Guess what I've got for you... another trigger warning!

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE and DRUG USE

Yep. I'm not sure how the story ended up like this. I swear I was planning on a three chapter fluff story. Why not as graphic as last chapters trigger, I thought it was better safe than sorry and decided to add a warning to this one. Just in case you forgot, I do not own these characters. Mainly because BBC and Doyle won't give them to me.

Chapter 9

"John, are you alright?!" Sherlock said as he barged into the humid bathroom. He looked like an angelic savior, silhouetted in the doorway with steam curling around him. John was tangled up in the blue shower curtain, grateful for the small bit of modesty it provided.

"Yes, I'm fine." The shorter man replied as he tried to stand up while staying covered by the thin curtain. Sherlock, seeing John struggle, stepped into the room to assist him.

"While a decent idea, the trash bag is why you can't stand up." The brunet said, knelling down next to John. John didn't know what to do with Sherlock so near. Usually a modest man, he hadn't been naked around another man since he was in Afghanistan. He could feel himself heating up under the detective's gaze, butterflies in his stomach.

"BLOODY HELL! Sherlock, you git. That hurt!" He cried out as his friend suddenly reached down and ripped off the duct tape, leaving a funny bald stripe on his leg.

Sherlock shot him a look. "I'm not the one who put it there in the first place." He replied shortly. Sherlock was right about the bag, and after it was removed John was able to stand. He was keenly aware of his nudity, although Sherlock seemed to have not noticed due to his rising anger. Neither of them spoke as Sherlock tried to help John back to the bedroom. One arm clutching Sherlock, the other holding the curtain around him he shuffled along, dripping on the floor. The taller man seemed to come out of his angry haze to notice the mess they were making. Glancing at the soaked floor he retreated to the bathroom, returning with a towel. They both stood there a moment, John not sure what to say and Sherlock not realizing that he should turn around.

"Well. In for a penny, in for a pound." John thought, seeing that he would have to be the first to do something about the curtain. John took a steading breath and grasped the towel before dropping the curtain. Despite it having been only the briefest amount of exposure as John switched to the towel, both men turned red and avoided eye contact.

John was relieved to finally be done with the ordeal as he sat on the bed. "Here, I got these for you so we wouldn't have to attempt to put your trousers on again." Sherlock said after retrieving a bag from the front hall, and John opened it to find several pairs of sweatpants in his size. John thanked him, and this time Sherlock realized that was his cue to leave.

"Well, that did not go like I wanted it to and now he's angry." John thought as he got dressed. John knew he had to talk about what was going on to Sherlock, but the thought of it was making him feel sick. Doubts raced through his mind. "What if this ruins our friendship? What if he doesn't want me to stay here if I'm kind of gay? Am I gay? Is he gay? What if he is but just isn't interested in me? What if he is interested in me? Do I really want to try and have a relationship with Sherlock Holmes?"All too soon John was dressed, and he took a calming breath before leaving the room.

To his surprise, John found his crutches leaning against the wall outside the door, and using them the hobbled down the hall to the living room. The living room was mostly dark apart from the warm glow coming from the fireplace. Sherlock was laying on the couch again his fingers steepled under his chin, mostly in shadow apart from the sharp lines the fire illuminated. "Probably filing away the information from this case." John assumed as he made his way over to his chair. Supposedly to avoid being bothered, the detective had laid out John's medicine along with his takeout on the side table.

John ate his chicken alfredo in silence, alternating between looking out the window at the snow and watching his flat mate. John couldn't help but notice the consulting detective's flawlessly shaped cupid bow lips, or how perfectly sculpted his cheek bones are. John was just finishing his food when Sherlock's eyes shot open, staring deeply into John's which had been studying him. John could feel the energy from his friend's eyes as they locked on to his.

"Why did Lestrade leave?" Sherlock asked, looking heated again as he stood up and started pacing. John watched his slender body go back and forth for a moment before replying.

"Well, there was a hostage situation at the jewelry store a few streets over and they needed him." John answered, knowing that Sherlock had probably already deduced the situation.

"Yes, the other officers mentioned it while I was looking at the body." Sherlock said, now standing in front of John. "What I do not understand, is why he left you. I told him not to leave you alone."

