I do not own, nor do I profit from. Thanks to Verity and Scopes for making this so much better than it was before! You are both fantastic. :D

John added his dirty lunch dishes to the growing pile in the sink. He made a promise to himself that he would wash them all later, then walked over to their front windows and took a deep breath as the sun hit his face. Autumn that year had been chillier than normal and the inhabitants of London were thankful for the warmer weather that had decided to visit over the past two days. Unfortunately for John, he had worked double shifts for each of them. But thankfully, it seemed the warmth intended to stay a bit longer and he now had three days in which he could enjoy it. Providing Sherlock didn't drag him into a case.

Working such long hours, John hadn't seen his flatmate since Friday. Of course this sometimes happened when John worked long shifts and Sherlock was on a case but there was something different this time. No papers or books were piled on the desks or floors, no experiment cluttered the kitchen table and no new bullet holes graced the wall. Other the dirty dishes there wasn't any clue that would lead John to believe the consulting detective had been in their flat at all during the previous weekend.

Normally John wouldn't have been overly concerned; Sherlock always did as he pleased, but there had been a fair number of flu cases in the past two days and he feared his flatmate might be ill. Despite six month of living together, John had never been in his friend's bedroom. The door was always closed and John respected his wishes a hell of a lot more than Sherlock did when it came to entering John's bedroom. He knew that no closed door could deter a determined Sherlock. Two ruined jumpers stolen from his closet ("A man's life hangs in the balance John!") proved that theory.

John knocked quietly and then waited a few seconds. Hearing no reply he decided to try once more. Just in case Sherlock was indeed sick. Again there was no reply and John decided Sherlock must have accidentally gone out without his coat, so turned to leave.

"Enter," a voice he knew well called out imperiously.

John rolled his eyes and, turning the knob, crossed into the bedroom. There, in the middle of the bed, lay his flatmate, hands resting on his abdomen while his eyes focused on the ceiling.

"Are you all right?" John asked, taking a step into the room.

A grunt came from Sherlock. Knowing that was a 'yes' - he spoke Sherlockian fluently now - John took a moment to look at the man before him. He was without jacket or shoes but was otherwise ready for whatever the day might bring. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and John knew it was due to the warm day. A breeze crossed his face and John turned to see Sherlock's window was open, the curtains slightly swaying.

Sherlock had been telling him the truth the first day they met when he claimed to not talk for days. Those were the times when he would lie on the sofa, blankly staring, only in pajamas and dressing gown, and nothing John said or did would move him. But this was different. There was no darkness or emptiness in Sherlock's gaze. In fact his eyes seem to be following something John couldn't quite see.

"Can I ask what you're looking at?"

Sherlock answered by waving John in as he moved to one side of the bed. Before he could take a step forward, John saw a long slender hand pat the duvet in silent invitation. Figuring it was a day for 'firsts' John crossed the room and laid himself down on the empty spot. Settling down on his back John laid his hands on his stomach and wove his fingers together.

"All right, I'm here. What exactly you are looking at again?"

Once more Sherlock's right hand extended itself and he directed John's attention to the opposite side of the room where the ceiling and wall met. John looked blankly at the wall until a small movement caused his eyes to focus. A miniscule dot moved up steadily up towards a tiny rip in the wallpaper.

As the weather had cooled both men had noticed more spiders making their way into the flat hoping to hibernate for the winter season. John wasn't a fan of sharing his living space with them and felt no remorse violently taking their lives with a rolled up piece of newspaper. When the ladybirds had started entering their living quarters as well, John had picked up each one and placed it outside once more. He had thought they were all gone.

After following the small insect for a few seconds John noticed more movement on the wallpaper further to the left. Two more ladybirds were crawling on the wallpaper and heading towards the nearby corner. It seemed the warmer weather had drawn them out again. John turned his head to look at Sherlock's profile. A smile hovered over his friend's face as he gazed towards the open window.

"Is this what you've been doing while I've been at work? Lying in your room watching ladybirds?" Fondness for his flatmate could be heard in the questions.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders lightly. "They are interesting to observe. They make no noise, are colored in a reddish hue with seven black spots each, and when they spiral are delightful to watch."

