he won't deduce THAT, and when I do tell him THAT, he'll be shocked. Then he'll say he's flattered (but not really mean it), and he'll say he's married to his work, which is fine. I don't mind, really. Then we'll get back to normal-almost. But he'll know the truth. I won't have to live in fear that he's going to deduce my stupid feelings for him at the absolute worst possible time. And there's always the possibility that he'll want me too...or not. Which is fine...just fine...)

John smiled hopefully at his best friend and waited for Sherlock to deduce everything (except THAT, well, maybe even THAT, because then John won't have to say anything at all about THAT).

The doctor could feel the smile waver on his face while he waited, worrying about THAT.

"You and Mary argued, again," said the younger man, beginning the deductions. "A bad argument, again. Your mobile phone was killed when it deflected the bullet...no...the knife...no..."

"Oh for God's sake. She broke it when she lobbed it at me," said John, smiling as the familiar flow of deductions began.

"Ah, that explains your headache and the contusion. I suppose I should be grateful she didn't leave you with a concussion," said Sherlock. "But there was a knife, which means she broke our agreement and now I can..."

"Never mind the knife; it was mostly just for show. Besides I disarmed her," said John, proud of disarming a dangerous. highly-paid, international assassin without spilling a drop of baby formula. The blond smiled and nodded at dark chocolate curls and razor-sharp cheek bones and the sound of a deeply rumbling voice- in other words, at the man, who John secretly loved more than the rest of the world...aside from Lizzy. John loved Lizzy and Sherlock more than anything else, and to hell with the rest of the world. He loved Lizzy like his own daughter, because she was his daughter. And he loved Sherlock like a brother because…because that's the way it had to be, although the former soldier wanted so much more. But it was fine; it was all fine. John leaned back and basked under the detective's intense scrutiny and did not pine for more.

The World's Only Consulting Detective eyed his best friend (who should be more than his best friend), who for once seemed happy, albeit exhausted. Which was…unexpected, because lately John was always miserable and exhausted, not happy and exhausted.

(Well, of course John (my John) is always miserable and exhausted. Between caring for a young infant, working in a dull (deadly dull) clinic, and avoiding the attention of that harridan witch, which the doctor (my doctor) stubbornly calls his wife, it's a wonder that John (my John) was able to crawl here at all."

The World's Only Consulting Detective pouted behind the tapered index fingers that rested lightly against his lips. (I can't even bring poor John (my poor John) on a case without Mary carrying on like a fishwife. And he refuses to leave her until 'the time is right', whatever that means! And if she's done more than bruise him this time, if she hurt Elizabeth (my goddaughter, Elizabeth Shirley), then I shall eliminate Mrs. Watson- even if John never speaks to me again. At least they (my family) will be free of that little bleached-blond witch.')

('Brother mine,') interrupted an imaginary Mycroft, who intruded his bulk even into Sherlock's mind palace, ('John Watson is becoming suspicious of your conspicuous pause without deducing him. If you don't wish your goldfish to discover the depth of your pedestrian sentiments, I suggest you say something rude and insensitive almost instantly.')

"As usual, John, you look awful," said Sherlock instantly and insensitively.

Oddly, John's grin broadened, lighting up the gloomy sitting room as only John could do (aside from John's infant daughter of course, because she had inherited John's ability to conduct light.)

"You dropped Elizabeth off at daycare, thirty minutes late due to another disagreement at home, and then you walked here in the pouring rain, risking pneumonia, because you're short of cash and too stupidly proud to call anyone (ME) for help. At least you came here to lick your metaphorical wounds again, where you can get a mouthful of decent tea and some care for your actual wound, which incidentally should be iced, which you, as a physician, should have already done. Of course, you'll insist on returning to that house, even though it makes you miserable. You'll return because 'you're a man of your word', and because the time's 'not right', whatever that means, and because of a piece of paper and some vows which are meaningless, since the woman who signed the papers and promised to love and cherish you never even existed," Sherlock paused for breath, expecting John to argue, again.

Instead, his blogger sat, smiled and looked…different. It was puzzling. Sherlock had an irrational urge to go to John and hold him, except Sherlock never cuddled anyone…except of course Elizabeth, who looked like a miniature John Watson, but who wouldn't squeal about not being gay. The puzzled detective stood up abruptly saying, "I shall get you the ice bag for the contusion on your head."

