Clearly I put in the wrong date on the vortex manipulator—to you it seems like I haven't worked on this story for what—seven months? Sorry for the long delay. After you take a month or two off, you lose a lot of motivation. Especially since I'm not waiting on pins and needles to see how it ends because I already know how it's going to end.

Anyway, if you actually pick up reading again after so long, thanks for waiting! If you're a new reader, welcome aboard! Maria and Abigail, thanks for reading and reviewing while I was taking a break from this; I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter!

WARNING: Adult content. I don't feel like that's really a warning so much as a hook at this point, but just in case anyone's concerned, there's a section you may want to skim.

Chapter 34: Before the Storm

X X X

Watson was just leaving the bathroom when John went to brush his teeth. He lingered in the doorway.

"What?" John asked, not looking at him. "You resent my using your toothpaste?"

"That's Sherlock's toothpaste."

"I know. That's why I use it. I was just trying to break the ice. What's up?"

John looked in the mirror as he began brushing, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Watson hesitating.

"I just wanted to say again that I think you've been good for Sherlock, and..."

John moved his toothbrush to one side so he could talk more clearly. "You think I'm gonna die, so you want to say something nice to me," he said.

"W... no, I... I mean..." Watson sighed. "We all know you're going to be taking a huge risk. It's going to be hard for Sherlock to let you go, and that's really saying something."

"You're afraid he'll be a wreck if I die? Are you trying to talk me out of going?"

"No—"

"Good. Anyway, if I do die, I'm trusting you to keep him together."

"Will you just shut up for a minute?"

John shrugged and concentrated on his brushing.

"I was gonna say, I know I told you to back off a bit, and I think it was a good move. He's getting more comfortable with you."

"But?"

"Just don't hold back too much. We don't know when you'll be together again, so it's best to leave with no regrets."

We don't know if we'll be together again... wait, is he giving me permission to sleep with him? John spat in the sink and rinsed the toothbrush. "Good advice. Thanks."

Sherlock decided it was no time to be prudish; he stripped to his underwear before joining John in his bed.

"Briefs," John commented. "They never seemed so sexy till now."

"Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"I think so."

"You're sure you want to go?"

"I'd rather stay with you, but I don't want Davies to get away. And I don't want to concede the game. And I want to see Jim again anyway."

"Is it worth the risk?"

"Worth dying for? Yes, I think it is. But I do hope you won't let it come to that."

"You know I can't guarantee your safety. I never could, but least of all once you've put my plan into action."

"You should be worried about how furious Jack is going to be with you."

"John."

"I know, all right? We've been over it again and again. I'm sure. I want to do this."

It was strange to realize that it was this important. Sherlock didn't normally show so much concern for anyone; it was hard to face the fact that he actually cared. He forced himself to move slowly as he slipped an arm around John and pulled him closer.

John readily snuggled in. "I've no regrets about you, Sherlock," he said. "Except that I wish we'd had a little more time together before this."

Sherlock's eyes were beginning to sting. Good god, what is wrong with me?

"Just on the off chance that things go badly, would you tell Jack... tell him I forgive him for leaving me."

"Do you?"

"That isn't the point."

Sherlock smiled. "I'll tell him." He kissed John's forehead and then his mouth. He felt a hand slipping up over his side to his shoulder. It was careful—tentative, even. He pulled back. "It's all right, John," he said softly.

John renewed the kiss, gently pulling Sherlock over onto his chest.

Sherlock followed John's lead, letting John's tongue into his mouth and exploring with his hands. He had studied human anatomy extensively and seen more than one naked form in his time (not all of them corpses), but to actually feel a ribcage expanding under his fingers with every breath, to feel the hundreds of muscles responding to his touch was a new experience that filled him with wonder. The sensation of his reproductive system coming into play was gradually becoming a familiar one, and he wondered just how much it might cloud his judgment on important matters.

He decided to speak before his hormones became too strong an influence. "Whatever happens," he breathed by John's ear, "I will do everything I can to make you safe again."

"I know."

"I haven't any regrets either." It was the closest he could come to confessing love. Even if he were sure that was what he felt, it could ruin everything. John might decide to stay. Worse, he might still go and let his emotions distract him enough to make a mistake. And in the very back of Sherlock's mind was the worst possibility of all: that John was still playing him, that he was just waiting to hear Sherlock say he loved him so he could break his heart. Perhaps Sherlock really did have a heart to be broken—how could he know it wouldn't destroy him?