John sighed, seeing that this conversation probably wouldn't end well for Greg. "I'm not a child Sherlock, I can handle myself."

"Obviously, seeing as I just had to help you off the bathroom floor." Sherlock said with scorn as he resumed his pacing.

The idea that Sherlock thought he was irresponsible irritated John. "I'm sorry you had to help me out of the bathroom. It won't happen again." John said without trying to hide his annoyance.

"What? No, it was... fine." Sherlock said, surprised that John would think that way. The taller man studied John for a moment before continuing. "Ah, you didn't want me to have to help you into the shower." He deduced, searching John's face for evidence he was right. John tried to contradict him, but they both knew it was the truth. "There are only four plausible reasons you wouldn't want my help." Sherlock said as he latched on to this new puzzle.

John groaned and said. "Please not now Sherlock." But what he was thinking was. "For the love of God please get it wrong for once."

"The first reason." Sherlock said as he resumed his pacing. "Is that you dislike accepting help. While true, you seemed to have resigned yourself to the fact that it would be necessary, and as a doctor you knew that showering alone would be difficult. These facts lower the chances of that being your motive considerably. The second possibility is that you are too modest to be seen in a state of undress. Given your medical training and tour in the military it is unlikely. You've seen enough bodies that nudity is not foreign to you."

"I did not spend my days in Afghanistan staring a naked bodies!" John interjected, earning him a look from Sherlock that clearly said not to interrupt his deduction.

"Third is that you just do not want me in particular to see you nude." Sherlock continued, and it took all John's will power to keep his poker face on. Sherlock seemed to realize his deductions were getting closer to the truth, and he pushed on ruthlessly. "While this one is probable, I cannot figure out why. As your flat mate I have seen you undressed before, although given the way you shouted at me I do not think you were okay with it."

"No I wasn't." John said firmly. "That's why we had to have a discussion on knocking."

"Fine, but that still leaves the fourth option." Sherlock concluded as he stopped his attempt to wear a hole in the floor.

He was standing directly in front of John, and John could see how sincere the detective was trying to be. "Great" John thought with exasperated sarcasm. "Now I get the "I'm married to my work but thanks for trying" speech."

"Forth is that you are self-conscious about me seeing you undressed because of you age." Sherlock said seriously.

It took John a moment to process this. "Because of my age? Sherlock you git I'm not old, or at least not much older than you!"

Sherlock looked puzzled for a moment. "No John, I mean that you may be self-conscious given that you have changed a bit from your army days which was the last time someone you were not in a relationship with saw you shower. Rest assured you look perfectly fine for your age, some would even say attractive. The exercise you get from cases has kept you in fairly good shape."

Now John was confused, and more than a bit irritated. "So, you're saying that I would feel bad about the way I look because I'm no longer young? I hadn't thought I had gotten that flabby."

At John's biting tone Sherlock seemed to realize how terribly he had been wording his deduction. "What? No, that's not what I meant at all!" The brunet said, growing flustered. "Your appearance is above average for your age." John's brow remained furrowed and Sherlock groaned in frustration, running his hands through his hair. "John, you are very attractive, I was just trying to say you may not have realized it. You are not flabby in the slightest, and taking in to account your beautiful eyes and generally charming demeanor you would even be considered handsome."

Sherlock now had his hands on the armrests of the chair John was sitting in. John's mind was going a mile a minute. "Did he just call me handsome? At the very least he said I'm very attractive. Mmm, shampoo again. He's so close, his hands are almost on mine. Is he saying that he finds me attractive or just that other people do?" Instead of asking any of these perfectly reasonable questions, the best John's stunned mind could come up with was, "Wha... you... you think I have beautiful eyes?"

Sherlock froze, replaying everything he had just said. It would appear that he hadn't meant to include that in his explanation. "Um, yes. They are a nice blue." He said, reigning in his composure and sitting opposite John in his chair.

"Well, um, thanks. Yours are nice too. A funny colour, it suits you." John said with a slight blush. To his surprise Sherlock also appeared embarrassed by the complement, and he only nodded.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, neither one knowing what to say. John was the first to break the silence. "We'll, this has been an eventful day. I'm getting a drink, would you like one?" He asked as he struggled to lift himself out of the chair without putting weight on his ankle or twisting his cracked rib.

