Morass: Interlude - sequal to Morass (might help to read it first) Establishing relationship.

"I thought you said we should wait?" Sherlock wrapped his long frame around John, his legs hooked around his waist to end up in the other man's lap.

"Yes, well." John ducked his head and rubbed his hand through his short hair. "I just thought if we didn't, you would over think it and it would never happen." Sherlock's chuckle sent shivers through John as he pulled the long feet up to inspect the last of the damage.

"It occurs to me, that we have discussed, intimately and at length my sexual proclivities." Sherlock's voice was deep and seductive as he nuzzled the back of John's neck, arms possessively wrapped around the shorter frame and the doctor shivered.

"I would think the worlds only consulting detective could have worked out by now that I'm a connoisseur."

"Mmmm," Sherlock's hands ran across the broad shoulders, his long thumbs swept up into the back of John's short hair and rubbed at the base of the skull. He had learnt from the space of last night to this morning, John made the most delicious sounds when he did that. He was rewarded with a breathy moan and a slight shiver.

"You're the deductive genius, so deduct." John moaned into the kiss as he rested against the strong chest of his lover.

"You were married and dated Sarah, and yet you managed to screw me into oblivion so you're obviously Bi."

"Oblivion?" John chuckled and then sobered. "Loved, I prefer the term loved. Screw is what you do to a one night stand."

Sherlock's hands stopped their possessive exploration and held his man tighter. "Thank you, but you are distracting me."

"You over think everything Sherlock, and in most cases I'm happy you are as brilliant as you are, but this does not need to be dissected." John turned his head over his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the full lips, his stubble scratched along Sherlock's jaw as he arched into the sensation, eyes heavy lidded and his mouth parted in on a silent moan. John chuckled again and turned in the bed as he wrapped his legs over Sherlock's, virtually sitting in his lap as his hands played across the defined pectorals of his sensual lover.

"In the past I have had many lovers, some women as you know, but also some men. Now this should not surprise you." John continued the tender assault as his hands calmed the furious heart beat underneath them. "For me it is not a question of sex, or even sexuality which I think is highly over rated, and totally abused." John kissed the full lips again and drew Sherlock into a full body embrace as he laid him back on the bed and stroked his fingers against the satin skin. "It's about the person. A look, a touch, a smile, something special about the person has to draw me." He ran the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's mouth. "I love you, for you. Not because you're a man, or because you're brilliant, or because you're fucking gorgeous." Sherlock blushed as his eyes narrowed. "And don't look at me like that because you are." Sherlock moaned wantonly as John kept the touches light and gentle. Too sated to really become aroused again, these touches inflamed other parts in the young detective, his heart and his soul. He felt loved and it was curious, the tiny butterfly hiccups in his stomach and the total peace and quiet he felt in his head. "I love you, because you are you." John kissed him again and rolled out of the bed he turned and saw the too bright eyes as Sherlock ran his hands through his hair and pulled the bedding up around his waist.

"Breakfast?" He asked hopefully.

"Starving." John answered.

Sherlock smirked and admired the view as John pulled his jeans on and a T shirt he recognised was one of his own.

~~~)))(((~~~

"Mummy makes her eggs different." Sherlock watched as John whisked the warmed milk and butter into the eggs before he put them back in the pan.

"So does mine."

"You still see her?"

"Who Mum? Yeah, not recently, I should do. Mind you she may have a heart attack when I take you home."

"Why?" Sherlock whose very nature bordered on psychotic movement was still in the quaint kitchen and John stopped for a second.

"Sherlock," he said with as much consideration he could muster without laughing, "she won't disapprove of you, or of me. Mum knows me too well."

"That's not it." Sherlock buttered the toast as he sat at the table with John.

"No?" puzzled John began to eat as he watched his lover.

"Why John? Why will she have a heart attack?"

"Because you idiot your too damned beautiful for your own good." John kissed him gently just as Mycroft entered.

"Finally, a happy announcement! Sorry I seem to constantly be interrupting."

Sherlock began to eat; his foot perched in John's lap as he flexed his long toes. "So Mycroft has sent the cleaners to Baker Street and apparently redecorated."

John frowned. "Redecorated? Since yesterday?"

"I have not. I simply improved your living space. Beside," Mycroft said with sinister delight, "you should know that redecorating is Mummy's thing."

John paled. "I am so fucking screwed."

Both the Holmes brothers looked on the stricken features, back to each other and then laughed.

"You know, I think I preferred it when you two were at each other's throats." John mumbled.

"Why?" Mycroft had to ask as he helped himself to breakfast.

"Because brother mine, when we are annoying each other we are leaving John alone."

~~~)))(((~~~

"Excellent!" even before the cry went up, John knew that the text had come from Lestrade; he also knew that it was a case, and Sherlock had been locked recently in a morass of ennui as he tried to come to terms with his emotions. Which, in Johns, professional opinion he wasn't really at terms with, but like most things when it got too far removed from his analytical and logical self, Sherlock guessed.

