A/N: I am so sorry this took so long! I've been so busy and it sort of got away from me. Hope you enjoy! Please R&R!

The first person Sherlock saw as he entered the restaurant was Mycroft; he was nursing a whiskey on the rocks his elbow resting against the bar beside Harry who was sipping at a ridiculously large coke. It took him a few seconds to spot John who was walking towards them, his eyes flickering back and forth between the door and his mobile. When his gaze fell on Sherlock there was at first relief which quickly dissipated into confusion and anger.

"Where have you been!"

He tried his best unconcerned strut keeping his eyes focussed on John and his body language. "I was just finishing up the case."

John sagged a little and when he spoke next his voice was low and quiet. "You didn't come home, I thought something had happened."

He leant in slightly also lowering his voice so only John would hear what he had to say. "Nothing happens to me." The doctor looked surprised, flinching at the words. His eyes dropped down but before they hit the floor they caught on Sherlocks wrist and the cut that disappeared under his shirt sleeve.

"What are you drinking?" Mycroft finally spoke to him and Sherlock answered his brother's sneer with one of his own.

"You know I don't drink Mycroft, especially not...whatever that is."

"You disagree with my choice of whiskey?"

"Sorry to break up this fascinating conversation but I just need a word with my fiancé, only be a second." John grabbed Sherlocks wrist and tugged him over to the bathroom, pulling him inside and pushing him up against the sink. He locked the door. "Take your shirt off."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I am flattered John but I don't think this is really the time or place."

"Oh haha, very funny. No I want to see what you have done to yourself."

Oh. Well that was considerably less exciting. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly and looked down at himself. He had a few painful spots on his chest that would surely result in bruising and a few cuts at his neckline but most of the damage was to the back of his neck and his arms, long thin cuts crisscrossing his pale forearms in vibrant red. John mumbled something under his breath and pulled Sherlocks arms to him peering carefully at them and turning back and forth pushing up and down.

Sherlock watched him with interest, his focus was fascinating.

John glanced up at him and sighed. "Stay here, I'm going to see if anyone has a first aid kit." Sherlock didn't react and John sighed again brushing past him and out of the door. He was only gone a few minutes but they dragged on as the detective stared at his naked torso in the mirror his thoughts on Bossley and the fear that still wound itself around his spine late at night when he longed for sleep but couldn't for the dread of his nightmares inevitable return. He sniffed and lifted his wrists to assess the damage there and his thoughts turned to that need, that overwhelming desire that had kept him running had kept him focussed for the past three days.

He had needed to catch this killer to prove he still could, that the image of Bossley on the wind hadn't defeated him yet.

John bustled back in the door with a handful of white packets and a plastic cup of water, fingers curled around something in his palm. Sherlock turned to him and John handed both the water and the two pills in his hand over without a word busying himself with the packets. Sherlock swallowed the pills without questioning his fiancé and winced when he was suddenly being assaulted by the sting of the antibacterial wipes from inside the packets. John rubbed his arms, neck and torso clean and almost absentmindedly began buttoning Sherlocks shirt, his eyes unfocussed. The detective let him, fatigue spreading through him suddenly like the rush of an anaesthetic trough his veins.

There was a sharp knock at the door and then a clipped voice. "John, Sherlock? I'm coming in." Mycroft's head popped around the door his eyes taking in the half naked detective and flickering to John. "Our table is ready."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Mycroft's gaze went to the packets in the sink and the untouched water and back to his brother. He said nothing just nodding to himself before disappearing again. John patted the taller man on the chest and sighed straightening his collar and buttoning his cuffs. The detective opened his mouth to say something because he got the sense John was waiting for him to explain. The doctor just pushed away from him and headed to the door.

"We will talk about this later. Let's just get through dinner okay?"

Mummy was sat at the head of the table with Mycroft and Sherlock at either side of her. John's parents sat to Mycroft's left and John and his sister to Sherlock's right. After the initial ordering was finished there a distinct lull in the conversation, in fact it had died completely. After quietly sipping his drink John seemed to straighten himself in his chair, the tension in the air rocketed and the doctor lifted his eyes to stare steadily at his parents who shared an almost nervous glance before mirroring their sons' stance. It had the air of an old fashioned standoff and Sherlock narrowed his eyes watching John's body language carefully.

