It was drizzling as they walked up Dean Street. John shivered and pulled his jacket more tightly around him. He was looking forward to walking through the door to the club, not only because it would be warm and dry, but also because he knew it was the one place he could calm his mind.

Well, he hoped so, at any rate. He'd spent the day lost in anxious thought. Even worse, he and Sherlock had barely spoken all day. That wasn't particularly unusual, of course -- Sherlock sometimes went days without saying a word. It hadn't bothered John before, but something had shifted between them in the last twenty-four hours, something important.

John scowled and pushed that thought out of his mind for what seemed like the twentieth time today. He'd never enjoyed dwelling on his emotions; the fact that he'd spent so much of the day doing just that annoyed him to no end. The way this entire thing had begun to consume him was ridiculous, really. He needed to do something with his time, something constructive. He'd left the surgery after they'd started picking up regular cases (and regular money along with them), but there hadn't been a case for nearly a month. He'd been so preoccupied with the sex experiment that he hadn't even thought to ask Sherlock about it. Hell, he hadn't updated the blog in weeks.

As they neared the door of the club the wind picked up and they rushed inside right after another bundled-up couple. They all stood shivering in the foyer, unwrapping themselves, and with a start John recognized them both.

"Annie?"

"Oh, John!" She kissed both his cheeks in greeting, her lips warm against his cold skin. "And Sherlock, hello. We were afraid we'd be late."

"Not at all," Sherlock replied, leaning forward to kiss her as well. "Ryan, lovely to see you."

Oh. It wasn't coincidence: Ryan and Annie were meeting them here. John suddenly knew exactly where this was going. And he'd asked for it, hadn't he? He'd thought he might have more than two days to think about it, but apparently not.

"Hi," he said to Ryan. There was a flash of warmth in Ryan's eyes and John smiled in return. Breathe.

They made their way into the main area of the club and Annie looped her arm through John's. "John, will you help me get drinks? We'll be right along if you two want to go on downstairs."

"Yes, perfect," Ryan said immediately, turning to smile at Sherlock. "What room should they meet us in?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't otherwise react to this obvious ploy to separate them. "Room one."

Annie and John both gaped at him. "One?" Ryan repeated. "How the hell did you get into room one? Are you related to someone famous or something?"

"Something like that," Sherlock replied with an enigmatic smile. John rolled his eyes; there was no telling what Mycroft thought at this point. Sherlock nodded his head toward the door that lead downstairs. "Shall we?" He winked at John before he turned away, Ryan following close behind him.

Annie tugged John's arm toward the bar. "God, I didn't think room one even existed. I assumed it was just a false door."

"What's special about room one?" John asked with more than a touch of trepidation.

"It's by special reservation only, but no one knows how you get on the access list. I've only heard rumors about what's inside. Oh, and we're buying tonight. What'll you have?"

"Oh, thanks. A pint of Stella for me, brandy for Sherlock."

After she'd ordered the drinks, she turned back to John with a determined expression. "I have to ask: How do you feel about this, honestly?"

"About the drinks?" John blinked at her for a moment. "Oh, you mean…" His cheeks heated almost instantly. "What did Sherlock tell you?"

"That he wants Ryan to top you and that you've never done that before."

John exhaled. "Right. That." Where should he even begin?

"It's none of our concern, so feel free to tell me to leave it. But we're both wondering…" She paused, as if looking for the right words.

Might as well cut to the chase. "Why I wanted your husband to be the first person to fuck me?"

Her eyebrows rose, but she nodded. "So… no offense, but you've clearly waited a long time to do this and the fact that it's not with your boyfriend -- I mean, I'm not judging and I know that relationships can take a lot of different forms, but I -- we, actually -- just wanted to make sure you're okay with this. That he's not coercing you into doing something you don't want to do."

Wow. John's jaw dropped -- was that actually what they thought was happening here?

"Here's your order," the bartender called, and Annie turned back to the bar to sign the check.

John was grateful to have a few seconds to think. He hadn't talked to anyone about any of this. He wasn't sure now was the best time to start, but he felt weird about lying to her when she was being so kind and sincere. God, he really did like them both.

She turned back and handed him two pint glasses, and looked at him expectantly.

He took a deep breath. "All right. I haven't done it before because… well, to start, I've never been in a relationship with a man until a few weeks ago. And if I'm to be completely honest, Ryan is my second choice. But Sherlock isn't…" He pursed his lips. Saying it out loud made it real, and he'd been so carefully avoiding reality in this particular area.

"Oh!" she said, her hand flying to her mouth. "You mean he can't--"

"No, nothing like that. He's perfectly capable. He just… doesn't want to. With me. Or with anyone, probably. Maybe. I'm not actually certain, but definitely not with me."

She stared at him, clearly trying to understand. "So he doesn't top. That's not terribly unusual, you know."

John cringed. "No, I mean he doesn't anything. He likes to tell other people what to do to me, and he likes to watch, and then he wanks. And that's kind of it."

Her face was a study in control. "Okay. So… all right. So you don't have sex at all? I mean, with each other?"

"No."

"How do you feel about that?"

"How do you think I feel?" John laughed, inexplicably. "He's never even kissed me. What the hell am I doing, Annie? Who does this?" She looked taken aback and he realized he was venting at her now, but he couldn't stop. "No, seriously, this is perhaps the most fucked up relationship I can possibly imagine, and I've no idea what I'm doing or how I got here. And he's my flatmate, and my best friend, and I was actually chuffed about it at first because I was getting laid and we were both enjoying it, but now I just…" He stopped and shook his head, afraid to let himself say more.

She took the pint glasses from his hands and set them on the bar, and gently put a hand on his arm. "How long has this been going on?"

"This? Not long, a few weeks. But we've been sharing a flat for more than a year and if I'm to be brutally honest, there was always something there. I suppose I should have seen this coming."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

It was a good thing he was no longer holding the drinks; he would have dropped them at that. He could only stare at her with what he was certain was a look of horror on his face.

She cringed. "Or not, you know. Whatever. You're good friends and that can get… ah, shit. I'm sorry." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "I should have said nothing. It's just… I'm a doctor and I work in a clinic where we see loads of crazy and abusive relationship issues and, God, I really need to learn to turn it off and not poke my nose in where it doesn't belong."

"No, no, it's fine. I understand, believe me." John took a shaky breath. "And it's a good question. I've no idea how I feel about him right now."

"How does he feel about you?"

