Author Notes: This story came to me out of nowhere and I had to write it down, right away.^^ I will post the second chapter in the next couple of weeks - or at least in the next four weeks. Enjoy and let me know what you think. :)

Trigger Warning: Transphobic language, don't read if this triggers you.

Missing the Obvious

It had been a long time in coming, John thought as they stumbled into the flat - barely managing not to crash into a piece of furniture - without letting go of each other. John's hands roamed over Sherlock's back, feeling his muscles move as Sherlock mirrored John's actions and pressed their bodies closer together.

"John." His name was merely a gasp between kisses, but it still sent sparks down John's spine. He had never dared to believe that his name would sound like this on Sherlock's lips. Spoken like a prayer and a plea at once in a husky voice that betrayed exactly how affected Sherlock was by the turn of events. After spending three nights in a row in the same miserable position- cramped in a little storage room, in order to catch the murder of a chemistry student - John had expected to crash into bed and sleep for hours as soon as he got back home. Of course, he had gained a few hours of sleep every day, but they had barely been enough to keep him functioning. He had only stayed awake on the cab right home, out of sheer stubbornness. If he had known that all it took to stay awake, was for Sherlock to crowd him against the wall downstairs and kiss him senseless, John would have done it much sooner. Or maybe not, as the time had never seemed right to take their relationship to the next step... until now. No, it was perfect as it was and John would have happily waited another year if it only meant that Sherlock would kiss him as desperately as he did now.

Somehow they managed to get each other's coats off and fell onto the couch without any major injuries, although John feared that his shin would remind him of his collision with the table for days. It was definitely worth the pain to find himself on top of Sherlock and looking down in bright blue eyes.

"You are gorgeous, Sherlock." John couldn't keep himself from kissing Sherlock again and from the way his hairs were grabbed, he concluded that Sherlock didn't mind his actions in the least. Really, they had waited long enough for this moment, dancing around each other like lovesick teenagers and not daring to make the first move. It was only to be expected that they couldn't get enough of each other. Still - John slowed their kiss down, nuzzling at Sherlock's lip and kissing his way down the strong jaw - it would probably be better to slow down a little. John certainly didn't mind to snog on the couch or to even make out on it, but a part of him didn't want to rush their first time like a hormone driven teenager. Nevertheless, John didn't sit back to reflect on his actions - Sherlock was much too tempting right now - but he changed the pace from frantic fumbling to reverent exploring. His lips wandered from Sherlock's jaw to his sharp cheekbones and back down again to nuzzle at his vulnerable throat.

"John!"

His gaze snapped back up, checking if Sherlock meant it as a protest or an encouragement. John hoped it was the latter, but he would stop at once, if it wasn't. Fortunately, Sherlock didn't look as if he wanted them to stop. On the contrary, his disheveled curls gave him a wild appearance, while the dilated pupils and his slightly parted lips - swollen and pink from kissing - made him look like the personification of seduction. John grinned and kissed him again, just because he could, before inching lower and working the buttons of Sherlock's shirt open. He didn't intend to go too far today, as he didn't want their first time to take place, when they were both tired - no matter how much the adrenalin was pushing them right now. Still, it couldn't hurt to explore a little, before they went to bed, right?

Sherlock seemed to agree with him as skillful fingers opened his shirt buttons - John was glad that he wasn't wearing a jumper - and tucked at the hem of his undershirt in something close to annoyance. A low chuckled escaped John's lips as he pulled the bothersome shirt over his head and threw it away, before going back to work on Sherlock's buttons. John's hands weren't as steady as Sherlock's - and curious fingers on his nipples didn't help his concentration - but after some fumbling and cursing, he finally managed to open the last button and revealed a flat and pale chest.

"I hope you don't have a shift in the clinic today." Sherlock's voice was a chuckle against John's ear as his fingers traced the lines of the scar on John's shoulder. "I would be worried for your patients if your hands are that... unsteady."

A low growl escaped John's throat as his hands wandered over Sherlock's smooth skin. "Firstly, it's your fault that I'm so tired and secondly you keep reminding me that I'm only treating sniffles and scratches, no need for steady hands there." John inched backwards and bowed his head. He saw the question mark in Sherlock's eyes, before a surprised squeal escaped him as John dipped his tongue into the inviting navel of his friend.