John was kissing his neck now, opening his mouth and working his way down to Sherlock's collarbone. Sherlock propped himself up to make the progress easier. He could see John's face dimly in the light from the window. He had expected him to be greedy at this point, but he was being careful. Sherlock was certain he would stop immediately if he were asked.

He ran his fingers through John's hair and over his face. He noted a slight change in John's breathing; that was the only clear response. Then he felt the hand that had been on his shoulder meandering down over his back... and then past his waist. He pulled back slightly.

"Too much?" John asked.

Sherlock breathed slowly, assessing his physical and emotional well-being, grateful that John kept silent while he did so. "There's a lot of anxiety running around here tonight," he said. "A lot of adrenaline, a lot of endorphins. I think... when you come back, then we'll both have our wits about us. Then I can concentrate on you—just on you."

He waited for John to convey disappointment or anger, but when he spoke his voice held neither of those.

"Promise?"

Sherlock smiled. "I promise."

"Okay." John moved his hands up again and pulled Sherlock down into one more kiss before settling the detective's head on his shoulder and pulling the sheets up over them both. "I love you," he whispered.

"Good night, John."

"This is it, then," John said when he was ready to leave the next morning.

"Do try to keep yourself in one piece," Watson admonished him. "Coming back maimed beyond repair is as bad as not coming back at all."

"Ignore him," Sherlock instructed. "Naturally, I want you intact, but coming back alive is most important."

"I'll be fine," John assured them both, not bothering to even consider whether or not he meant it. "Sherlock, you've got the hang of the vortex manipulator?"

"Yes, we've been over it a dozen times."

"Okay." He gave Sherlock a quick kiss and turned away, not wanting to drag it out. "Watson."

"Goodbye, Captain," Watson answered.

John left the flat quickly and wasted no time heading toward the area where Sebastian had picked him up the last time. He knew he had to focus on the game completely now and not let anything get in the way—not his feelings for Sherlock or for Jim.

It was Abrams who picked him up this time. The drive seemed long, as did the helicopter flight. John practically counted the seconds as they crawled by. Finally, he was back in Calais. Back at Jim's headquarters. Everything had changed at last, but he had to pretend a little longer. Jim couldn't notice anything different.

He felt a little like he was in a trance. Little things happened, but he didn't notice them. He barely registered Jim welcoming him back, acting glad to see him as usual—his reactions were automatic.

JIM SENSES THAT THE GAME WILL END SOON.

Sherlock wasn't blaming him for giving anything away. Maybe that meant that Jim had his own plans to end the game, or maybe Sherlock simply recognized that scolding John wouldn't do any good. Time to get serious. Time to tie up loose ends.

He had a brief tryst with Jim before dinner—the perfect thing to work up an appetite. After dinner he had Sebastian's exposé to read. Had he not been so preoccupied, he probably would have been more deeply moved by the hunter's elegant writing style; as it was, he read it little more than routinely, marking a typographical error or two that Sebastian would want to correct before sending it to the press.

"It's very good," he told Sebastian after returning it to him in his room later that night. "Something they won't be able to ignore."

Sebastian set the manuscript aside. "I'd resigned myself to the idea that there was nothing I could do... even nothing I should do..."

"I'm glad to help. Do you think you're up to a therapy session?" John used the term lightly to keep from offending Sebastian.

"I really don't feel like it tonight," Sebastian answered.

"To tell you the truth, neither do I, but... I feel like the professor's planning something big, and it's going to go down soon. Do you get that impression, too?"

"He's always planning something big."

"Yeah, but this time... I think it's going to change things in a big way—in a way that might directly affect you and me."

"How do you mean?"

John went to the window and leaned on the sill. "Maybe I'm wrong, but in all the scenarios I can come up with, I wind up dead. Maybe I'm being silly, but I know he doesn't really need me. He's made it clear that he doesn't and won't love me. I'm expendable. Even if I'm still alive, I think he might leave me behind and forget me. He can't attach himself to anyone or they become a liability, isn't that right?"

"In theory," Sebastian answered slowly. "Do you think he sees me as a liability, then?"

"No—certainly not in the same way. With you, business comes first. He'll give up the idea of shagging you if it would mean losing his best protector. But me... well, like I said: expendable."

"So, you think we should move things along because we may not have much more time?"

