"These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost

Part One

John followed the directions Jasper had scribbled for him all the way to a little two storey building just off Marylebone, squished between a row of tenements and a quaint little café called Speedy's. It was a busy area and John could admit almost having gotten lost a time or two on the way over, but his friend had been graceful enough to add surrounding landmarks in his directions, so luckily, John didn't have to deal with the embarrassment of calling Jasper for help.

John scratched his tousled, blond head as he looked at the little torn off scrap of paper where Jasper's spidery letters described the way almost illegibly. "221B Baker Street," he read aloud to himself. John looked up at the building, eyes wondering to the first floor, where the curtain was just fluttering closed.

Taking a deep breath, John hitched his bag up on one shoulder, heavy with textbooks and a change of clothes, and took the steps up to the front door.

John knocked, three polite taps and waited patiently for someone to come to the door, but it remained firmly shut.

He waited another two minutes before trying again.

Inside, he could hear a door open quietly, before light footsteps came to a stop at the entrance. "Oh, that boy!" A soft admonishment, before the door was pulled open, and John was staring into the kind brown eyes of an elderly woman. She had an apron wrapped about her waist and a spot of flour on her right cheek.

"Terribly sorry to disturb you, miss, but I was told to meet Jasper Holmes here." John smiled expectantly, in hopes that the woman would be able to point him in the right direction.

The woman waved off his apologies with a bright smile, stepping away from the door in a wordless invitation.

"No worries at all, dear. He's just right up those stairs." She stood at the mouth of the creaky wooden staircase as John peered up them, feeling completely out of place and not just a little hesitant to go upstairs. "Well go on, dear, I'm quite sure he's there. That boy is as loud as a parade of elephants, he is."

John smiled politely, turning to the kindly old woman. "Thank you, miss...", he trailed off questioningly.

"Hudson, Misses Martha Hudson."

John beamed, feeling reassured by this woman's welcoming nature as he ascended the stairs. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!"

"You're quite welcome, dear," she called back, door already closing behind her as she retreated into the ground floor flat.

Before he could make it to the door at the top, it flung open with a hearty groan from the hinges. Jasper stood at the entrance, silhouetted by a soft, golden light emanating from the room. His curly dark hair stood up in tangles, as if he'd been running his fingers through it repeatedly, and his vivid green eyes stood out starkly behind black rimmed specs.

"Took you long enough, John, I thought maybe you couldn't read my writing." Jasper waited until he reached the top of the stairs before he smiled brightly and pulled back, allowing John to enter.

The lounge room was nice and spacey, almost as big as the tiny little bedsit he occupied with his mum and Harry. There were things everywhere though, as if someone just picked up papers and books and sat them down wherever they happened to be standing... and was that a real skull on the mantle?

Jasper darted around, stacking papers and attempting to give the room some kind of order. "Sorry for the mess. My dad's a bit of a collector."

"No worries," John smiled, not wanting Jasper to think he was judging him. "Is it just us, then?"

Jasper nodded, falling onto the vacant couch in a sloppy manner, looking for all the world like he'd just taken a run around Richmond Park. "Yeah, dad had a case he had to run off too, or something to that effect." Jasper sat up, pulling his legs into his body as he observed John, who was currently surveying the room with a bit of wonder. "So, did your mum say you could stay over?"

John looked over, smiling before he joined his friend on the couch, also pulling his legs up as he faced the taller of them. "She said it was fine, as long as I'm out of her hair for the night. What about you, what did your dad say, Jas?"

Jasper smiled brightly, shaking an errant hair out of his eyes as he waved an imperious hand in the air in dismissal. "It'll be fine, he doesn't care about things like that." Jasper shrugged, before leaning forward to reach under the table.

John was not shocked in the slightest when his friend pulled back with a pack of fags already halfway empty. John shook his head, watching as the other boy pulled a lighter from a side table and lit up. "Does your dad know you do that?"

Jasper scoffed, pulling in a deep drag in ecstasy, eyes fluttering closed. High cheek bones hollowed out as he took a puff on the fag before answering, "Dad knows everything."

John blushed, watching his friend's lips wrap around the little white stick, wishing he could feel if they were soft or dry, smooth or rough, how they would feel against his own. The two of them had been knowing each other since the beginning of their Juniors, but hadn't really talked much until they began Secondary. They took most of the same classes together, and while Jasper was already eighteen, John was a few months from reaching his majority and leaving school to hopefully pursue a military career.

During their friendship, John has begun to develop a little bit of a crush on Jasper, as did many, many other people as they came of age. John tried not to be jealous whenever he saw Jasper talking to girls or even guys, but he wanted to be the only one his friend was interested in.

Somehow, out of all the years they had known one another, this was the first time Jasper had invited him over, and John had never even met his friend's father, THE Sherlock Holmes. John had read about some of the cases the famous detective had solved in the papers, and whenever he asked Jasper about them, the older boy would always include the more interesting details that the stories left out.

John tilted his head, wondering if Jasper was going to be following in his father's footsteps. "So have you give any thought to where you're going to go for Uni?"

Jasper stared up at the ceiling, smoke drifting up in a lazy dance as he let the fag dangle lazily between his middle and index finger. "I dunno. I figured I might take a gap year, y'know. Do some traveling, maybe. I love London, but I don't plan to be stuck here forever. Dad loves it... Says he'll never leave, but I know there's more for me out there."

John nodded, feeling the same way. "Mum wants me to stay with her, help her keep an eyes out on Harry." John cleared his throat, suddenly feeling his mouth go dry. He hadn't yet told anyone about his plans to enlist in the army, and decided that he didn't to ruin the day with that particular news. "Harry's drinking is getting worse."

"Hm." Was all the reply he'd gotten for over a minute, and just when John was sure that Jasper had nothing to say to that, the other boy opened his mouth to speak. "Don't try to save her, John. It's not your responsibility."

John nodded, rubbed the tears from his eyes before his friend could see them, and jumped off the couch. "Have you got anything to eat? I'm feeling a bit peckish."

Jasper graciously ignored the abrupt deviation in their dialogue before putting out his fag in the ash tray and stretching as John headed for the fridge. Just as he reached for the handle, Jasper called out, "John, you might not want to-" John gasped in horror and revulsion as he stared at what he believed to be a human foot... A human... foot! In the fridge! "-open that," Jasper finished lamely.

John slowly turned to look at him, and of course, look away from, the human foot currently contaminating every other edible item in the fridge. Jasper smirked apologetically. "Tried to warn you."

"Not soon enough," John grumbled, putting as much distance between himself and the foot as possible. "So are we having human organs for dinner?"

"Ha-Ha, no," Jasper dead panned, looking around the flat and trying to locate where he'd kicked off his trainers. "I'm going down to Speedy's. They have the best sandwiches, and right about now, the evening rush should be subsiding." Jasper threw on a light coat and made a beeline for the door. "Back in a mo'."

Like the whirlwind that he was, Jasper spun out of the room and down the stairs, shoes hitting each step like a loud clap of thunder. No wonder Mrs. Hudson knew he was home; John was sure all of Baker Street could hear when Jasper returned, with the way he stomped around.

John looked around the silent room, feeling very much out of place being in someone's home without them present. Even with all the clutter, though, the flat had a very homely atmosphere where the little bedsit he shared with his mother and older sister, Harry, always felt cold and impersonal.

John decided he should probably use the loo before Jasper returned and walked warily to the only hallway in the flat. There was a closed door at the end of the hall and one adjacent to it on the left. John figured he'd try the one on the left first.

John made his was to the closed door and tried the handle. It opened up into an empty bathroom. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped into the room and relieved himself, feeling the tension seep out if his shoulders and back. It felt good to be away from home for once. The atmosphere was so smothering. His mum was almost always high on something and Harry was out all hours of the night, drinking and getting into God knows what. John's worst fear was that they would receive a call about Harry, dead in some ditch, strangled from her own vomit.

John didn't like to think like that, but he couldn't help being bombarded with all the worst case scenarios whenever they didn't see or hear from Harry after a few days of her binges.

John did up his pants and washed his hand before turning to leave the bathroom. He heard the front door open and slam shut, and grinned, in awe of how quick Jasper had been on his feet.

He opened the door and walked out to the living room, not seeing his friend in the lounge room. "Jasper? That was pretty fast even for you-," he rounded the corner and felt his lips snap shut in alarm, heart racing up to his throat. This was most certainly not Jasper.

The man bore a striking resemblance, or rather, Jasper bore a striking resemblance to him. Dark curls reached to the middle of his ears, not quite as long as Jasper's, and eyes a very pale green or blue, John had a feeling he wouldn't be able to tell even if he had the privilege of staring all day. He was taller, and well built, going by the way the white shirt stretched alluringly across his chest. The man looked young, but Jasper was eighteen, so John doubted he was anything below his mid thirties, and right now, John could feel his attention snap to him like a laser beam.

"Uh, not... Jasper," John squeaked, face flaming red with embarrassment.

Sherlock Holmes continued to stare, head tilted as his eyes drifted down John's body; cataloging, 'deducing', Jasper called it.

"And who might you be?" Mr. Holmes, when he spoke, commanded attention, and John found himself wanting to hear that mellifluous voice again, just so he could feel his stomach flop.