"John, you... stop that." A giggle accompanied the words, but John still followed the command and trailed a wet line of kisses up Sherlock's chest. With his lips it was easier to feel the roughness of Sherlock's skin in some parts, which hadn't been detectable with his fingers alone. Small scars, some older than others, from knife fights or other mishaps - John couldn't tell from the texture against his lips and tongue alone.. No matter how they got there - or when - John suddenly wished to erase all the bad memories that had to be connected to the scars, although he knew that it was a stupid wish. These scars were part of Sherlock and he wouldn't be the man, he was now, if the scars weren't there. Still, that didn't mean, that John couldn't kiss some of the old pain away. He started with an almost fainted line on Sherlock's sixth rip on the left side and kissed his way over an unevenly scar - the doctor should be sued - to a silvery line under Sherlock's pectoral muscle on the right side. There was a twin scar on the left side and a little smile pulled on John's lips as he pressed a kiss to it. The smile vanished from his face a second later, as his shoulders were grabbed and John was pushed away. He almost tumbled from the couch as Sherlock jumped to his feet, his fingers already doing his buttons back up.

"Sherlock?"

His friend's lips were pressed in a thin line as he kept his eyes trained on the floor. John could only blink in confusion as Sherlock finished with the last button and reached for his coat. "I'm off," he muttered, still not looking at John and shrugged into his coat, marching to the door.

A cold fist clenched around John's intensities as his mind came online once more. "Sherlock, wait!" He hurried after his friend, only catching him at the door to their flat, because Sherlock had needed to put his shoes back on. "Sherlock," John reached a hand towards him. "What's wrong?"

His hand was slapped away with a snarl as Sherlock glowered at him. "You are a doctor, John, I'm sure you will figure out what's wrong." John was too stunned to say anything to that. He was left staring after Sherlock's retreating back and gape like a fish on the beach.

What the fuck had just happened?

John shook his head in an effort to clear it, which only resulted in an attack of nausea that left him swaying on the spot. Right, some tea and a sandwich, preferable a hot shower as well, so that he would be able to solve the mystery of Sherlock's strange behavior.

John showered first and then wandered into the kitchen to prepare himself some kind of breakfast - or was it still a late night snack at five in the morning? - while the water boiled in the kettle. It wasn't until he had sat down with a ham-cheese sandwich and taken a large gulp of tea that John allowed himself to think about Sherlock's reactions and words again. Fact was that Sherlock had initiated their first kiss and from his eagerness to get rid of John's shirt and his beautiful reactions to John's touches, he had enjoyed their snog on the couch as well. Yes, John nodded to himself and tried to calm down, even as doubts started to swirl around in his mind. He hadn't forced Sherlock to do anything and his friend certainly was able to remove himself from an unbearable situation... like he had done, only half an hour ago.

John groaned and bit in his sandwich, although he didn't really taste it, his body needed some sort of nutrition after the stressful events. So, Sherlock had wanted to kiss John and to get closer, he hadn't minded John exploring his body until... until John had kissed the scars under his pectoral muscles.

Another groan fell from his lips and John felt like slapping himself. He should have known that such an action was unwelcome and that Sherlock would react accordingly. His only excuse was that John had been carried away by the close proximity to Sherlock and hadn't been able to think clearly... if that really was an excuse for such an oversight. Still, John furrowed his brow and stared into his mug, Sherlock could have just told him that he didn't want John to pay so much attention to the scars. If he had just said that John had just ruined the mood and that it was over for now, John would have understood him, instead Sherlock had stormed out of the flat. God knew where he was now!

Alright, Sherlock's reactions always tended to be extreme and he wasn't very good at communicating his feelings, but John felt that the hasty flight was even a little over the top for his friend. And what had he said again? "You are a doctor, John, I`m sure you will figure out what`s wrong." John shook his head, still not understanding how his profession should help him by figuring out what had made Sherlock react so badly. Of course, he had some theories, but it wasn't as if he was able to proof or dismiss any of them if Sherlock didn't talk with him about it.

John sighed and gulped down the rest of his lukewarm tea. They should have had a conversation, before they had jumped at each other. Then, Sherlock could have just told John what was off limits and John wouldn't be in the process of breaking his brain by trying to figure out what went wrong. But John hadn't wanted to initiate that kind of conversation, because it could suggest that he thought there was something wrong with Sherlock if he didn't handle it carefully and that... just wasn't true. Sherlock had also never made any attempt at talking with him...