The tall detective left his bemused friend in the sitting room as he strode into the kitchen to retrieve the bag of frozen peas, which was used as an ice bag. He carefully checked to ensure that it was the frozen peas and not the bag of frozen bile stones. He did not want a repeat of last month's debacle, when a similar bag containing frozen, sectioned toes defrosted and leaked all over John's trousers. John had been quite displeased at the mess, (Sherlock had expected that John would try to punch him again.) And Mary…Mary had looked so smug and superior, taunting Sherlock with her smirk, as if to say 'You don't deserve him; you could never take care of John properly, you FREAK.'

"You needn't try to hide the bruise, I'm sure even Anderson would have noticed it, " said the detective coldly, as he pushed John's hand away from the contusion, gently parting the doctor's blond-brown-graying hair to examine the goose egg on John's (my John's) temple.

The doctor squirmed, complained that he was fine, and then allowed Sherlock to place the bag of frozen peas on his head, after first ensuring that it was indeed only a sealed bag of legumes and not a bag of frozen body parts like last time.

John shuddered at the memory of that grizzly episode, all that foul, nasty, smelly stuff melting and then leaking into his hair, and over his wound and finally staining his trousers too.

And she had looked so smug about the incident too, 'As if to say, 'Look how badly Sherlock treats you, my dear, stupid, trusting John.' John had been most displeased.

He'd wanted to say that body parts aside, he trusted Sherlock a hell of lot more than her. John had found himself wanting to punch the woman, who pretended to be his wife. He'd never punched a woman before, but she tempted him. Sometimes it was just very hard not to clock her just once, but so far, John had managed to restrain himself. He was a bit proud of that restraint actually, especially since she herself exercised no restraint at all.

'At least, it's all over now,' thought John. Thankfully, she hadn't even threatened to kill him or Sherlock… unless her seeming acceptance was all a ruse. John pulled nervously at his lip, wondering if she was plotting some kind of revenge after all.

Sherlock retook his seat, plucking his violin discordantly, as he watched his occasionally idiotic conductor of light (who should be MY husband) smile stupidly, for no good reason, especially considering that he was married to an international assassin, who had attacked him with a mobile phone and who could be plotting against John even now...

Sherlock's lips pressed into a thin line as he considered the situation. (That Morstan woman has struck my John (yes, MY John) for the last time. I WILL intervene. I could initiate Operation: Goodnight Mary. Or, I could frame her for murder and let the police handle her of her, which would inevitably lead to the involvement of MI5, the FBI, the CIA, Interpol, MI6…But wait, I know! I will simply expose her recent hit on Boris 'the Barracuda'. No doubt Boris deserved to die, but still, her actions were illegal- manslaughter, if not murder, in the eyes of the law. Certainly, John Watson cannot complain if I am merely following the law and...'

'But wait, wait ...There is that 'different something'. He's still smiling stupidly. Why is he smiling? He rarely smiles anymore, not really. And even his eyes are even smiling this morning (his beautiful blue eyes are shining again; Elizabeth has his eyes), and his eyes never shine anymore. And his hands are relaxed and not trembling. And he's not checking the clock or looking behind him and..."

Sherlock sat straight up, his mouth gaping in shock saying, "Something's different this time."

John blinked, smiling, no John was grinning.

Sherlock could only think of one thing that might make John relax and smile again.

"You...you've left her?" asked the detective, hardly daring to whisper his deduction.

"Um-hm," John nodded.

"Why? Why did you leave? Did she hurt you?" Sherlock demanded angrily. "Did she threaten Elizabeth? Did she cut you with that knife? I swear ..."

"No! God, no. She's never, ever hurt Lizzy, you know that! And I've been very careful when I'm alone with Mary, since… Well, as I said, I got the knife away from her and as you can see, there's no damage done," said John, dropping the frozen peas and holding open his hands as if to display his supposedly un-damaged condition.

(Aside from your head wound, John, for which she WILL PAY…somehow), thought the younger man.

"Anyway, I did provoke her. She wanted me to go with her on holiday to Belarus. I told her, 'no, I would prefer a divorce.' I probably should have been a bit more diplomatic, but it just came out. She threw my phone and it ricocheted off my head and fell to the floor and broke. But aside from the phone..."

"Oh! You left because you still think that the baby isn't yours," said the detective. "In spite of the paternity tests, which I oversaw, you still worry that Elizabeth is David's child."

