John had tolerated as much of the bloody conference as he could. Two weeks was really too much! It was cold, it was dull, the lectures were tedious and…he realized with a laugh that he was sounding like Sherlock. He missed him like crazy. He had been texting him several times a day but that was still not enough. He wanted to see those beautiful eyes light up with pleasure, he wanted to run his hand through the unruly curls and trace a finger down those high cheekbones… He quickly made up his mind. He was going to pack and take the next flight out. He had put up with the conference for more than a week and he didn't think that missing a few days would make a whole lot of difference. It was time to head back to 221B Baker Street. And to Sherlock.

Sometimes it was still hard to believe that he and Sherlock were together. Partners in every sense of the word. That night at the swimming pool had really changed things for them. He almost thanked Moriarty for strapping a bomb onto him. When they had returned home that night, high on adrenaline and with their feelings so close to the surface, the line between friendship and love had blurred as easily as if it had never been there. It was almost eight months now since that day. He still grew angry with Sherlock, frustrated with his irascible nature, his refusal to feed his body, his multiple nicotine patches and his black humours. But he marveled each day that this mad, irritating man had chosen to be with him. He was still impressed by his genius at crime scenes and his intellectual prowess. He still found it hard to say no to anything those blue eyes might ask of him. He couldn't help but want to cuddle the petulant child-man and soothe the turmoil in that gigantic mind.

He smiled now as he boarded the flight thinking of the surprise on Sherlock's face when he saw him. He sent him a text just to throw him off track for a while.

'Getting into workshop. We have been promised 'practical exercises' so might have to switch off phone for a bit. Miss you. JW'

'Fine. Miss you too. SH'

The response arrived almost immediately as if Sherlock had already been texting him. John could almost imagine him rolling his eyes.

It was very late when the taxi rolled up to 221B and John saw that the lights in the sitting room were switched off. He picked up his small suitcase and quietly let himself in. He had checked his phone when he landed in Heathrow and had received only one message. It was Sherlock of course.

'Solved the case of the Ambassador's children. Tired. SH'

This gave him reasonable confidence that Sherlock was likely to be home. Immediately after a difficult case, his ignored and abused body would start to assert itself and he would simply crash out. John just wished he had been around to help out with the case. Moriarty had also pulled the stunt with the Crown Jewels, the Bank of England and Pentonville prison a few months back and John did not feel comfortable leaving Sherlock alone. However, though Sherlock did look unusually tense for some days, they had not heard from the man in some time. The conference had been almost forced on him by Sarah at the surgery as a necessary condition for continuing there. Sometimes he just didn't understand what got into that woman. Sherlock had surprisingly urged him to go for it saying that he had a case that would keep him busy but refusing to go into details.

John climbed the stairs slowly taking care to avoid the creaking one. Still he was surprised Sherlock hadn't heard him yet. He entered the darkened sitting room and put down his case near the door. There was no sign of Sherlock. Sleeping in his bedroom then, John thought as he went in that direction and pushed open the door.

At first his mind couldn't make sense of the tableau in front of him. After a few moments, his brain puttered to life again though everything still seemed to happen in slow motion. The room was lit up only by the faint moonlight falling through the window. Sherlock was in bed naked. The duvet lay tangled somewhere between his waist and legs. Below him was Irene Adler. Also naked. Sherlock had been nuzzling her neck and Irene thrusting up at him, when John pushed open the door. At the sound, both Sherlock and Irene had looked around and there had been a moment when everyone seemed to freeze. Sherlock his face sweaty and pink, his hair messed up, and looking shocked to see him. Irene looking utterly debauched as usual, her eyes almost black, her mouth parted, the beginnings of a sneer beginning to form on her flushed face.

John's body moved apparently on its own volition because he couldn't remember telling it to back away to the sitting room and close the bedroom door. He stood uncertainly in the middle of the room trying to work out what had just happened. Sherlock was in bed with Irene Adler. Irene Adler who was supposedly dead. Sherlock, his partner, his love, the man for whom he would give up his life… was in bed with Irene Adler. Who should have been dead but apparently wasn't. Sherlock Holmes, the great genius, the high functioning sociopath, the fucking virgin was cheating on him!

"John", Sherlock began, as he came into the room tying up his robe around him. John turned around and swung a punch. Before Sherlock could recover from that, he caught him by the lapels and roughly pushed him up against the wall. John's mind seemed to have gone from disbelieving shock to seething fury.

"What is going on Sherlock?!" he yelled in the man's face. "What are you doing with her? WHAT?! WHY?! WHY?!" John twisted his body pinning Sherlock's throat under his forearm. "I thought she was dead!" he bit out as Sherlock struggled under him. "I thought… I thought…" John's voice broke and his face crumpled. He let go of Sherlock staggering away from him. "I thought you loved me Sherlock", he whispered his words bringing the sting of tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry John", Sherlock rasped out and put up a hand to staunch the bleeding from his nose. His face was a smooth mask. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this. I knew all along that Irene was alive. I saved her."

John looked at him disbelievingly and sat down heavily on the sofa. "How long has this been going on?"

"Not very long", Sherlock said as if he was talking about one of his experiments as he sat in the armchair opposite him. "Two months, ten days. After she came back to London. I wasn't sure how to tell you. You get so sentimental about things."

"You…you machine! I can't believe you! I just can't!" John looked at his face again as though searching for a clue, looking for a crack in that perfect mask. He felt like he was looking at a stranger. As if the last eight months had only happened in his head.

"Did you ever love me? All that you said, did you mean any of them? Was that all an act? Or is this?" A flash of something crossed Sherlock's face. John pleaded, his eyes red with unshed tears, "It's an act isn't it? It can't be real. God, it can't be real. How can you be so cruel? Do you understand that you are cheating on me? Tell me this is some elaborate prank of yours!" John put his head in his hands.

"Well hello, Doctor Watson", came a cool voice from the door. Irene sauntered in wearing only a shirt. Sherlock's purple shirt, a part of John's mind registered painfully. "I am so sorry. We have been very naughty, haven't we Sherlock?" she said with a taunting look aimed at him.

She went to the fridge and took out a bag of frozen peas as she continued talking. "I always said you both were a couple. But then, you did insist that I might be special to Sherlock. Now look at us both." She perched on the armrest of Sherlock's chair and rubbing his back, placed the cold bag to his nose.

John's temper had been bubbling again ever since Irene strolled into the room. "You shut up! Just shut up!" he said standing up his body burning with the need to hurt her.

"John, please calm down. This doesn't have to change anything", Sherlock said. "We can continue just like before. You know you need me and I enjoy having you around."

John looked at them sitting so cozily in the chair. They looked beautiful together, almost regal, as they sat there so insolently, so oblivious to his distress. John's head was spinning.

"I don't know what you are suggesting and I don't care. I loved you Sherlock Holmes but clearly you are incapable of feeling anything! I hope I never see you again you bastard!" John said as he picked up his suitcase and rushed out before his tears spilled over.

Sherlock did not try to stop him.