John froze, in the progress of bringing his mug to the sink, as a terrible suspicion stroke him. Could it be - as impossible as it sounded - that Sherlock didn't even know that John... know?! Certainly not, right? They had been living together for over a year by now and John had found his friend's testosterone supplement three weeks after he had moved in with Sherlock. To tell the truth, he had been rather relieved that there had been such a harmless explanation for the used syringe he had found in the bin. John hadn't mentioned it - after all, that would have been rather rude - and since Sherlock hadn't said anything and just carried on as before, he had assumed that the brilliant detective knew and didn't care that John had seen it. Now - in retro respect - it became also lightly that Sherlock didn't have the first clue that John had come across his secret - since it appeared to be one - and thought that...

Dear God! John sank back down on the chair and exhaled shakily. Sherlock had to think that John had only now realised that Sherlock was transgender and thought... what exactly? That John would be freaked out and threw a wonderful friendship and the potential of more away just because Sherlock had been assigned a different gender at birth than was now written on his ID? As much as the thought hurt, it was probably correct and John couldn't even blame Sherlock for it. He knew how bigoted people were and he couldn't even start to imagine what his friend had gone through until this day.

Anger rose in John as some of the hurtful things people might have thrown at Sherlock came to his mind, but he pushed it away. Now was not the time for anger, especially not for anger at faceless idiots. He had to find Sherlock to talk with him, if he didn't want a misunderstanding to come between them. Decision made, John carried his plate and mug to the sink and then went in search of his phone. It was still in the pocket of his coat and he texted Sherlock at once.

Where are you? I'm worried. JW A cheep sounded from underneath the couch.

John's hands trembled only slightly as he crouched down and retrieved Sherlock's phone from where it had fallen down. Probably, when they had taken off their coats in a hurry, John concluded. He stared at it for what felt like hours. Realisation of how upset Sherlock had been if he had forgotten his precious and only because John hadn't thought of finding a subtle way to let Sherlock knew that the information on his birth certificate didn't matter to , no chance to undo that damage.

John sighed and glanced at the clock. Six in the morning and he didn't have a clue where Sherlock was, he just hoped that he didn't have a relapse and was just buying drugs from some dubious dealer. Of course, John could go after him, but it was easier to find a needle in a haystack than to find Sherlock in London, if he didn't want to be found. In the end John texted Greg.

Is Sherlock pestering you about new cases yet? JW

The reply came ten minutes later.

No, why? Isn't he with you? Should I be worried?

John stared at the screen of his phone, until someone else came to his mind, who could know where Sherlock was.

Hi Molly, is Sherlock in the morgue with you? JW

This time John had to wait for half an hour - which he spent motionless on the couch - before his phone alerted him to a new text message.

Hi John, yes he is here. Told me that he had to try out a new analyze method. He was already here when I came in this morning. Shall I tell him something from you?

John sacked with relief as he read the message. Sherlock was fine. He was in the morgue and running experiments. For a second, John thought about taking a cab and coming to him, but then he decided against it. If they had a heart-to-heart talk, then John didn't want it to take place in public, but at home. So, he just wrote. Thanks, Molly. Just tell him that I'll wait at home, whenever he deems it acceptable to leave his experiments alone. JW

John also sent a message to Greg, telling him that Sherlock was fine and absorbed in some mysterious experiments and that John had just overreacted a little. He didn't reply to Molly's smiley message or Greg's amused teasing as to why John overacted when Sherlock wasn't at home. Instead, John dragged himself upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve his pajamas and a blanket, before lying down on the couch. Thankfully, he wasn't needed at the clinic today and he could use some hours of sleep, in order to clear his mind before Sherlock came back. For all the worries that were swirling around in his head, John fell asleep very fast, his body too tired to fight sleep for long.

OOO

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" His voice echoed back from the walls, but thankfully no one was yet here to hear him or they would have admitted him to a clinic at once. A bitter smile turned his lips upwards at that thought. Hospitalization was what the school director had suggested to his parents after Sherlock had announced openly that he wanted to be referred to as Mister instead of Miss Holmes and only ever wore the boys school uniform to lessons. Needless to say that Mummy had given the imbecile a piece of her mind and transferred Sherlock to another school.

He suspected that it had been Mycroft's doing when the director had lost his position a year later. As loath as Sherlock was to admit it, his older brother had been very powerful even at twenty-three and he had always been on Sherlock's side. No matter, if it was a medical binder - given to Sherlock on his thirteenth birthday - or buying Sherlock his first tailor made suit when he turned fourteen. Of course, Mycroft was a meddling nuisance most of the time, but that didn't mean that Sherlock hated him like he made others believe.