"No, I trust the tests," said the doctor, putting the icy bag of vegetables back onto to his sore head. "At least I trust the tests that you ran...Did I tell you that she was shocked when I told her that I had paternity tests run."

"She was surprised that you doubted her, after her blatant affair with David?"

"No, she was surprised that the baby was actually mine. Even she was sure it was David's."

"I still think you should let me threaten him a little," said the sullen consulting detective. "I know where he lives."

"No, no, no, leave David alone," said the doctor wearily. "I don't care that she cheated on me. Since that day...since she shot you...well, I really don't care what she does. Besides, I've left her; it's done with."

John smiled again as the words echoed throughout his head, 'I've left her; it's done with…I've left her; it's done with. I left..."

"Will you sue for custody..."?

"Oh God, yes!" exclaimed John. "I don't think she'll fight it though. Once she realized that I meant to leave her, she seemed only too eager to ditch little Lizzy too...unless she's plotting something. But I don't think she is-plotting that is. After she broke m'phone, and I won the knife from her, she just stormed out of the kitchen and started packing… You know, I think she may be having an affair. Not with David, he hasn't gotten over his disappointment that Lizzy is mine. No, I think she's found someone new..."

"Yes, of course, that would be James," said the consulting detective offhandedly, because he was still trying to deduce the 'Why?'.

(Why now?) Sherlock wondered. (If he didn't leave Mary over her infidelity or because of her abuse, then what made him leave her now?)

"Wait? James? James who?" demanded the curious doctor.

"Sholto, of course," replied Sherlock, answering pensively.

"James Sholto? Really?" asked John, wearing his adorable confused face-the confused face that made Sherlock's doctor look like a Shar-Pei. Sherlock restrained himself from standing up to pet his doctor...and then kiss those worry lines away...and then...

"You mean they...Mary and James? Major James Sholto?"

"Yes." agreed Sherlock, smiling, (John was such an idiot).

"When were you going to tell me?" demanded John.

"I thought you knew. Everyone knows,' Sherlock announced with militant nonchalance, because everyone did know, well almost everyone...

"Everyone who?" asked John, now wearing his endearing soldier's belligerent face.

Sherlock had to restrain himself from lunging forward and nibbling on that angry jutting chin. But no, he couldn't nibble on John, because John, 'wasn't gay.'

"Everyone who's anyone knows, John," said Sherlock with unusual patience, just because it was John.

"Everyone who? Specifically?"

"Their trysts made it into the gossip columns, John," explained the detective. "It will be simpler to list the people who didn't know: such as people currently in a coma, or people living Tibet and who also do not have access to the Internet, or you, or..."

"Yes, yes. Fine. Everyone knew about my wife and one of my oldest friends having an affair-except me, comatose patients and Tibetan hermits," muttered John, who scowled like a disconsolate Shar-Pei.

'And that.' ruminated John, 'that probably explains why the spotty boy at the newsstand is always so impertinent. Why be polite to the cuckold. It's probably why the cabbies never stop for me. Why stop for the wimp whose wife is sleeping with one of his oldest friends. That's probably why Mycroft is such a dick to me...no, wait, Mycroft was a dick long before I met Mary, but still…"

"I miscalculated," said the consulting detective, sounding surprised at his own miscalculation. "I really thought you knew."

John glared and imagined all the cabbies laughing at him behind his back...with the newspaper boys no less.

John felt like an idiot.

'I'm an idiot,' he thought to himself in humiliation. 'I'll have to take Lizzy and move out of London. We'll have to move to the ends of the earth-to someplace where no one reads British gossip rags. We'll have to move to America-to some place like Cleveland...or Duluth...or, God forbid, New Jersey.'

"You are not moving to New Jersey," said the consulting detective decisively.

John dropped his red face into his hands with a groan. He was so embarrassed that he didn't even wonder how Sherlock read his mind-again.

'I'll never be able to show my face again in London,' thought the humiliated doctor, 'because even the cabbies and newsboys are laughing at me behind my back. Stupid, how could I have been so stupid? I should have dropped Mary the day HE came back. I should never have married her when I loved HIM. I should have let Magnusson have her...no, wait I'm forgetting about Lizzy. It was all worth it for Lizzy, even having to live in New Jersey is worth it.'