John cleared his thoughts, feeling awkward and unprepared for this particular situation. "I'm John, John Watson, sir." He stepped forward, holding out a hand which Holmes shook in a firm grip before letting go. His hands were big and soft, and John found himself wanting to touch them again. "Um, I'm a friend of Jasper."

"Obvious," Mr. Holmes chimed in, tone a bit mocking as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the countertop.

John had a feeling the man liked watching him squirm in discomfort, so he had to refrain from heaving an enormous sigh of relief when he heard Jasper's heavy tread on the stairwell. Mr. Holmes already had his attention on the entrance when Jasper opened the door, a paper bag held in one arm, a drink in the other and a bag of crisps hanging from his lips. John rushed to help him, pulling the bag from his arm and setting it on the table.

Jasper pouted, slumping on the couch in seeming exhaustion. "They were out of those little biscuits I like." Jasper pouted, falling into his customary sulk as he was wont to do when he didn't get his way.

John snickered, "Aw, poor you," he teased before looking into the bag of sandwiches.

Jasper gave him a rude gesture, which John dutifully ignored as he laid out the food. The other boy finally seemed to have notice his father, who had quietly been observing them from the kitchen entrance, arms crossed over his chest.

"Hey dad," he waved lazily, though John didn't miss the spark of excitement in his eyes. "How goes the new case?"

Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes, walking to the black armchair and flopping as gracefully as one can flop into it in a way that so reminded John of his friend that he almost laughed aloud. Now he could see the root of all of Jasper's eccentric behaviours.

"It was a four. A waste of time for which Lestrade never should have called me. A toddler could figure out that it was the sister!" the man complained grumpily, "Of course it's the sister! She was having an affair with the husband."

Jasper's lips curled up in a playful smile. "Oooh, how juicy. Better than Jeremy Kyle, I'd reckon."

Sherlock scoffed, turning to look at the two of them as they stuffed their faces with bread and meat. "Nothing a simple DNA test couldn't have solved. It's a wonder anything was ever solved before I began working with Lestrade." John watched the man gesture wildly with his hands heavenward, as if begging for mercy, which John supposed he was. "The IQ of the Yarders could bring down the entirety of London alone." The words were scathing, but the man said them as if he were talking about the weather.

Jasper snickered in amusement, tossing a potato crisp into his mouth. "Dad, I told John he could stay the night."

Sherlock froze, head whipping towards his son in stunned silence. John nudged his friend in the ribs conspicuously with an elbow, nodding in his father's direction. Jasper stopped, sandwich halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Sherlock shrugged, face clearing to display his customary nonchalance. "You've never been much of a social child."

Jasper shrugged as well, shoving the sandwich in his mouth and biting down. He chewed with a thoughtful look, green eyes focused on the sandwich, but far away. "John's my best friend. I dunno... I guess he just gets me."

John felt his pulse ratchet up a notch and stopped mid-chew, wondering if he'd heard correctly. It was true that he and Jasper understood each other very well, however he had never known his friend to say things like that. It was sort of sweet.

John felt his lip twitch, unable to conceal his pleasure at the fact that the boy he liked felt as if John was the only one who he could connect with. He looked up, feeling eyes on him, and found himself drawn into the hypnotizing stare of the older Holmes. The man looked bemused, as if there was something he couldn't puzzle out. John thought it may be along the lines of, what would his son want with a normal boy like John. Mr. Holmes probably read about his social standing from the wrinkle in his clothes, or the possessive way he held his sandwich, possibly even the outdated trainers on his feet.

John broke the staring match first and looked down at his sandwich, not feeling so hungry anymore. He placed the food on the wrapper and stood, brushing crumbs off his trousers as he headed for the door. "I'm going to call and check on my mum. Be right back."

Feeling two pairs of eyes on him now, he made a quick escape down the stairs and out into the twilight. The temperature had a bit of a bite to it, and John was glad he'd thought to grab his coat on the way out. He instantly felt relief upon leaving the room. Mr. Holmes was an imposing man with a heavy presence. The weight of the man's eyes on him had been almost too much, and John knew when to leave a situation he didn't feel comfortable with, but was it wrong of him to already be just a little taken with his friend's father?

John pulled out his old outdated flip phone and checked for messages. None from his mother or Harry. As if they would be worried about him. One was too engrossed in her drugs and sorrow, and other was trying to drown herself in self-indulgence. John loved his family, but he didn't like them much at all.

John tapped down the contact menu until he reached the words 'Mum', and pressed the call button. The phone rang for a good minute, but John knew to wait. She would answer eventually.

On the tenth ring, his mother answered, speech heavily impaired by whatever drug she had decided on that night.

"'Ellllooo? Is this my little Johnny boy?" John hated when she got like this; hated her and her inability to cope and forget and stay away.

"Yeah mum, it's me," John kicked at the pavement, feeling angry and helpless. Jasper was right. It wasn't his responsibility to save Harry, or his mother, but wherever his father was, John cursed him to the deepest depths of hell.

"Johnny, I tried to call you, but I couldn't get my fingers to work right. Silly little me, you know me, sweetheart." No, not anymore. "Are you havin' fun with that Jason fellow?"

John sighed deeply, already feeling weighed down by this conversation, and they were only a few sentences in. "His name is Jasper, mum."

His mother's tinkling laugh filtered through the line, light and airy, just like she must be feeling from the drugs, or else she'd be bawling. "You know I used to forget your father's name all the time. His name is Hamish, like your middle name, and I would call him Haywood up until our third date. Isn't that funny?" She sighed and John heard the clink of something hitting the table. Probably the needle. "Dear thing was always so sweet about it."

"How much have you taken, mum?" John was truly scared for his mother. Her life revolved around the drugs and the pain and the memories. For as long as he could remember, she just waddled in her own misery.

His mother laughed again, this time a bit maniacally. "Oh, you know it keeps my headaches at bay, you remember I used to get those a lot, John-"

John cut in, feeling tired of the games. "Answer the question."

His mother was quiet for a moment before she replied, her voice a complete turn around from the high pitched airiness it was before. "You know you can be a little shit sometimes, an ungrateful little shit. Sod off and leave me be." She hung up before he could say anything else. All would be forgiven in the morning; his mother never remembered the horrible things she said when she was high.

John thought about calling Harry, but decided against it. Being cussed out by one member of his family was enough for one night.

John sighed and pulled in a deep breath, lips pursing as he fought to stop the tears.

Things would get better; at least he could try to convince himself.

The rest of the night was spent watching cheesy action movies and stuffing themselves silly with popcorn and cola. John found it was fun to have both father and son inserting their witty comments intermittently throughout the movie. Mr. Holmes stayed glued to his chair and laptop the entire time, but kept one eye on the telly. Jasper and John found themselves gravitating closer throughout the movie, and before John realized, they were almost near enough that if he turned his head, he would have only to lean forward a bit to kiss his friend.

John felt the happiest he had been in a very long time, and eventually he found himself falling into a light doze.

It felt almost a moment later that he felt a cover draped over his body, stretched out on the couch facing the back. He smiled, "Thanks Jas." John was almost asleep when he heard a deeper voice than his friend's reply in light amusement.

"Not Jasper."

It didn't matter at this point though. John was already drifting into the welcoming arms of oblivion.

John jolted awake abruptly, chest heaving as he blinked to clear the remnants of his latest nightmare away. The room was cloaked in darkness and John found himself afraid of it for the first time since he was child. Breathing deeply, he rubbed his palms across his eyes to scrub away the sleep that had collected there and lifted his legs off the couch and onto the floor.

He paused, straining his ears until he could hear clearly the soft strains of a violin. The music was coming from the door at the end of the hall, soft and as alluring as the man who was skillfully maneuvering its strings. John reached over to the side table, and turned on the reading lamp before standing up. He made his way to the window and pulled back the curtain. Baker Street had finally gone to sleep, except for a few stragglers navigating the London nightlife.

John was knackered; sleep beckoned him with heavy grasping fingers but he didn't want to sink into that oppressive darkness again. Nothing good ever came from sleep these days. It had become a vicious cycle to sleep a few hours and wake throughout the night in a state of fear and panic. John's dreams became a revolving door of drug addicts, alcoholics and missing fathers, and eventually at some point or another, they all meet a certain death that he is useless to stop.

John could feel his breaking point growing ever nearer every day and he knew the moment was coming when decided enough was enough. He wanted to believe that something would happen for him, to him, that would make him happy, but it was becoming a chore to have such faith every day. Nothing ever happened to John.

The sound of a door opening drew his attention to the hallway. Mr. Holmes exited the room in a plain white top and pyjama bottoms, a blue silk robe thrown over the whole lot. The man paused upon seeing him at the window, approaching a bit more cautiously to come and stand next to John at the window. John wondered how Mr. Holmes saw the world. Where John only saw stragglers, would the man know where exactly these strangers were heading, what they were hoping to get up to in the cover of night, or if they were running from things that they hoped no one else could see.

The street lights reflected brilliantly off of Holmes' pale eyes, finely sculpted cheekbones showing in a high definition that made John's stomach flutter the way it did when he heard that deep voice speak to him.

John didn't feel the need to fill the silence with words, but he could feel the curiosity emanating from the man standing beside him. He was reluctant to sever the tenuous string of peace between them at this late hour.

Finally, Holmes turned to him, tracking every minute change in John's thoughts and expressions. The intensity was off putting in a way, but he found himself almost excited under the scrutiny of the tall brunette.