"Oh God, who knows? I don't think it's possible for him to be in love with anyone other than himself." At her raised eyebrows he added, "I'm not being sarcastic. If you knew him you'd understand that remark completely."

"So what do you want to do? Tonight, I mean."

He inhaled, exhaled again, and smiled tightly. "Oh, that's an easy one. We're going to go downstairs and I'm going to have sex with your husband."

"Are you sure? You seem a bit--"

"Emotionally compromised? Manic? Confused about my sexual orientation?" He reached for one of the beer glasses and chugged a good fourth of it.

She sighed and looked impossibly more concerned. "Look, I know you're new to this, to all of this. Ryan and I have been doing it for a while, and I can tell you that it's incredibly important that your relationship with your partner is in a good place when you come here to play. If you're angry or upset with each other, or if there's something going on that's interfering with your ability to communicate honestly, this is not the place to be. It will only make things worse, I promise you."

Shit, shit, shit. John winced. "Yes, I know, but… I really don't want to deal with it tonight. I just want it to be like it was at first, when we both had a good time and I didn't worry about all this other shit." He paused, trying to find a way to explain that didn't make him sound horribly naïve. "I think he's found a way back there, but I haven't. And this, tonight, this is about me. It's something I've never done, something I said I wanted to do. And he's giving it to me. Hell, maybe he does love me. He's giving me something he knows he'll never be able to give me himself."

"You're certain?"

"No." He shook his head, tried to smile. "But I think I need to do this."

"You have a safeword, right?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "Well then... we should head down. They're probably wondering what's taking us so long."

He followed her down the stairs, each of them carrying a pair of drinks. His glass was nearly empty by the time they walked the length of the hallway and found the door marked with a large brass "1".

"Before we go in," he asked, nudging her elbow, "I have to ask… what should I expect? I assume a penis feels very different from fingers."

"You have to relax. He knows you're new at this and he'll go slowly. He's very good at watching and listening, so if something doesn't feel right to you, just tell him. You should be on top at first so you can control the pace. And bearing down helps, believe me."

He nodded and exhaled. No reason to be nervous. It would all be fine. People did this all the time, and hell, millions of gay men couldn't be wrong. He already knew he liked things in his arse, after all, and this was a natural extension.

Fuck. Why wasn't this helping?

He exhaled and forced a smile. "Ready to see what's behind this door?"

She grinned. "Absolutely."

He set his empty glass on the floor by the door and then turned the handle. The door swung open and they both gaped at the sight that greeted them. The room itself was large, at least twice the size of any of the other rooms. In lieu of furniture a large circle in the interior of the room was sunken. There was a ledge around the perimeter of the circle that seemed meant to serve as a bench, and the floor of the circle was covered with what seemed to be a large cushion, making it like a gigantic bed. There was a Jacuzzi tub in one far corner and a small bar in another corner, presumably stocked. It was definitely a room set up for an orgy.

All of this registered in John's mind in half a second, but none of it was what had stopped him and Annie in their tracks. What had done that was the fact that Sherlock and Ryan were in the center of that sunken circle, kissing. No, kissing didn't quite describe what they were doing; heartily snogging was a slightly better description. They were both kneeling and their hands were all over each other, and they were so preoccupied they hadn't even heard the door open.

It took another two seconds for John to process what he was seeing, and by then Annie had already tugged him back through the door and into the hallway.

"Are you all right?" she whispered. "I swear to you, Ryan had no intention of getting off with Sherlock. I have no idea what happened, but this wasn't planned."

"That makes me feel loads better," John hissed in reply. "Because that means it was probably Sherlock's fucking idea."

"Oh, God, what should we do?" She looked genuinely distraught.

John felt anger rise in him. He tamped it down quickly, but not before it cleared his head. He knew exactly what he wanted to do.

He walked back through the door and cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt, but we've brought drinks."

Sherlock and Ryan pulled out of the kiss, both clearly surprised. Ryan looked a bit helplessly embarrassed; Sherlock, on the other hand, looked mortified. He couldn't even meet John's eyes.

Good. John was going to enjoy this. He was going to fucking enjoy this hell out of this, and he was going to do everything he possibly could to make sure Sherlock knew just how fucking much he loved getting fucked by Ryan tonight. Fuck.

He kicked off his shoes and crossed over to the sunken circle. Ryan shot him an apologetic look as he passed, apparently on his way to where Annie was now standing glaring at him. John stepped down onto the cushion, crossed to Sherlock, and extended a hand down to him. Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and seemed to steel himself before taking it. John pulled him to his feet.

"Having fun?" He smirked when Sherlock finally turned to look at him. "I think it's my turn now, isn't it?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He stared at John for a long moment, his face unreadable.

For once, John didn't care what Sherlock saw in his face. He was hurt and bewildered and embarrassed, but mostly, he was angry. It wasn't that Sherlock didn't want to have sex -- it was that he didn't want to have sex with John, even though he knew, he fucking knew how John felt about him.

Sherlock closed his eyes again and nodded. He had the decency to look chagrined, but John didn't care. There was only one thing he wanted right now.

"Then you should go find a good spot to watch, shouldn't you?" He realized he'd been squeezing Sherlock's hand rather more tightly than necessary, and he let it go. He pressed the glass of brandy against Sherlock's chest and a bit of it sloshed onto his shirt. Sherlock took the glass and walked away, over towards the side of the circle where Annie and Ryan were whispering animatedly. He sat at the edge of the circle a few feet from them, staring straight ahead.

Annie gave Ryan a shove and he crossed back to where John was standing. "Jesus, John, I'm sorry--" he whispered, but John grabbed a handful of shirt and pulled him into a kiss. They broke apart after nearly a minute, both panting.

"Don't worry about it," John said softly, reaching up to cup Ryan's cheek.

Ryan looked almost panicked. "I wasn't expecting him to kiss me and when he did I just assumed the rules had changed."

John winced: he hadn't actually wanted confirmation, but there it was. "I really don't want to talk about it right now, okay?"

"Right, of course. Are you sure you want to do this right now?"

"Completely." John kissed him again, this time putting all of his pent-up frustration into it. His arms wound around Ryan and pulled their bodies tightly together.

Ryan melted against him, whimpering already. "I must admit," he whispered against John's lips, "that I've been thinking about this almost constantly since Sherlock called us yesterday. There's something about you that drives me completely mad. I don't generally feel this way about men, but Jesus, John--"

John's mouth was on his neck now, searching out sensitive places. He usually didn't put much stock in compliments, but he rather enjoyed hearing them right now. "Oh?"

