"Please, Lock. You've got to help me."

Sherlock sits, fingers locked together and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration, staring at his ex-boyfriend and trying not to remember all the wonderful times they'd shagged.

John Watson is not so captivated. Then again, John is too busy being in love with his flatmate to notice anything, really. Sometimes, Sherlock thinks he could punch John in the stomach and it wouldn't break his concentration away from his friend's gorgeous face. Frankly, Victor Trevor is sexy as all hell. If John wasn't too busy insisting he was straight, he would have enough time to admit that.

Sherlock, however, is utterly smitten. "We'll take the case," he declares, before Victor has even had a chance to finish his story.

Victor laughs, and John can imagine a teenage girl somewhere dropping dead from the sheer amount of air she exhaled sighing. "Cute, Lock. But I haven't even finished my story yet."

Sherlock blinks a few times and finally registers how utterly un-Sherlock he's acting. The cool veneer of control falls over him again as he straightens out his suit-jacket. "Of course. Continue."

Victors smiles and does so.

…

Victor is the exact opposite of Sherlock.

Perhaps that's what makes the two men so fascinating to watch together. Victor's wavy blonde hair is in stark contrast to Sherlock storm cloud-colored curls. Both of the men are angular, but while Sherlock is severe and almost gothic in his visage, Victor is sharp yet gentle.

If Victor is a steak knife then Sherlock is a scalpel.

John, by contrast, is a butterknife.

…

John is not jealous.

John is not jealous.

John is not jealous.

John is not jealous.

John is not jealous until he walks in on Victor and Sherlock kissing.

Silently, and with as much control as the bewildered man can muster, he stalks quietly up to him room, shuts the door, sits on his bed, and sulks like a teenage girl.

…

John is (maybe) not jealous.

John is (probably) not jealous.

John is (possibly) not jealous.

(There's a very good chance) John is not jealous.

…

"We used to date in uni."

The casual nonchalance Sherlock says that with just about kills John.

"We used to shag in uni," Sherlock corrects.

John goes pink. (John is not embarrassed.) He attempts to rectify the situation by changing the subject to something, anything. "How'd you meet?"

Victor looks genuinely surprised that John is interested in something that is obviously making everyone uncomfortable. "My dog bit him."

'Romantic,' John thinks. "Really? That seems unusual…"

Sherlock is silent. John doesn't notice how Sherlock's eyes refused to look at him.

…

John is (almost) jealous.

John is not willing to acknowledge how jealous he is.

John is choosing to write that gnawing feeling in his chest off as a bad case of heart-burn and not something terribly, devastatingly worse.

…

John goes back downstairs three-hours later under the fake pretense of making tea. Really, he just wants to see what 'Lock' and 'Vic' are getting up to.

Victor's familiar voice stops John before he enters the living room. (John is not eavesdropping. John is not eavesdropping. John is consciously accidentally listening to a conversation he shouldn't be.)

"Really, Lock, we both know what you're thinking."

Peering through the crack in the door, John can just barely make out the figure of Victor lounging on the couch. Sherlock is nowhere to be seen.

"I think you're being ridiculous," Sherlock's unmistakably low voice drawls. "But then again, that's nothing new."

"You love it."

"I did love it."

Victor pouts.

"You're a complicated man, Lock." Victor smiles, but his grin looks a bit forced. "John is lucky to have you. You're lucky to have him to, you know."

"Yes, yes I do. Don't know what I'd do without him."

John is sure he's blushing.

Victor moves from the fireplace to sit in John's chair. Sherlock stands up and walks into view in a second, looking defensive as ever.

"Get up, please."

"Oh my god, I knew it." Victor smirks, and Sherlock turns his back to him. "You've fallen in love with him."

John's brain goes into overload. (John is happy. John is surprised. John is thrilled. John is relieved. John is in love too.)

'John is in love too.' The thought echoes through John's entire brain and down his spine and crashes through his entire body like the last wave of a storm.

No sooner does John smile like an idiot that the front door of 221B swings open with an angry thud. Who else could be standing on the other side than Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"John, hello." Sherlock doesn't seem all that surprised that his flatmate was (sort of) eavesdropping on his (sort of) private conversation.

John, on the other hand, is downright mortified. "Oh – um – uh – well – ah –"

Victor comes out of nowhere and pats John on the shoulder. "It's okay, John." Victor leans in and whispers, "I was just prepping him for you." Victor is out the door with his last word.

'Shit,' is the only semi-coherent though John's brain can form. All he can do is stare at his flatmate, hoping that Sherlock doesn't walk right out of his life right now.

"Sherlock, I am so, so –"

"John." Sherlock's cool voice stops John in a second. (John is not terrified of being alone. John is not scared his friend will leave him. John is not afraid he'll be abandoned.) "There's nothing you need to apologize for. People fall in love with me all the time."

John laughs at that, before realizing how terrifying the situation is. "But I'm not 'people', am I?"

Sherlock smiles. "No. Never."

And with that, Sherlock kissed John on the lips. One singular thought pounds through John's head. John is loved.