Unfortunately when the doctor opened his mouth to speak his sister interrupted. "Are you coming to the wedding?"

John's mother stared at her daughter, there was pain behind her eyes and Sherlock watched her hands slip and slide over each other, a nervous tick. "We-"

Again Harry interrupted, this time with more force. It was almost as though the tears and shock she had experienced over the phone had solidified in person to plain distrust and anger. "I mean, why would you suddenly change your minds? You didn't come to my wedding, you didn't want to know. What, was it because you still had John? You still had one normal child, is that it!"

John reached out and put his hand on top of his sisters shaking clenched fist. She relaxed a little glancing to him and then Sherlock. John's mother took a deep breath and lifted her chin her eyes flickering around the table as if looking for an ally. The Holmes' wore the same blank gaze and John and Harry just stared back waiting. "I...We realised that if we didn't try to understand your situation then we would be losing both of our children and I...I talked with the pastor and he told me that there is actually some new thinking in the church about...about homosexuality and perhaps-" "Perhaps I'm not going to go to hell after all?" Harry shook her head and John murmured something to her under his breath.

"You have to understand how hard it is for me and your mother to accept that both of our children have chosen a path that goes against god's word."

John's father finally spoke and Harry clenched her fists tightly. "I didn't choose to be this way! I just am! What the hell is wrong with you, how can you not see that!"

"Do you realise the scandal you caused when you ran off with that woman Harriet? The way people treated us after you left? It hurt us; it was like you had already died."

"Oh I'm sorry poor you, I feel so bad for you. You must have suffered so terribly with all the dirty looks you must have gotten from your friends and losing your disgusting gay daughter oh wait, you didn't lose her did you. You lost the sweet innocent virginal girl that would marry some rich business man and bear you a million grandchildren."

The silence that followed was deafening and every eye turned on Harry as she panted her eyes glassy with emotion. John's mother spoke next. "It is not a crime to want grandchildren. Did you think about what we wanted when you ran off with that woman? And what about you John? Do you not want to pass on the Watson name?"

John laughed bitterly. "I'm sorry Mum but I never planned on having kids."

"I did." Harry's voice was so low it was barely audible but everyone still heard it.

"What?"

"I want kids and you know what maybe someday I will have them or am I no longer considered able or allowed to have kids because I happen to be in a relationship with another woman?"

"But you will obviously need a man to father them, wouldn't your lady friend object to that?"

"No actually, since she also wants children and IVF is always an option."

"But the child won't know their own father, is that really what you want?"

"Actually they would. I have a long standing agreement with a friend of mine who will act as a donor when the time comes."

"Well that is sorted then isn't it."

"I guess it is."

The argument was cut short by the waiter's arrival with their plates, he had dark tan line on his wrists and his skin looked rough as though he had been sunburnt. As he placed Johns plate in front of him Sherlock noted the waiter's woven bracelet. The man was tall and thin with wavy blonde hair cropped short on the sides and he smelt of cheap after-sun and blinked at him in confusion as Sherlock stared up at him. John tugged slightly on his sleeve and the detective broke his gaze.

Sherlock (Having not ordered anything.) sat further back from the table deftly ignoring the way most of the people at the table were blatantly staring at him. John to his credit didn't react, instead he looked over to Mycroft and instantly engaged him in a mind numbing conversation about politics or sport or something. Harry joined in the conversation as Mummy continued to watch the Watsons without a flicker in her cold mask. The Watsons ate in silence, starting down at their plates. In the interim Sherlocks mind wandered, he thought about what John had said about Harry and how concerned he felt for her and he thought about himself and Mycroft and tried to imagine feeling those same things for his own sibling. He shivered catching Mummy's eyes from the other end of the table.

She was surveying him coldly her eyebrow raising a fraction in an expression Sherlock recognised all too well. When she spoke her voice held the same cool commanding tone he hated that silenced the other dinner guests at once. "Did they forget your order Sherlock?"