"Do you know they aren't really bugs like the Americans call them?" John asked.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"My Nan told me that when I was little. Can't remember why now," John shared.

Both turned back to look at the small insects. The stresses of the past few days bled away from John and they both watched the tiny bodies.

"They move quite fast don't they?"

"Yes, John, they do."

"How many would you guess are in your room?"

"I believe there are roughly twenty ladybirds preparing for winter hibernation in here."

"Aren't you worried they'll end up in bed with you some night?"

"No, John, as the sun sets they each head to a portion of wallpaper that has peeled back a small amount. By the time it is dark they are tucked away for the night."

"Oh."

John was watching a pair of ladybirds that seemed to be racing one another to the corner when Sherlock grabbed his attention.

"Look!" he said excitedly as one finger pointed towards his wardrobe.

John looked. "What? I don't see anything."

"Look exactly where I am pointing!" Sherlock instructed as annoyance began colouring his tone.

John tried yet again but Sherlock's limited reserve of patience was depleted and he grabbed John's right hand with his left. Covering John's pointer finger with his own Sherlock extended them both.

"There! Do you see now?" he asked.

John's eyes followed his own fingertip and could now see a ladybird flying close to the top of the wardrobe. A bit distracted he nodded.

"Good. Finally," Sherlock breathed as his voice relaxed. "Now keep your eyes on it. The times I have observed them before, each one seems to fly in small circles for a short time and then slowly move into larger ones. I cannot explain why but the wide spiraling is fascinating."

John nodded again and could see how the small ladybird's circles were getting slowly larger as it went down towards the floor. While he appreciated the insect's navigation skills he had to admit there was something else diverting a portion of his attention. After John had seen the ladybird, Sherlock had dropped both of their hands back to the bed. The problem was that Sherlock had not completely let go. Their pinkie and ring fingers were still connected and John was very aware of the contact.

'Trust issues' had included physical touch for John. He was an affectionate person to those he cared about but he didn't care for the feeling of a person's hands on him. And, although he had told Sherlock he wanted to 'get off' with Sarah, he had mainly said so to get rid of the interfering detective. Complete honesty made John admit that he had desired companionship at the time instead of an actual romance.

There were, of course, instances when a break was needed from Sherlock, and Sarah had happily provided that outlet. Until she realised things would never progress and had broken it off gently. It might have bothered John more if he hadn't already become good friends with Greg Lestrade. He could just as easily give a call to the DI and see if meeting at the pub for a pint sounded like a good idea now.

"Do you know why they're called ladybirds?" John asked, needing a diversion from his current thoughts.

"The name comes from 'Our Lady's Bird' or the 'Lady Beetle'. Of course the 'Lady' refers to the Virgin Mary. In many early paintings she is seen wearing a red cloak. And the seven spots are meant to symbolize the Virgin's seven joys as well as her seven sorrows," Sherlock shared.

"Amazing," John whispered before he could stop himself.

"Yes, John," Sherlock agreed. "It is quite amazing the general knowledge one can impart about ladybirds when one takes a minute or two of one's time and looks up information on Wikipedia." Any sting was removed by the wry grin gracing the aristocratic features.

"Figures," John said, unable to prevent a smile. "I didn't think you were that smart."

As the two continued watching the small insects, John again thought of how Sherlock had slipped through walls he had emotionally erected in defense against the outside world. Within forty-eight hours of their meeting John had followed him without complaint and actually killed a man to keep him safe. Add their other cases and the resulting danger and John should have made the sane choice and thrown everything he had in a box before leaving as fast as humanly possible.

But instead he had stayed. And, despite Sherlock's sulks, arrogance and lack of social skills, John could not imagine living any other way now. A life with Sherlock Holmes may be difficult and frustrating but if he was removed then John knew his world would become decidedly grey, as it had been that day he had decided to take a walk in the park and happened upon Mike Stamford. And to go back to that grey would simply not do.

John's musings were cut short when he felt a slight flutter, then a tiny movement, on his right cheek. His right hand still occupied, he moved his other up to instinctively brush off the cause. However, just before contact was made his hand froze when he heard an urgent, "Don't!"