Mummy and Dad had also been fantastic and once more, Sherlock realised that he was very lucky to have such a family. If they hadn't accepted him, then life would have been even more hellish and Sherlock couldn't tell if he would have been able to make it through school without their support... probably not.

Sherlock stared at the Petri dishes on the work bench and contemplated throwing them to the floor for good measure, but decided against it. Molly would have been angry with him and no matter how annoying Sherlock thought her sometimes, he still liked her well enough not to give her unnecessary grief. After all, she knew about him and had even adjusted his testosterone doses, a few years ago. She was the only one, outside of his family, who knew about Sherlock and treated him with real kindness... and even affection. Sherlock's lips curled up in a bitter smirk. No one besides Molly had ever fallen for him, after learning that he was... what exactly had they all said?

"You are not a real man."

"Actually you are a woman without tits."

"You are a freak of nature."

"You are disgusting."

"You are a worthless monster."

A shudder ran through Sherlock's body as their voices echoed through his head. Classmates, teachers and strangers, they had all thought that they were allowed to judge him, although he had never asked them for their opinion, not even for their friendship. Sherlock had only wanted to be accepted, but that had been a futile wish. Of course there had also been others - at university and later - after Sherlock had made the mistake to look for love. Their words had been even more cutting.

"It's like sleeping with a man and a woman at once."

"Dear God, your clitoris is huge, that's so hot, bitch."

"Do you want to go shopping with me? I will buy you a pretty dress for the summer."

"Doesn't it feel strange to be a woman without tits?"

Sherlock stumbled to a chair and collapsed onto it. He felt nauseous only thinking back to these moments, when someone had brought it home that they didn't accept Sherlock as the man he was. He heaved drily and was glad that he hadn't eaten anything in days, otherwise he would have vomited on the floor.

Sherlock hadn't taken on any lovers after university. He had built up his life as a consulting detective - after Mycroft had forced him to get clean - and life had been very tolerable, besides the boredom between cases and dealing with Anderson. Sherlock folded his arms on the work bench and bedded his head on it. Yes, everything had been fine - he had finally be living the life he had always dreamed of, content with his body and the way he was perceived - when John had walked through the door at Bart's. Sherlock had known right away that John was special and he had been right. Who else would have killed for him, after knowing him for barely a day? No, John was amazing and Sherlock had been awed, when they had moved from being flatmates to friends with the potential for more.

More... right!

A mirthless laugh shook Sherlock's frame that ended in a sound alarmingly close to a sob. He had known for some time now that John was interested in him. It had been fairly obvious, after Sherlock had noticed the lingering touches and that John had stopped dating anyone, months ago. He couldn't deny that he was interested in John as well... No, not just interested in him. John was... everything. Everything to Sherlock. Sometimes - more often than not in the recent past - Sherlock had found himself wondering how it would be to get together with John. From what he had deduced, John was a very considerate lover and Sherlock had allowed himself to imagine kissing John, touching him, being touched by him and... That was the point when everything became wrong. Sherlock just couldn't imagine that things would be different with John from how they had been with his previous lovers. It seemed unbelievable that John would accept him as who and how he was - no matter how accepting he was otherwise.

The test tubes blurred in front of Sherlock as he looked up and he clenched his eyes shut to stop the humiliating tears from falling. One moment of weakness had destroyed everything. John had seen the scars on his chest from Sherlock's top surgery and he wasn't stupid enough to come to the wrong conclusion about them. Sherlock doubted that John would end their friendship over this - he was too kind hearted for that - but it was also beyond any doubt that John would never want to continue... what they had started this morning. Sherlock would be lucky if John didn't react with disgust - like some of his potential partners in the past - and just let the subject drop and they could go about their lives like before. Nevertheless, it was highly likely that John would start treating him differently.

A single tear ran down Sherlock's cheek as his heart clenched in pain at the loss he had just suffered. Maybe Mycroft was right and it was better to close your heart to everyone. Caring only led to pain.

The ceiling lightning was switched on and Sherlock jerked upright, almost falling from his chair and attempted to wipe his face of all emotions, before he turned around to look at his friend.

"You are very early, Molly," he trailed, having recognized her steps as she entered the lab. "I see that it doesn't work out with your latest boyfriend."

"Sherlock!" Any other day it would have amused him how she jumped in surprise and pressed a hand against her chest, as if a woman her age would suffer from a heart attack so easily. "How did you... Never mind! Did you want something? I thought the case was solved."

Sherlock nodded and swiftly moved to the computer. He hadn't thought of any excuse to be here, but he was sure that he could think of something quickly. Even some boring research would be better than facing John right now. "Yes, I was just..."