"Are you alright?" The question was cautionary at best, as if he didn't know if it was the right words to ask.

John smiled and nodded, crossing his arms as he leaned against the window and turned his eyes to the empty street below. "I'm okay, Mr. Holmes. I don't sleep much through the night anymore."

Holmes nodded once, and John looked closer, seeing the faint dark bruises under his eyes, as if they had been there for a long time, now just a part of who he was. The silence stretched on for a little while longer before the older man spoke again. "Sherlock," he said without preamble, "call me Sherlock. Mr. Holmes is my brother, whom I hope you never have the misfortune of coming into contact with."

John snickered, looking up at Mr. Holmes - Sherlock - as he leaned forward to peer closely at something outside the window. "Not very close, the two of you?" John asked, already knowing what the answer to that would be.

"Not at all," Sherlock huffed, "I'm surprised Jasper hasn't told you of him." Sherlock stopped and turned to the young blonde, one side of his full lips turning upwards in a secretive smirk. "Though my son has obviously progressed in the art of keeping secrets, John Watson."

John blushed, unable to hold that all knowing gaze any longer, feeling inadequate in intellect to be having such a conversation with this brilliant man.

"We-we're not together, he and I. Jasper is... is a dear friend to me." John hadn't realized how true the words were until he had said them out loud and felt them echo in his heart just the same. "I guess you could say he gets me, too."

It was almost comical how out of his depth Sherlock appeared to be while having this discussion. John had a feeling he wasn't a well versed man when it came to expressing feelings and emotions. However, John could see the love and pride there in his eyes whenever he said Jasper's name. Sherlock loved his son dearly, and John could understand if his father was curious as to who his son was befriending.

"No need to explain," Sherlock said, close enough that John could feel his breath fall across his cheek. He hadn't even noticed how close they had come to one another. "I know what it is you are choosing not to say and recognize the truth in what you have."

John swallowed, feeling as if he was being engulfed by this enigma. He had only met the man today and the electricity between them was otherworldly.

Sherlock leaned forward and placed his lips softly on John's cheek, his fingers coming up to skirt lightly down the younger man's arm, goose pimples following in their wake.

Sherlock's lips lingered a moment longer before he brushed them across John's cheekbone and to his ear.

"Goodnight, John." Then he was gone as if he had never been there, bedroom door clicking shut softly behind him.

John touched a finger to his cheek, where the ghost of soft lips lingered.

What exactly was he doing?

This was his best friend's father, and not to mention things had also been changing between he and Jasper, of late. John tried to convince himself that Sherlock kissed all his sons' guests on the cheek, perhaps a token of gratitude from the odd detective for making Jasper happy. John also knew how far fetched and ridiculous the idea was.

John was the normal one, the one no one wanted, so why was Sherlock Holmes showing an interest in him?

John sighed before turning away from the window and walking back to the couch. He laid down and closed his eyes in hopes of sleep coming to take him again.

When morning came, John pulled the cover over his head to block out the light coming from the window, while Jasper padded loudly up and down the stairs in preparation for the day. John didn't consider that his friend might be making as much noise as possible intentionally; that is until something soft and yielding landed solidly on his head.

Did Jasper just hit him with a pillow? Another hit came before John was ready, and he pulled down the cover and glared at the energetic teen currently pelting him with a sodding pillow! "Jasper, you berk, cut it out!" Jasper only laughed and hit him square in the mouth with the pillow.

"All right, that's it." John grabbed his pillow and hopped off the couch, swinging his pillow full force. He caught the older boy right in his laughing mouth, and then promptly doubled over with laughter at Jasper's stunned expression. The other boy retaliated by raining blow upon blow on his back with the pillow as John tried to catch his breath.

"Alright, alright, you win, Jasper!" John giggled, wishing he could wake up this way all the time. "I surrender!"

Jasper stopped and listened for a noise John hadn't picked up on yet, eyes widening in horror and amusement. "Shit, I think we woke my dad. God, he's going to be so angry. Quick, quick get on the couch and act natural!"

"Natural?!" John hissed back, "I'm terrible at that, and this is your fault, you tosser!"

Jasper snickered, and then they both jumped into action as a loud thump sounded from the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. Jasper grabbed for the remote and they both made a mad dash for the couch just as the door swung open violently.

Sherlock stormed down the hallway looking for all the world like an avenging angel. He hadn't bothered to put on a top, and Sherlock wore just his silk robe and pyjama bottoms. John tried to look anywhere but that lovely, lean torso with miles of revealed wintry skin.

"The one time I actually deign to sleep, you decide you want to make as much noise as possible," Sherlock snarled, only just revving up to throw a royal tantrum. "Between stomping up and down the stairs like a great bloody beast and screaming your lungs out, spare a thought to how miserable I could make your life if you wake me up again."

John stared with wide eyes, unable to swallow past the lump in his throat, but Jasper looked unimpressed by the whole ordeal, eyes rolling as he tapped the button on the remote to change the channel.

"Am I making myself clear enough for you, Jasper?" The man hissed, anger pouring off of him in waves.

Sighing, Jasper answered in a low grumble, "Yes."

"Good," he replied quickly, right on the tail end of Jasper's reluctant assent. "And if you insist on continuing your silly little theatrics, you might want to actually have the telly powered on." With that dressing down promptly completed, Sherlock pivoted back into the room and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows.

John stared slack jawed at the door before turning to his friend who was now slumping dramatically against the arm of the couch. Jasper sighed, long and drawn out, before it morphed into a giggle. "My dad is such a drama queen."

John heard the nervous chuckle pass his own lips, but all he could think about was how Jasper's father was a striking figure to behold when he was angry.

"Hey," Jasper nudged him with a foot, "you alright, mate?" His green eyes peered at John in concern under floppy curls, using his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. John hadn't even noticed when he'd put them back on, sure that his friend was smart enough to take them off before engaging in a pillow fight.

"I'm fine, just... I probably have to be getting home soon to check on my mum..." John didn't want to leave. He didn't want to go back to his depressing bedsit, with his depressing mum and back to his depressing life. He dreaded it. John hadn't had this much fun in longer than he could remember.

Jasper looked down at the couch, plucking at a piece of loose thread as he opened his mouth to speak. "John, I... I don't want you to leave either." He paused, swallowing several time before he met John's eyes again. "My dad and I were talking when you went to call your mum last night. He said it was fine if you wanted to stay... You know, I don't want you to be around your mum when she's like that. I know what it does to you." The pain in Jasper's eyes was like a punch to the gut for John. All this time he thought that no one was listening, no one cared, but Jasper had been planning and speaking on his behalf, to secure a safe haven for him. John didn't know what to think. He didn't want any pity nor charity, but he did want to be happy again.

John knew the smile on his face was a sad one. He had never been good at hiding his feelings. He wore his emotions like a second layer of skin.

"I'd love to, but I couldn't leave my mum. Without me, I don't know what she would do. She can hardly take care of herself now." John sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "If something happened to her and I wasn't there, I don't think I could ever forgive myself for that."

John laughed bitterly, "God knows Harry couldn't take care of someone, let alone, herself." He felt trapped by his own family and their pursuit to drive themselves to ruin.

Jasper didn't try to mask his disappointment, but he nodded in understanding, knowing that nothing could change John's mind. Jasper knew that if anything happened, John would blame himself and his inability to prevent it.

Before John could lose his nerve, he pushed Jasper's elevated feet off the couch and closed the gap between them, throwing him arms around his friend's neck. For a moment, John was afraid that Jasper wasn't going to react, but slowly, his arms came up to circle around the younger boy's back.

"Thank you," John whispered, throat tight around the words. "It means a lot to me, our friendship."

Jasper let out a shaky breath, nodding his head in agreement. "It means a lot to me, too," he breathed, "more than you know."

Jasper leaned back, one of his hands traveling slowly up John's back and fingers gliding softly along the nape of his neck. The moment was heavy with unspoken words and John could feel their chests against one another, heartbeats elevated.

Jasper's bespectacled green gaze flickered from John's eyes, to his lips and back, his own parted just a sliver. John could feel his face heating, and knew the tips of his ears had gone pink. He was so close, too close to what he had been dreaming of for more than a year now, and if he just leaned forward a little...

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut is what jolted them both out of the moment. John pulled away, feeling guilty for taking a moment of friendship and bonding and turning it into something not so innocent.

Jasper blinked rapidly, running a hand through his hair he took several deep breaths. John stood up, stretching his hands above his head, a yawn pushing at his lips. He was still a bit sleepy, but he reckoned it was too late to try and get a few more hours rest.

He turned to Jasper, seeing the boy reach under the table again for the pack of fags he kept hidden there. "Have you got any tea?" John would kill for a cuppa, about now.

Jasper gestured to the general area of the kitchen, and John took the hint. "Not going to be any more body parts, are there?"

Jasper snickered around the white stick between his lips. Holding it between middle and index finger, he pulled it away to speak. "Perhaps, perhaps not."

John rolled his eyes, a fond smile pulling at his lips. Jasper could be a right pain sometimes, but John wouldn't have him any other way.

He searched through several empty cabinets until he finally found the tea. "Got it," he called back.

"You might want to rinse it out," Jasper cautioned. "Dad might have some kind of mouldy stuff growing in there, or summat."

