John was humming to himself as he entered the living room. He settled onto the sofa with his laptop.

Sherlock gave him a searching look before turning back to his papers. "New woman?"

It was still surprising to John how easily Sherlock could read him, even after all these years. "An old one, actually." It felt good to contradict Sherlock a little.

Arching an eyebrow, Sherlock gave him a look of distaste. "Really? Given up chasing after the fast ones, and going for the ones with bad hips now? Should Mrs. Hudson be warned?"

John gave a small huff at his friend. "I meant it's a woman I've known for many years."

"And somehow think things have changed enough she'll give you another chance." Sherlock nodded, his tone dismissive.

John was used to Sherlock's attitude towards his dating life. He was never encouraging and rarely kept their names straight. John usually kept contact between his dates and Sherlock to the absolute minimum. Hardly told Sherlock much about them anymore.

This time it was a little different. "Sarah Sawyer. We all went to the Chinese Circus together."

"Did she ever forgive you for that?" Sherlock quickly asked.

John shrugged. Sure, she had been tied up and almost killed at one point, but she seemed to have rebounded from it. "Yes, Sherlock. We dated for several months after that."

"So, what has changed that you are pursuing her again?" Sherlock grumbled, not really sounding interested.

John chose his words carefully. He had to get Sherlock intrigued. "Things never felt finished with her, you know what I mean? Anyways, she is studying now to become a psychiatrist."

"Pointless."

John ignored the comment, charging forward. "She gave me a test I thought you might like to try."

"My IQ is 5 points above Einstein's."

Sighing, John shook his head. "No, it's a test we would do together. But never mind, you look busy. Maybe we could try it later." He turned to make some tea for them both.

By the time he set a hot mug by Sherlock, he could tell the berk was squirming with questions. John calmly sat down and flipped through a magazine.

"What does the test involve?"

John lowered his magazine. "Just a list of 36 questions we both answer in sequence, telling the answers to each other. It takes about two hours and we could do it here, and send her the video afterwards." He kept his tone casual, trying to sound like he didn't care.

Of course, it was the complete opposite. He was jumping at this chance to impress Sarah again, giving her good study data for her research. When they had run into each other at a physician conference, John had been struck by how attractive she still was, and was pretty certain he saw a spark of interest in her eyes as well.

"What kind of questions?"

John tried not to grin in response. It was almost like pulling in a big fish; once hooked, you had to draw him in little by little.

"I haven't looked at them. Sarah said they would show how well we knew each other." He aimed for nonchalance.

Sherlock scoffed. "After living with you for years, I know everything about you. Too much, really."

"Same here." John laughed. "We would probably zip through the questions in half the normal time."

He could tell that worked. Sherlock never could resist a challenge. He sat up straighter, his eyes focused on John. "Let's do it. Do you have time now?"

John got up, looking around. "Yes. I'll just have to set up the camera."

Twenty-three minutes later, John had things in place. He moved the two armchairs to be a little closer to the coffee table, and the camera captured that half of the living room well.

"OK, let's sit down and get going. Sherlock, I've set it up so we can move around. You can sit on the sofa or your chair." John pulled out his phone, and opened the email attachment from Sarah.

Sherlock sat in his chair, crossing his legs, and looking like he usually did in a dress shirt and trousers, with his robe open over it all.

John did a quick check of his clothes, making sure he hadn't dripped tea on his shirt and that it was tucked in neatly. With a small exhale, he hit the record button and sat down in his armchair.

"Hi there. This is John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, and we will be running through the questions for your study." He gave the date and time, and then turned back to Sherlock.

Grinning a little nervously, he just hoped Sherlock would behave and take the study seriously. He wanted to have a good video to send to Sarah.

Swallowing hard, John read out the first question. "Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Sir Isaac Newton."

John laughed. "I think it has to be someone alive."

"Boring." Sherlock scoffed. "Fine. Stephen Hawking."

"Does he even eat? I don't think he's able, in his condition." John had seen other people with advanced ALS and they were usually tube fed.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock huffed impatiently. "I think the intent of the question is who you would like to converse with in a casual social setting for an evening. In that case, whether or not he is chewing on some Welsh rarebit while we do so hardly seems the essential component. I would enjoy an evening of discussing theoretical physics with him."

John considered stopping the video and starting over. This was hardly a good way to begin the session. But after a moment's consideration, he shrugged. Sarah knew Sherlock, and had seen him bickering with John like this before. She knew it was typical.

"I would pick my friend Alex. He is still stationed overseas and it's hard to keep in touch." John answered.

"Would you like to be famous? In what way?" John read out, thinking about how to answer. "Well, we have the blog and have steady clients. We've been in the paper a few times. I think the level we have is enough. Wouldn't want to be famous enough that people stared at us when we went to the pub."

