The Game is On

Protection

"Are you sure you can't trace it? Stop him?" John was surprised at Sherlock's tone. His voice shook, and its volume was reduced to lower than a whisper.

"We're sure. We've tried everything we know."

"Everything YOU know. I'm going to stop this maniac."

"I'm coming, Sherlock."

"No, John," Sherlock gave the doctor a serious look, "You're in danger. Stay here."

Reluctantly, that's how it was. John alone in the flat while Sherlock tried to find an answer.

Until two days later, he returned.

"Did you trace him?" John asked quietly.

Sherlock didn't have to reply. The look on his face told all-- He failed. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective and probably the best deductor, had failed.

"I'm so sorry John..." Sherlock whispered. And as the moments passed by, the reality dawned on them both. They could do nothing but sit and wait. As hours ticked by they would wait for John's certain demise.

Sherlock spun around, cupping a hand over his mouth. He just stood there, and every so often he would shake-- a ripple passing through his body.

Was he... Crying?

No. It wasn't possible. Sherlock is an emotionless man. A sociopath. No way he's crying.

But there was one way to find out.

"Sherlock?" John said quietly. No reply.

Through the silence, John could swear he heard a sharp inhale and exhale... The sound of a... Sob? No. Must be the window shutters, or birds outside. John wasn't crying, and Sherlock... It couldn't be Sherlock.

"Sherlock."

"What, John?"

As Sherlock spun around again, John had to hold in a gasp. Sherlock's mouth was ajar, just slightly, and his lower lip quivered. He had faint red spots around his eyes.

And water, too.

A tiny sob escaped the detective's mouth before he was able to talk; "What?"

John was right. Sherlock was crying.

Crying for him.

"Why are you so upset, Sherl?" John was surprised he called him that name as well, but thankfully neither mentioned it.

"You're going to die, John. It'll be my fault. Because I failed to protect you."

"I'm not going to die. I'll be fine."

"Anything that happens is my fault."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, Sherlock."

"But what if it does?"

"Sherlock!" John grabbed Sherlock's face in his two hands, looking him seriously in the eyes.

They both stilled, captured in the moment. Sherlock's sobs ceased.

"Understand? I will be fine."

John slowly backed away, letting his hands slide off Sherlock's cheeks. Sighing, he turned away.

But something held onto him.

He turned, and sure enough, grasping his sleeve, was Sherlock.

"Stay."

"Why?"

"Because... I need you to."

"What do you mean Sherlo--"

John's words drowned out. Something snapped his mouth shut. But... It wasn't a hand.

It was Sherlock.

Sherlock... Had just... Kissed him?

The taller man pulled away, straightening up. John just stood bewildered. What was that? What just happened? And why?

Sherlock's hand still held tight to John's sleeve. He moved it to his waist, forcing him closer.

John's face was buried in Sherlock's scarf. Sherlock's arms held the smaller man tightly, so John held on to Sherlock as well.

The taller man leaned down to whisper in John's ear:

"Just stay."

"Okay."

Sherlock moved a couple steps, still not letting go of the doctor, to flop on the couch. John ended up half-on-half-off of Sherlock's leg, who still had one arm draped across his shoulders.

It was a rather awkward position, but John was frozen, stunned by the events that had unfolded.

After a couple minutes, Sherlock finally whispered, "You're allowed to move you know."

John shifted until he was sitting more comfortably next to Sherlock.

"What am I not allowed to do?"

"Nothing. You can do whatever you want."

John smiled. He knew that was a test. Sherlock wanted to know if John agreed with all this.

John turned, rolling into Sherlock's lap. He leaned forward until he was a mere centimetre away from Sherlock's face.

He tilted his chin down and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's.

Then, fatigue took him over. The doctor flopped down so his nose was lodged under Sherlock's jaw, pressed to the detective's neck, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

Many moments passed until Sherlock's baritone voice broke the silence; "John?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't ever call me 'Sherl' again."

John just smiled, and fell asleep.

Something woke the doctor the next morning. It sounded like... The door opening?

John sat up slightly, noticing he still lay on the now-asleep detective.

It wasn't a dream.

It was real.

Forgetting the door for a moment, he rested his head back down.

Until he heard the footsteps.

Too late.

"Wha--" Lestrade's voice reminded John he had to get up.

John was content for a moment, having feared it was their villian coming up the stairs.

Until it dawned on him...

Lestrade had just walked in on him and Sherlock sleep-cuddling.

John sat up, so fast he flew backwards into the couch arm. Sherlock somehow remained asleep, making John wonder how late he'd stayed up the night before.

"Am I... Interrupting something?" Lestrade asked half-mockingly, raising an eyebrow.

"N-No, of course not. He's asleep, you see..."

"And you're his koala bear."

"No, we're just stressed."

"Does this always happen when you're stressed?"

"No!"

John bit back his explosion. He felt like Lestrade saw them kiss, watched the whole scene, knew everything.

But he didn't.

Calm down.

"Okay then," Lestrade paused a moment, "So what actually happened then?"

"Well, Sherlock felt bad for not being able to trace our Anon, so we watched some telly and fell asleep. I must have rolled on him at some point."

"Uh-huh. So, the telly just magically turned itself off then? And you koala-bear'd Sherlock in your sleep?" Lestrade mocked again, "You're a terrible liar."

"Whatever, it's not important. What is important is you understand something," John cleared his throat, "We are NOT a couple."