The man himself chose that moment to reveal himself, all bespoke and lean lines. John could feel his eyebrows threatening to reach his hairline, so he turned and made himself busy with preparing the tea. "Jasper, your grammar is atrocious. Every time you talk, it's like someone's taking a cheese grater to my brain."

John chuckled lightly, hearing Jasper's outraged protest. "Well that's unfair," he spluttered indignantly, "not everyone can be a posh git like you!"

John gasped, wondering how it was Jasper got away with calling his father a git, but as he turned, he could see the edges of Sherlock's lips pulling up and knew it was all in good fun.

When the tea was done, John put it on a tray along with three cups, sugar and a bit of milk before he took it to the living room and sat it down on the table. John poured his own cup, before getting comfortable in the chair with the plaid blanket thrown over it. Taking a sip, he breathed a sigh of relief, feeling soothed by the taste. When he glanced up, two pairs of eyes were watching him expectantly.

"What?" John looked from their eyes to his cup and back. "Oh no, I'm not your maid."

Jasper threw his head back and guffawed. "Dad, he's channeling Mrs. Hudson now! How brilliant is that?"

John frowned, tea cup stopping halfway to his lips. "So that's not... your maid, that is?"

Sherlock snorted in amusement, "Don't let her hear you say that."

Jasper's voice took on a high pitched tone as he waggled a finger at John. "Just this once, dear. I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper."

John couldn't help the giggle at Jasper's comedic display. He looked absolutely ridiculous.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his son's antics, eyes focused on his mobile where his fingers were relentlessly tapping away. "Your mimicry leaves much to be desired."

Jasper smiled in pride at his acting abilities or lack thereof, and turned to John. "So, when are you planning on going home."

John frowned, staring at his reflection in the tea. There were bags under his eyes from exhaustion and his lips were pressed in a firm line. "I dunno. Soon, maybe."

Jasper's voice pulled him out of his thoughts before he could sink too deep. "Maybe you could go check on your mum and come back. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." John could tell Jasper was pulling out every excuse he could think of to get John to stay, and it made him grin knowing his friend wanted him to stay just as bad as he wanted to. "We haven't even worked on our homework together like we were supposed to."

John leaned forward to place the cup on the table, wishing he could stay forever. "Maybe," he replied, biting his bottom lip nervously.

Jasper huffed angrily, crossing his arms over his chest, and John could feel one of his famous tantrums dredging up. "Right," he said, voice gone icy and scathing. "I guess it depends what she's taken today, then?"

Everyone froze, including Sherlock who had gotten up to peer out the window. The older Holmes didn't apologize for his son, because after all, Jasper was a product of his father, and everyone knew Sherlock Holmes never apologized for a deduction. Jasper however, had his eyes cast down in shame, gritting his teeth as he searched for something to say. "John, I didn't-"

John held up a hand, knowing Jasper was only snapping out of frustration, but the knowledge of it didn't make his thoughtless comment hurt any less. Pursing his lips, John tapped his fingers against the arms of the chair before nodding in resolve. "Right. Well I'll just be going now."

"Wait, John, don't leave. I didn't mean for it to come out like that." John grabbed his backpack and hoisted it over his shoulder, giving his best friend a soft smile, looking to reassure him.

"You're my best friend, Jas, but you really don't know as much as you think you do." His words were spoken not unkindly, but Jasper looked chastised none the less, arms dropping to his sides limply. "I promise, I'll be in touch later. Thanks for letting me kip on your sofa Mr. Holmes." With a smile to his friend and a friendly nod to the man silently absorbing the conversation, John turned and swept out of the room.

Once properly out of the building and onto the pavement, John allowed himself a pause. The street wasn't packed, just a lovely, quiet Saturday in London for the majority. John was left uninterrupted as he stopped on the pavement just outside the building, wiping away the stray tears. He felt weak and empty, like a joke in the face of all that was happening now.

John swiped an arm over his eyes and made to leave, taking one last look behind him at the place where he'd found himself feeling more at home than anywhere else.

In the window, Sherlock stood with a fag dangled between his fingers, smoke swirling into his mystifying eyes. He was pensive as he peered down at John, a beautiful, lonely figure back-dropped in darkness. Sherlock nodded once, slowly, and then disappeared behind the curtain.

John swallowed, and forced himself to carry on to the tube that would get him as close to his miserable little bedsit as possible.

"Mum?" John called as soon as he'd walked into the bedsit. The room was dark and shadowy, every corner draped in darkness, and his mother slumped lazily in the middle of the couch. An empty syringe was laid out on the table before her, and the tourniquet still wrapped around his mother's abused arm.

John could hear Harry running the shower in the bathroom and the Telly was turned on extremely low, to a BBC documentary he hadn't seen before. John dropped his pack onto the floor by the entrance, feeling anger already rolling deep in his belly like a gathering thunderstorm.

The door to the bathroom swung open just as he went to check his mother's pulse. Once John felt the steady beat, he breathed a sigh of relief, wondering when the time was going to come that he wouldn't feel it any longer.

Harry stalked further into the room once she saw him, long blonde hair wet with water. Her face was set in a deep frown that distorted her pretty features hideously. Harry didn't have much to be happy about these day, and it seemed she had time to stew and was ready to unleash her fury.

"Where the hell have you been? What's the matter with you leaving mum here alone?" Harry was furious, but her anger only fueled John's in turn.

John turned on her without a moments notice. "I was at a friend's. Where were you," he growled, "sleeping off another hangover in a ditch?"

Harry started forward, shoving at John's chest harshly, and he stumbled back, barely keeping himself on his feet. "Bugger off, you little shit! You don't know anything!"

John vowed he would never lay his hands on a woman, but Harry was pushing him to the point where he wanted to disregard that promise, and he wouldn't feel bad about it. "I know enough to know you're never here when she needs you," he yelled, feeling his frayed nerves begin to come apart at the seams. "You don't care about her, you don't care about anyone but yourself and your drink!"

Harry charged forward, drawing her fist back and punching John straight in the mouth, catching him off guard. He fell on his arse with enough force to bruise, and no sooner was he down, than was Harry on him like a wild animal, screaming abuse and wrapping her hands around his neck.

"You don't know anything, you don't! Why don't you just leave!" John pulled at her hands around his neck, struggling against her hold and trying desperately to filter air through his trachea. "I hate you! None of this would be happening if it weren't for you!"

John could see her crying now, but adrenaline was making her stronger and John couldn't dislodge her hands from his throat. Black dots were appearing before him now, vision going fuzzy as she continued to deny her brother air. Harry was crying hysterically now and her hands had finally slackened a bit, but John was already being pulled into the clutches of darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision. He allowed it to pull him under. John didn't know if he was escaping or finally giving up.

When John awoke, the room was pitched in complete darkness, and his body ached from his prone position on the floor. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his sore neck as he remembered his sister's assault. John's phone dug into his arse from his back pocket, and he reached back to pull it out. 18:31.

John had received one new message from Jasper wondering if everything was okay, and another apology, three hours ago. He flipped his phone shut. No, everything was not okay.

The blond struggled to stand on shaky legs as he felt along the walls for a light switch, right hand affixed to his aching jaw. John's fingers found the switch which he flipped and pulled his fingers away, painted red.

"Shit," the teen swore under his breath. His sister was such a coward, never wanting to face herself or the things she put others through. John didn't even know why he put up with her shit. Honestly, he didn't know why he put up with either of them. Remembering his mother, John turned to see if his mother was still in her drugged haze on the couch, and found it empty. His mother had gone, meaning she had to step over him to do so. She probably hadn't even stopped to see if John was still breathing before she went on her new quest to find something to dumb her sorrows.

John limped to the bathroom, his arse smarting quite a bit. He didn't stop to think of what he was doing, just swung open the cabinet and grabbed all of his things. John hadn't planned on doing anything drastic, but just seeing what was happening to him, to his family, he had to get out. He grabbed the only duffle bag he kept at the top of their shared cupboard and stuffed what little clothes and precious items he had into it.

Once packed, John grabbed his book bag off the floor by the entrance and the duffle with everything he owned. With one last look at the empty bedsit, John walked away, leaving behind everything he'd ever known.

John walked aimlessly for hours, shoulders aching from the weight of his bags. A few people had stopped him to inquire if he was alright or needed assistance, but many just walked as far away from him as possible. He imagined what he must look like with bruises around his neck and on his jaw, as well as a bloodied lip.

Eventually he found himself standing outside a familiar building on Baker Street. John hadn't even realized he had been walking in that direction. He climbed the stairs slowly, taking a steadying breath to calm the nervous flutters in his gut. Hopefully after this morning, the offer wasn't off the table. John hoped Jasper would at least let him use the shower and kip on the couch for the night, if anything, and then when he woke tomorrow, he could figure out what to do from there.

John finally got up the nerve to knock, and leaned forward, rapping on the door sharply. After a minute of no answer, he rang the bell, hearing no signs of life from inside. He backed away looking up at the first storey window. John swore under his breath at seeing it dark and uninhabited, wishing he had thought to call before assuming he could just come round.

John pulled the bags off his shoulder and sat them on the steps beside him, feeling as if the last of his energy had been depleted. He ran a trembling hand through blond hair that desperately needed a good washing off.

John settled in to wait, leaning against the rails and closing his eyes. His head felt heavy with things he didn't want to think about and John just felt like sleeping and never waking up. Everyday he wondered when he would get around to doing something about it.