Sherlock looked at him inquiringly. "Yet you sometimes seem a bit put out when people know who I am, and don't know you." He looked up for a second. "I don't think being too well known is effective for a private investigator."

John was tempted to debate what Sherlock had said, but decided to leave it for later. They were being recorded and had a lot of questions to get through.

"Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?" John lowered the phone. "Hmmmm...No, I just wing it."

Sherlock nodded. "If it's for a case, I'll research the person beforehand, and vary my approach to get the information I want."

John was relieved that some of the questions were easy to answer like that one. "What would constitute a "perfect" day for you?" He chuckled after reading it out. This one could be interesting.

"I'd say a day when I'm able to see a lot of patients, and feel I've really helped them. Then going out for a good meal with friends, joking around, and flirting with the server. Coming back here to work on the blog, or help you with a case." John shrugged.

Sherlock made a disgusted sound. "Bollocks. Are you going to give such sanitized answers to all the questions? If so, this is a bloody waste of time." He got up, and walked as far as the kitchen before spinning around. He sat down on the sofa, facing John with a challenging look in his eye. "Your perfect day would be waking up with a woman for a round of morning sex, then barely making it to work on time. You would help patients, but be madly text flirting with the woman on breaks. When I text you later to meet me at a crime scene, you happily help me chase criminals half the night before grabbing some Thai takeaway and crashing in bed after midnight."

John chuckled at the description, which was almost exactly had happened a couple weeks ago. It had been great, even though he hardly could stay awake at work the next day. He'd had many days like that since moving in with Sherlock.

"My perfect day would be solving a great case." Sherlock said simply.

"Bollocks." John snapped back with a grin. "It's a challenging, locked door, double murder that rates a 9 or higher on your arbitrary scale, ending with a good chase over half of London. Then getting praised heartily by everyone for how brilliant you were to figure it out. Or getting some strange body part to do experiments on from Molly."

Sherlock grinned back at his friend, not denying the truth of what John said.

"When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?" was the next question. It took John a minute to consider it. "Um, last time in front of another person was probably Mike, singing 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles'."

Sherlock's brows drew down. "You sing songs to Mike? About bubbles?"

"Sheesh, Sherlock, your knowledge of sport is as bad as the Solar System. It's an old song people have sung at Hammers games for a century or so." John rolled his eyes at his friend.

"It's hard to imagine a whole stadium of soccer hooligans singing a song about bubbles. How does it go?" Sherlock looked intrigued again.

John knew it would be simpler to just sing the damn song than try to get Sherlock to drop the topic.

"I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.

They fly so high, nearly reach the sky, then like my dreams they fade and die.

Fortunes always hiding, I've look everywhere.

I'm forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air."

He was probably blushing by the time he finished singing, and hoped the camera wouldn't pick it up.

"That song is horrendous." Sherlock said bluntly.

John wasn't surprised. He shrugged. "It's tradition, and hilarious when a few thousand drunk men sing it at a game." He doubted Sherlock would even understand the fun of hanging out with one's mates like that, getting caught up in an exciting match. "What about you? Any awful Eton or uni song you sing with your school mates in eight part harmony?" Somehow he couldn't picture it.

Sherlock gave an elegant shrug. "I can't recall the last time I sang with other people, but I have had a song stuck in my head for a few weeks and keep singing it in the shower."

"Really? I never heard you." John laughed in surprise.

"Well, I'm hardly belting it out." Sherlock smirked, enjoying shocking his friend a little.

John smiled in return. "Well, come on then. You made me sing about blowing bubbles. Your turn to sing now."

With a huff, Sherlock sat back on the sofa, crossing his legs.

"And now you know I can't smile without you.

I can't smile without you.

I can't laugh and I can't sing.

I'm finding it hard to do anything.

You see I feel sad when you're sad.

I feel glad when you're glad.

If you only knew what I'm going through.

I just can't smile."

John chuckled, moving to the edge of his chair. "After all these years together, are you saying you are a Spurs fan?"

Sherlock looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"That song! It's by Barry Manilow and Tottenham fans sing it." John searched Sherlock's face, but could see he wasn't familiar with the connection.

Looking a little uncomfortable, Sherlock shifted under John's gaze. "Um, I think I heard it when you were watching a match on the Telly a few weeks ago. It's been stuck in my head since then."

John nodded, piecing things together. "West Ham played Tottenham then. You probably heard the fans singing it."

"Is this really what we should be doing for the study? Singing ridiculous songs and talking about football?" Sherlock clearly wanted to move things along.

Knowing he would be teasing Sherlock later about the song, John let it go now. "The next question is an easy one. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?"

"Obviously the mind for both of us." Sherlock said quickly.