"No, John," said the detective. "We are not moving to New Jersey... Not unless there is a case that's a ten-an absolute ten, not an almost ten. And even then, even with a ten, we could only reside in New Jersey temporarily."

"We?" asked John weakly, feeling a tiny bit less humiliated as the detective's words sank in.

"Yes, obviously."

"It's not obvious to me."

"That's because you're an idiot."

John smiled, because it was true, he was an idiot.

"What about Cleveland?" asked John, after a short pause.

"I'd have to consult with Elizabeth."

John snorted, "She's only two months old."

"And yet I'm sure she'd disapprove of New Jersey or Cleveland," said Sherlock. "Which brings us back to the question, why?'

"Why what?" asked the doctor, who now remembered that he frequently got confused when staying at 221B.

"Why you left Mary!" Sherlock almost shouted.

"Oh, well, now that she's gone back to work..."

"Very good, John!" the detective congratulated John and beaming proudly. "I didn't think you'd notice that she was working again. No one could blame you for leaving her under those circumstances, although why you care what people think is beyond even my comprehension."

"Don't be daft!" snapped the blond. "Of course, I noticed she was working! And I didn't leave her because of her part-time nursing job. But now that she's back on her feet working and stuff, well, I just felt it was finally the right time, to leave her; you know?"

"You mean you didn't leave her because she's returned to her job as an assassin?"

John leaned forward, wearing his rather cute, dropped-jaw, gob-smacked look, while allowing his robe to gape open invitingly. Sherlock hastily reminded himself that John was 'not gay'. Besides a gentleman would never take advantage a man who had just left his assassin wife, not to mention, it was bit not good to peek at the goods of another man who wasn't interested because he 'wasn't gay'.

However, Sherlock did not consider himself a gentleman. So he did peek, which suddenly made it imperative that he find a way to take advantage of John, even if he 'wasn't gay'. There had to be a way. Sherlock Holmes was a genius, so obviously he should be able to conceive of a way to not only seduce John Watson, but also to secure the affections of the former army doctor, before the hapless man fell into the clutches of yet another ruthless female predator.

Then the ever-observant detective noticed John's helpless goldfish-out-of-water face. It was endearing, of course, but a subtle sign, that perhaps John had not been aware of his wife's second, rather more lucrative, job. Perhaps this was upsetting for his blogger.

(This is not good, Sherlock,) said mind palace Mycroft, unnecessarily.

"John, delete everything I said after the word Cleveland," suggested the brunet.

The doctor was very quiet.

(Perhaps, he is quiet, because he is actually deleting what I said?) thought the detective hopefully.

(No. John is too quiet, besides John doesn't know his to delete his hard drive, because he's an idiot (my idiot).)

"John."

"John."

"John!"

"W,who did she...kill?" stuttered John finally.

"Again, rather a long list..."

"You must be joking," whispered John, in horror.

"Yes," said Sherlock, "I thought a joke might break the tension. She's only made two hits, plus the one she did while she was carrying Elizabeth. You know, no one suspects that a pregnant woman could be dangerous. I think she may use that as a cover rather more frequently now."

"Jeeze. God. Jeeze," sputtered the doctor, gathering his robe together, much to the consulting detectives disappointment. "Sherlock, you can't make jokes about things like that."

"Why?" asked the curious detective.

"Well, because...because... um…"

"See, even you can't come up with a good reason, John."

"Never mind!" snapped the doctor. "Look is she...dangerous?"

"Well, she's a rogue, former CIA hit-woman, of course she's dangerous!" said Sherlock in a loud, annoying, half-whine.

"Oh God!" cried John, bending down and holding the back of his head, making it impossible for Sherlock to see John's face, let alone his physique. "Oh God!" repeated the doctor.

"He's not likely to intervene, John. Primarily because god doesn't exist."

"Oh. My. God," said John repetitiously. It was dull hearing John repeat himself, but Sherlock would put up with even more repetition for John's sake. Besides, suddenly the robe slipped open again and that was decidedly not dull.

"Sherlock, I meant... is she dangerous to Elizabeth?"

"Mary has not proven to be a very nurturing mother," said Sherlock studiously studying John's previously uncharted territory. "Nevertheless, I seriously doubt that she would harm her own child."

"No but...her employers...they might come and..."

"Never fear, John," said Sherlock bracingly, "The problem can be solved by studying your uncharted territory..."

"What?" asked John. "What territory?"