An hour passed and there was still no sign of Sherlock or Jasper, so John figured he might have time to grab a sandwich and a packet of crisps from the shop next door. He ate, feeling ravenous, realizing he hadn't had anything to eat all day, which was more than unusual for him. Everything that day had been happening so quickly and John hadn't had time to pause and think of himself. Finishing his sandwich, John balled up the wrapper and threw it in the bin on the pavement and put the crisps in his bag to save for later, before settling down on the steps again. The later it became, the lower the temperature fell, and John was left huddled over his knees with his arms wrapped around his shoulders in order to conserve warmth.

Shortly thereafter, a black cab pulled up and Sherlock Holmes stepped out, wrapped in bespoke and a black wool great coat, long legs unfolding from the backseat gracefully. He didn't look at all surprised to see John, however, almost as if he had expected this. Sherlock's eyebrows drew together slightly as he looked him over, taking quick notes of the split lip and bruised jaw, probably even deducing the discomfort of his arse from the way he sat.

Sherlock stepped past him, pulling out his keys and opening the door for John to go through first, no offer to help with his bags forthcoming. John limped through the door, avoiding Sherlock's ever watchful gaze, staring at his old trainers instead.

Sherlock led the way up the stairs, taking them two at a time where John struggled to keep up with him, shorter legs unable to stretch as far.

The taller man flicked on the lights and pulled his coat off to hang near the door. He still hadn't uttered a word, and John wondered if that should make him nervous or happy. After what happened earlier in the day, the way John had walked out, anything Sherlock could say would be fair.

John cleared his throat, still standing by the door awkwardly. "So I'm guessing Jasper won't be back for a while if he's not here already."

Sherlock turned piercing pale eyes upon him, and John immediately found himself feeling unworthy to be in the same space as this man. He was like a planet all on his own, complete with his own gravitational pull. "I sent him to stay with my brother for a few days."

John blinked, feeling his heart sink. He had desperately wanted to speak with Jasper and tell him not to worry, that he wasn't angry with the other boy. John had wanted Jasper to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay and say something to make the mood lighter.

Sherlock stopped before him, hands shoved in his pockets. "You decided to take him up on the offer. Due in part to your sister's attempt on your life, perhaps."

John gaped silently, at a loss for words, not really wanting to know how Sherlock could tell, but amazed at the ability that he could relay exactly how if John simply asked. "Y-yes, but I'll understand if you don't want me here. I don't want to impose."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively before he turned to the hallway, calling over his shoulder. "Don't be boring, John, I like you much more when you're not saying stupid things."

John smiled slightly at that, feeling his shoulders relax slowly. That was Sherlock Holmes speak for 'Of course you can stay.' Feeling relieved, John shucked his jacket off and hung it on the coat rack next to Sherlock's, looking for a moment at how pathetic the cheap material looked next to a coat that most likely cost over one thousand pounds.

Sherlock materialized in the living room again, this time with a damp towel and a disinfectant. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to the chair with the Union Jack pillow.

John shrugged, pulling himself from his reverie and going to sit in the chair Sherlock hovered next to.

He really did try not to be surprised when Sherlock knelt down in front of him, beside his legs instead of between them. John guessed that would have been a little more suggestive. "You're going to want to put some ice on that," Sherlock pointed out, eyes flickering to his jaw and back to his lips where he raised the damp towel to.

They both knew this was something John could have done himself, but Sherlock seemed to genuinely want to do it, and John could admit that he felt a little comfort in being taken care of.

John winced as the towel caught his lips a bit, hand coming up out of habit and landing to cover the other man's larger one.

"At first I didn't see what it was Jasper was seeing when he looked at you," Sherlock began, "poor little boy who needed a friend to rescue him."

John felt the sharp stab at Sherlock's honest words. His deep voice was soft and calming, contrary to the things that left his mouth. "Most people stay around to see what they can get, prey on the vulnerable. My son has an open heart, and an affinity for strays, but I always stop things before they can go too far."

John didn't know why Sherlock was telling him these things, and he felt breathless with the knowledge he was receiving. Sherlock's hand was still trapped under his own hand, but not strong enough that it couldn't be moved if the owner wanted to.

John couldn't look away from those sharp eyes, wondering if Sherlock could see all the hurt and anger, the truth and lies and the admiration he was currently feeling. "But you, John, you haven't asked for a thing and I could already see Jasper already on the edge of giving everything he has to you." Sherlock leaned closer, bow lips skirting slowly against the line of his jaw. "I know what you're doing to him, because I can feel it, too."

John could feel his chest heave in anticipation, Sherlock's breath making him tremble with the desire to reach forward and take, take, take.

Sherlock's eyes were roaming over his face, devouring every reaction, close enough that he and John inhaled the very same air. Finally, the older man leaned forward, placing a sensuous kiss at the corner of his lips. At this point, John was very near to hyperventilating.

Sherlock released the towel he still held and wrapped large hands around the nape of John's neck, pulling him forward with the leverage. This was no light, tentative peck, but a hard demanding clash of lips and teeth all coming together to send John's brain into a momentary relapse.

The other man had moved to kneel between his legs, pulling him forward by his thighs to the edge of the chair and up against a solid chest. When their lips parted, John turned his head slightly, panting into the other man's cheek.

Swollen lips pressed down his neck in soft nips, sharp teeth pulling at yielding flesh. Sherlock pulled back to see John's face, eyes gone dark with adrenaline and desire. "Does he know what it's like to see you this way? Bruised lips and flushed skin," he growled. "I could take you right here, and you would let me." Those lips hovered deliciously close, but just out of John's reach, taunting him. "Wouldn't you?"

John nodded, bones turned to liquid inside his body, Sherlock holding his upper body against him being the only thing to keep him from slumping. Dirty things slipped out of the older man's mouth as easily as his deductions, exciting John beyond anything he had ever felt. He could feel himself growing hard, but mortification took a backseat to desire, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

The air in the room had grown thick with their shared breaths, and John was beginning to feel sticky and overheated. Before he could think about what was happening, Sherlock had pulled him the rest of the way off the chair and into his lap.

The older man's cock pressed against his own, causing both men to let out a hiss of pleasure. Sherlock had one hand on the small of his back, smoothing down John's arching back, the other fisted tightly into blond hair. Sherlock's tongue worked skillfully along his lesser experienced appendage, devouring him slowly.

The hand on his back pressed down, guiding his hips down to undulate his cock against Sherlock's.

The other man groaned into his mouth, before breaking away, head slumping against John's shoulder as he ground his hips up into John's groin. Sherlock's eyes were nearly luminous as he hooked John in a searing staring match that left him feeling peeled open and vulnerable. Sherlock was panting something unintelligible, even with how close they were, John couldn't make it out.

Sherlock flipped them over, John now on his back, and sat on his heels, one hand trailing from John's torso to the zip on his trousers. His shirt was hitched up to his chest, and Sherlock took advantage of this, leaning forward to place a trail of kisses down to the edge of the jeans where deft hands were steadily working to release his cock from its confines.

When the cool air hit, John gasped, feeling his erect penis flag just slightly from the unexpected draft. Sherlock sat up, eyes half mast as he took in the picture of John splayed out beneath him, wanting and waiting, legs spread in an open invitation.

Sherlock undid his own zip, slowly pulling out his cock and stroking it lightly, eyes trailing over his lover's young body. Ripe and untouched; John knew older men liked those things, and he'd never engaged in anything like this, but he had a feeling had he been older, more weathered, that this man would still look at him the same way.

Sherlock leaned down, settling himself between John's legs and aligning their weeping cocks. His lips descended upon John's in a hungry, tender kiss that took his breath away.

Slender hips worked sensuously down against his own, a slow circle that threatened to leave him gasping and sweating. Their lips broke apart and Sherlock nuzzled into the space between his neck and shoulder, mouth moving with silent words.

John wrapped his legs around a slim waist and allowed the other man to lead them to the end. Sherlock's hips were growing increasingly more forceful, and John could feel the tension gathering up, release just out of his reach.

Words were becoming clearer as Sherlock worked this closer to the edge, one hand steadying them on the ground, while the other found its place in John's hair once again. They were sharing the same breath, Sherlock speaking words against his gasping mouth and John could finally begin to make them out. "He can't have you," he slurred, having a harder time speaking as his orgasm pushed closer and closer. "He can't have you. John, John, my John."

John could hear his name being spoken like a prayer now, and something about hearing Sherlock's possessive chant pushed him over the edge. John came harder than anything he had ever done, body convulsing beneath the larger one atop him, feeling as if his soul was leaving him. Sherlock was not far behind, hips moving erratically now, until they tensed above him, and pale eyes squeezed shut with the force of the orgasm, lips open in a soundless groan.

John laid lifelessly beneath the detective, who had slumped over him in exhaustion and lazy pleasure. His chest heaved with the effort to stabilize his breathing, head quite unable to wrap round what just happened.

Sherlock seemed to be the quicker of the two to recover. He rolled off of John and laid beside him on the floor, looking over to make sure he was okay.

John nodded, a goofy smile threatening to break loose. Sherlock chuckled, leaning forward to place a light kiss on his smirking lips. "Come to bed with me," he whispered, eyes suddenly serious as he peered down at the younger man.