"You have no idea how hot you are, do you? That makes you even hotter."

John laughed at that. "I appreciate it, but you do realize I'm kind of a sure thing?"

"So you are. Do you want to get right to it, or do you want to take it slowly?"

"Slow is good. Very slow."

"Good. I was planning to ignore you if you answered otherwise."

John grinned against Ryan's neck. "I can come twice if we time it right."

"I do love a challenge. Do you want to make him jealous?"

"God, yes. Anything you can do along those lines would be fantastic."

"Not a problem." Ryan's fingers began unfastening the buttons on John's shirt now, one at a time. He paused after each one to kiss and lick newly exposed skin, and it was glorious. He slid the shirt off of John's shoulders, pausing at the scar he'd never seen before.

"Afghanistan," John said, hoping he wouldn't get distracted now.

Ryan stared at him for a long moment and then pulled him into a scorching kiss. John found himself leaning against him, almost dizzy. He tugged at the hem of Ryan's tee shirt and Ryan stripped it off in one smooth movement. He tossed it aside and then hooked his fingers into the waist of John's trousers, pulling him forward with an impish grin. Closer to Sherlock, John realized. Good.

John looked over Ryan's shoulder to where Sherlock was slouching against the ledge. He almost flinched when John's eyes met his, but he didn't look away. Annie was sitting a few feet away, clearly still worried. John smiled at her in a way he hoped was reassuring and she returned it weakly.

Ryan's mouth had moved to his ear now and John closed his eyes. Lips brushed the shell of his ear and the sensitive skin just behind, and his mind was flooded with the memory of Sherlock pressed against him the night before, whispering directions in his ear as he sucked another man's dick.

His eyes flew open, found Sherlock again, but his expression had changed completely. He wasn't watching; his eyes were unfocused, as if he was lost in thought. He looked miserable and John felt an odd tug inside him at the sight. He ought to have been glad, he wanted to be glad -- but he found he just couldn't.

Sherlock had been in charge of this experiment all along, but it didn't mean he knew what he was doing. He'd had the least sex of just about anyone John had ever met, and yet here he was, orchestrating all of this. For John. Whatever was going on in that brilliant and insane head of his, John knew for a fact that deep down somewhere, Sherlock cared very deeply about him. And right now, Sherlock knew he'd fucked up and didn't know what to do about it.

Goddammit, why couldn't this just be about sex? If anyone could have separated sex and emotion, he would have expected Sherlock could do it.

"Are you all right?" John looked up to see Ryan watching him with genuine concern. He'd been so distracted he hadn't even realized Ryan had stopped kissing him.

"Yeah," John replied. He kissed Ryan and turned them both around so that his back was to Sherlock once again. He needed not to see him for a while, to get his mind back on Ryan and what was coming.

"Will you suck me?" Ryan asked, his voice barely a whisper.

John nearly whimpered. "Oh, yes, that's exactly what I want to do right now." He fumbled with Ryan's trousers and pushed them down. Ryan stepped out of them and John dropped to his knees, fishing in his pocket for a condom. Ryan was already hard and John bit his lip at the thought of having that cock in his mouth. He'd wasted so many years trying to convince himself he was completely straight.

Once the condom was on he took his time, starting with licks and kisses and going torturously slowly. He hadn't even taken the head in his mouth before Ryan stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Stop, too close. Shit, that's amazing."

John waited, watching Ryan's face until he nodded. He wrapped his lips around the head of Ryan's cock right away, afraid he wouldn't get the chance otherwise. He'd managed one slow slide down and back up before Ryan stopped him again. He extended a hand down to John and John took it, let himself be pulled to his feet.

"I'm not going to last if you keep doing that." He unfastened John's trousers. "Maybe we should move this along."

"Right," John said, his stomach doing a flip. He stripped off his trousers and pants and then turned back to Ryan. "How do you want me?"

Something flickered across Ryan's face and then was gone again. "Hands and knees for now. Facing Sherlock."

John clenched his jaw. Five minutes ago he happily would have complied with that, but now he really didn't want to. He hesitated, pressing his lips together tightly. Shit.

Ryan put his hands on John's shoulders and turned him around to face Sherlock. He pulled him back against his chest and planted soft kisses along his neck. "Look at him," Ryan whispered, his breath warm against John's ear.

John forced himself to meet Sherlock's gaze. The impassive mask he generally wore during these encounters was nowhere to be seen; instead his face was completely open, even childlike.

"He loves you, you know." Ryan's hands moved to John's sides, stroking gently.

John's eyes fell closed. "No, he doesn't."

"Shit. John--" Ryan pressed his forehead into John's shoulder and groaned. John turned to look at him, confused. Ryan's jaw was clenched, his eyes narrowed. "Look, I'm not safewording, all right? But I need to talk to Annie before we continue. Just give me a minute."

"Of course." John took several steps backward and wrapped his arms around himself. Had he fucked this up already?

Ryan motioned to Annie and they crossed to the far side of the room. After several minutes of whispered conversation, Annie threw her arms around him and kissed him.

John looked over at Sherlock at that, but he seemed just as confused about what was happening.

Annie and Ryan crossed the room again, both of them smiling. Annie held a hand out to Sherlock and nodded towards the door. He looked perplexed, but he took it and allowed her to lead him out of the room. John watched them go and then turned to look at Ryan.

"There's been a minor change of plans," Ryan said, smiling.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to fuck you tonight. You're going to fuck me."

John gaped at him. "What? But--"

Ryan reached out for him and pulled him close. "It's not our concern, I know, but… neither of us wants to see you make a mistake like this."

"Mistake?"

"You're pissed off at him for kissing me, and I don't think that's the only thing that's wrong."

John groaned. "Yes, fine, I'm angry at him. But I did say I wanted it to be you. He set this up because I asked him to, so it's not--"

"John, listen to me." Ryan's hands cupped his face, pulling him even closer. "It's obvious this is a big deal for you, and it's also obvious that I'm not the one you want the first time."

"Oh, God," John said, leaning his forehead against Ryan's shoulder. It was completely true and apparently everyone knew it. Hell, Sherlock probably even knew it, which only made it worse. "But he doesn't want to."

"Maybe not tonight. But it's what you want and that's what matters. Don't do this tonight because you're pissed off at him. It won't help anything."

John exhaled. He felt relieved, honestly, but also terrified. Shit.

"Fine. Okay. But he's not going to like it."