He licked his lips and glanced to John who slowly turned his gaze from his fiancé to his parents and then to Mummy. He didn't look but reached a hand out and placed it on Sherlocks arm on the table, fingers clenching a little. Surprisingly he didn't speak and so the detective glared back at her letting his own cold contempt bleed into his tone.

"I am not hungry."

"But you are very thin. John, you are a doctor, don't you agree he should try and put on weight?"

To the detectives surprise it was Mycroft who responded to her, sniffing and using his own brand of polite friendly tone with an underlying threat to it. "I have already discussed this issue with John and he has assured me he is monitoring my dear brothers' diet very closely. Mummy please, let us remember that Sherlocks health issues are not the reason for this dinner. Perhaps we can discuss the wedding? I have the simple plan and some details written down should the Watsons wish to attend..."

He lifted a hand and out of nowhere a flunky appeared with a small plastic folder containing a few sheets of paper and handed it over the Mycroft. He passed it down the table and John's mother passed it to her husband without looking at it. Instead she was staring at Sherlock. "Health issues? What did he mean health issues! "

John sighed and put a hand to his face. "Mother, Sherlock is not sick. He is fine he is eating, his personal health is not any of your business okay?"

"Well I think we deserve to know if he has some some virus or something, what if he gave it to you!." Her voice wavered and Sherlock blinked in surprise.

Johns voice took on a dangerous tone. "Are you seriously suggesting that-"

"This was a mistake." Harry got up suddenly but John caught her arm before she could walk away. He stood up to join her and leant in murmuring something soothing into her ear and after a few minutes she sat down again.

John wiped his mouth on his napkin and placed both his hands on the table. "You know what. This is simple. You two either need to apologise to Harry and Sherlock for the way you have treated them and try to understand that we did not choose to be this way and that you can't change that or you can accept that you have decided to cut ties with both of your children and we will respect that we can't change you."

John's mothers face turned pink and she glanced helplessly at her husband. His expression was stern and he turned to look at his daughter. She glared back at him. Sherlock thought to remark on the startling similarities in their downturned mouths and in the tightness' around their eyes but thought better of it when he took a deep breath to speak and Johns knee bumped against his.

"This man lied to us John."

John huffed out a breath and leant back in his chair. "Yes he did. That doesn't change the stakes here. All I am asking is that you forget Sherlock and what he has done or is likely to do and all that and you just try for me...and for Harry. That's it, you just try and if you really can't get over it, if you honestly find it too much of a struggle to learn to accept your children as they are then that is fine and you can go on your way."

This time Mr. Watson looked at Sherlock, gaze boring deep into him. The detective raised an eyebrow but otherwise did nothing. John's father nodded slightly. "I have always taught you not give up... I would have taught you nothing in the end if I give up on you now." He reached out and picked up the plastic folder from where he had discarded it on the table. He looked to his wife who nodded a little too and they held hands as the table collectively turned to see Harry's reaction.

She looked shocked.

She shook her head.

Mycroft clapped his hands together loudly and smiled at the Watsons. "Lovely. Well all the details are there for you as well as a few contact numbers should you need anything. If you will excuse me..."

He got to his feet suddenly and rushed around the table heading towards the restaurant door. Harry stared after him and blinked furiously. "What was that about?"

Mummy leant in patting Harry's hand with a smile. "Don't mind him, I think my son realised there has been enough relationship talk here tonight and sought to deal with the unexpected arrival of his lover."

"Wait, what lover?" Sherlock twisted in his seat sought on finding out exactly who Mycroft had seen but John grabbed his belt and pulled him back down before he could go after Mycroft. He hadn't been able to see who had appeared at the door but he had a definitive theory he was just dying to test out.

"Leave it." John was murmuring in his ear and Sherlock attempted his best pleading look but the doctor didn't release him.

He looked tired. Sherlock stayed.

"What about the family John, your cousins, Marie? I mean they know nothing about this man and you expect them to just appear at your wedding!"