"Sit down. You're likely to hurt yourself again given how accident prone you are. I'll get it." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes and standing up.

John chuckled, revealed that the tension that had been building was gone. "Funny enough, excluding Afghanistan I never got hurt this much until I meet you."

Sherlock's face clouded over, but he left the room before John could say anything else. "Great, I've scared him off. What did I say this time?" John thought as he waited on his flat mate to bring back drinks. John could hear Sherlock clattering around in the kitchen, and he could virtually see the taller man rummaging through the bottom cabinet looking for the liquor. "So Sherlock thinks I have beautiful eyes, that's new. Is that a normal friend thing to notice? I don't think so, but you never know with Sherlock. It's probably just another thing he's picked up on when he's deduced me at some point." John mused as he waited patiently.

John caught the soft tinkle of ice hitting the glasses as Sherlock entered the room holding two drinks. John realized how odd it was for Sherlock to be drinking, but he just shrugged it off as the result of a very strange day. Sherlock plopped down on the floor in front of his chair and set the bottle he had brought with him to the side. He was clad in the purple shirt John was so fond of, and his long legs stretched out leisurely in front of him. He still looked troubled, and John couldn't figure out why. Although it was a few minutes later, Sherlock was the one to disrupt the silence. "I'm sorry." He said quietly, looking into his glass. John was very confused, and Sherlock could read it on his face. "I am sorry you were injured, are perpetually getting injured, all because of me. I try to avoid it, keeping you away from the worst cases, not letting you rush into danger, but it's still you who gets hurt."

"Sherlock, it's alright. I wouldn't go with you if I didn't want to. You don't have to protect me." John said, smiling at the idea of Sherlock thinking about his safety.

Sherlock looked up, his eyes pleading for John to understand. "It's not alright John! If something happened to you because of me, I couldn't live with myself."

John ignored the pain in his ribs as he slid down off his chair to sit with his friend. Sherlock tucked in his legs so that the blond man could have room. They were now sitting with their knees almost touching on the floor together. John placed a firm and reassuring hand on his flat mate's shoulder. "Sherlock, I love working cases with you. I know the risk and it is worth it to be able to run around London with you."

After a gentle squeeze, John sat back. The silence was comfortable this time both men lost in thought, the fire crackling softly as it gave off a calming warmth. After a while John grew bored of the silence. "Let's play a game." He suggested as he poured himself a second drink.

Sherlock looked irritated to have been summoned from his mind palace. "Only if it's a better game than the one your sister and Molly came up with."

"What was so bad about their game? It's not as though Mrs. Hudson was expecting a proper snog." John said with a giggle, the contents of his drinks making him feel bubbly and warm.

Sherlock shot him a dirty look. "No, but you apparently were given the way you were going at it with my brother." He said flatly.

"Oh! To be honest I did ask Mycroft if he thought this may be an issue. He said that because we aren't dating, you would be fine with it. And to clarify, I was not expecting him to kiss me like that. It was very… strange, and if you had actually been paying attention you would have seen it was mostly one sided." John said, shuddering as he remembered what it felt like to kiss the elder Holmes.

Sherlock, who had been watching John carefully, seemed pleased by John's answer. "Fine, what is the game then?" He asked with an exaggerated sigh.

"How about truth or dare?" John suggested after a moment.

The taller man graced him with an eye roll. "Honestly John, how many dares could you possibly do given your injuries? There is just the two of us in the flat and there is very little we haven't done, so any dare would have to be dangerous or boring."

John had almost forgotten his injuries in the darken living room. "Fine, truth or shot then. We take turns asking questions and the other person has to tell the truth or take a shot."

Sherlock thought about it before answering. "That is suitable, as long as neither of us pass three shots. You're an invalid and I need to be able to take care of you. You may ask first."

John took forever to come up with a question. "Um... let's see. What's your favorite flavour of ice cream?"

The eye roll sigh combo that followed looked physically painful. "John, I can feel my brain meting from how dull that question is. You have got to come up with something better than that, think of something you wouldn't normally ask."

John took this as a green light for more personal questions, and he instantly knew what he wanted to ask. "Fine, why are you always so peculiar around New Years? We both remember last year, and Greg says you used to just disappear to avoid it."