"Lestrade?"

"Double homicide, prominent banker and his wife." Sherlock rubbed his hands together and John chuckled.

"What?"

"Your mind rebels at stagnation, you need a problem to solve." John tugged him forward and kissed him gently.

"I can wait until after you've had the interview." Sherlock sat back on the edge of the bed as he wrapped a soft blue scarf around his long neck.

"Would it be obvious if I asked how you knew about the interview?"

"Bored John, so I pay a little more attention to things around me."

"You mean me."

"Yes, you're wearing your suit and regimental tie," long fingers waved at his attire. "You have your leather document folder which I know contains your CV, and you got a call from Mike this morning, it's not a big leap."

"No, your quite right of course, it's at Barts, part teaching, part ER. They want someone to teach triage in and out of the field. Mike called me and now you know as much as I do."

"Will the hours be regular?"

"Probably rostered, unless of course there is an emergency."

"Excellent. Most of my cases involve murders, so time is not of the essence. Some of the others may be problematic."

"No, wait, what? You'd wait for me to get off work so I can come with you?"

Sherlock looked down and frowned. "Not good?"

John reached up and kissed the downturned features. "You just surprise me at times. I'll meet you at Scotland Yard when I'm done, I could be a few minutes, I could be a few hours, depends on how the selection criteria is set."

"Ok." Uncertainty in the voice.

"Sherlock, Lestrade will look after you." He nuzzled the lips again.

"You look good." Sherlock breathed in the scent of aftershave.

"Well, if you need an incentive you can unwrap me when we get back."

Sherlock grinned.

~~~)))(((~~~

Sally Donovan winced as she came in contact with the chair, the bruise to her lower back was substantial and the hiss did not go unnoticed by her DI.

"My office now." Lestrade ordered as he loosened his tie. He hated press conferences, and this morning's had been particularly brutal. Nevertheless it was done now, nothing more to do than wait for word from the Super.

"Sir." She swayed from side to side, trying to unhitch the muscles as they locked in protest.

"You going to tell me what happened or do I need to cite regulations?"

"I slipped." Sally looked away.

"No you didn't."

"Actually I did."

"I see. Was Anderson involved with this slip of yours?"

Sally flushed. "No."

"New man then?"

"No."

"You realise I can order an investigation without your consent?"

"Yes sir."

Lestrade sighed heavily and clasped his hands in front of him as he looked at the Sergeant. "You're a big girl Sally, usually you can take care of yourself, however I will be watching."

"Thank you Sir."

"Alright, what have you got on the banker?"

"Thomas Wainwright, Investment banker worked on the trading floor of Shad Sanderson, married for six years, no kids, no debts. Well liked in the social circle."

"Brilliant." Lestrade grouched and looked up to see Holmes striding confidently towards his office.

Sally was the first to notice and despite her obvious discomfit, there was not denying the tenderness in his eyes. The superficial aloofness was there, the stride purposeful and arrogant and people fell back from him as if he was some kind of demi-God but there was a tiny change and Donovan and Lestrade shared a conspiratorial smile.

"Sally." Sherlock stopped at the door as he pulled off his gloves and cocked his head to one side. "Get rid of him." He said softly as he pushed his hands into his pockets.

"Sorry what?" Sally shook her head as Lestrade narrowed his eyes.

"If he hits you once, he'll hit you again. He's not worth it Sally, get rid of him while you can."

"Donovan?" Lestrade nodded Sherlock into the room and he sat on one of the rattan chairs.

"Bloody hell." Sally hissed. "Damn and sod and fuck." She said clearly as she studied her feet."Ok, it's only new and things got out of hand and he got a bit too handy, so yes, I got a bruise from my soon to be ex boyfriend. Happy now?"

"No." Sherlock said softly. "It should never have happened." He fixed her with his gimlet stare and she nodded.

"Go on Sally, sort your things out, and take Dimmock if you want."

"Now you had something for me?" Sherlock pressed.

"Bodies have already been moved, but I've got a significant number of crime scene photos along with lab and toxicology."

"When?"

"Yesterday morning. Can still take you over the crime scene if you want, Anderson should be finished over there."

"Oh goody." Sherlock sneered and stood impatiently by the door. "Well?" He demanded when Lestrade hadn't moved.

Shaken from his reverie Lestrade grabbed his jacket and keys.

~~~)))(((~~~

John frowned when he was lead into the interview room, his CV tucked under his arm. It was odd; in fact it was beyond odd. There should have been an application form, there should have been other applicants, and instead he was ushered in as if he was doing them a favour.

Mike Stamford grinned as he introduced John to the board and things went down the rabbit hole from there.

Within three hours he was now contemplating a very lucrative job offer, high placed position and the opportunity, health and hand tremors notwithstanding, to continue his chosen career of general surgeon.