John's smile waned slightly, wondering about the implications of climbing into bed with Sherlock . He had never had penetrative sex with a male before, and his knowledge on the subject extended to where the man would actually insert his penis. Sherlock ran a gentle finger down his cheek in reassurance. "Just sleep."

John nodded, comforted by the fact that Sherlock was aware of his doubts and wouldn't push him to do anything he didn't want to. "Of course, but do you mind if I use your shower first?"

Sherlock sighed dramatically, long legs splayed out on the floor. "If you must."

John hoisted himself off the floor, feeling sticky, but decidedly pleased with their earlier tryst. Sherlock's longer legs lifted him gracefully off the floor, a step behind John as he headed for the bathroom. John turned to see Sherlock enter the bathroom behind him, clothes having been thrown off during the walk.

John couldn't pretend he wasn't pleased, not when he couldn't wipe the silly grin off his lips and get his heart to stop trying to escape his chest.

The shared shower found the blond crowded in a corner, the taller man looming over him, laying gentle kisses on his lips that had John melting into him. Everything about the man was intoxicating, and John found himself indulging like a glutton. Things never progressed past brief swipes of hands over sensitive places and a healthy amount of snogging.

It wasn't until the two of them had dried off and their bodies pressed close in Sherlock's bed, that John began to really think about what they had done together. Jasper had been just a thought in the background, but now his best friend weighed heavily on his conscious. John had just engaged in sexual intercourse with his best friend's father and was now sleeping in bed with him.

It had never happened this fast before with anyone, not even he and Jasper, who had slowly been gravitating around one another for years now. John had known that eventually they would either collide at some point or drift away, just not when. It seemed after meeting Sherlock, all of that was out the window, and John didn't know what to make of that.

He still cared for Jasper dearly, and he barely knew the older Holmes, but that didn't stop John from feeling this compulsory magnetism to the detective.

"Please, restrain yourself from thinking quite so loudly." Sherlock's chocolate baritone pushed through his thoughts, frayed with annoyance.

John rolled over to see Sherlock wide awake and eyes not dulled by exhaustion, but rather lit with insight and a tinge of wariness. "You're thinking about him."

John nodded, eyes closing briefly against the knowing look Sherlock was pinning him with. "Aren't you?"

Sherlock sighed, laying his head down on one folded arm as he gazed back at John, voice lowering to something deeper and pensive. "I am, but not quite in the way that you are. You feel guilty about what we've done."

Hearing him say what John was feeling only set it in stone, like a heavy thing sitting in the gap between their bodies. "Jasper and I never said anything to one another about how we've felt, but I suspected one us were going to crack at some turn or another. I never could have seen this... you, coming."

Sherlock didn't look away throughout John's speech, just settled that unnerving gaze upon him and was dissolving his layers piece by piece, reading him like the open book that he was.

"Your guilt is unnecessary; we can't go back and change the past, but I will tell you this, John. I don't make it a habit of being dishonest and I've never hidden any aspect of my life from my son." Sherlock's voice was firm with the conviction of his words, and John found he couldn't argue with the man. "Jasper will find out, eventually, and when he does, I'm not going to deny anything we've done here tonight. You will find that I have very few regrets in this life, but having you in my bed is not and never will be one of them."

John swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling caught up on a tide of emotions he wasn't all that used to experiencing. "He'll be angry."

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Oh, if he's anything like me, he'll be furious."

"But you knew," John stated in a tremulous voice, "You knew when we first met what Jasper and I were heading to, so why me?"

The older man's eyes squinted through the darkness, assessing his answer before letting it slip past his lips, scanning John's tone and body language, and weighing his words carefully. "The night I met you and saw how my son looked at you, I had every intention of sending you away. You are his weakness and I couldn't figure you out, what it was you wanted from him."

"I had you all figured out, was ready to get to the endgame when we spoke that night, but you were so very unexpected, unpredictable." This was the most John had ever heard Sherlock say, but he found the older man's voice lulling him into complacency, even as he spoke of his initial feelings of distrust towards John.

"This morning, when Jasper deduced your mother's drug addiction, you didn't react the way I would expect most hot-headed teenagers would. I was ready to intervene, because Jasper and I are alike in the respect that we are both very honest people, without regard for things such as feelings and sentiment, and I know that it doesn't always sit well with some to have their deepest secrets laid out before them."

"You were cross with him, but you forgave him almost as quickly." Now Sherlock was smiling a bit, crows feet appearing handsomely at the corners of his eyes. "I admired that about you, because it was like Jasper mentioned... That you understood him. There are very few that do."

John licked his lips before replying tentatively, "So you fancy me because I understand your son, have I got that bit down?"

Sherlock gave him a look that clearly conveyed his impatience with John's inability to keep up. "No, you idiot, I fancy you, because you stand apart from the rest. I fancy you because you are the first person in many years that is causing me to feel things." He stretch the word feel like something bitter on his tongue, upper lips curling slightly on the e's. "That is... unprecedented."

John grinned, feeling his heart swell in his chest. This is not the man he had heard such awful things about; where was all the vitriol and filth he liked to dole out to anyone he came into contact with? "So, you don't make it a habit of sleeping with all of your son's friends?" John had been ribbing him of course, but he was curious to know.

Sherlock leaned forward, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before he pulled away, a more solemn mien chasing away his delight. "This isn't really my area, John. It's been years since I've allowed my flesh to take over. I have my work and also raising a son, both of which can be consuming."

John felt his stomach clench in hurt, wondering if this was the only night he would get to be with Sherlock like this. He nodded in understanding, knowing what it's like to be consumed by things; not having time for anyone or anything else, least of all yourself. The only difference was that Sherlock chose to immerse himself in things, that was his lifestyle. John wasn't afforded that luxury.

"However, you are becoming quite the exception, John Watson." A long, thin finger trailed intimately along John's lips. "I am inexplicably drawn to you."

John scooted forward to close the gap between them, pressing his body to the lithe one beside him and pulling the cover up over his shoulder. He was positively knackered; it had been a long day.

The bruise on his jaw still smarted a bit and Sherlock had pointed out that he had a large, mottled discolouration that began at the middle of his left buttock and flared down to the top of his thigh.

Sherlock wrapped an arm around his waist, placing a chaste kiss against John's forehead. "Sleep, we will talk more tomorrow."

John nodded, already falling into a light doze before Sherlock had even finished his sentence.

"What do you mean he got away?" A livid growl woke John out of a deep slumber, accompanied by a loud bang from the direction of the lounge room. "What must it be like in your funny little brains? Should I have come to hold your hand, because obviously you imbeciles can't make proper sense of a set of coordinates!"

John squeezed his eyes shut, and pulled the cover over his head, feeling bad for whatever sorry sod was on the receiving end of Sherlock's scathing diatribe. He snuggled back into the bed, happy to be out of those particular crosshairs.

Sherlock sighed loudly, and John heard the sound of his body flop against the couch. "Yes well, now it's your problem. Don't call me, unless it's for a new case."

The flat was quiet for a moment before the detective padded loudly back into the room. John was unhappily surprised by the sudden shock of cold air and sunlight that invaded his senses. Sherlock had ripped the sheet off and threw them carelessly into a corner of the room. "Get up, John, you've been playing at sleeping long enough now, and I'm bored."

John groaned, curling up in a ball to conserve heat, wanting nothing more than to sleep for as long as possible. "Go find something to do then, and let me sleep," he grumbled, snuffling sleepily into his pillow and considering locking the older man out of his own room.

"I need to think; I need a case, and for God's sake, I need tea, John!" Sherlock was worked up into a black mood, and John was unsure how to approach the situation, not having known him long enough to know what would make him happy.

"Not your maid," John reminded the older man, holding up a finger in a matter-of-fact fashion, before allowing it to fall lazily back onto the bed.

Sherlock stalked to the window, peering down at Baker Street with a solemn frown. The detective addressed John without turning, assuming he already had the younger male's attention. "My brother is bringing Jasper home."

John sat up sharply at that, becoming aware for the first time that morning that he was completely naked. "Wh-what, I thought you said he'd be gone a few days."

Sherlock's jaw was clenched as he continued to survey the people going about their daily motions. "Mycroft must have told him you were here. My brother is incapable of keeping his fat nose out of everything."

John swallowed, wondering how long he had to shower and tidy up the lounge room a bit. He didn't know what kind of damning evidence they left on the floor last night. John jumped off the bed ready to fly into action, but a strong hand caught him by the arm as he passed the prone figure of his lover.

"If you don't relax, Jasper will know the minute he walks through that door." Sherlock's face held more seriousness than John had seen since he met the man, and he wondered what he must look like to warrant such a specific warning.

John wasn't going to pretend he wasn't dreading his friend's return, already feeling as if he was walking a tightrope with this tentative new... whatever it was going on between he and the elder Holmes.

Sherlock leant down, placing his lips over John's, and the younger male felt his body melting into him before he had even realized they were kissing.

During their intercourse the night before, Sherlock was careful to keep his hands in John's sight, never traversing into unbidden territory, but now, his hands explored then supple skin of the blond's arse, gentle and curious. John exhaled against the brunette's lips, helpless to the destructive nature of Sherlock's skilled hands exacting pleasure upon him.

"I won't let him have you,"Sherlock whispered, arms coming up to secure a tight grip around John's waist. "Not you."

John nodded against his shoulder, trying to wrap his mind around the changes that were sure to come. How long would it be until Sherlock could hold him like this again? How long would it be before he could feel those marvelous hands running along his body, through his hair?

