John opens his eyes blearily, glances at the light coming through the window. It must be nearly noon. He is alone in Sherlock's bed.

He yawns, puts on Sherlock's spare dressing gown, rolls up the sleeves (sees that he has received eight text messages, all from Harry, and ignores them after noting that the first one contains only excited punctuation), wanders out into the sitting room. Sherlock is standing at the window, tuning his violin. Harry is not here; he surmises that she opted to stay somewhere else last night after all. (He hopes that means she was having fun, but is mostly just relieved she wasn't in the flat.)

"Morning, ish," John says with a smile. Sherlock doesn't respond, except for a scowl.

John gives him the time that it takes for him to make tea (two cups) and toast (jam on one slice, honey on the other), and to listen to Sherlock warm up with a few scales and a short piece that he doesn't recognize. Then he breaks in. "So," he says, placing their breakfasts on the coffee table and taking a seat on the sofa, "want to tell me what's wrong?"

Sherlock grimaces. "Not particularly."

"Well, you should, anyway."

Sherlock plucks the violin strings discordantly. "John." He does not make eye contact, looks out the window. "I have no desire to hurt you."

John feels his stomach tighten. "But?"

He puts down the violin, still doesn't look at John. "I wasn't lying." John wonders when, specifically. He waits. "I am sorry if I misled you last night. It was... a weakness. But I consider myself married to my work. I don't have relationships."

John takes a moment to think about this. "It was a weakness? So you weren't planning all along to sleep with me as soon as the case was over?"

"No. It was a regrettable error. I have been ... letting my emotions cloud my thinking recently." Sherlock continues to look out the window.

"Since Sherrinford?"

Sherlock doesn't answer, but he winces the slightest bit at the name.

John gets it. "You were just seeking a distraction, then." Sherlock gives a small nod.

John clenches his fists. "No."

Sherlock looks at him finally, startled. "What?"

"No, I'm not going to let you do this. You weren't making a mistake then - you're making one now."

Sherlock frowns. "John, I am not interested in -"

John nods. "No, I know. You don't want a relationship."

Sherlock nods again.

"I don't, either."

Sherlock looks a bit surprised, but says briskly, "Good, that's sorted, then -"

"No." John says again. "No. Sherlock, listen to me." Sherlock watches him silently. John struggles to find the words. "Sherlock, what I want from you… it isn't a normal relationship. I don't..." He draws a breath, pausing uncertainly for a moment. "I don't want dates - well, unless you mean crime scenes - and I don't want anniversaries and all the rest. I won't ask you to share a bed every night. I don't want you to change. What I want is, well - actually, what we've had all along is perfect, just about."

Sherlock looks surprised, but still guarded. "Just about?"

"Well, if we can keep shagging in between cases, that would be rather brilliant, I think," John says with a small smile.

"I see." Sherlock considers. Then his lip quirks up, just a bit. "Yes. Well. I think perhaps that can be managed." He comes over slowly and sits down on the other end of the sofa.

"Good." John relaxes substantially, lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'd like that. A lot." Then he braces himself again. He wants to be done with this conversation, but he knows there's something else he can't ignore. "There's one more thing, though."

Sherlock tenses as well. "What?"

"Sherlock... why did you tell me to get away? After I told you the news?"

Sherlock is quiet for a long time, shoulders hunching, curling in on himself. Just when John thinks he isn't going to answer, he says, "I didn't want you to see me."

"Why?"

"I... wasn't at my best."

"You're not, always, when you're around me."

"I was at my worst. And I was afraid of hurting you."

"Hurting me how?"

"You've no idea what I was feeling. I wanted to say things, to say vile things to anyone near me. I wanted to hurt something, to destroy something. I was afraid it would be you."

"I do, actually," John says quietly. "Know something about what that feels like. A bit." He sighs. "I've lost people, too." Sherlock looks at him, doesn't say anything. "I appreciate you thinking of me, and normally - yeah, good. But... well, I would have understood. And at least then I wouldn't have been so worried about you. Because I was, you know. Worried sick.

