"That was just…." Greg trailed off, stared straight ahead. He pressed his chin further into his bandaged hand. The detective was draped in Sherlock's chair, with a worn, exhausted and stunned expression on his face. His clothes were rumpled and dirty - his long overcoat was bunched around him from when he had dropped himself bonelessly into the chair. Greg had thought to leave several times, but found himself frozen; his mind was stuck in a loop, replaying what happened. His body felt hollow as the adrenaline of the night had left him long ago, and all he could manage was to sit and try to keep it together.

"Hmmm" Sherlock indicated in agreement from the end of the sofa, as he gazed out the window into the midnight sky. Sherlock was in a bit of shock from it all, and he worked to stay under control. Red brick dust was prominent on his black coat and the ends of his blue scarf had blackened. He rested his chin on heel of his hand, while he dug his fingernails into his palm and pressed his knuckles against his nose. His hands smelled of burnt wood, brick, and the antiseptic the paramedics had used to clean the cuts and burns.

Sherlock tried to catalog his injuries, count the cuts and imprint the feel of his burnt skin, but instead found himself focused on the emotions he had felt – panic, terror, helpless, and frantic. The intensity of those emotions had been at the highest level ever experienced by Sherlock. If he hadn't felt it regarding John, he would have carefully analyzed and saved the relevant data, and deleted the rest so he could move forward. Apparently, deletion was not possible when it came to John. He gazed at Greg for a moment, and then over to John next to him on the sofa

The only sound John made was deep, controlled breathing. John focused on the in and out sound of his breath, the feel of air filling through his nose, into his chest and then released out his mouth. He tried to imagine his fears in front of him, hung like a fog that he could draw into his lungs, convert into carbon dioxide, and then harmlessly exhale. He lay with his shoulders leaning against the arm of the sofa, body on the cushions, both feet dangling off the edge, with one foot planted on the ground. He was prone in the position where he had flung himself on the sofa, and never adjusted for comfort. His right arm was folded over his face and covered his eyes.

John's clothes and body were the most telling of the events of the evening. He was covered with black soot and dust, his denim and jacket had tears, and soaked into his cream colored jumper was blood. His hands and face had been scrubbed clean and treated, bits of glass that had embedded were removed, patches of skin covered in plaster, to protect the cuts and burns. His head and body ached with bruises.

John stood on lookout in front of the abandoned warehouse by the river. Sherlock and Greg had gone inside from the back, to search for the girl that was missing for the past 2 days - their witness to the murder. As John's eyes scanned the street, his ears filled with a high pitched whine and rumble, felt the force of an explosion on his back and saw the evening sky alight as the fire shot through the warehouse. Around him he heard debris raining down and he turned to see the warehouse engulfed.

On instinct - John ran as fast as he could, to find a way in. The far end was not yet in flame and he pushed his way through an open window. He felt a wall of heat greet him, and he struggled to keep his head up and eyes open as the heat and brightness of the flame seemed to push him down. He gazed about to get his bearings when a crashing sound came into his ears from the far end. John could see the roof of the warehouse had just fallen in on the opposite side. He didn't have much time.

John frantically searched the building for Greg and Sherlock. He was panicked, overwhelmed with the feeling that on this night, his luck had run out - this would be the time when he would lose one of them – or both. As he saw his escape routes closed in heat and flame, he went further and further into the recesses of the old warehouse. In the dark and the smoke, he stumbled upon a clumped figure on the ground and John was stunned to find - it was the girl they had been looking for.

John took a moment to breathe; he was ashamed to realize he had completely forgotten about her. He quickly regained his composure, and dropped down next to her. She was alive, barely. She had some bruising on her wrists and a cut lip, but the worse was the head wound that had bleed significantly on the ground, created a large pool of blood around her. The bastards had bludgeoned her, set fire to the warehouse, and left her to die. John gathered her body into his arms and started his way through the building once more. With new purpose, he looked for a way out, but his body ached as he continued to scan for Sherlock and Greg, and a fear built up in his mind that he was leaving them behind somewhere.

He saw on the back side of the building, a large window. The smoke started to surround him, and he could feel the heat, hear the fire behind him, and there was a vibration coming through the floor – the warehouse was about to collapse. John grasped the girl tightly to his chest and started to run.