John felt his head swim with the possibilities, yet at the same time, the tiny doubt he may not have gotten here on his own merit annoyed him. Somehow, he blamed Mycroft.

"You're wrong." Mike Stamford said as he fell into step with him.

"Sorry, what?" John lounged against a wall and watched the staff move with purpose around him.

"I didn't have to sell them too hard John, your reputation precedes you." Mike stuffed a mint into his mouth and smiled apologetically.

"I'm, ah, grateful that they know me at all, but then you did put in a word didn't you?" John folded his arms across his chest.

"Look, we need to teach triage, especially now with all the fear of terrorist attacks, we need to get the EMS and A&E back to where it should be, and frankly when I gave them your name and told them to look you up they were delighted."

"Psychosomatic limp and hand tremors notwithstanding, and let's not forget the PTSD."

"The limp will not stop you working, the hand tremor might hold you back as a surgeon, but your license is still valid and you are still considered a surgeon. And you are fit and not likely, and according to your therapist nor have you ever had flashbacks during waking hours, so as long as you're not asleep whilst at work, I don't see you have a problem."

"When did you get to be so insightful?" John's smile was crooked and just a little bit bitter.

"When you got to be so bloody pig headed and stupid." Mike popped another mint.

"How's the diet?"

"Don't ask."

"Don't tell." John smirked.

"How is Sherlock?"

"Yeah he's good, getting better all the time." John smirked and attempted to cover his gaff with a cough, unfortunately Mike knew him well enough to read between the lines.

"Bloody hell! You didn't?" Mike hooted.

"Erm."

"You did! You and Sherlock!"

"Mike, keep your voice down."

"Oh don't worry, the Director had his civil ceremony last week, he won't care. I just didn't know you batted for the other team."

"Um," John flushed gently. "Surprise?" he said weakly.

Mike Stamford slapped him on the shoulder and laughed again. "Well leaves more girls for me. Besides after Emma your due your share of happiness mate."

"Thanks."

Watson strolled out of the hospital, his mind was made up, well pending the conversation with Sherlock, but it was a good offer. Hell it was a great offer and it gave him enough free time to commit to Sherlock's erratic schedule. He knew though at some point it would grow, he couldn't remain part time for very long, there was always the chance he'd end up working in A&E. But that was something once he had a passion for.

He made his way out to the street and hailed a cab for Scotland Yard and rolled his shoulders. He didn't realise the impact of his private life on his public one and he shuddered for a moment, it shouldn't bother him, nor should it bother anyone else, but people would always be people. He sent a text.

Where are you? JW

Almost immediately he got the response.

At crime scene, going back to SY, did you get the job? SH

John grinned, bloody hell.

If I want it, will discuss with you later JWx

Watson giggled to himself, when did he become a teenage girl?

~~~)))(((~~~

She was of course beautiful, often she had been told as much but more often than not it was an attempt to keep her firmly in her place. She was privileged, elite, educated and why did she need to be a physicist again? Her father had asked many times with varying degrees of frustration.

Her marriage had been the social event of the year on two continents and from that union two amazing sons. Like night and day, but with the same heart, the same fire and passion that other's failed to understand. One who burned with a cold fire, calm to the point of reticence and then her baby, his fire was hot, his passion quicksilver as was his nature, he could transform within a second, and no one knew quite what to do with him or his frightening intellect.

She laughed, there really was nothing to do except love him. Now, according to Mycroft , after so many years of pain and doubt that her baby would belong, would be cherished for the unique man he was, it seemed her prayers had been answered, in the shape of an ex army surgeon.

She tapped the screen on her iPad again and read what she could of Dr John Watson, his medical background, his military service, his blog and finally Mycroft had thought to send a photo of the man himself. The picture had been taken without the participants knowledge, John's head was bent low as Sherlock looked up at him, and she was smitten.

The love between the two was obvious, their body language put them in syncopation, but then she saw the little battle lines on the good doctors face and realised in some ways Sherlock had met his match, both figuratively and emotionally.

Amelie had never travelled or traded on her husband's title, instead she went her own way in life, which had made her respected, successful and rich, but all those things were by products of her ability and had nothing to do with her heart or her greatest achievement. She was a mother before everything else; she traced her fingers across the photo of her baby and she smiled gently. This, these children were her passion. She had been breath to Sherlock's fire as a child, and he youth to her heart when she felt old. Mycroft had always been the solid one, the sensible one and she smiled to herself as she packed the last of her winter clothes into the Hermes bag and snapped it shut. Her oldest son has always been a bit of a hand full and full of mischief. She was relieved that now, the past seemed to be behind them and they now relied and counted on each other, that the bitterness had found an end.

Another reason, she ventured, she would have to be grateful to John Watson. But for all his worth, all his love and all his ability, she was still Mummy and he would not get off that easily. Now her laugh was wicked, she was, if nothing else a Holmes and had a certain reputation to live up to.