A/N: This is my first published story and I know there must be lots of grammatical error, but English is not my first language, so please be kind to me.

Disclaimer: I definitely am not Sir ACD nor BBC, I just shamelessly using their character to satisfy myself.

Warning: There will be male and male relationship in this fic, I suggest you to close this fic if you didn't like it, though it weird considering the summary was pretty clear about this.

EDITED: This is the beta-version of the first chapter. Thanks to Eli.

Chapter 1 : Yes

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The woman with ebony hair positively trembled with excitement as she gazed at the band sliding down her ring finger.

There was a short pause before the man replied in a hoarse voice. "Yes, Mary. I need this."

Totally mesmerised by the gold ring circling her finger, she didn't notice the word that he emphasised nor the misery that flitted across his face just before his reply. To be fair, John did lose control only for a second, and there was only one person who could have possibly noticed a thing like that just after being proposed to. Hell, with his power of observation he would not only have noticed, he would even have known the reason for it.

Mary was saying something else but John tuned her out. He was just glad she didn't suspect anything. He sighed in relief and closed his eyes for a second and his old roommate came into view as easy as that. As usual he was wearing his long coat, that blue scarf and John's favourite shirt, the purple shirt. John avoided looking at his face, afraid he would find that same blood covered face, a replica of what he saw nearly three years ago.

'John, look at me.' The voice was barely above a whisper but John could hear it clearly, he simply pretended not to.

'John.' It was getting louder and louder, demanding his attention, just like it had before he jumped from that bloody building, arrogant and demanding. Twat. John finally looked up and saw that Sherlock's face was cleared of blood.

'This is for the best,' he said.

John shook his head. This was a mistake. Of course this was not for the best. It was, so far, the stupidest thing Sherlock had said to him. But then again, it was his imagination, it was his own word, so as a matter of fact he was the one who was stupid.

It reminded him of the first few days after the burial. John would sit in Sherlock's seat, adopting his usual pose - drawing his legs close to his chest and looping his arms around them - hoping that maybe by imitating his pose and behaviour he could understand and he could have closure, eventually move on, but no such luck. He couldn't understand Sherlock and therefore he couldn't move on. Sherlock's mind was far too brilliant and it was impossible for John's stupid brain to comprehend that. 'Was far too brilliant.' John thought bitterly.

'I'm sorry, John.' Sherlock's face looked pained although it was impossible for him to really feel the pain, but still, it broke John's heart. He moved his hand toward Sherlock's face, but stopped an inch before he touched it.

"I love you."

And then he touched it.

The skin. It felt real. It was real. But instead of touching a smooth and sharp cheekbone, he touched soft rounded skin. Instead of caressing curly, unruly locks, he caressed straight and long hair.

Mary, finally shifted her gaze from the ring and stopped talking. She kissed the palm of John's hand, flung her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder, whispering 'I love you too' into his ear.