The embrace stretched on for several minutes before John broke away, turning to head to the shower, hoping he had at least an hour to get everything done before Jasper arrived.

He made quick work of his shower, making sure to leave no traces of Sherlock's expensive cologne on his body. Finally, he got dressed and went about brushing his teeth, and washing away the last of Sherlock along with it.

The living room was a quick fix; just a matter of cleaning up behind Sherlock and scooping up his clothes to the throw in the laundry basket. The older man had disappeared into the shower a short while after John finished and later emerged from his room in one of his usual custom tailored suits.

When there was nothing left to do, John perched in his self proclaimed chair and waited anxiously for his best friend to return home, fingers tapping restlessly against the arms of his seat. Sherlock sat opposite John in the plush black chair and folded his legs imperiously, fingers coming to steeple under chin.

"Relax," he ordered, tipping his head to the door, where John could hear heavy footsteps rapidly clambering up the stairs. He would know that sound anywhere.

The door swung open and there was the wild haired, bespectacled teenager of his lover, staring at John with such utter relief, he couldn't stop the sharp pang of guilt that shot through him. Jasper started forward, albeit, a bit more slowly than he'd walked through the door.

"John," the other boy said warily, green eyes taking in the bruises on his jaw and neck, as well as the split lip. It wasn't as severe as the night before, but the damage still stood out starkly against John's skin, impossible not to notice.

John smiled, still feeling something in him go soft whenever he was around the young Holmes. "Hey, Jas..."

"You're staying." Jasper didn't ask, more like stated the obvious, but sought his confirmation, anyways.

John knew what they looked like. Two estranged lovers coming together after being apart for too long, and in a way, John thought maybe that was what was happening. They had never been lovers, but closer than, without the added intimacy. John nodded.

"Good," Jasper said softly, before throwing himself towards John and wrapping him in an embrace. The blond stumbled slightly with the force of his friend's weight slamming into him, but recovered quickly and found himself hugging Jasper back with just as much force.

"I'm sorry for being such a tosser to you yesterday. I hate when you're cross with me." John had a perfect view of Sherlock in his line of sight as he was locked in the embrace, and he could see the perfect line the man's lips had formed, almost white with the pressure he inflicted on them. John met his eyes with an almost imperceptible nod, which of course, Sherlock caught onto with sharp, observant eyes.

'Relax,' John mouthed to his lover, and Sherlock shifted, recrossing his legs in the opposite direction and pulled out his phone to tinker with. Oddly enough, his face had gone completely blank.

Jasper reluctantly pulled back, and glanced over to his father, as if realizing for the first time that he and John weren't alone. "Dad," he nodded towards him. "Anything on today?"

Sherlock leaned his head against the back of the chair as if he were exhausted. "According to Lestrade, I've managed to help them put away every small-time criminal in London. That, or they're getting smarter about covering their tracks, which is highly doubtful. The level of stupidity on their part is painfully appalling."

Jasper chuckled lightly and turned back to John. "Dad took me on a few cases with him last week; usually they ended in us running through dark alleys and chasing bad guys."

"And," Sherlock chimed in expectantly.

"Aaaaand being shot at a few times, how could I possibly forget," Jasper finished, rolling his eyes playfully. "Maybe you can come with us next time."

John smiled brightly, longing to experience that kind of excitement for once in his life. What must it be like to live with Sherlock Holmes?

Almost immediately after, Sherlock's ringtone echoed loudly throughout the flat, drawing the attention of all three inhabitants to the mobile buzzing on the table. Without delay, a pale hand reached out and snatched it up quickly.

"What," Sherlock snapped into the mobile, tone a bit surly, but face expressing hopeful excitement. John could hear the voice of a man speaking loudly through the line, probably annoyed by Sherlock's brusque acknowledgement. "We'll be there in thirty."

A loud, gruff voice tinged with frustration was promptly cut off as he loudly inquired "We? Sherlock who the hell is we-"

The elder Holmes wasted no time in jumping out of his seat, a whirlwind of activity, grabbing a blue scarf to wrap around his neck and throwing on the thick black coat.

Finally, the older man paused, turning to look at the two teenagers, John staring in wide eyed confusion and Jasper was almost jumping out of his trousers in anticipation. "Come on, we've got a case!"

Jasper was the first to recover, yelling over his shoulder to wait a moment while he went to go collect his jacket, leaving the two of them alone rather unexpectedly.

Sherlock looked the younger male over pensively. "Could be dangerous," he warned John, before a devious smile split across his face. "Wanna come?"

John exhaled shakily, heart jumping to his throat in excitement. Sherlock was looking at him with something like hope and longing and John was sure his eyes were reflecting the same sentiments. He stepped forward and pulled Sherlock down by his lapels. The older man stared at him with unmasked desire and John knew he was thrilled by the possibility of Jasper walking in at any moment, seeing them like this, but the sudden offer of danger and adventure is what fueled him. John wanted this, wanted to feel alive.

The younger male reached up and placed a slow sensuous kiss on the detective's lips before pulling away, hands still clutching tightly to his coat.

"Oh, God, yes."

It was past midnight when the three of them fell into the flat, laughing hysterically.

Jasper was doubled over in amusement, very near to cackling as he rehashed the nights events. "Oh my God, did you see his face? The look- Oh God, the look!" He promptly collapsed into another laughing fit, wiping the tears from his eyes.

John was unable to control himself any long, his light chuckle progressing into an embarrassing giggle. "Sherlock jumping down on him like some great bloody bird!"

He and Jasper were wheezing with the need to breath. "God, that was brilliant," Jasper huffed out, "He got all caught up in dad's coat."

Up until then, Sherlock had been smirking smugly, but soon his deep chuckles had joined into the cacophony, the lot of them laughing like fools in the lounge room. John threw himself on the couch, finally settling down enough to get his breath back. There had been a lot of running involved.

"I don't think I've ever had that much fun before." True to Jasper's words, they had chased a couple of suspects down several alleys and crossed rooftops as shortcuts. It had been amazing and invigorating, and John had felt invincible for the first time in his life.

Jasper slouched down on John's customary chair, sitting sideways with his legs on the arm of the seat. "I have to say John, the way you tackled that other guy was ace. It must be the rugby."

"Honestly, I doubt he would have gone down if he had been expecting it," John replied, seeking to downplay his role a bit. Anyone could have done it, really. The man had been a big brutish fellow, and John thought the element of surprise would be the best strategy in taking him down.

Jasper had helped him keep the man securely on the ground while John wrapped gaffa tape around his captive's beefy wrists.

Sherlock looked surprised for once and then afterward, delighted. John had been happy to have impressed Sherlock, especially on the first case he was privy to, and hoped that soon, the detective would ask him along again next time.

Jasper waved off John's modesty and laid his head sideways against the chair. "I'm knackered," he sighed, "and we have school in the morning."

Suddenly John groaned, feeling a migraine coming on already as he thought about his book bag full of homework with blank answers. "Mrs. Finley is going to have our arses tomorrow if we don't have anything to turn in!"

Jasper nodded sadly in assent before grudgingly dragging himself up the stairs to change out of his day clothes and retrieve his book bag. John had gone to the kitchen to make them tea for the long night ahead, assuming he was alone in the kitchen until he turned and bumped nose-to-chest with Sherlock.

"Sher-," Whatever else he had been about to say was lost when John was unexpectedly drawn into a bruising kiss, his back pushing back painfully against the counter. Sherlock hitched John's thigh up over his hip and pressed close enough for John to feel his arousal through his trousers.

When they pulled apart to breathe Sherlock's mellifluous voice filtered through the haze of desire, coated with lust and fervency. "You've no idea the things I want to do to you. I would have you right here," he moaned, pushing his groin against John's.

John wrapped an arm around the taller man's neck, the other holding on to Sherlock's bicep. "I think I have a bit of an idea," John gasped into his lover's mouth. His fingers ran through those soft dark curls, pulling the detective's lips down to his own, into something more gentle and intimate.

The sound of feet on the stairs broke them apart sooner than John wanted to be parted from their heated moment. He turned to continue the tea while, Sherlock walked unhurriedly to sit at the table.

Jasper swept into the room looking decidedly more comfortable in a plain grey top and checked pyjama bottoms. "God, I feel like I haven't eaten in days. Do we have anything to nosh on?"

Happy for a distraction, John made himself busy looking through the cabinets for anything edible or something he could throw together. John had been so caught up in everything, he hadn't eaten all day and his stomach was complaining loudly.

Finally he found some canned beans and a loaf of bread that hadn't yet reached its expiry date. "Well, beans on toast it is."

John made enough food and tea for the three of them, and they all ate silently, each lost in their own thoughts. Sherlock had taken a few bites and then promptly ignored his plate, allowing Jasper the chance to swoop down and grab it. When they were done, John and Jasper brought their book bags to the table while Sherlock sat at the island and peered at a slide through the lens of his microscope.

They were halfway into their homework when John could feel a migraine coming on, and he dropped his biro on the table to run his finger over his temples.

"You alright, mate," Jasper inquired, looking worriedly at his friend. "I didn't want to say anything, but you looked a little flush when I came down earlier."

John froze, as did Sherlock at the island, in John's peripheral. John swallowed nervously, scratching at a spot behind his ear as he tried not to look so guilty. "'m fine," he mumbled, avoiding Jasper's gaze, "Just a bit sleepy is all."

