01/09/2012 Updated A/N: Resolving the issue of Natalie. Not thrilled with her at all.

As the three trudged up the stairs to the flat, Sherlock noticed Natalie seemed far too interested in John for his liking. He thought over how the odd girl was quite intelligent, fairly attractive and just a bit shorter than John. She laughed politely at his jokes, and casually let her hand brush across his more often than one would think necessary, which gave Sherlock a strange, uneasy feeling that she was trying to steal John. MY John. The only person who he ever truly loved, and who had tended to him so diligently for months whilst he was healing. The only man in the world he'd ever give his own life for, and now this Natalie was trying to wedge herself between them. Sherlock sat down on the sofa, and wrapped his arm around John's shoulder as Natalie flopped onto the armchair.

"Nice place, John. Very.. I like what you've done with the wall there." Natalie pointed to the yellow smiley face full of bullet holes, smiling curiously.

"That was Sherlock. Didn't care for the wallpaper." John patted Sherlock's knee lightly, then stood and walked over to the laptop and inserted the new CD. As he clicked play, Sherlock glanced over at Natalie to find her watching John's every move. He couldn't stand the thought of some.. fake skank... looking at John that way. It was too much to bear anymore. He rose from the seat, and walked over to Natalie who was now staring at John with an evil grin on her face. Sherlock gripped her collar and pulled her up from the armchair. John heard the struggle behind him, and whipped around to see a very angry Sherlock dragging the girl to the door. "Sherlock! What the hell?"

"I'm sorry, John. I won't let her do this." He opened the door to the flat and pushed Natalie out to the stairs, then pointed down towards the front door. "Leave. Now." Sherlock walked back into the flat, then slammed the door and locked it behind him. As he crossed the room to the sofa and sat back down, John stared in amazement and confusion.

"What was that all about? Sherlock?" John shut off the music and walked over to the coffee table. As he stood in front of Sherlock, he noticed a wet streak on Sherlock's face. "What happened?"

"Nothing. Just.. She didn't belong here, John. She's a tramp and just.. I can't even talk to you right now. I'm angry. I'm so angry I let her come here, I'm angry I didn't just deck her one back at that shop.." Sherlock sniffled once, then stood up and walked to the bathroom without a word. As the door clicked shut behind him, he sank down to the floor and stared up at the light bulb in the fixture. He felt so torn. He wanted to lock John away, keep him from the rest of the world so no one could ever try to come between them. But he knew how that would hurt John, and that's the last thing he wanted to do. Ever.

"Sherlock.. Please open up. Talk to me. I wanna know what's wrong. Sherlock?" John knocked on the bathroom door for the third time, when he heard something shuffling about on the other side. He leaned back just as the door opened, and a puffy-eyed Sherlock emerged. "Good lord, Sherlock.. Whats gotten into you?"

"I don't want to lose you.. That's all.. The way she kept looking at you, and how you two were talking and laughing.. It just made me realize how easy it might be for someone like her to come in and wreck everything." Sherlock walked out to the armchair, then sat down, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

"You're not going to lose me. Not to anyone. I promise that." John stood beside him and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm tired.. Maybe we should just call it a night?"

"Right.." Sherlock said softly, then followed John back to bed. As they lay under the covers, John thought over what Sherlock had said. He had to think of a way to reassure him. Have to talk with Mycroft.. First I'll deck him for his little stunt, then ask for ideas.. That should go well..

"Sherlock.. Hey. Wake up. I'm going out for a bit. Maybe a couple hours, okay?" John stood beside the bed, pulling his jacket on as Sherlock rubbed his eyes and sat up.

"What? Oh. Okay. I'll see you later then." He pulled back the covers and climbed out of bed, stretching and yawning as he walked over to John. He wrapped his arms around him, and kissed John on the forehead before walking out to the bathroom. John left the flat, knowing the black car outside was for him, even though he had only asked in his text if Mycroft was busy. As he walked out to the street and slid into the backseat, he glanced back up at the bedroom window. He pulled the door shut, hoping his talk with Mycroft would be productive.