"Fuck what he likes, John. It's not up to him."

"Isn't it?" John knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn't help it.

"The fact that you feel that way is all the more reason." Ryan sighed and squeezed John's hand. "Do you want to fuck me tonight? If you don't, it's fine. I'm sure we'll have another chance."

John did want to do that, actually. Now that his nerves were settling, it sounded like a fairly fantastic idea. He nodded.

Ryan grinned and kissed his forehead. "Then I'll go get them." He crossed to the door.

"What were they doing out there?"

"She was telling him the same thing, I imagine."

John winced. Oh, God,

Sherlock's face was unreadable, of course. He and Annie crossed to the edge of the circle, her arm looped through his. She winked at John.

"Right, so," John said, turning back to Ryan. "I'm not sure where to start."

"Don't worry, I'll tell you exactly what to do." Ryan pulled him by the hand into the center of the circle. "Just sit, wait here." He crossed to the bar area and rummaged for a moment, then came back with supplies. He settled on his knees next to John and handed him three packets of lube. "First of all, you can never have enough lube. Two of those are for me and one is for you. I don't need a heck of a lot of prep, but I love being fingered, so feel free to go there all you want."

John was sure he was beet red by now, but Ryan was kindly ignoring it. "So you've done this a lot, then?"

"Oh yeah, loads. Well… actually never with a man before."

John blinked at him. "Sorry?"

"Just with Annie."

John's eyebrows shot up. "I know for a fact that Annie doesn't have a penis."

Ryan gave him an odd look. "No, but she has a strap-on." The duh was left implied.

"Ah, right." There went his worldview yet again. Holy shit. "So this is the first time for you… with a man?"

"It is. And I choose you." He grinned at John.

John stared at him for a moment. This was certainly an interesting turn of events. "Are you sure? I mean, it's got to be different and…" He waved a hand between them, not certain what he was trying to say.

"I'm sure it will be, but -- no offense intended --the dildo she uses is fairly big, so--"

John held up a hand. "Don't finish that sentence."

Ryan blushed. "Right. Anyway, ready when you are."

John exhaled. Jesus, this was one of the weirdest sexual experiences of his entire life. And considering, that was saying a lot. He knelt in front of Ryan and kissed him, letting his hands slide down his back, over his arse. Ryan melted against him and his half-hard erection brushed John's thigh. Bizarrely, the condom from earlier was still on.

John smiled; he knew exactly where to start. He pushed Ryan down onto his back, then settled between his thighs. "I don't want you to come just yet, so tell me if you get too close."

He reached for the packets of lube and ripped one open. Ryan's penis hardened quickly in his mouth, but he kept the suction and motion light while he slicked his fingers. He circled his fingertips slowly against Ryan's anus before pressing one finger inside. He stroked in and out slowly, timing it with the movements of his mouth until Ryan began to writhe beneath him. He added more lube, then another finger, and just as he was really finding a good rhythm, Ryan grabbed a handful of his hair.

"Too close, fuck."

John was starting to envy Ryan's sensitivity. "Hands and knees," he said, his voice huskier than he'd expected.

Ryan scrambled into position while John put on a condom. He'd positioned himself facing Annie, which of course also meant John would be facing Sherlock. He lined himself up behind Ryan and stroked a hand over his back, and finally looked up. Sherlock was chewing on his finger in that way he did when he was lost in thought. The moment his eyes focused on John's felt almost like a physical contact: John reeled, nearly gasped, suddenly completely hard. Sherlock's dazed expression became a sly smile.

John had to break the gaze at last, had to focus on what he was doing. He opened the last packet of lube and used it to slick himself, and Ryan again for good measure. He leaned forward to plant a kiss between Ryan's shoulders, then pressed the head of his cock into him slowly.

Ryan hissed beneath him and John closed his eyes at the sensation. He'd done this once before with a woman, one of his few successful bar picks-ups in his pre-army days. They'd both been drunk and he didn't actually remember much about it. But this, this he was going to remember: the heat, the tightness, so much more intense than a vagina. The pressure was fantastic between the two sphincters -- anatomy charts popped into his mind, bizarrely -- and he stopped moving when he felt his glans push just past the second one. In this position, he could easily push in too far if he wasn't careful.

Well, in theory a penis could push in too far. In reality, he doubted his penis could do much harm.

"Okay?" he said after a moment.

"God, yes, that's fantastic," Ryan said, panting. "I'm good. Go."

John pressed a bit further in and pulled back out, fascinated by the sight of his dick disappearing into Ryan's arse. God, he'd love to have Sherlock in this position, to see all that pale skin spread out before him, to clench his hips and push into him hard, just fuck him into the mattress. He looked up and caught Sherlock's gaze, knowing his thoughts were probably written on his face. And shit, he didn't care. Sherlock knew by now. He had to know.

Just as he was about to get distracted, Annie stood and crossed to them, kneeling beside John. She put a hand on Ryan's shoulder and pressed his torso down until his face was on the floor. The heat in her expression was stunning; it was clear she liked seeing her husband like this, that this was something new and good.

"Down, good lad. Short, quick strokes, John. You can angle slightly down when he's in this position and hit his prostate. He'll come untouched if you do it right."

He stared at her, shocked.

Her eyes narrowed. "Now, John. Move!"

Fuck. He did, and wasn't a bit surprised when she repositioned him twice, not timid about putting her hands on his arse or even guiding his dick into Ryan exactly the way she wanted it. He had no doubt who was the dominant one in this particular relationship. She settled in front of Ryan when she seemed satisfied, and to John's amazement, slid off her jeans and knickers.

"Oh, fuck yes, please," Ryan moaned. She spread her thighs and positioned herself right under him, and he buried his face in her pussy. She threw her head back, her mouth open, and gasped.

John grinned, almost laughed. Here he was again, playing a supporting part in another of their fantasies. It was insanely hot, but it was also a relief not to be the center of this. This wasn't about him and Sherlock anymore. He'd needed that space so badly, and Annie and Ryan had given it to him. God, he could fall in love with them, the both of them.

He focused his attention on Ryan then, doing his best to fuck him exactly like Annie had instructed. He knew when he'd found the right angle; Ryan made an obscene amount of noise.

"Oh God, Ryan, oh fuck," and Annie's hands were on Ryan's head, her hips pressing up against his face. She collapsed onto her back and moaned, arms stretched over her head. Ryan was making a valiant effort to fuck her with his fingers while gripping the cushion beneath him for purchase as John slammed into him from behind.

