Hey there, it's me again. Been some time, i know. I was suffering from the problem that I really wanted to write something, but didn't have a plot to work on. And the thing is, when I started to write this I didn't have any idea what to write either, it served just as a distraction from real life, you know. Some things went wrong, then my grandpa died and I just needed something to do. So what I want to say is that I really hope it's not rubbish just because I haven't thought it trough before I started :)

The Story is supposed to fit between Blackwood real death and the final scene where Mary and Watson go to Holmes.

I realized I never did make a Disclaimer o.O, maybe I should start

Disclaimer: Non of the recognizable charackters are mine, nothing of it, just the mistakes :)

Making it Right

Tiredly he let himself fall on the settee.

John had gone through the house for the fifth time in the hour to look if he had forgotten something that wasn't safely stowed away in his trunks yet, ready to be moved to Cavendish place tomorrow, his new home.

Watson sighed and leaned back, relaxing into the sofa. Well, he had been almost trough the whole house. One door had remained steadily closed for him the last two days. The room of the world's only consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.

Since the final end of the Blackwood case he hadn't seen hide or hair of Holmes.

Oh, John knew that he did leave his room occasionally, knew it because things lying around in the sitting room kept vanishing, knew it because he heard footsteps walking around at night and the door opening and closing.

But all this only happened when Watson wasn't around.

John had tried to speak to his soon to be former flatmate a couple of times, but when he had knocked on the door and asked his friend if he planned to cease his sulking anytime soon to spend some time with him before John left, all he got were short snapped answers. I'm busy. Let me sleep. Not now. Or he'd just been rudely ignored.

So he had just let him be.

Watson had hoped they would use his remaining time here to enjoy each others company, but if Holmes wants to be childish, well, then so be it.

But that didn't mean the doctor had to like it.

His eyes rolled over to the other man's room and he contemplated if he should knock again, even if he had sworn himself yesterday he wouldn't bother again.

He was saved from going against his promise by Mrs Hudson, who came trough the door with the afternoon tea.

Banishing his annoyance, he smiled in greeting.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

She set two cups with tea and a plate with biscuits on the table.

"You are welcome as always, doctor." The woman sighed, "He's still locking himself away I take it?"

"Indeed he is." He scowled again at the door. "Still keeping up this childish act."

Mrs Hudson looked over to the moustached doctor and realized that the usually thoughtful man just didn't get it this time. She would have to lead him into the right direction.

"Now Doctor, he is showing his hurt the only way he can." She said nonchalantly while picking up some books from the floor.

Frowning, Watson looked at her questioningly. Mrs Hudson defending Holmes?

"Don't look at me like that," She said without stopping in her meagre attempt to tidy up the room. "I'm just saying. He feels like he is losing his best friend." His only friend goes without saying.

"Well, he has no need to feel that way." Watson said and frowned, picking on a lose strand from the sofa cushion absentmindedly. "I may be moving out and getting married, and I may not join him on his cases anymore, but I never said I was going to give him up as my friend."

Even though he had lived here some years now, Watson had never talked so openly with his Landlady and he guessed she noticed this as well, that this was the reason she kept busy while speaking.

"I know that, of course." She said, while taking a rack from her apron and whisked some dust from a picture on the wall. "But try to see it from his point of view. You are spending time together working on your cases or here at home. Now, you are saying you stop helping with the cases and you are moving out. If we know one thing about Sherlock Holmes, it is that he is always looking at the facts presented to him."

Suddenly feeling defensive he finally looked up from his strand picking and fixed his gaze on her, "That's not entirely true. We have done other things as well. Sharing dinner at the Royals, going to the opera. Our friendship is not solely based on sharing a flat and working together."

With a sigh the landlady finally gave up on cleaning perfectly clean frames and turned to the protesting man, resigning herself to having to spell it out for him. "My dear doctor, when was the last time you spend some time together, besides the prior mentioned occasions? Just the two of you?"