John sighed. "First off his name is Sherlock. Secondly I don't want anything big just a few friends and immediate family. Anyway Marie would only get drunk and start fighting with you. You know that."

"John! She is my sister!"

Sherlock hunted for clues outside the restaurant as John paid the bills and said goodbye to Mummy. Harry had left in a taxi after a short slightly awkward handshake with her father and a melancholy hug with John. She had made to hug Sherlock but when he tensed as she approached she stopped and waggled her fingers at him like he was a shy child. Sherlock glared at her and the corners of her mouth lifted in the closest thing to a smile she had worn all night.

The detective grinned as he swept down lifting a cigarette butt from the floor underneath the bay window of the restaurant. He spun around and asked a surprised woman in a short black dress if she had a tissue. She squeaked as she handed it over to him, most likely because Sherlock almost tore it out of her hand, spinning around to grab the cigarette butt and folding it up safely inside. He stuffed it into his pocket as John appeared in the door. Sherlock fussed with the overcoats buttons as the doctor approached him briskly.

"My parents want to see the flat... Just tell me right now do you have anything that would upset them out?"

"Upset them?"

John sighed and grabbed his arm pulling him in tighter as Mummy swept out onto the pavement helpfully distracting the Watsons. The doctor spoke low and deep into his ear and Sherlock reached out to slip a hand just inside his suit jacket. Johns worried tired eyes softened slightly and he licked his lips. "You know, experiments, evidence, crime scene photographs, toes on the draining board. That sort of thing?"

Sherlock thought about it. "As long as they don't go in my room they shouldn't come across anything too...upsetting."

"Good. Hail a taxi?"

He nodded and flung out an arm without leaving the almost embrace. A taxi rolled up instantly. John whistled low. "You seriously have to show me how to do that."

When they got home Sherlock let himself in and strode upstairs without bothering to look back. He had to get the cigarette butt into a clean receptacle as soon as possible. He ignored John's protests and stormed upstairs around the corner and straight to his room. Since he and John had been sleeping in the same bed and John wasn't happy about sleeping in Sherlocks room he had created a makeshift lab by pushing as many tables and bookshelves into there as possible. It had also helped in cutting down on Johns nagging since he no longer had to perform his work in the kitchen. (Although when he had bigger experiments or he hadn't bothered to clean his room and the mess was becoming unhelpful he would end up using it anyway.)

"SHERLOCK!"

John's voice was extremely loud and slightly panicked and the detective spun around knocking a few glass jars from one of his desks. They shattered on the floor and the detective jumped away from them to avoid being spilt on. He hesitated but John called again and he simply placed a wooden storage box over the spill and resolved to deal with it later. When he came back into the living room he found John with his arm around his mother patiently trying to explain that it was the work they do and nothing to worry about; he honestly didn't know they would be out.

Sherlock was confused and titled his head at John who glared up at him and then pointedly at the mantelpiece. Propped up behind the various items were three black and white crime scene photographs each with a date written on the white border underneath. His heart pounded and he blinked in surprise for a few seconds before rushing back to his room.

John left his mother on the sofa as his father took over comforting her and followed Sherlock with his fists clenched. "Don't think you can hide from me Sherlock."

"I'm not hiding John. I'm finding!"

"Finding! You will be trying to find out what happened to your legs if you don't get the hell out here!"

"Nonsense they aren't likely to be going anywhere." He brushed past his still fuming partner and snapped on his black rubber gloves (a gift from Molly.) fingerprint kit clenched under his arm. He approached the photographs and paused with his hands on his hips, his mind was racing a mile a minute and he grinned at the rush as he attempted to figure out why this scene felt so familiar.

He vaguely heard John say something to him in the background but ignored him in favour of carefully lifting each picture from the mantelpiece and checking them for fingerprints. Becker appeared in the doorway and Sherlock glanced at him over his shoulder. "Someone broke in. I believe through the kitchen window, check if Mrs. Hudson heard anything." Becker blanched a little but nodded and walked through to the kitchen raising what was probably Mycroft on his walkie-talkie.