John clenched his jaw and tried to think about anything other than what he was doing. He had to last long enough to make Ryan come. God, he hoped that would happen soon, because this amount of stimulation was almost more than he could take.

Movement caught his attention and he looked over to where Sherlock was sitting and oh fuck, Sherlock's hand was inside his trousers, moving slowly. He stared back at John almost helplessly, biting his lip, his eyes blown wide. John very nearly lost control.

Focus. He gripped Ryan's hips hard and shortened his strokes, trying to find the right angle again. Annie's moans took on a familiar rhythm. She pulled her knees apart, spreading herself open for Ryan, and John had to close his eyes because Jesus fucking hell, that was hot. Another minute and she was coming, pressing up against Ryan's face. Ryan lunged forward and John's dick slipped out completely; he had to scramble to get back into position.

"Sorry," Ryan said when he surfaced, pushing his arse up again.

"No, no," John replied, grinning. "Not a problem."

Annie pulled herself to sitting and smiled lazily at him. She stretched and glanced over at Sherlock, and her eyes widened. She turned back to John and grinned. Sherlock's eyes were still fixed on John; he hadn't even noticed. John gave in at that, let himself watch. Sherlock paused long enough to tug his trousers down a bit, and looked back at John as he began pulling his dick again.

He was making it easier for John to see. Fuck.

John was so fucking close and dammit, Sherlock wasn't helping. He pulled Ryan's hips up a bit and leaned forward, doing his best to reproduce the angle from before. Just as he was about to reach under Ryan to pull him off, he cried out, and John could feel Ryan's orgasm coming, could feel the contractions in Ryan's arse and oh God that was just--

He looked back at Sherlock, at the heat in his eyes, and then he was there, careening over the edge. His thrusts became erratic and Ryan's knees went out from under him, taking John down with him. John scrambled to keep moving, just the head of his dick inside Ryan now, but it was enough. He shuddered through his orgasm and collapsed on top of Ryan afterwards, still shaking from the intensity of it.

Fuck.

"Oh my God," Ryan said, his voice muffled by the cushions beneath him. "That was fucking perfect."

John rolled to the side and pressed his hands over his face. When he opened his eyes again Annie was grinning down at him. He laughed and pushed himself to sitting.

Sherlock was, of course, completely collected now. If John hadn't seen him jerking off with his own eyes, he'd never have known it happened. He breathed a sigh of relief at that -- he probably hadn't been lying about last night after all.

Ryan rolled over onto his back and smiled up at John. "Was it good for you?"

John grinned. "Must I actually dignify that with an answer?"

Annie leaned down to kiss her husband. "That was so fucking hot. I have so many ideas right now."

"I can't wait," Ryan replied, and pulled her down against him to kiss her properly.

John watched them kiss with a happy sigh. He liked this, he realized. Sex with strangers was awkward and messy even when it was hot, but this was different. He felt like he knew Annie and Ryan, cared about them, trusted them, and that made the sex a completely different experience from anything that had happened the night before. And they knew John and Sherlock surprisingly well, it turned out. He was grateful for that.

The evening hadn't gone at all according to plan -- it had gone much better.

He looked back at Sherlock and managed a tight smile. Sherlock smiled back and ran a hand through his hair, an expression of relief on his face.

John felt something twist inside his chest. This wasn't exactly what he wanted, but it might be something he could live with. And that might be enough, for now.

*****

"John--"

"Good night, Sherlock." John was ready to head up the stairs to his bedroom, exhausted physically and emotionally, and seriously not fucking interested in talking right now. Seriously.

"I owe you an apology," Sherlock said, and that stopped John in his tracks. Sherlock had never directly apologized for anything. Ever.

He turned and stared at him. "What?"

Sherlock's expression was pained. "Would you just…" He gestured towards the parlor, his eyes not quite meeting John's. "Please."

John groaned. God, he just wanted to go to sleep and ignore all of this until tomorrow. He'd be in a much better state to deal with it in the morning, with some distance.

Sherlock's face, though -- hell, he might be acting, but he did look rather sincerely miserable. He'd spent the taxi ride looking over at John every ten seconds while John ignored him. John could hear him out, at least.

John shrugged. "Fine. All right."

He followed Sherlock into the parlor and sat on the opposite end of the sofa from him. "What exactly are you apologizing for?" The list in John's head was really fucking long, but that was beside the point.

Sherlock sighed. "Where should I begin?"

Oh lovely, John got to choose. "Ryan. Why did you kiss him?"

"I'm not entirely certain. I've thought about that quite a lot in the last hour, obviously." He fell into silence for nearly a minute.

John rolled his eyes. "Well, that was incredibly insightful. I'm knackered, so why don't you think on it and let me know in the morning?" He started to stand.

"You chose him. Why?"

"Oh, for --This isn't about me, Sherlock."

"Please, John." He sounded as exhausted as John felt.

John sat again, leaned back into the sofa cushions and stared at the ceiling. "I like him, for one thing. I'm attracted to him. I also knew that he was experienced in that particular area. I saw him do it with Annie, so… I suppose I thought I could trust him."

"He was the first man you kissed as well, the first one who made you come. The first in the experiment, at any rate." He paused, exhaled. "I suppose I was curious."

"Curious," John repeated. This should be interesting.

"You said he was one of two people you would let penetrate you. That's quite a statement, considering you barely know him. I could only conclude that something happened between you that first night to make you feel that way."

"And that's why you kissed him? To find out if he had some magical power in his mouth to make men bend over for him?" John groaned and rubbed at his forehead with his hands. Why was he still sitting here? God, he didn't want to have this conversation right now.

"I'm serious, John." Sherlock sounded frustrated, and John was glad. He ought to be frustrated. He deserved a hell of a lot more than frustration for what he was putting John through.

And he had so carefully navigated away from the one of two people remark, hadn't he? Sherlock knew damn well who the other one was.

"Then I'll ask again: Why did you kiss him?"

"Because he was standing there looking at me and he was beautiful, and I just… wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss him. It's been a decade since I kissed anyone, John. You know that."

John closed his eyes against the twinge in his chest. That was essentially the opposite of what he'd wanted to hear. "Thanks for being honest. Apology accepted. I'm going to bed." He stood.

"John--"

"No," John snapped, whirling around to glare at him. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I can't do this right now. I'm fucking exhausted and I just can't… I can't, all right? Please." He looked away, astonished at the emotions rising in his chest. He had to get out of here before he said or did something truly pathetic.