Sherlock froze, staring into the fire and John thought he must have crossed a line with his question. They had never really talked about their pasts, John knew Sherlock could deduce his and he knew his flat mate preferred to avoid conversations that had to potential to get emotional. Sherlock finally turned from the fire to look at John. John could read the question in his friends eyes, honest and wanting to know how far their connection would reach. "Sherlock, you can always trust me."

The taller man took a sip of his drink before he began to talk. "As you know, Mycroft is my older brother. What you do not know is that I have, had, another brother. His name was Sherrinford, and he was the eldest." Sherlock paused to see how John was reacting to the news. He wanted to give his condolences, but John knew Sherlock would not find the words comforting. To avoid breaking the spell that the fire and liquor had them under, John just nodded for Sherlock to continue. "You are already aware of my drug habit, but it didn't used to be under control. During Uni, I fell in with a bad crowd and they were the ones who got me started on it. I had been able to keep my habit in check until my last year, when I accidentally overdosed in a drug den New Years Eve. When the person I was there with realized I wasn't going to wake up, he called Mycroft. Unlike you, he must have taken his bribe to spy on me. Mycroft was out of the country at the time, so he called Sherrinford to go get me. He was always taking care of us and of others, that's probably why he became police chief. The idiot who called Mycroft was high enough that he didn't think to tell the guys who guard the doors that someone was coming. Naturally, the first thing they did when an officer burst into the building was to start shooting. Sherrinford didn't have a chance. The next time I overdosed, it was intentional. After a stint in a padded cell, Mycroft made a list of three rules I must follow. The first is that he babysits me every time the holiday comes around. The second is that I never try to kill myself again. You John, are a part of the last one. The third is that I find a reason not to attempt it a second time. My brother knows how much trouble I have following rules."

John was stunned. He had no idea, could never have guessed that this is why Sherlock acted so strange around New Year. The thought of the how he had abandoned his friend in last year made him feel sick. Sherlock could have done anything, and no one would have been there to stop him. "I wouldn't have done anything." Sherlock said, once again giving John the impression that he could read minds. "I was still hopeful you would come back, and I was right."

John struggled to find something to say. "I... your work isn't reason enough?" But what he was really thinking was. "I'm your reason for living?"

Sherlock seemed confused as to why John would ask such a stupid question. "Of course not. The work we chose to do is just a way to try and leave a mark on the world before we die. Whether or not we ever succeed is irrelevant to the fact that we all end up dead. We live on through people's memories, and it is the way we are remembered that is important."

John sat silently for a minute before speaking. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry about your brother and about the way things happened last year. I won't run out on you again, and I swear I wouldn't have let things escalate had I known."

Sherlock still looked troubled. "I wouldn't want you to stay out of pity John. I can handle myself." He said bitterly as he refilled his glass.

John chuckled darkly. "No, you don't understand. Sherlock, I can't leave you. I'm afraid I've grown very attached to you. After just those few days my limp was back and worse, I really missed you."

The dark haired man seemed to struggle to find a appropriate reply. "I... I also regretted your absence while you were away." Was the best he could manage.

The felling in the room was heavy as the two men sat silently in front of the fire. John's back was starting to ache from sitting on the floor, but there was no way he was going to pass up one of the rare moments his flat mate was willing to talk. They sat there for a long time, processing the conversation they had just had.

"I believe it's my turn now." Sherlock said, breaking the silence. He waited for John to nod before continuing. "Why doesn't it bother you anymore when people assume we're a couple? You used to make a point of correcting them, but about three months ago you stopped."

John wasn't surprised Sherlock had noticed, but he was surprised he hadn't. The blond man honestly hadn't realized he had stopped. "I don't know. It's not like I deliberately stopped correcting them. I guess it's because the people who matter know we're not dating, and it's not like I'm going to change anyone else's mind about it. Now it's my turn. While we're talking about relationships, have you ever been attracted to anyone?"

Sherlock instantly had his answer. "Yes, but it's irrelevant. Attraction is just an instinct hardwired into our genetic code to reproduce and can be overcome with mental discipline. All it is really is a craving for the chemicals that are released during sex. The pursuit of physical pleasure takes up to much time and holds to many risks."