Greg and Sherlock had been very near the explosion when it ripped through the warehouse, and were thrown against the exterior wall. Greg had the wind knocked out of his lungs on impact, but Sherlock immediately recovered and pulled Greg through the nearest door as the flame and heat shot out at them.

Sherlock had quickly checked over Greg for injuries, and as Greg caught his breath again, Sherlock attempted to go back into the warehouse to search for the girl. But Greg held him back, pulled out his mobile and started to direct the fire department to the location. Sherlock also reached for his mobile, to ring John, but only got his voicemail. He glanced at the fire and then to Greg, who had the same crestfallen look on his face, as they both realized that the girl was most likely dead. Sherlock slowly walked away from Greg, along the length of the building, headed towards the front where John was. At the sound of breaking glass, Sherlock and Greg looked between them, to see John as he came through the window and the exterior wall came down at the same time.

John had thrown himself through the window sideways; he hoped to shield the girl from the glass and the landing. When they had gone through, he saw the exterior wall had started to come down, and he rolled his body over the girl, and covered his head, as the brick and wood landed on and around them. They were buried out of sight, under a large pile of burning rubble.

"Shit!" Greg said, shouted into the phone, "Hurry, we've got injured!" and he started to run towards the pile of debris that entombed John and the girl. Sherlock reached the pile first, and started to frantically dig. The warehouse groaned, and another portion of wall came down nearby.

Greg shouted "Sherlock, get back!" but nothing registered with Sherlock as he kept digging. Greg reached him, and he started to dig as well.

"JOHN!" one of them shouted. Sherlock emitted a string of "No, no, no, no…." as he pulled burning wood and shattered debris away. Greg's hands became nicked and burned, and he started to lose some feeling in the tips of his fingers, but he continued to dig. Sherlock looked down and could see blood smeared in front of him, from the cuts on his hands, and he pushed the pain back.

The warehouse heaved a final time, and the remaining roof and walls folded in, spraying the area with debris. Greg and Sherlock duck down and covered their faces, until the dust and debris settled again. The collapse of the warehouse seemed to pull in all the sound, leaving Sherlock and Greg in an eerie silence as they slowly sat back up and gazed back at the ruined building. They stared at each other, and then began their frantic digging again, Greg directing Sherlock closer to where John and the girl were buried. "Over here, come on, work with me Sherlock"

As each brick removed revealed nothing, Greg felt a knot growing in his stomach, and he glanced up at Sherlock. Without looking up, Sherlock shouted out "No, not today, you're wrong" and after a few more moments, they reached the back of John's head. They glanced at each other, and a silent prayer went between them.

God Please

As they continued to clear around him, John gave out a groan. As Greg and Sherlock finally uncovered him, John rolled over a bit, coughing. And then he looked up at both Greg and Sherlock with great relief.

"Thank God! You're alive –"coughing again, "I thought – I'd lost you" John muttered as he sagged back down next to the girl.

"I think we're the ones supposed to say that to you" Greg said, breathlessly with a small laugh, his body shaking from relief and adrenaline.

"John" Sherlock admonished, breathlessly, as he leaned back on his heels. "You weren't supposed to be in the building"

"Went looking for the two of you" John muttered weakly.

"That - was very foolish of you John!" Sherlock said angrily as he stood and stumbled a few feet away.

"Sherlock!" Greg shouted after him. Sirens filled the air and John slowly pushed himself onto his knees. He carefully rolled the girl over; she had some minor scratches from the window glass. He checked her head wound - the bleeding had slowed, but her pulse was even weaker than before. Two ambulances pulled up, the paramedics jumped out, and immediately descended on Greg and John.

Greg listened as John described the girl's injuries and then he walked over to Sherlock, who stood with his arms crossed, one hand held his chin, as he gazed over at John. Greg ignored the
glistening in Sherlock's eyes, knowing that he himself was very nearly shattered to tears as well.

"Let them look at your hands Sherlock" Greg said sternly, as he nodded towards the paramedics. "I saw the cuts"

Sherlock turned and glared at Greg, but said nothing and did not move. Greg just shook his head.

"And - you need to apologize to John" Greg said forcefully.

"I could have lost him - he just doesn't think of that when he runs into a burning building" Sherlock spat out.

"He ran into a burning building to save us, and then jumped through a window to save that girl!" Greg shouted and took a step closer to Sherlock, grabbing his arm. "Just - get over there and have them look at your hands, you bastard" giving Sherlock a shove.

