A/N- It's back! Yay! Just a fluffy chapter to get started this time; also setting the stage for Johnlock!

"John. John. John." Sherlock repeated the name while poking his friend's face over and over. He was kneeling by the doctor's bed, ignoring the clock, which annoyed him by showing 'two AM'.

"Wha…?" John turned over and uncurled slightly, the blankets wrapped up to his nose. "Sherlock?" His voice was muffled.

"Yes, tis I," Sherlock said, standing up and re-settling himself on John's bed.

"No, go back to sleep," John said, annoyed.

Sherlock sighed, not moving. I'm going to stay here until you talk to me.

John sat up, keeping his cocoon of blankets wrapped tight around him. "Okay, what is it? Because it'd better be important; you woke me up at two in the bloody morning."

"I… have a bad feeling," Sherlock said.

John's eyes widened. "You woke me up just because you had a bad feeling? I can't believe you, Sherlock!"

"No, a really bad feeling. I feel strange," said the consulting detective, hugging himself to keep out the cold.

"Then go feel strange on your own!" John exclaimed. "Because I don't care!"

"Hmm. Bad dreams?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side.

John sighed, relaxing and leading back against the headboard. "Yeah."

"Right." Sherlock looked down.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash out at you like that," John said very quickly, taken aback by how morose his friend looked. "You're my best friend in the world, I care…"

"I know."

"How do you feel strange?" John asked, sighing and resigning himself to an hour or so of Sherlock puzzling him.

"Irene," was Sherlock's response.

"What? I don't understand," said the doctor, pulling his knees up and arranging his blankets for a long conversation.

"Do you remember Irene Adler?" asked the consulting detective.

"Yes."

"I felt… odd around her," Sherlock said. "Yes, and I feel that way again."

John was still confused. Wait a moment… does that mean Sherlock is in love? I don't necessarily want that… It might change our life. Of course, I'm happy for him…

"And I don't like it." Sherlock stretched out at the foot of his blogger's bed. "And it scares me."

John chuckled. "Sherlock Holmes? Scared? Naw."

"Yes, I am," Sherlock said crossly. "It's not funny. It makes me feel so vulnerable and I can't concentrate and it's messing up my mind palace."

"Just go to sleep and we'll talk more in the morning, okay?" John talked to Sherlock as if he were addressing a child.

"I hate my bed and my chair and my couch," said the consulting detective.

John's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "So you wanna sleep on the floor?"

"Here's fine, thanks," Sherlock said, proceeding to get comfortable in John's bed.

"No, I don't want you here," John curled up, not wanting to make contact with Sherlock. "Go back to your own bed. Now."

But Sherlock was already closing his eyes and ignoring the doctor.

John sighed, yawning. I'll have to deal with it for just this one night. He liked to think he was indignant about it, but, in a way, he liked it; a way to feel closer to his friend.