John was a bit taken aback. He had set the question up as an easy way for his friend to say that he's asexual, or at the very least not interested in such a human activity. To hear that he actually chose abstinence over needless human contact was interesting. John was saved having to think of a reply by Sherlock's next question. "Have you ever been sexually attracted to a man?"

John nearly choked on his drink at the blunt question. "Have I what?!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Have you ever been sexually attracted to a man? You could take a shot, but that's just as telling."

"I wasn't going to take a shot." John said with resignation "Yes, I have. Although it was only man, just to be clear."

Sherlock appeared to have been throw off balance by his answer. He must have been expecting a yes, or he wouldn't have asked. It was the thought of it only being one man that threw him for a loop. One man that was able make three continents Watson swing both ways.

John jumped in before Sherlock could ask any more questions. "My turn. You've claimed to be a sociopath before, but have you ever loved someone outside of your immediate family?"

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the question. "Love? John, love is just the same as sex. The body's constant pursuit of pleasure causing chemicals."

"But you didn't answer my question. Have you ever been in love?" John clarified.

Sherlock thought hard for a moment. "I really don't know. Possibly?" He said questioningly, looking to John as though he had the answer. John, who of course did not have the answer, only shrugged. Taking that as the end of Johns turn, Sherlock jumped on his next question. "Do I know this man?"

John was puzzled. "Wait, what man?"

Sherlock gave him a frustrated eye roll. "The man you're attracted to!"

"Oh." Was the best John could do. "Well, Greg did say I should tell him. This is as good a way as any, granted a bit immature but it will do." John cleared his throat, and after making sure all his tells were in check said. "Yes. You know him fairly well." The fair-haired man could see Sherlock's mind churning through all the possible people in search for who it may be. Not wanting his friend to make the correct deduction right away, John started on his next question. "Why don't you and Mycroft get along?"

This seemed to completely derail Sherlock's train of thought. "What? Wouldn't you have issues if you had a sibling that videotaped your every move and routinely bugged your flat? And, it would appear you have wasted a question. It's my turn" The detective said with a triumphant grin. "Given that we both know the information will remain secret if you request, who is the man?"

John's hand was steady as he took a calming breath and set down his drink. "You."

John could hear the clock in the kitchen tick out three seconds before Sherlock spoke. "I what?" He asked, his face perplexed as he completely missed what John was saying.

"It's you. It's always you. You're the man I'm attracted to. Although if what you say about love is correct, I guess it qualifies also."

John could almost see the gears turning in Sherlock's head. "I.. you.. what?"

Recognizing he would have to make this very clear to prevent a misunderstanding, John made a bold decision. "Sherlock, I love you." And with that leaned forward, gently grabbing his friend's neck with one hand.

The kiss was chaste, lasting only a moment but full of meaning. John could taste the liquor on his cupids bow lips mixed with something else that was distinctly Sherlock. John cherished the feel of his flat mate's slightly chapped lips against his own, but he stopped the moment he realized he wasn't getting any response from the detective. John's heart plummeted as he sat back down, knowing that what he just did would forever change their friendship.

He waited for Sherlock to respond, but it didn't happen. Instead his friend sat there as though made of stone, his eyes wide and unseeing. "Oh god, I've broke him." John thought as he sat there watching Sherlock. He knew that the lack of response during the kiss wasn't a good omen. John wanted Sherlock to say something, yell at him, anything to break the silence. Several minutes ticked by before there was any sign of life from the brunet. He finally blinked slowly, murmuring something. Although afraid of what may happen, John scooted back before speaking. "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to John's. They were wild, fill of an electrical charge John had never seen. To his great dismay, they were also angry. "This changes everything!" He said to John before leaping up. John with his broken ankle didn't have any hope of following Sherlock as he dashed to the door before racing down the stairs, pulling on his coat as he went. This left John on the floor of the flat alone, sitting in the shambles of their friendship.

Thank you so much for reading! Please follow so that you can be notified as soon as the next chapter comes out, and comment because I like knowing real people are reading this and not robots. So, should this fic remain rated T? I'm considering putting in some "mature action" ;D but I am not sure what you guys would think. I would put it in it's own chapter so that it could be skipped if you're not into that sort of thing. Any concerns with me changing the rating? I am also thinking about writing a one shot for Halloween in addition to regular updates to this, so if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them.