They walked towards the ambulance that John stood by, as the girl was loaded in with urgency. John turned, and climbed into another ambulance. The paramedic started to pull out glass from John's hands as Greg and Sherlock reached him.

"Budge over John" Greg said, as he pushed Sherlock up into the ambulance.

"I'm not going to the hospital for scratches, Lestrade" Sherlock said with scorn, as he slid across the bench next to John.

"No, but you will allow him take a look at you" Greg responded, nodding at the paramedic that was examining John.

"And you as well, Greg" John said, as he looked at Greg's hands.

Sherlock smirked. And Greg just gave a small laugh "Right, alright. I'll be a minute" Greg said, and then walked over to the group of officers that gathered. He spoke briefly to them, and then walked back over to the ambulance. He sat down on the bumper, and the other paramedic approached him, to take a look.

Greg turned and looked over his shoulder at John, who had a look of disbelief as he glanced from Greg to Sherlock, who both had agreed to receive medical treatment, with little argument.

"What? We've been up for 2 days, and my hands bloody hurt" Greg said with a chuckle, and turned away again.

John smiled to himself. Sherlock glanced at John, and smiled as well. They were all alive, and safe.

An officer walked over to Greg, and leaned over to say something into his ear. Greg straightened stiffly, and talked over his shoulder to John and Sherlock.

"She died – just now, in the ambulance" Greg said plainly, and pulled all the levity and relief out of the air.

John sagged in defeat, and breathed out heavily.

And Sherlock let fly the first thought in his mind "So, you risked your life - needlessly John"

John's eyes went wide, but said nothing. Greg let his head fall down to his chest. They sat there in silence as their injuries were tended to. After John was cleared with nothing more than minor cuts and burns, bruises and a slight concussion – Greg eased the three of them into his car and they silently drove to 221B Baker Street.

As John lay on the sofa, with his arm resting on his face, he tried to calm himself down, from the explosion and fire, the adrenaline, and the death of the girl. Certainly, he tried to forget Sherlock's callous and thoughtless remark.

Sherlock glanced at John, assumed that John was angry, just not sure about what. Ridiculous really, for John to lay on the sofa pouting. John's carelessness had nearly gotten himself killed. If anyone should be pouting…

"John - tea" Sherlock commanded.

"What?" John croaked, pulling his arm off his face and glared over to Sherlock at the end of the sofa.

"Tea" Sherlock repeated, as he whipped his head around to face John.

"Sherlock, he's concussed. Get your own fucking tea" Greg said, as he turned to glare at Sherlock.

"A minor concussion Lestrade - John is fine" Sherlock stated forcefully.

"We almost lost John tonight, Sherlock" Greg said emphatically.

"Only because of his stupidity" Sherlock shouted out.

"He was trying to save that girl's life - I don't call that stupid Sherlock - most would consider that brave" Greg shouted back at Sherlock.

John gave a bit of an odd chuckle that seemed to come from deep in his chest. John placed his arm back over his face, to cover the shame he was feeling.

"I wasn't trying to save her" John said quietly

"What?" Greg asked.

"I wasn't even looking for her, I had forgotten all about her. Maybe if I had found her earlier, stopped the bleeding - I could have saved her" John said, as he raised his voice louder. "Instead, all I could think about was finding the two of you" He brought the heels of his hands to his face, and rubbed his eyes.

"I saw the building on fire - all I could think was that everything I cared about in the whole world was burning away in that building" John choked out. "Even when I did find the girl, I had to force myself to take her with me, because all I wanted to do was to keep looking for you two" John tried to pull air in, but started to become overwhelmed "You just don't understand what I'm saying do you" as he stared right at Sherlock, and then buried in face into his hands.

Sherlock went wide eyed, as he took in John's words, his tense face, and his red rimmed eyes. His body was tight with strain, and John seemed to be in need – of something. Sherlock saw Greg move towards John, and sit on the coffee table. He reached out and grabbed John's bandaged hands. He leaned his elbows on his thighs, and folded both his hands around John's. He rested the side of his face against tips of John's fingers, and looked into John's eyes.

"I didn't know - until I saw you flying out the window - that you were even in the building. I had imagined you standing by the road, watching it burn. Thought you knew we made it out, just assumed you would know we were alright" Greg said quietly, and then looked down to the floor. He wasn't sure if he could look at John and continue to speak.