"That was just…" he scrunched up his nose. No, that Opera visit was already some time ago. But they did have… yeah, well, they had planned on having dinner, but that was with Mary, and it didn't go so well.

Surely… No, if he was honest with himself he didn't even remember the exact time they did something together alone. He sighed and closed his eyes in understanding. He did remember when it stopped though.

"That was before I started to see Mary." He admitted ruefully.

Mrs Hudson nodded "Now, don't you feel too guilty now. I know how it is to be freshly in love. And god knows he isn't the perfect friend all the time either. I just thought…maybe you would like to clear this problem before you left."

"Yes," Watson conceded "thank you for your eye opening insight, Mrs Hudson, I hadn't even realized I had been neglecting him. Explains a lot though." He smiled softly.

Seeing that her job was done she put away her redundant cleaning cloth and went to the door.

"So you do like him after all," Watson couldn't help but comment before she left. "I always knew you had a heart for Holmes" he teased, making her huff in protest.

"It is not about liking him at all, doctor Watson, I am the one who has to deal with him after you left. I was just considering my future and how to make it easier on myself." She said and threw him a slight glare, but he could see a fond smile creeping back when she left and couldn't help but chuckle knowingly.

But as soon as the door closed, the mirth dissolved again. How could he make this right? All the time he had given Holmes the blame for their constant fights lately, but know he had to admin that it was his fault as well. And while no one could blame him for wanting to spend as much time with his new found love as possible, he shouldn't have neglected his best friend in that process. He didn't want to lose him after all.

He could just go up and apologize…but that didn't seem enough. He would have to show Holmes that he didn't have any intentions of abandoning their friendship in the future.

Now that he knew the problem, John had to realize that Holmes had even made attempts to spend some time with him. He remembered a conversation just before the whole Blackwood case even started.

Watson came home from a urgent patient and found Holmes exactly where he left him, laying lazily on the settee in his run-down dressing gown, looking like he hadn't moved all day.

Today tough, Watson didn't bother to berate him, he was too excited about his date with Mary tonight, so why spoil his good mood?

"Evening Holmes." He greeted friendly enough and shed his coat and hat.

The detective perked up then and actually smiled at him, very unusual for a time without a case. Oh well, then he must have a new one, John smiled back, perfect, nothing could bring him down today. He hurried into his room to collect clean clothes, he didn't have much time anymore.

"Oh Watson," he heard the detective call out, but he was in such a hurry he didn't even listen, "I've heard there is a concert of German music in town and I thought…"

"Yes Holmes, not now please? I'm in a bit of a hurry." John said as he hastened to clean up and get ready. "I'm meeting Mary. You can tell me about your case later." He put his jacket on in record time and patted Holmes shoulder when he frowned, "When I come home, I'll be ready to listen." He reassured, grabbed his cane and coat, and was out the door.

When he had come home that evening and Holmes, again, asked him if they could go to the event, he had to ruefully admin that he had already been there with Mary this evening.

Holmes had only brushed it off and Watson had quickly forgotten about it, but now he realized that wasn't the only occasion where the detective asked him to spent time with him, but Watson had just always been to busy.

He closed his eyes and felt guilt creeping up on him like seldom before. He really had been a love sick jerk. Now that he was aware of this, he had to make it right, preferable before he left, like, right now. No time like the present.

Alright, Watson pushed himself up and went to the room of his friend. Step one: Apologize.

Half way over to the door he had an idea. Stupid that he hadn't thought about this before. He went back to his coat, hanging on the clothes hanger, and pulled an envelope from the pocket.

In it were two tickets for the opera next week. He had planned on surprising Mary with them, but now, they would be invested so much better in mending the momentary rift between him and his friend.

With lighter step than before, the doctor made again for the door leading to Holmes room. Inside he could again hear clinking and clonking, just like the last times he had stood here. God knows what kind of experiment the genius was working on to occupy his time.

Suddenly uncertain he lifted his fist to knock and lowered it in the same moment. What could he say? Would Sherlock even listen to him?