Once he arrived, John was led up to Mycroft's office and ushered inside. He stood facing Mycroft's desk when he heard the door open behind him. John turned around and marched over, clenching his fists. He swung at Mycroft, John's fist connecting perfectly with Mycroft's jaw. John held his fist for a moment, realizing that it hurt much more than he'd expected, while Mycroft held his chin, and nodded. "Very well, John. Good to see you too. What's this about?" Mycroft walked over to his desk and sat in the chair behind it, looking at John with amusement. "Oh, wait. The little test, is it? Still mad about that? Well, I am sorry, John. I should have done something more.. subtle."

"Subtle? How about less dangerous? Or.. or.. not involving kidnapping? Even just not so bloody terrifying! You have no idea, Mycroft." John took a seat across from the insensitive, pompous jerk. "Look, even though I can't think of a single reason to forgive you, I do need to talk to you. About Sherlock."

"Right, I see.. How is my dear brother doing these days?"

"He's afraid someone may come between us, you see.. Break us up. I want to reassure him, but I'm not really sure how."

"Ah, and so you've come to ask my help then? Well, I suppose since its to benefit my little brother I could help you.. Let me think it over a bit, and I'll get back to you with my ideas. For now, though, pay extra attention to him, John. Take him out on the town, buy him a small gift, just stay home and talk all night. Do what you can to show him you're his. Best of luck." Mycroft rose from his seat and shook John's hand before leading him out of the office. John rode home to Baker Street in the same black sedan that had picked him up, and he arrived just as Sherlock was leaving.

"Sherlock! Where are you off to?"

"Taking a walk. Why?"

"Well, I thought we could spend the day together, you know, just us and some cheesy old movies. How 'bout it?" John pleaded with him, hoping to get upstairs soon as it was rather windy out. "Please?"

"Fine. Lets go." Sherlock followed him back up to the flat, and the detective tossed his coat and scarf over the back of the armchair as he walked over to the sofa. He stared at the blank TV screen while John was in the kitchen making a pot of tea to warm them up. Sherlock turned on the telly, then flipped through the channels and shut it off again. He was already bored, and was still rather upset about the previous day's events. John emerged from the kitchen moments later with two hot cups of tea. He set them down on the coffee table and took his seat beside Sherlock, who immediately slid over and laid down, his head on John's lap like a miserable puppy.

"Sherlock. You.. wanna talk?" John ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark, messy curls as he rolled onto his back.

"Where were you this morning?" Sherlock looked up at John, his eyes narrowed.

"Went to have a chat with your brother." John laid his arm across Sherlock's chest, then sipped his tea, careful not to spill it on him.

"That's all? What about?" Sherlock looked at John's hand that lay on his chest, and saw the redness around his knuckles. "Had it out, did you? Finally slugged him for that little game he played a few months back. Very nice, John."

"Yeah, I suppose. He deserved it though." John bent forward and kissed Sherlock. "What he did.. He scared me with that. Though I was going to lose you." John slid off the sofa gently then walked out to the kitchen and put his cup in the sink. When he returned to the lounge, Sherlock was gone. He looked around and saw his overcoat and scarf still on the armchair, so he walked back to the bed room, where he found Sherlock in bed with the covers up to his chin.

"Come to bed John. There's nothing to do, its a terrible day out and I know you haven't been sleeping too well." Sherlock patted the bed, and John smiled as he crawled under the blanket. As they lay there, warm and comfortable together, John realized that Mycroft had helped without trying really. He hadn't stopped John from hitting him, and the blow left the doctor's knuckles red and swollen, which Sherlock had noticed easily.

John closed his eyes, and replayed the discussion on the sofa over and over in his mind, thinking about what he'd said. He had reassured Sherlock right then, without really trying, and it was showing in his mood already. Sherlock pulled John to him tighter, and John sighed softly, knowing he'd have to send a thank you to Mycroft. That can wait.. John thought to himself as he heard Sherlock snore softly beside him.

So, the 'why didn't John deck Mycroft' issue is now resolved, Natalie is gone for good, and I'm going to start work on the final chapter. Please review if you haven't done already!