"When - the wall, the brick, and all… came down on you, I thought you were dead. I just thought, even while we were digging, all we would find was your lifeless body" Greg said softly, then choked up and the tears started to form "You can't do that to us again John. I've gotten used to you being around, you know. I realized, tonight, that I…" Greg trailed off as he came to his most dangerous thoughts. That these last few months, as John and Greg became close since his wife had left, Greg had a longing he didn't understand until tonight. Greg glanced at Sherlock, and knew Sherlock could read it on his face – Greg was falling for John.

John pulled his hands out from Greg's, and slid one to the back of Greg's head. He pulled him down towards him, into a hug. John slid his other arm around Greg's waist, and pulled him closer, as Greg wrapped his arms around John too.

"Shhh, I know. I thought I lost you too. You and Sherlock are my best friends; I just don't know what I'd do without you" John sighed, grateful for Greg's words, for his comfort.

Greg looked out of the corner of his eye, at Sherlock. His face had grown very still, as he watched Greg console John, his words pulled the tension from John's body. He heard the relief in John's voice. Greg knew what to do, what to say, and responded accordingly. Greg understood these things, so much better than Sherlock. He gave Greg a small nod, at which Greg smiled, and closed his eyes, pressed into the hug with John, and then released him.

John slid his hand to the side of Greg's neck, "I think I will make that tea" John said softly.

Greg opened his eyes and looked at John, "Are you sure? Let me do it" he said, as he made a move towards the kitchen.

"No, no - please. No telling what you'd find in the fridge. I'm fine anyways" John said as he rose, and gave Greg a squeeze on the shoulder, and smiled down on him. Greg placed his hand over John's for a moment, and then John let go, walked into the kitchen.

Sherlock watched John walk away, and then settled his gaze back on Greg. He had a large grin on his face, and then realized that Sherlock was staring at him, he turned to sit on the sofa, and looked over at Sherlock again

"How long?" Sherlock asked in a whisper, and nodded to the kitchen. "Since your wife left?"

"Maybe, I don't know really" Greg responded softly. "Sherlock, please, don't – you know, try to deduce me. I don't understand it myself. I've not got it sorted out yet, just - let us figure this out on our own, okay?"

"Right - fine" Sherlock said flatly. Sherlock sat, stared straight ahead, tried to focus on understanding himself – what was this pain built up in his chest, why he suddenly couldn't breathe, the instinct he had to get Greg out of the flat, as quickly as possible, to go to John and say all the things he felt, and as his mind whirled, Greg's voice pulled him out.

"Besides, really not your area, is it" Greg said a little smugly.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock responded.

"Well, I mean - people, taking care of other people, it's not really your area. You said yourself, caring is not an advantage. I think we both know what John needs is someone to care for him" Greg said plainly. And then it was clear to Sherlock, that he had to summon the courage.

"You think you understand what he needs?" Sherlock asked condescendingly.

"Yeah, I think I do" Greg responded confidently.

"You have no idea" Sherlock said determinedly, as he rose and strode into the kitchen.

He came to stand next to John, who took the heat off of the screaming kettle.

"John" Sherlock said emphatically

John turned to face Sherlock. "Sherlock, look, I know what you're going to say. Just save it. I did what I thought I had to do, I'm sorry you don't seem to understand that" John said, and turned away to pour water into the mugs on the tray.

"I don't understand it" Sherlock muttered in agreement.

John simply nodded, and placed the tea leaves in.

"I don't understand my own actions either. When you came through that window and then became buried….My mind just – stopped" Sherlock said forcefully. John turned his body to face Sherlock, and gazed over Sherlock's face. He seemed to be lost in the memory, gazing through John.

"My mind had no solution, no path of resolution, no scenarios - nothing came - and in the silence I realized that my body had responded on instinct where my mind had not" Sherlock said thoughtfully. "My hands had begun to dig into the debris, not even in the correct location. Just pulled and pushed, desperate to reach you and the pain from the cuts started to draw my focus. I saw my blood on the brick and a brief thought formed, but was quickly banished. And suddenly, I only heard the word 'no', repeating in my head"

Sherlock pulled in a deep breath, and focused on John's face. He reached out and grabbed John by the shoulders forcefully, and stared into his eyes. "No, this wasn't happening. No, I would not let this happen, NO I wouldn't lose you – NO, I can't be without you - ever" Sherlock's voice rose loudly as he pulled John closer to him. John's face, John's body, being right there - Sherlock's mind stopped again.