Not daring to move, John felt Sherlock lift himself up on his elbow and soon John's gaze was met with grey eyes before they focused on the ladybird currently crawling towards his ear. John lowered his hand and would have secretly mourned the loss of physical contact due to Sherlock's shuffling if something new hadn't caught his breath. Sherlock's fingers were now grazing his cheek as he attempted to pick up the insect so it could be relocated to a safe place.

It didn't seem to want to cooperate because Sherlock's fingers were not leaving John's cheek and they were continually moving to block the insect when it turned to another direction. Looking at Sherlock, John could tell his friend was focused solely on the creature. Because of this he was, thankfully, unaware of how unplanned caresses were affecting John. And when Sherlock briefly turned away, the ladybird having finally given up and climbed onto his thumb, John took the few precious seconds to close his eyes and focus on levelling out his breathing.

As Sherlock turned back, John opened his eyes quickly and attempted to look composed. Unfortunately, Sherlock's living depended upon his ability to see what others could not and the poor doctor didn't stand a chance. Eyes narrowing, Sherlock leaned down once more. Breathing seemed to again become problematic as John's features were assessed. After a thorough inspection, surprise appeared in Sherlock's eyes. Surprise that was quickly followed by delight before it was veiled and a calm demeanor appeared.

"The first time I saw the ladybird begin to spiral do you have any idea what thoughts entered my mind?" Sherlock placed his free palm against the very same cheek a ladybird had been scaling shortly before.

Fighting the urge to pinch himself, because what was happening had to be part of a dream, John shook his head.

Sherlock lazily mapped John's face with his fingers as he talked. "At first I thought it was a perfect image of my life. Or, more importantly, of what my life once was. Always searching desperately for a diversion that would keep the boredom at bay. First the drugs and then the cases. And while I admit a wall or two might still have it coming they are a great deal safer than they were B.J.W."

"B.J.W.?" John questioned.

"Yes, Before John Watson. Or perhaps I should say Before Doctor John Watson. Just to make certain there is no room for confusion. The John Watson who has the miraculous ability to see what others do not take the time to see," Sherlock confided softly.

He may not have been as intelligent as the genius next to him, but neither was John a fool. He knew that this was an opportunity that would never come again. He could choose the sensible path and things would remain as they had always been. Or, he could bravely choose a path that was new and different. One that would never be easy but would certainly be well worth it.

Decision made, John did not waste any time. Raising a hand he very deliberately moved a curl that had fallen into one of Sherlock's eyes out of the way and then used the back of his fingers to smooth the pale forehead near to him.

"'Trust issues' my therapist said. Funny how I've never seemed to have them with you. Ever since coming home from Afghanistan I've never cared for others touching me. Even when I dated Sarah I think we only held hands maybe twice and only shared a handful of chaste good night kisses. And each of those times I wanted to pull away because it made me uncomfortable. Yet here you are touching me more intimately than she ever did and it doesn't bother me at all. In fact –" John wasn't able to continue when Sherlock ran his thumb over John's bottom lip.

Smugness radiated from the thin man. "In fact, my dear doctor, you seem to like the proximity of our bodies very much as well as the touches you are receiving from me. Pupils dilating, shallow breathing, and I'd wager your heartbeat is accelerating as well. Let's see shall we?"

Using his hand to tilt John's head slightly to the side, Sherlock positioned his face beside John's throat. Lips ghosted softly over his rapidly beating pulse point and John couldn't hold back a moan. Feeling a smile against his skin, John gave a slight growl before gripping both sides of Sherlock's head and hauling the man back up for a demanding kiss.

"You are an impossible human being. Absolutely, positively bloody impossible," he ground out between heated kisses.

"This from the man who defied my brother at their first meeting?" Sherlock chuckled.

Briefly taken aback, John smiled and placed his forehead gently against Sherlock's before giggling.

"Something tells me my life with you, Mr. Holmes, is going to be very interesting indeed," John said, images of future chases, late night kisses traded, and more beginning to take form in his mind.

"That depends, John." Sherlock smiled fondly. "What are your thoughts on bees?"

I was asked if Wikipedia was my information source for ladybirds. I used a very nice site called UK Ladybird Survey. :)