He felt Sherlock's eyes on him, scrutinizing, observing, trying to work out what John was thinking and what he could say to keep him there a bit longer. John had no idea why he was still standing there. He didn't need Sherlock's permission to leave, not here. He didn't submit to him at home, and certainly not when he didn't want to. But yet, he couldn't move.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment, and at last Sherlock sighed. "All right. Good night."

John exhaled, nodded. They needed to talk and they would. But not before he'd had a chance to work out what the hell he was feeling.

He didn't look back as he walked away, up the stairs and to his room. He collapsed on the bed and didn't even bother undressing. He closed his eyes and tried very hard not to think at all.

*****

The music woke him up: sharp, angular, and erratic. He listened for a while with his eyes still closed, trying to work out if he'd heard it before. The same sequence of notes -- there was a word for that, damn his ignorance of music -- was repeated three times, and then there was a pause. Then again, with a slight variation.

Composing, perhaps. That was never a good sign. Though John had to admit he was somewhat pleased that Sherlock was emotionally affected by all of this as well. If he'd gone downstairs to find him sitting on the sofa staring benignly at his laptop, John might have punched him.

Sherlock didn't look up as John headed to the bathroom to shower, so engrossed was he in the music. Another bad sign. John almost smiled. Misery did indeed love company.

Once showered, he settled at the table in the kitchen with toast and coffee, and scanned yesterday's paper. The music stopped abruptly; a moment later Sherlock sat across from him at the table. He looked exhausted.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" John asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

"No." Sherlock's eyes bored into him and John looked away. "Did you?"

"More or less." He dropped his toast, suddenly not hungry. "About last night--"

"I pushed too hard, I know. I assumed that because you said you'd let Ryan penetrate you, it meant you were ready to do it. It didn't occur to me that you wouldn't want to do it. I just…" He broke off, and John looked up at him.

"Is that what Annie told you when she took you out of the room?"

"Yes. And that she was worried you were doing it for the wrong reason."

John swallowed. "Did she hazard a guess as to what that reason was?"

"She said I ought to ask you that question."

Sherlock's eyes were pale green this morning, astonishingly bright considering the dark circles around them. He badly needed a shave and his hair was on the verge of Einsteinian unkemptness. And still, he was fucking beautiful. John couldn't tear his gaze away, even knowing that he probably looked like a lovesick sot at this very moment.

He couldn't lie to Sherlock, not while looking straight at him. But he couldn't say this now. Maybe not ever. He pressed his lips together and forced himself to look away.

"To be honest, I didn't realize I didn't want to do it until Ryan told me I didn't."

Sherlock exhaled shakily. "I know. I'm sorry."

John shook his head. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but you really don't have to apologize this time. It's not your fault."

Sherlock looked away, his jaw clenched. "Is is my fault, John. I'm supposed to know what you want and what you don't. I'm supposed to pay attention to that, not to put you in a position of having to safeword."

"I wouldn't have safeworded, though. I would have done it."

Sherlock made a sound of frustration. "That's precisely the problem. I put you in that position, not because I thought you wanted it, but because I wanted it. I wanted to see him fuck you. I was so wrapped up in what I wanted that I didn't notice you didn't want it. My job in this is to take care of you. It's what a dom does, and I failed completely."

"You didn't--"

"Annie barely knows you and she saw it. She had to take me out of the room like a child and tell me I was in danger of abusing you."

John gaped. "She said that?"

"She implied it heavily."

John could only stare at him in disbelief. None of this had occurred to him at all and he honestly wasn't sure what to make of it. It was clear that Sherlock was taking it seriously, though. In fact, this represented some of the most human, considerate behavior from Sherlock that John had ever seen.

He cared about John; he really, truly did. He was angry at himself at the thought he'd almost damaged their relationship. He'd stayed up all night worrying about it, even.

"What?" Sherlock said, giving him an odd look.

John smiled stupidly; he couldn't help it. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For that. For everything." He only barely stopped himself from reaching for Sherlock's hand; he wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup instead.

Sherlock blinked at him, completely confused. "I don't think you understand what I'm saying."

"Then tell me. I'd love to hear it again."

"I was selfish and inconsiderate, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

John scanned the table. "Wait, let me get my phone. I think I want a ringtone of that."

Sherlock gaped at him. "I'm fucking serious, John."

"So am I." John grinned. "I'm telling you that it means a lot to me, Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head and stared at John across the table, his relief so evident he almost glowed. John felt a sudden impulse to kiss him. If the table hadn't been between them, he might have done.

"So we're sorted, then?"

John nodded. "We're sorted."

They weren't really, but it didn't matter. John's fucked-up emotions needed far more than a chat over coffee to be sorted.

Sherlock sighed. "Well, that's a relief. I think I might be able to sleep now."

"Going to take a nap?"

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin and grimaced. "Shower first, but yes. You?"

John's mind helpfully supplied an image of him climbing into bed with Sherlock and wrapping himself around him, watching him sleep. He pushed his chair back from the table. "I think I'll go out, go for a walk. I'll pick up the shopping on the way back. Need anything?"

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "We seem to be out of bananas."

John rolled his eyes.

*****

It was mid-afternoon by the time he found himself staring at the yoghurt selection at Tesco. He might as well get the brand he wanted; Sherlock hadn't touched the last tub he'd brought home.

"Did you take my advice?"

He turned to see a woman standing next to him, her shopping basket dangling from one hand. Her long auburn hair fell across her face and she pushed it back with her free hand, smiling.

"What advice was that?"

"About the honey."

Oh. Her. "Sadly, no. But I'm reconsidering."

Her smile settled into something almost inviting. "We weren't properly introduced before. I'm Alexa." She held out a hand.

"John." He took it and she didn't let go, traced a circle in his palm with one fingertip. "I'm sorry I left so abruptly last time. Something came up at home."

"No, I understand. I was hoping I'd run into you again." She raised her eyebrows just a bit.

He could have her, he realized. She was offering and all he had to do was say yes. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, traced over the smooth metal of her wedding band. It would make a nice change from the club scene, wouldn't it? "Would you like to get a cup of coffee?"

Her smile became a smirk. "If by 'cup of coffee' you mean something else entirely, then yes."

He smiled. "Fantastic."

They abandoned their shopping baskets and left together, walking side by side down the pavement. There was a Starbucks two streets down and she steered him into it, walking straight to the counter.

"Tall latte," she said. She and the barista both turned to John.