"I need you," he licks his lips, "I need you, Sherlock, to not push me away like that. Please. I want to be with you. Even when you're at your worst."

Sherlock stares at him for a long time. Finally, he nods. "You continually surprise me, John." He says, quietly.

John smiles. "It's mutual." He pauses. "Would you like me to go with you to the memorial?"

Sherlock's mouth twists, a complicated shape of anguish and disdain. "I won't be attending. The dead do not desire an audience."

"I know. But… sometimes the living get something out of it." Sherlock shakes his head. "Okay. is there anything I can do?"

"You're doing it already." Sherlock hesitantly scoots closer, and John enfolds him in his arms.

"Do you want to tell me more about him?" John asks, quietly, lips pressing into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock is silent for a moment. "Not now. But yes."

"All right." So John just holds him. And thinks, for the first time in a while, that maybe things are going to be all right eventually.

"It's a nice place," he says, looking around the new flat. "Or it will be, once you've finished moving in." Despite the fact that Harry has been there over half a month, the secondhand sofa they occupy is the lone piece of furniture in the cozy sitting room. John is using one of the many piles of boxes to rest his mug, and another serves as a coat rack.

Harry nods. "Yeah, I'm going to get through most of the boxes this weekend. The new job's been leaving me completely knackered so far, but I really need to get it done. My new flatmate moves in next week."

"Tina, did you say?"

"Yeah. I found her online." John supposes that probably isn't sketchy anymore. It still weirds him out, a bit. Then again, he agreed to see a flat with someone whose name he had just learned. "She's sober, too. And a nurse."

John grins. Harry has a weakness for nurses - has dated several in the past (something he and Harry have in common). "She cute, then?"

Harry glares. "Unlike you, I don't intend to shag my flatmate."

"I must say, I recommend it."

Harry returns his smile. "Things going okay, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. It's going to be a long time before he's okay - really okay. Before we settle into something that feels like normal. But I think it's going to be all right."

"I notice that you're actually here, in my apartment, without him - so you must be a bit less worried than you were."

"Yeah, I am. He's still sad. But he's a bit better, most of the time. And he's been resuming more of his normal habits over the past couple weeks. Not sleeping much, and all that." Though he has come and curled up with John in his bed a surprising number of times, for part of the night, even when they're working on a case. John hopes that he doesn't stop doing that. (And the not-sleeping that they've done together a couple more times when they aren't working on cases, well, that has continued to be good, very good, if exhausting - but he definitely doesn't need to tell Harry about that.) "Tonight he actually chased me out so he could do his experiments in peace. Said I was thinking too loudly." He smiles fondly. "He's actually doing experiments again, which is good. Well, not good for the apartment. But I think it's good."

"I'm really glad he's doing a bit better. And I'm so happy for you, that it's working out." Harry reaches over and squeezes his hand. Then she grins. "So, basically, I was right about everything, after all."

John rolls his eyes. "Yes, that's the important thing - you were right."

"That's always the important thing, Little Brother."

John is considering throwing a pillow at her when his phone buzzes.

Come at once. - SH

John doesn't know if it's a case, or personal. But it doesn't really matter. "I'm sorry, Harry -"

"No, it's fine. I know you'll go running whenever he calls," she says, smiling.

He wants to argue, but he mostly can't. He nods instead. "Not if you really need me, though," he amends.

She smiles wider. "Don't think I don't know it, and appreciate it. But tonight, I don't think I need you as much as your boyfriend does." John still blushes at the term, and then blushes more at the fact that Harry clearly finds his blushing hilarious. "'Sides, I rented a movie, just in case. So, what are you doing Tuesday night?"

John smiles. "Catching up with my sister."

"Perfect. I'll see you then. Don't get into too much trouble in the meantime," she says teasingly.

John grabs his coat, hugs his sister goodbye, and makes no promises. You never can tell, when you're with Sherlock Holmes.