Quickly he lifted his hand once more, and then knocked ere he got second thoughts again. He would just have to roll with the punches.

No answer. He knocked again. "Holmes?" Nothing. "Holmes, please. I want to talk to you."

"I don't have your rugby ball in here." Was the only answer he got. Watson couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"You know, I'm pretty sure you do have my rugby ball, but that is not what I wanted." He tried to open the door. Locked of course. "May I come in?"

"I'm busy."

"So you have said." John sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. "Alright, trough the door then. I…Holmes, I wanted to apologize."

He could hear no reaction at all from the other side of the sturdy wood, but just as he wondered if Sherlock didn't hear him, he spoke, maybe even a bit uncertain.

"Apologize for what?"

"I haven't been very…attentive lately, I realized. And I understand that…that this wasn't fair to you. You are my friend, but lately we have been more like co-workers, it seems, and that is my fault…at least a big part of it. I'm sorry."

Again there was a moment of silence, but this time John felt sure the other must have heard him, so he gave him a moment, knowing that this kind of emotional talk was not something the detective usually indulged in.

"Ok." He finally answered, and Watson could hear he tried to sound nonchalantly. "I wasn't really bothered, though."

Watson smiled. "Of course you weren't. So am I forgiven?"

"I guess, if it means so much to you."

"It does."

"Then you are forgiven." But he didn't come out, or even unlocked his door.

The doctor straightened up and looked down at the cards in his hand. Step one complete. He mended the present, now to the future.

"That wasn't all. I wanted to know if, maybe, you would like to go to the opera next week with me?"

"I'm sure soon-to-be Mrs Watson would prefer to go alone with you, doctor."

Watson couldn't help but roll his eyes. Holmes wasn't making this easy for him. "Not Mary, just you and me."

"Ah, well, I don't know if I'll have a cas…"

"If you have a case we won't go of course, I understand."

"And if you'd prefer to go with Mary, I under…"

"I would prefer to go with you, old cock." John said with enough conviction that it took a moment again before Sherlock answered.

"Well, if you insist, I'm sure I can find the time to join you, mother hen" And with that answer Watson was sure they would get back to normal again, with some changes, of course, but still best friends.

"Great," he didn't bother to keep the happiness from his voice. Step three, get him out of the room. "I have the tickets right here. Thought maybe you could keep them until then? You know, maybe lock them in your desk, where you've kept important things from me?"

After a second he heard some rustling and clinking, and then, the blessed sound of a lock being unlocked. The door opened and he was glad to finally have Holmes in front of him again, stubble gracing his face, hair dishevelled and in his ratty dressing gown again, but over all not that run-down. Confirming his observation that he had left his room now and then.

"Good to see you." Watson couldn't help but comment, grinning, and he held out the tickets.

Holmes took them with a grunt, but when he turned to go to his desk, he was halted by Watson's hand on his elbow. The consulting detective looked at his friends hopeful face, and if he was still angry then, he couldn't hold on to that grudge.

"Tea?"

"Alright," Holmes sniffed, "I'll be right there." and couldn't help but smile as well when he saw Watson's mouth lift.

"Take your time, I'll ask Mrs Hudson to make fresh ones."

It didn't take them long to get settled in comfortable seats at the table and soon Mrs Hudson brought a fresh pot of tea and new cups.

"Poison, nanny?"

"I'm sure you'll be the first to know, Mr Holmes, like always." she said and left the room, again with a fond smile on her face. At least some things won't change.

Watson finally felt really contend again just sitting here with his friend and he was pleased that Holmes looked very relaxed himself, even if his eyes did wander once in a while to the packed moving trunks.

Now, what kind of friend would Watson be if he didn't provide some distraction for his best friend?

"Holmes?"

"Hm?" expectantly, Sherlock lifted his gaze to his companion…but he quickly averted it again and grinned into histea when Watson kept on speaking.

"Now, about my Rugby ball…"