Sherlock felt his face heating up. Surely, surely he hadn't actually misspoken, surely he, Sherlock Holmes, wasn't blushing. This was unprecedented.

John blinked, he'd never seen his best friend blush. Not even when that dreadful Woman tried to seduce him. Of course, Sherlock's dreadful Woman wasn't as dreadful as John's dreadful wife...but, soon to be ex-wife, thank God.

And Sherlock was definitely blushing for some unfathomable reason. It was sort of cute. And kind of sexy...

'And you promised yourself not to think like that,' thought John reprimanding himself sternly. 'Sherlock doesn't think of you as sexy, John Hamish Watson, so just stop thinking sexy thoughts.'

Of course, that just made the doctor think about sex all the more. He thought about sex with a man. About sex with a man who was tall, and strong and amazingly intelligent and virile and so damn close that John could have reached out his hand and touched HIS knee, and then HIS thigh, and then...

"Never mind, John. I meant, we, meaning Mycroft and um, me, so we could send Mary into uncharted, well new territory, territory that..um ...," said Sherlock losing his train of thought, because John I'm-not-gay Watson was developing a hard on-while sitting in a room with only his best friend for company…his best male friend.

(Interesting!) thought Sherlock Holmes, narrowing his eyes speculatively, the whole Mary and uncharted territory disaster was immediately shelved.

'Embarrassing!' thought John Watson, who hoped that Sherlock wouldn't notice his arousal; even though it was obvious that Sherlock had instantly noticed. John turned a nice deep red, like a good cabernet, but he still didn't realize how little the gaping robe hid.

(Brilliant!) thought the detective, trying to hide his glee.

'God, he'll see that I'm lusting after him. Now I really will have to go to New Jersey,' thought the doctor.

Then John made his own observation, 'Good God, does Sherlock have an erection too?'

'Amazing!' thought the doctor, trying not to stare longingly at his best friend's lap.

(Embarrassing) thought Sherlock as he observed his friend's observation. (yet intriguing,)

The brunet leaned forward, wearing a predatory grin.

John saw his best friend leaning closer to him, while wearing a predatory grin.

Now John was not deductive genius, but he wasn't a total idiot. This meant something. The doctor thought about it hard, trying to use Sherlock's methods: Sherlock was staring at him-staring at dull, ordinary John Watson, while sporting an attractive blush and an impressive boner. Furthermore, Sherlock hadn't complained about being bored even once this morning (this was very significant). Finally, Sherlock had not rejected Duluth out of hand; in fact, the World's Only Consulting Detective had implied that he would accompany John and Lizzy, should they need to immigrate to the United States to avoid the impertinence of newsboys and the insults of rude cabbies.

Of course, this led to one conclusion, or rather to two possible conclusions, the doctor decided. Either Sherlock had a dressing gown fetish OR Sherlock was ready to breakup his own marriage to The Work to have an affair with John. Which logically made John the other woman...well, the other man, considering the fact that Little John hadn't been this hard in half a decade or more.

John blushed again, because really, what self-respecting middle-aged man gave his penis a nickname.

'Dear Lord, the cabbies will have a field day if they find out about 'Little John', thought the doctor. 'Then again, if someone as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes is interested in me, then why the hell should I care about what cabbies or newsboys think. Bloody hell, I KNOW how to deal with troublesome cabbies, don't I? Well, don't I?'

John recalled the last time he had dealt with a troublesome cabbie and felt more than a bit empowered.

The genius of 221 Baker Street watched the emotions play across his friend's expressive face. From confusion to embarrassment to interest to lust to embarrassment to soldierly determination. Really, the whole show was quite breath taking, almost as breath taking as the show going on in his friends lap.

"Sherlock!" cried John a bit too loud.

"Mmmm?" Responded the smug detective.

"Sherlock, I have to tell you something. Something important," began John, placing his hands firmly on his knees to brace himself for any and all possible outcomes, which also augmented his display nicely. "Now, I'm not very good at this...at talking about my...about emotions, which," here his mouth pursed, "you know from...well from that time in the subway and at the airstrip and..."

"Yes, yes, yes, John," interrupted the now eager detective, "I understand that you are uncomfortable expressing your emotions, yet you feel the need to emote, so please just spit it out."

"Dammit, Sherlock," exclaimed the doctor standing up, "I can't talk to you about this if you interrupt me...now I can't remember what I was saying..." The former army doctor assumed parade rest, without adjusting his robe.