"What's wrong, Sherlock?"

He glared at her, but it didn't have the usual effect as her gaze grew only more worried as she stepped in front of him. Still, Sherlock certainly didn't intend to have a chat about his feelings with Molly. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

Belatedly, Sherlock realised that he shouldn't have added the last part as Molly's eyes narrowed at him. "I may not be a genius, Sherlock, but I'm not stupid either and - to be honest - you look terrible and... I'm your friend and I want to help you. So what is it? Did John and you have a fight?"

Against his will, a bitter laugh slipped from his lips. "No, we didn't fight, but... John knows." The last words were barely above a whisper and Sherlock thought that Molly hadn't caught them as she blinked confused at him. "Knows what?" Now, it was Sherlock's turn to blink. Did Molly truly believe that he had so many secrets that she couldn't draw such a simple connection?

"Did you take drugs again?" Her eyes narrowed down to slits and Sherlock almost took a step back as he noticed her fury. "No, I didn't take anything."

She still frowned at him. "Then what could he know that's so bad that you look so... defeated?"

If it was anyone other than Molly, Sherlock would have thought that she was mocking him, but that just wasn't her style. No, Molly was serious, when she looked at him, she didn't calculate how much testosteronehe had to inject weekly. Instead, she just saw Sherlock as he was - slightly mad genius, brilliant consulting detective, former drug addict. The realisation hit Sherlock like a wave and he had to swallow a few times and hold onto the desk, to keep himself from doing something completely out of character - like hugging Molly.

"Sherlock?" Now Molly appeared truly worried, if the way she clenched and unclenched her hands in front of her, was any indicator. Soon, she would sat him down, bring him tea, biscuits and tissues and tell him that they could talk about everything. The image was so ridiculous that Sherlock almost laughed out loud, instead he just said: "John has seen my scars. From the surgery."

It took a second for Molly to grasp the meaning of his words, but then her eyes grew wide.

"Oh and... he reacted badly?" There was a hard note in Molly's voice and Sherlock suddenly had a vision of her threatening John with a scalpel and telling him off.

"No, not exactly... I didn't give him the time to react in any way." Now, Molly looked mildly disappointed, but understanding at the same time. "Maybe you should talk with him, then. John is a great bloke, I'm sure that he is going to understand it." Sherlock huffed noncommittally and crossed his arms over his chest. "I doubt it."

He was relieved when Molly's phone alerted her to a new message, as she had looked like she might initiate a hug to comfort him. "It's John." She looked up at him. "He asks if you are here... Oh, he has written half an hour ago. If Greg hadn't texted me now, I wouldn't even have noticed his message."

Sherlock frowned - ignored the last part of Molly's rambling - and reached in his coat pocket, only to come back up empty handed. He had left his phone at home. At least, that explained why John had texted Molly and not him. "Tell him, I'm running some experiments."

Molly frowned once more - if she wasn't careful she would have wrinkles very early in her life - but she tipped a message and then waited for a reply, which came only a few minutes later. "I shall tell you that he waits at home, no matter when you come back."

Sherlock swallowed hard. That couldn't mean anything good. John would sit him down for a talk and tell him in the most tactful way that he didn't want to become the boyfriend of a trans man. Bile rose in his throat at the thought and Sherlock had to gulp a few times to force it back down. Whenever he came home, it would mark the end of his special relationship with John. Sherlock felt the sudden wish to never go back to Baker Street, so that he wouldn't have to see one of the most important parts of his life falling to pieces.

"You are going to see him and talk with him!"

Sherlock glared at that. "And what if I don`t want to?"

Molly sighed and shook her head. "I can't force you, but I think it would be better for you to talk with him and to know what John thinks. I'm still sure that he isn't going to react badly and if he does... You will at least know where you stand."

Sherlock considered Molly's words carefully. Something in them rang true, but he just couldn't bring himself to decide now and go back to Baker Street to have this conversation with John.

"I have an offer to make," Molly regarded him carefully. "I'll get you something to eat and drink and then you can sleep for a few hours in the spare bed in our staff room. Everything will be clearer by then and then you will go home and talk with John."

Sherlock highly doubted that a meal and sleep would improve his situation, but he still nodded his acceptance, when Molly looked questionably at him. Even he knew that he needed some nutrition after eating nothing for the past three days and a few hours of sleep might also help him to clear his mind. At least, it would postpone his meeting with John for a few hours.