"I reckon you would be after all that running. You can sleep in my bed if you'd like, it's dad's old one so it's big enough to fit a group of five," Jasper chuckled. In the corner of his eyes, John could see Sherlock turn rigidly on his stool, almost painfully uncomfortable with the idea but unwilling to interject.

John knew if he accepted, perhaps Jasper would be looking for a little more than sleep, perhaps not, but John didn't want to take the chance. A few days ago, this would have been something he would have agreed to enthusiastically, but now John felt considerably less attracted to the idea, and not a small amount of guilt.

Jasper was watching him from under thick dark lashes, gauging his reaction, and the emotion behind his bespectacled green eyes wasn't wholly innocent.

John blinked once, and then again, slowly, clearing his thoughts. "Really, I'm fine on the couch, and besides, I don't really sleep much throughout the night. I wouldn't want to wake you or anything."

Jasper was quiet for a moment, continuing to point that laser stare at him in a terrifying likeness to his father, and John realized the older boy was closely analyzing him.

Painstakingly slowly, Jasper finally dragged his eyes away and back down to his paper. "Alright," he replied, "well the offer is still on the table if you change your mind." And that was the end of that.

In the corner of his vision, John could see Sherlock's tense form visibly relax as his attention returned back to the microscope, but his hand on the table stayed curled into a tight fist, belying his tumultuous thoughts.

Three in the morning found the boys dragging themselves to their respective sleeping areas, finally having completed all of their assignments. Sherlock had disappeared into his room shortly after the uncomfortable moment with Jasper, and now, all John wanted to do was sleep before going to school in the morning.

Just past four, John was finally drifting towards sleep when a noise caught his attention. The lights were off and the room was pitched in darkness when he heard a door open with a soft creak from the hinges. Light feet padded over the floor along with the light swish of fabric.

John was turned on his side, facing the back of the couch and felt a long, slim body slip in behind him, wrapping wiry arms around his waist lightly. He sighed, relaxing back into Sherlock's warm body, feeling too sleepy to do anything but grunt in quiet acknowledgment.

Cold lips brushed against the back of John's exposed neck, exhaling in soft, breathy puffs that made him shiver. Sherlock seemed hesitant to move any closer, and his heart was beating quickly against John's back.

John turned, unable to see in the darkness, but wishing he could see his lover's face and figure out why he was being so jumpy. John sought out a shoulder in the darkness and used it as a guide to skirt up his neck and into tangled curls. He reached up and placed a reassuring kiss on Sherlock's lips and then pulled back just as quickly when the older man's breath began to come in quicker.

John pulled away and sat up, reaching blindly for the lamp with fumbling hands, worried that something was seriously wrong with Sherlock, but when he clicked on the light, he realized what it was.

It wasn't Sherlock, but Jasper, lips thin and looking as if he'd just... had his heart broken.

"I figured there was something you weren't telling me," he started slowly, "so I thought I'd find out myself." John had never heard Jasper's voice so flat and unanimated before, and John stood, feeling intimidated and admittedly frightened.

Jasper laughed bitterly, curly dark head shaking as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Dear John, poor little John, sad and alone with no one to love him. So he goes and has a fucking shag with his best friend's father. Makes for a good sob story doesn't it?"

"Jasper-," John attempted to cut in, but snapped his lips shut tightly when the older boy rounded on him furiously.

"Shut. Up!" John winced away from Jasper, unable to recognize his friend in his rage.

John prayed that Sherlock hadn't heard, but his attempts were in vain, because a moment later, the room door opened and Sherlock stepped out, assessing the situation.

"I thought you were being a little too familiar when I came down to lay with you, and then you kissed me like you'd done it before." Jasper was sneering at him with so much disgust, and John felt it harder than the blow Harry had dealt to his jaw the other day. Jasper turned to his father who was standing at the door watching him with guarded calmness.

"I guess it's true what everyone says about you, hm? What was it; you're a heartless, selfish machine. Sounds about right."

Sherlock didn't say anything to defend himself, just stared back at his son with no amount of apology, true to his word. "You knew what I was going to do, you know everything there is to know!" Jasper shouted, voice cracking on the end. "Just like you knew how I felt about John, and right under my nose, you stole him and ruined everything, just like every friendship I've ever. Had!"

Sherlock's expression stayed perfectly neutral as he stalked forward to stand before his son, still a head taller with the added advantage of being naturally imposing. "Everything I've ever done has been for your benefit."

Jasper scoffed, throwing his head back. "Yes, like shagging John behind my back, how noble of you," the younger Holmes sneered caustically.

Sherlock shook his head, eyes flickering to John momentarily and then back to his son. "No," he said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. "That was something else entirely.

Jasper stepped back as if burned, eyes wide as he interpreted the meaning behind his father's words.

John who had been listening quietly stepped forward to comfort his friend, it was Sherlock who stopped him with a sharp look.

Jasper's shoulders were shaking with anger and John wished to reach forward and calm him with a soothing touch.

Suddenly Jasper turned back on him, not sure who to be more angry with.

"Can you see what you've done to us?" Jasper asked sadly, eyes gone cold and flinty. "Just leave; just go home."

John stepped forward, looking to placate him, but just as fast as his fingers made contact, he found himself shoved back harshly onto the ground, falling onto his already bruised arse cheek.

Sherlock moved into action, getting his son into the floor on his stomach with one arm pulled sharply up behind his back. He leaned down to talk closely in his son's ear slowly and firmly.

"Look at where you are, and look at what you at what you are doing," Sherlock spoke as if he were coaxing a wild horse into submission. "Control yourself."

"Get off me," Jasper hissed through gritted teeth, face pressed painfully against the floor.

"Remain calm and I will let you up, then we will talk about this."

Jasper's struggles continued for a moment longer before reluctantly abating. His specs had fallen away from his face when he'd hit the ground, and now John could see the pain in his glassy eyes without the hindrance. Jasper stared back at John with enough betrayal to cause him to look away.

No sooner had Sherlock let Jasper up than the younger boy was jumping up and away from his father disgustedly. The younger Holmes paced back and forth like a caged tiger, one hand tangled in his hair until he stopped and said to neither of them in particular, "Well, I hope the two of you are very happy together." With that being said, Jasper turned on his heels and walked out the door, footsteps echoing loudly down the stairs, followed by the finality of a slammed door.

John was up and ready to go after him, but Sherlock held up a hand. "Don't," he ordered. "He's going to need time to think. Jasper will come back when he's ready."

John's hands fell limply to his sides, at a loss of what to do or what to say. In just three days John had torn Jasper's little family apart, and he felt like a wretched tosser. Sherlock was peering out the window silently, face set in a solemn mask that John couldn't decipher the meaning of.

John sighed, standing on trembling legs. "I should... get my things, I-," he sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the weight of it all settle heavily on his shoulders. "I'm sorry Sherlock, that I came in between you and Jasper."

"Don't be ridiculous, John, you have nowhere else to go," Sherlock stated not unkindly. His face was curiously blank, offering no clues as to how he was feeling.

John walked to the kitchen, feeling listless and empty, and began packing up his book bag with the papers he'd left on the table. John slung the bag over his shoulder and headed to the lounge room."I could go home, mum wouldn't care," he mumbled in delayed reply to Sherlock's earlier statement.

He grabbed his bag from the place by the door where he had dropped it the day before and gave it a perfunctory look-over. John inhaled deeply, curbing the tears that wanted to spill over, not wanting to say goodbye to the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

When he turned to say his farewell, he found Sherlock watching him with what John could only describe as hurt. Here was a man everyone said couldn't feel, and now he was finally showing John that he was not a complete machine. Sherlock may not understand emotions like others, but sometimes he felt them, even if they confused him. That, John could understand.

Sherlock's Adam's apple bobbed as he braced himself to speak, hands wrapped around himself protectively. "While I won't try to stop you if leaving is what you truly want, I want you to know that it is not my wish for you to do so."

John faltered, wanting to offer comfort, but feeling compelled to leave and make things right with Jasper, or rather subtract himself from the equation. He looked down at the ground, wishing it could open up and swallow him below. The only friend he had was gone and the only man he'd ever felt so strongly for was said friends' father. John wanted to punch himself for playing the innocent victim in this, when in reality, Jasper was the only one who held the rights to any such title.

"John..."

The younger male looked up to the man standing across the room and like an epiphany, he realized how selfish he was being. Sherlock needed him. His son had just walked away from them both, and all of it was by John's own doing. What kind of man would he be to walk away and leave such ruin in his wake.

He remembered Sherlock's words from before, telling him that they couldn't change the past, but he would never apologize for what they did, what they had... Have.

John dropped his bags to the floor and made his way back to the older man who watched him cautiously, hands dropped into clenched into fists by his sides.

"Will you stay?" Sherlock asked quietly, pale eyes boring into his own, looking for the answer.

John reached out a hand, waiting for Sherlock to grab hold of it. Sherlock scanned him for any falsehoods, hesitantly moving forward, eyes flicking from John's face, to his hand, and back again.

Finally, Sherlock took his hand, lips in a tight line as he interlaced their fingers and looked at John from under heavy brows.

John led him out of the lounge and towards the bedroom, Sherlock willingly following. He flicked the lights as they went, leaving the darkness behind.

Part 1

Fin.