Sherlock found this extremely distracting.

"John, I think I know..."

"No...please let me finish," said John. "You...you asked me why I left Mary. I think that you must know that while I cared for her in the beginning...cared for her a lot...I never loved her...because," his mouth twisted as if it was wringing out the reluctant words. " Because I was always in love with someone else."

Sherlock reared back as if stung. (Always in love with someone else. Always? That implies a romance of longstanding duration,) thought Sherlock. (Has my John been pining for that Sarah all these years...No, that's just stupid...Maybe, maybe he loves Sholto. Mary implied that John and Sholto...)

"Sherlock, please don't go into your mind palace just yet," asked John sadly. "Look, just hear me out, and if you hate what I'm saying, you can delete it, yeah?"

John received the infamous sideways glare.

'Oh God, he doesn't want to even listen; he certainly won't welcome my inappropriate affections,' thought John. 'I've misread the whole thing...'

"Oh God" muttered the blond aloud. 'Tell him, don't tell him, tell him...' John stewed in an agony of indecision-. 'No, I can't go on like this. It's better to be open and honest. Anyway, he's got a hard on, and that's got to be a good sign and maybe he'll let me touch him. No, stop thinking sexy thoughts about Sherlock. Just stop it!' John ordered himself. 'Right! This is stupid. I planned to tell him. I will tell him-now.'

"Sherlock, I have it all worked out what I want to say...so just, just listen. First of all, I'm sorry..."

Sherlock heard the apology and saw John stiffen his already stiff back. (Clearly,) thought the detective, (John is finding it hard to say goodbye to me. At least his friendship towards me remains undiminished... The question remains, who? Who does John love?...Probably Lestrade. He's always admired Lestrade. And the man is moderately fit.)

(And both of them like watching football.) sneered mental Mycroft. (See, caring is not an advantage. As soon as you care for someone, they run off with a beer drinking, football-watching fool of a doctor.)

(Don't you mean fool of a detective?) Sherlock asked himself, or rather Mycroft.

(No, I mean doctor. I had plans for Lestrade, as you well know. And now that fool of a doctor is going to abscond to New Jersey with my goldfish,) spat mind palace Mycroft.

(Ah yes, New Jersey. No wonder Lestrade's computer was littered with Google searches for Atlantic City,) thought Sherlock with remarkable self-control. (The detective inspector plans to steal my best friend, my (almost) lover and my godchild (almost child). I could kill Lestrade...but that would make John unhappy, so no. I will not make John unhappy. Besides, I can hardly blame Gavin for falling in love with someone as wonderful as John Watson.)

(Not to mention, if you hurt Lestrade. I would be forced to retaliate.) said Mycroft, with a significant look at the short blond, who'd just finished his prepared speech.

"I hate you," Sherlock muttered to his insufferable sibling.

"Oh God, Sherlock!" cried John who'd gone deathly pale. "I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it...well I meant it, of course. But never mind it. Can't you just delete what I said about loving you? Then we'll just go on as before, yeah?"

Sherlock's mind palace went dark and utterly silent, as his neurons ceased to function.

Finally he managed to take a breath and whisper a very hoarse, "What?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

A/N Chapter 2 (Which is also the last chapter of Many Firsts) will be posted in 48 hours or less.

I have no beta or Brit-picker, so if you see errors please let me know and I will fix them Thank you.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this. On your way out, please dispose of litter in the appropriate receptacles. Please also consider dropping off a review. :D

Ritual DIsclaimer I have no rights to anything remotely connected to Sherlock. Sadly, I still do not profit from writing fanfiction, although I'd be thrilled to get a review from you or a message...just saying ;P

**The lovely and gracious mocchafreppe has translated Many Firsts into Thai. The translation is available at… ... ...okay, please remember that FF won't publish links so let me try these instructions.

After the h and the t's and the p and the :and two backslashes

One would type bananaonthecake dot wordpress

Then one would type another dot com

Followed by backslash 2015backslash03backslash22

Followed by backslashtranslated-fic-many-firsts-1backslash.

If this address doesn't work it's because I screwed it up. Please send me a PM and I'll try sending you the link via telepathy, magic or another clever rewording of the above.

MANY THANKS to mocchafreppe for her kind words to me and for translating my story into Thai

:D :D :D :D :D