"Oh, erm… the same," he said, and reached for his wallet.

"Can I have the key for the loo?" Alexa asked. The barista rummaged under the counter and produced a large plastic ring with a key attached.

After John paid for the drinks, Alexa gave him a sly smile and walked towards the back of the café. He followed her through the maze of tables and into a narrow corridor that wound around a corner to the toilets. If they hurried, no one would see them go inside together. She unlocked the door and walked through. John looked over his shoulder once more before following.

He latched the door behind him and then found himself pressed back against it, her mouth crushed against his. He pulled her against him, kissing her back.

A few weeks ago this would have been unbelievably thrilling. He would have been astonished at his luck, would probably be hard already just from anticipating what was about to happen. But the last few weeks had changed his perspective on sex so thoroughly that he found he had time to think, to decide what he wanted to happen here.

That was a novelty, wasn't it? He didn't usually get to decide; Sherlock generally did that for him.

Alexa's hand cupped his dick and he groaned into her mouth to encourage her. He'd had several fantasies about her since their first meeting. Now he had a chance to make one of them happen, but he was nearly overwhelmed by the array of possibilities. He unfastened the buttons on her coat and wriggled his hands inside, around her waist and over her arse. She was wearing a skirt again today; he wondered if he could simply tug it up around her waist.

Oh, but… shit. He broke the kiss long enough to ask, "Have you got a condom?" He was used to them being readily available at the club.

"In my bag," she replied, her mouth working its way down his neck now.

Her fingers fumbled at the button of his jeans, interfering with his attempts to get a hand up her skirt. It was frantic and hot, but also strange. Club sex had been so much more straightforward, generally speaking, not this desperate bid to get it done as quickly as possible before someone else needed to use the loo. It was the sort of thing Sherlock might like to examine more closely.

Something washed over him at that thought and suddenly he wished Sherlock were here. He'd stand over in the corner by the toilet, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set, and he'd tell them exactly what to do.

Alexa's mouth was on his neck now, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He had one hand on her arse and the other cupping a breast, and somehow he felt oddly apathetic about the entire situation. It was almost as if…

Oh, no. Oh God.

He clenched his jaw against his own frustration and pushed Alexa away gently, put a bit of space between them. He gave her a tight smile. "I'm so sorry, but… I can't do this right now."

She stared at him, her face oddly frozen. "Sorry?" She probably wasn't used to any man saying no to her. Honestly, who would?

John would, apparently. He sighed. "So… I sort of have a boyfriend, and--"

"You're gay?" She looked completely shocked.

He blinked at her. "No."

"You just said you had a boyfriend."

"And I was just getting off with you."

"But you have a boyfriend."

"You do realize there are more than two possibilities, right?"

She stepped back, shaking her head. "I don't believe this."

"Look, I'm sorry, and I know the timing is horrible, but… I don't think I want to have sex with other people without him." It was true, he realized. God.

"What do you mean, without him?" Her eyes were insanely wide.

John's lips twisted. "Ah yes; that probably made very little sense."

"What, you want him to watch? That's completely twisted."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from a woman who's cheating on her husband with random strangers from Tesco."

Alexa gaped at him. "How dare you! You know nothing about me."

John rolled his eyes. "I know you're married, have been for at least a decade judging by the state of your wedding ring. Clearly not happily, else you wouldn't be here, would you? The first time I saw you, you took the ring off straight away because you didn't want me to know. This time you didn't even flinch when I touched it, so you're comfortable with the idea of fucking around on your husband. You even carry condoms in your bag, which says that you're prepared and careful -- good for you, by the way -- but also that you're not worried about him finding out. He doesn't go in your purse at all, which says a lot about the state of your marriage, frankly. Either that or he's traveling, and as they say, while the cat's away. Should I go on?"

She refastened her coat and glared at him. "Fuck you, Jake."

"John."

"Whatever. Go back to your fucking boyfriend. I should have known you were queer the moment I laid eyes on you."

Queer. It was a word he'd heard all his life, one he'd heard applied to his sister almost daily when he was a teenager. And now it applied to him. Damn, it really did.

She'd meant it as an insult, but the effect on him was somehow the opposite. It emboldened him. Yes, he was queer. It was part of who he was and always had been, though he'd tried very hard to ignore it until recently. He smiled, almost laughed, and she stared at him as if he'd gone mad.

"If you have a problem with me being queer, the door is right there. But I'll tell you this." He took the tail of her scarf in his hand and tugged her close. "You have no idea what you're missing."

She glared at him and jerked her scarf out of his grasp. He shrugged and took a step back, watched her open the door and walk through it, her nose in the air.

Well, then. He closed the door and leaned back against it, and exhaled. That was… Enlightening. Frightening. And rather damn funny, actually. He grinned, already thinking about what he would tell Sherlock.

His heart pounded in his chest at the thought. They didn't have a commitment outside the club. There weren't any rules. Hell, they weren't even a couple by any standard definition, so it hardly made sense to broach the subject of exclusivity. And what did exclusivity even mean in this context? We can have sex with other people, but only in the other's presence -- perhaps. But could he bear to see Sherlock with someone else when John couldn't have him for himself?

The memory of Sherlock kissing Ryan flooded his mind. It had made him jealous, yes, irrationally so. He had no right to be jealous of a single kiss after all the sex he'd had himself, but yet he was. In fact, he was still angry that Sherlock hadn't chosen him; even now he felt a stab of nearly physical pain at that thought.

If he'd had sex with Alexa, would Sherlock have been jealous? Angry? Ambivalent? He wasn't sure which one he would prefer.

There were two paper cups marked "John" at the bar and he picked them up as he left. He'd take them home and they would have a talk over coffee. They needed to talk about this, and he needed to do it now, before he lost his nerve.

His heart began to pound as he reached 221B; by the time he'd climbed the stairs to the flat he was almost shaking. He pushed the door open and looked around, but the flat seemed empty. He set the coffees on the kitchen table and pulled off his coat.

"Sherlock?"

There was no response. He wasn't there. John exhaled and tried to calm himself down. All right, then. He had time to think about this, to plan what he would say. That was good.

His phone buzzed; he pulled it from a pocket to glance at the screen.

Crime scene. Come immediately. - SH

John frowned at the phone, his mind spinning. A case? They hadn't had a case in a month. And where the hell was this crime scene?

He texted back Where? and put his coat on again, already heading out the door.