John could see it now, see it on Sherlock's face as he had relived the moment – the panic and fear Sherlock felt as he searched for John in the rubble. The same as John had felt searching for Sherlock and Greg.

John slowly raised his hands to Sherlock's face, and pressed in. "I can't be without you either" he whispered, and slid his face cautiously towards Sherlock. A kiss and John would know, if he could do this, if Sherlock could - if they could have this.

Greg had gotten up at the sound of Sherlock's raised voice and walked towards the kitchen. He saw Sherlock's face over John's shoulder, his eyes closed, anticipating John's touch, John's kiss. Greg's heart sunk at the sight of John, as he took control of Sherlock's head, tilted it sideways, and hovered his lips over Sherlock's, brushing them softly. Sherlock leaned down into the chaste kiss, and then quickly broke away from it.

"John" Sherlock exclaimed. "I never imagined…"

"Me neither, never imagined, that this could happen" John replied, and pulled Sherlock into an embrace. Sherlock opened his eyes to see Greg standing in the doorway to the kitchen, out of John's sight. While Sherlock's heart was soaring, he felt he could see Greg's heart dissolving away.

As Greg and Sherlock locked eyes, Greg ached with the understanding - Sherlock and John belonged together. Greg gave Sherlock a nod and a sad smile, quietly walked down the stairs, and left 221B Baker Street.

John turned his head at the sound of the door closing. "Greg?" John called out.

"We'll call him tomorrow" Sherlock said as he reached down for John's chin, turned it back and pulled John into another kiss.

Sherlock pressed his lips against John's and pulled him close, bringing their bodies together, each feeling the excitement brought out in each other, and the heat being created between them. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and licked the inside of Sherlock's upper lip – enticing a sweet moan from him, the sound traveling like a shock wave through John's body. He pulled away a bit breathlessly, and rested his forehead against Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what are we doing? Seriously, what do we do now?" John asked with a giggle that was a mixture of nervousness and happiness.

"I don't know John" Sherlock said meekly, and slide his check to brush against John's.

"Really?" John asked

"I had no plan beyond telling you 'I can't be without you'. I assumed you would know what to do next" Sherlock said hopefully.

"Well, if this was a date, and you were a woman, I'd ask you back to your flat. But, we're already at your flat" John said plainly, and pressed his body further into Sherlock's, relishing the feel of Sherlock's arousal against his own. "Ahh - and, you are definitely not a woman" John said breathlessly

"Hmmm, and why not back to your flat John?" Sherlock asked, with a catch in his breath as John moved his body against Sherlock again.

"I have the most infuriating flat mate" John responded just as Sherlock pressed his lips into John's neck, pulling a rumble of sound out of John's chest. Sherlock smiled against the soft skin of John's neck.

"And, does it make a difference that I'm not a woman" Sherlock asked, as he nipped at John's ear.

"Not so far, n-no-" John said with a shudder, as Sherlock's mouth sent a shock of pleasure down from his ear and all the way through his body. "I suppose I'm going to find out"

"So shall I" Sherlock whispered, bringing his lips to John, and stroking across with his tongue, John responded with a deep moan, and then a more urgent nip of Sherlock's bottom lip.

"Right, so we're in the same situation then" John said, breathing out heavily, and looking into Sherlock's eyes. "You're a genius and I'm a reasonable intelligent person – we should be able to figure this out"

"Agreed" Sherlock responded, and stepped away from John, walked towards the hallway. He turned back, and held out his hand. John reached out, and slipped his hand into Sherlock's, pulled it to his face, and softly kissed the knuckles, caressing the undamaged parts of Sherlock's hands with his lips.

Sherlock sighed at the sensation, closed his eyes, and said reverently, like a soft prayer, "John…", and then started to pull John with him, towards the staircase. John watched Sherlock ascend the stairs, the dark curls of his hair, the long black coat – the view no different than the hundreds of times John had walked behind Sherlock, except so very different. John was free to appreciate it, and gaze without explanation.

John was consumed by the sensations and feelings of the moment, while his mind leapt into the future - what would happen when they reached the landing, and walked into John's bedroom, like their whole world would change.