"I don't want to rush you, but I want to make sure I don't leave you half done." John looked back at Sebastian. He knew Sherlock was probably annoyed at not being able to see what was going on for so long.

"I understand," Sebastian answered. He took a deep breath. "Lock the door, please."

John hesitated only a moment. He locked Sebastian's door and returned to find the hunter tossing his jacket on the chair by his desk.

Sebastian began to unfasten his shirt buttons.

"May I do that?" John asked. He could see Sebastian thinking about it. Don't say yes because you think that's what I want to hear.

In lieu of a verbal response, Sebastian let his hands fall to his sides and gave John a nod.

HE SEEMS CALM.

Good; I think so, too. Now shut up.

John undid the buttons efficiently. He was considering helping to pull the shirt off when Sebastian's hands came to his waist and began tugging John's shirt up. Confidence or compensation. Tread carefully, John told himself. He let Sebastian help him first and then returned the favor. "Go at your own pace," he said. "And you can try anything you want to. This is your chance to see what you can get comfortable with."

Things progressed slowly but steadily over the next few minutes. Sherlock didn't interrupt again, and Sebastian didn't falter until they were on his bed, deep in a kiss and somewhat intertwined. He had touched just about every bit of John's exposed skin, and he had moved one hand to John's waist, but he seemed reluctant to go further.

"Take your time," John told him, pulling back a little. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. If it helps though, just because your body is responding to this, it doesn't mean you're not straight. People will tell you they 'can't' have sex with certain people because of their orientation—I think that's bollocks. It's either trauma, a personal dislike for the individual or just prejudice that makes them say that. Sex is physical. It's nice if it means something, but your body responds either way."

Sebastian gave a noise of acknowledgement. Then he unfastened John's pants and worked his hand down over his pelvis. "If I do this with Moriarty, how do I make sure he doesn't..."

"Make you his bitch?" John asked with an ironic laugh. "Don't do what I did. Don't tell him you're up for anything, anytime. You'll need to let him know from the beginning that if he won't treat you like an equal in bed, you don't want any part of it."

By this time Sebastian's hand was well out of sight and John's erection was growing fast from the contact. "Okay if I touch you, too?" John asked.

"Yes."

Trusting Sebastian's judgment, John opened his fly and began gentle but firm strokes. Sebastian kissed him again and he let his mouth open just enough for a tongue to slip inside. A moment later he found himself flat on his back with Sebastian tugging clothing away and pressing their bodies together.

I THINK YOU AWAKENED THE TIGER.

Damn, I think you're right. Shut... uuuuup.

Sebastian didn't show a hint of panic. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

John held back as long as he could before giving in to his orgasm. A moment later he felt Sebastian come against him and he grinned in relief.

They lay still for a while, bodies still overlapped, panting as their heart rates slowly returned to normal.

"Everything you said," Sebastian whispered in John's ear. "It was all true. I still think I am straight, but I was able to enjoy this."

"I'm glad to hear it. I know this wasn't the easiest of journeys for you, but you're there now. You don't have to turn Moriarty down out of fear. Just remember what I said—you can't let him take advantage of you. Stand your ground."

"I will." He squeezed John's arm. "Thank you."

It didn't take Jim long to guess that John had made progress with Sebastian. He brought it up casually at breakfast and watched John's face closely.

"Another session or two would do him good," John said over his coffee cup, "but the hardest part is done. The very idea doesn't prompt him to retreat anymore."

"Excellent. You've managed to keep from getting too attached to him?"

John smiled. "I think he's a brilliant fellow, and I like him. But how could I think of falling in love with someone like that when I have both you and Sherlock to think of? The idea is absurd."

"I think you exaggerate, but that's better than lying. All the same, knowing you've been intimate with my head of security makes me a tiny bit jealous." Jim held up his fingers to show how much a tiny bit was. "I want you to come to my room tonight."

"The usual time?"

"Yes. I wish it could be earlier, but I'm terribly busy today."

The busyness was Sherlock's fault, of course. The British secret police were crawling around Calais. It was as if everyone knew for miles around that he was about to move his ally to a safer location. He didn't like Davies in particular... another day he might just shoot the man instead of bothering with all this. But he knew Sherlock was determined to find him, and that made things interesting. If he had Davies killed now, it wouldn't be in the spirit of the game. Once he was safely in a remote corner of the world where not even Sherlock could track him down, then he could rub the detective's face in it.

I hope you enjoyed the update. Please leave a review to let me know!