By the time Sherlock texted the address, John's mind was spinning. Lestrade must have called, and it would have taken something big to distract Sherlock from the whole sex experiment thing. But the fact that he was suddenly distractible at all was unsettling. Sooner or later Sherlock was going to get bored with sex, and then where would John be?

The taxi let him out at the address Sherlock had sent and John crossed the street to the taped-off crime scene. The staff sergeant on duty took one look at him and waved him through, apparently recognizing him on sight.

"They're through there," he said, gesturing to an alleyway between two residential buildings.

John walked in the direction indicated and saw a small group gathered around what was clearly a body on the ground. He drew closer and the crowd parted. Sherlock was crouched next to the victim's head, studying her face intently. He stood and walked around the body, his coat swirling around him as he moved.

John didn't see the half-dozen police officers or Greg Lestrade looking at him, nodding in greeting. He barely registered the body of a young woman lying twisted on the ground. All he could see was Sherlock, as if he wore blinders that filtered out everything else. He stood and stared, taking in every detail: the way he moved, the way his hair fell into his eyes when he leaned forward, the way he clasped his hands together.

Oh, God. Oh, God. John felt a strange sense of foreboding.

Sherlock looked up and saw him standing there, and he smiled. The universe condensed down to the two of them in that alley; nothing else even registered. All he could see was Sherlock. John knew he was staring back at him, possibly gaping like an idiot, but there was nothing else he could do.

He was in love with Sherlock.

Oh, God.

"John?" Sherlock asked at last. The expression of concern on his face clearly said Are you all right?

"I… wow." John looked away, ran a hand over his face. Shit, he had to pull himself together. "Sorry, just… right, how can I help?"

Sherlock waved him over and John did his best to ignore the pointed stares of the police officers as he passed. He crouched next to the body on the ground and tried to focus his attention on the fact that a young woman was lying here dead.

She was young, sixteen at the most, with long blond hair that fanned out beneath her head on the pavement. Her pale eyes stared up at the afternoon sky and her limbs were strewn about her unnaturally. Bruises at her throat indicated strangulation was a likely cause of death, though John had learned not to leap to conclusions in the last year. Her clothes were stylish and neat, and she looked like a completely normal teenager. Perhaps she'd been on her way to meet friends for a film or a cup of coffee.

He forced himself to stare at her face. Had a few things in his life gone differently, he could have a daughter this age. Her parents were out there somewhere now, perhaps unaware that their little girl was lying dead in this alleyway, a group of strangers gathered around.

Shit, how could he be so wrapped up in himself right now? This was far more important.

"What do we know?" he asked.

"Not much," Greg said, crouching next to him. "No identification on her, and her likeness hasn't yet shown up in any missing persons databases. No one has reported anyone missing that meets her description."

"It may be a bit early for that yet," John said. "She's only been dead a few hours. She may have skived off school and got herself in a bit of trouble. Her parents won't know she's missing until she doesn't turn up tonight."

"But there's something more," Sherlock said, and turned the body sideways. He tugged at the waistband of her jeans to reveal a strange mark on her hip, a series of lines and curves that almost looked tree-like.

John touched the mark; the skin there was blistered and raised. His fingers recoiled almost immediately. "Shit, it's a brand. Judging by the state of the scar tissue, this was done to her several years ago. God, who brands people?"

"Who indeed?" Sherlock asked. John could tell by the sound of his voice that he was struggling not to grin. He loved this sort of thing. "And the others' marks were identical?"

John's head popped up at that. "What others?"

"There were two others," Greg replied. "A week ago we found a young man, mid-20s, had also been strangled. He had this same mark in the same spot. Four days before that we found a boy, approximately 14, exactly the same. All the bodies were dumped in residential areas, found by people walking by. No one saw a car or heard anything."

"So this is a serial killer?" John's eyes shot to Sherlock immediately.

"Perhaps," Sherlock replied. "But I'll need to think on it some more. And I'll need to see the other bodies."

"Too late for that," Greg replied. "They're already in long-term storage. You'll have to make do with the photos in the file."

Sherlock's face twisted in that way that generally meant he was about to have a tantrum.

"Oh, don't start with me," Greg snapped. "If you'd come last week when I first called, you could have seen the bodies for yourself. Who knows, if you had done maybe this girl would still be alive."

"If the Yard wasn't full of utter imbeciles, none of them would have died, would they?" Sherlock retorted.

"Okay, enough!" John said, glaring at both of them. "What do you mean, you called last week?"

Greg's glare was still focused on Sherlock. "I called and asked him to help. He said you two were busy with something more important."

John turned to gape at Sherlock, who immediately began inspecting the brand on the girl's hip very closely. God dammit, Sherlock.

He had to close his eyes for a moment, take a deep breath. "Well, we're here now." He looked back at Greg and attempted a smile, but was sure it came across as more of a grimace. He did not need to think very hard about this right now; he'd drive himself mad. "And the photos will do, thank you very much."

Greg nodded. "I'll get them to you as soon as possible." There was something in his expression that John hadn't seen before, something far too much like sympathy.

John looked away, forced his gaze back to the body. "What else?"

Sherlock launched into a tirade of facts and deductions at that, and John had to force himself to focus. He was used to having to perform under this sort of pressure, wracked with fear and emotion; it had once been a regular feature of his life. But this felt different, so much more painful and personal. He wasn't sure how to navigate it. He'd always been able to erect a wall around his heart before, but Sherlock had knocked it down, had stormed right through it before John had even realized it happened.

How had he fallen in love with this man? Even if he set aside the obviously shocking fact that Sherlock was a man, he was also a borderline sociopath, so brilliant he could be incredibly stupid, and so self-centered he would turn into a spoiled child when the world didn't turn exactly the way he wanted. What the hell was wrong with John that this was the person he'd fallen for?

He wasn't even sure Sherlock was capable of loving him back. Fuck.

"John?" He looked up to see both Sherlock and Greg staring at him with equal expressions of concern.

"Sorry," he said, scrubbing at his forehead with one hand. "I'll catch up, I promise."

Sherlock stood, fingers pressing together. "I have an idea of where to start, but it's best I go alone. John, I've already emailed you a photo of that scar. I want you to get online and see what you can find out. Lestrade, I want those photos and anything else you've got." With a snap, he pulled off the nitrile gloves he'd been wearing, turned up the collar of his coat, and strode out of the alley.

John rose to his feet and watched him go, feeling a twinge in his chest that he didn't want to examine too closely.

Fucking hell. He had no idea what to expect after this. None at all.

[End of part 6]