John nodded in agreement. Although Sherlock said he didn't care about his 'transport', he took pretty good care of it. He was forty now, but still slim and fit enough to chase down suspects without seeming very out of breath.

"Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?"John read out, and waited for Sherlock to respond.

"Oh, heroically, I'm sure. Falling off a waterfall fighting my nemesis, or something like that." Sherlock quipped, obviously not wanting to delve deep into that one.

John laughed along. "I thought many times that I would die on the battlefield. I'm surprised it didn't happen that way." He paused, thinking how to answer. "Now, it will be probably extremely unheroic, foolishly following you into something dangerous or trying to jump between buildings."

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Perfectly safe. I do it all the time."

"But in the thrill of the chase, you forget your legs are a half foot longer than mine." John gave a little glare at the berk before looking back at his phone. They had had enough fights about that in the past. Sherlock would whizz over fences, hop over barricades like an Olympic gymnast, and then holler at John to hurry up when he fell behind trying to clamber over the obstacles.

"Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common." John paused to think, still feeling a bit irked at Sherlock. "That we are flatmates, like Mrs. Hudson, and like a hot curry."

Sherlock got up and moved to his armchair, looking at John from this closer distance. "We both like the sound of a good violin concerto, the thrill of the chase, and cuddling during a storm."

John's eyes widened at that, and flicked over to the camera. Shite. What would Sarah make of that?

It had been a strange situation, after all. They had been on a case, around 1 am in a bad part of town, when it had started to pour. There were no taxis around, no businesses open, nowhere to go to get out of the rain or dry off.

Sherlock had yanked John into the partial shelter of a doorway, huddling together in the deepest corner to avoid the rain. They were already so wet, and it didn't show signs of letting up. John had slicked the water from his face and hair as best as he could, watching Sherlock do the same. Sherlock had ended up with his wet curls finger combed back from his face, making his face look even more angular.

The rain had trickled down John's collar, and he shivered in his damp clothes, just hoping the rain would end soon, and they could go home.

Sherlock must have noticed the shiver, and he tugged John near, wrapping his Belstaff around them both. It was warmer against Sherlock, so he let go of his normal inhibitions, cuddling closer. A few minutes later, he felt Sherlock's arms tighten around him, and his cheek pressed against his forehead.

They stood like that for a long time, the only sounds were the heavy rainfall nearby, and their breathing. A timeless bubble that was just the two of them. John didn't even think the whole time, just so aware of Sherlock, dominating every sense. Only seeing and hearing him. Feeling his warmth, his body so close, surrounding John. Smelling his damp skin. Skin so close he could lean in and press his lips to his neck. Taste him.

Eventually the rain eased, and they made jokes to diffuse the tension as they left. John still felt awareness of Sherlock thrumming along every nerve on the long taxi ride home. They had never spoken about it.

Until now. He looked back at Sherlock, and could see he was remembering that night. Had he thought about it as often as John had?

"For what in your life do you feel most grateful?" John continued with the questions, not sure what else to do. These questions were slowly getting more personal. He tried lightening the mood. "Well, I'm bloody grateful to still be alive! Between being in the army and now working with you, you'd think I had a death wish."

Sherlock gave a quick smile in response, before his expressions sobered again. "I'm most grateful that you came into my life, John. You have changed me in so many ways."

John nodded in agreement. Sherlock had certainly done the same for him also.

"If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?" John looked down at the rug. "Harry." He looked up, meeting Sherlock's jade green eyes. "When our parents died in that crash, I was too self-involved in my own grief. I didn't see how hard it was hitting her, how lost she was. Didn't see how much she was drinking, that it was a problem, for years."

Sherlock shook his head, moving forward to sit on the edge of his chair. "John, you were both teenagers, dealing with a terrible loss. And a lot of young people drink heavily in their twenties."

"I should have spent more time with her, given her a chance to talk, found her support. If I had done it back then, maybe she wouldn't have become an alcoholic." John felt some tears escaping, and Sherlock passed him a real handkerchief. He half-chuckled that Sherlock still carried them, dabbing at his eyes.

Sherlock straightened up. "Well, if I could change anything about my upbringing, it would be to have taken singing lessons instead of the violin. You heard me. I would have been great!"

Even though he knew Sherlock was trying to cheer him up, John found himself smiling back. "Sherlock Holmes Sings Barry Manilow's Hits."

"Exactly!" Sherlock gave John the grin he loved the best, the unreserved whole face one when his eyes crinkled up. "I'm going to make some more tea." He jumped up, taking the tea things with him, and banged around in the kitchen.

Shaking his head, John got up to check the video. The audio and visuals seemed fine. He could hear Sherlock singing "Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl..." as he went down to the loo.

XXX

-Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-A/N: This fic is three chapters long and complete. I'll post some notes about the study after the last chapter.