A few weeks pass them by in a rush after their dinner at Angelo's and life resumes it's normal pattern. John tidies and makes cups of tea, while Sherlock bolts from the flat as soon as Lestrade texts with an interesting case.

After one such race about town they return to 221B tired, cold and looking forward to a relaxing cup of tea. Moments after they entered the flat itself they hear Mrs. Hudson's characteristic, "Whoo-hoo," John steps back out the sitting room door and looks down the stairs to see their landlady looking up at him.

"Is it alright if I come up in ten minutes, it's been a while since we had a chat."

Pursing his lips in confusion, John, none the less, responds. "Of course Mrs. Hudson, come on up, I'll put the kettle on."

He's further befuddled by her response, "No worries dear, I'll bring a tray up, I just made some cake and a pot of tea." with that she disappears back into 221A.

His head tilted sharply to the right John turns and strides back into the sitting room whilst his brow draws down in frustrated confusion. Now that he thinks about it they haven't seen Mrs. Hudson since the dinner at the manor. At first she had gone off to see her sister while some work was done on her flat. Then, when she came back, other than Sherlock telling him she'd dropped round with this or that while he was at work, John had only seen her, in passing, in the common front-hall of the building.

Sherlock nods, "She has been avoiding coming up here, yes it is because she's worried about walking in on us. I suggest we agree upon some method of warning her that we're ha..."

"Sherlock!" John breaks in harshly, then continues a bit softer, "I beg you, do not finish that sentence! And if you must bring up anything about our physical relationship, please for the love of god use a euphemism."

Just a tiny bit of a wheedling tone of voice, "But John, if I do that, then my intent may not be clear. Which could lead to horrible misunderstandings."

Mentally groaning John gives in to the inevitable, "Let me do the talking then." his suspicions confirmed as Sherlock's expression is instantly sunny and he rushes to give John a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you John."

Then again, maybe he was actually just as uncomfortable talking about it, for different reasons than John was and yet he had the feeling...

"Boys?" Mrs. Hudson hovers in the doorway, for the first time a bit uncertain. John grins at her and relieves her of the tray. "Bless, Mrs. Hudson, we could have come down to you, you shouldn't have to carry this heavy thing about."

Typical Martha Hudson behaviour, she waves him off, "Oh don't be silly, my hip gives me some grief, but not that much." she none the less looks relieved for John to be taking the thing off her. Her eyes dart around the flat, taking in the neat piles of papers in the sitting room, the orderly mess of the table (the microscope and all experiment paraphernalia has been shifted leaving more open space for normal uses), and the lack of dishes in the sink.

"Well, looks like Sherlock has kept his promise, haven't you dear." she dismissively pats him on the arm. Normally this would have had Sherlock reacting, pulling his cold personality on like armour, but no, not this time.

Sherlock smiles down at Mrs. Hudson and then turns his head to watch John positioning the tray on the work table. "I've not had an opportunity to conduct any experiments in the last weeks."

Smiling she squeezes his arm and then steps past him to receive the cup of tea John was holding out to her. "Thank you John."

For a few minutes there is companionable silence as everyone sits. John offers his seat to the lady he looks upon as their 'ersatz mother' and pulls one of the work table chairs out to sit beside Sherlock's leather chair.

Watching the little glances between them Martha grins like a school girl in her mind, outwardly putting on a mock scolding expression. "Now boys, I expect, that if the neighbours complain about the noises at night, you will be sound proofing your room. At your own cost mind. I do not see that as part of our leasing agreement."

John sits as though frozen and Sherlock sputters weakly on tea swallowed the wrong way, though he recovers first. "Well that neatly gets around the difficulties in broaching the topic. Now doesn't it John?"

With a cough John starts out of his mortified trance, "It does, yes." carefully setting down his cup and saucer John rubs a hand over his face roughly, he restlessly sits back toying with the handle of his cup, avoiding both Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock's eyes. "It would seem like we need to discuss some warning signs or..."

"Oh seriously now," she breaks in over John, who pulls back a bit surprised, "I might not be getting up to all the high jinks you two are, at my time of life, but I can still tell when two people are about to fall upon one another."

She sips her tea quietly, waiting, watching John work through being shocked silent a second time, picking up his tea and taking a sip.

With a devilish smirk she hides behind the rim of her cup, "Besides, if the worst did happen neither of you is too difficult to look at, I'm sure it would be worse for you than it would be for me."

With this pronouncement, Mrs. Hudson moves to leave. "Keep the tray a bit dears, must dash, I have an appointment with the physio for my hip." Sherlock watches her leave with wide eyes as he is thumping a coughing John, who tried to swallow and at the same time spit the tea out his nose, on the back.

After that Mrs. Hudson resumed her mothering routine, if she gavel her lodgers an earlier warning, calling out for them before she starts up the stairs instead of at the door to the sitting room, well that gave ample time to scramble to the loo, or Sherlock's room and put something on.

If Sherlock doesn't flounce about proclaiming his boredom to the world anymore, or takes precautions, when doing experiments in the flat, that nothing is damaged, and no one is harmed, then John smiles and drops a kiss amongst the unruly curls.

If he hovers in the door on the way to a crime scene, wordlessly giving John time to put his cup of tea down, or get out of the shower, no one knows, but Sally smiles at them every time he hesitates at the barrier tape instead of erratically leaving while John is still talking to Lestrade.

If he doesn't bait his brother so badly, and from time to time actually helps him, not a soul dares mention it. It is a thing to behold the two Holmes brothers taking ahold of an issue from either end and unraveling it till they meet in the middle. All one can do is stand by and look on in awe.

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And that's it for the main Johnlock story 'The Gamble', thank you everyone who has read, followed and encouraged me in this, JJ (junejuly15) and Sendai I'm looking at you here. A HUGE thank you to my fanfic hero Skyfullofstars, thank you for reading my story and saying such nice things about it. If you don't know any of these people, look them up ;)

You can look forward to more in this AU, though as small break while I write something else for someone, will happen now.

xxxxxPRIVATE NOTE TO THE 'GUEST' VIOLINIST who reviewed ch 13xxxxx

As hard as it may be to believe, but I meant to use the term 'half tempo' in that exact way, but NOT as you have assumed I meant. Having been a musician for 25 years (though currently taking time off to raise children) I have done this many, many times. When learning a new and difficult piece, with killer runs that are so fast there is bairly any time to produce the sound you need; one takes the passage at 'half tempo' to learn it and get a grip on the foundations of the passage. Just like Sherlock is taking apart the memory to see how it goes together in the first place.

But I thought, wait a minute, maybe I was wrong, maybe babybrain has rotted even THAT away in my head, so I asked. I asked a performing soprano, who is also a Musicologist, Uni Lecturer, organist, obo player, composer and my best mate since we were 14. She uses 'half tempo' in this way, constantly. Especially with Schönberg's 8 Lieder, yikes!