4 Deleted Scenes [PDF]

Zitiervorschau

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/639056. Rating: Archive Warning: Category: Fandom: Relationship: Character: Additional Tags: Series: Stats:

Mature Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings M/M Sherlock (TV) Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Sherlock Holmes, John Watson Deleted Scenes!, Author Commentary Part 4 of The Faithful Compass Published: 2013-01-14 Completed: 2013-08-30 Chapters: 13/13 Words: 19961

The Faithful Compass- deleted scenes and why! by KeelieThompson1 Summary

So I had a few people here and on ff ask about the writing process and I had saved (who knows why) old, never used chapters. So these are some deleted scenes from Back in the Day with my thoughts as to why I didn't use them.

Notes

I have no idea how interested people might be in this, but it's all just sitting on my laptop so it may as well see the light of day. If anyone wants to practise con crit please have at it - I certainly can't be precious

about it as I declared them bad! I had a few comments from readers worrying about that so knock yourselves out if you wish to pull the writing apart. :) You will sort of need to have read Back in the Day for this to make some sense. Or even just understand that John is at Uni, Sherlock stalks him obsessively and is about 5/6 years older. And addicted to drugs. And they start shagging. And then angst occurs. Pretty much the plot actually…no reading required :-P

See the end of the work for more notes

Alternate End to "One Thousand Pounds" Chapter Summary

Alternate scene to "One Thousand Pounds" and starts after John has tried to scrape together the money and goes to meet Four Beats a little short and still angry that Sherlock refused to help him out.

Friday. Noon. John couldn't stop flexing his fingers to check they were there. Over and over again he flexed, trying to remember the feeling just in case. Oh god he didn't want to do this. Every step to the door was like a step to the execution block. He'd begged an advance. £946. It was likely the richest he would ever be. One foot in front of the other. And again. And again. AndThe door opposite, the one he was trying not to look at, slammed open and then a firm hand gripped his elbow, spinning him and dragged him back the way he'd come. Bewildered, John stared up at Sherlock. "No…I have to go and pay-" "Shut up, John." "No you don't understand, he has one of those things that cuts cigars and he's gonna-"

Above him, Sherlock made a frustrated noise. "He'd barely manage to cut a cigar with that thing, he was being theatrical." "He'll find a way," John yelled. "Just let go, I have to-" A very thick looking envelope was shoved at him. "What's this?" John looked down blankly. But Sherlock was already latching a cigarette into his mouth, "Look," he mumbled around the cylinder as he lit up, covering the flame as he did so. Inside was a wad of money. "I told you I didn't need any of it," was all he could think of to say. "Take what you need then," Sherlock said, sounding bored as he leaned back to enjoy his drag. "Thank you," John breathed suddenly, looking up at him. Sherlock looked like some magazine ad, all long lines and legs and long throatNot now! "It's paid." John blinked back to reality. "Huh?" "Your debt," Sherlock expanded, "Is settled." What? "And he paid you for doing that?" John gaped, looking down at the money. "No," Sherlock said in a disapproving tone, "He paid me for schooling him in Poker." "You…you played him for a thousand pounds?" John asked, awed. "Something like that."

"Wait, I don't get it; if you just played for my debt then this money is…?" "Surplus to requirements." Sherlock smiled as he finished and stomped out the cigarette. "Do what you want with it," "Sherlock…" John's brain seemed to be stuttering. "This," he said shaking the envelope that Sherlock had given him, "Is like double this," he said, shaking the one he'd bought. "Yes, well done." Sherlock suddenly stepped forward. "Now, while you have your hands full. I want my payment," "Your payment?" John squeaked, freezing. "What…er…what?" Sherlock was very close now, dangerously close and everything in John froze and focused on Sherlock…or went rigid and focused on Sherlock. "Tell me," Sherlock whispered in his ear. "Why? Why was I the last one you came to? Why didn't you come straight to me the second you left here on Sunday night?" That had so not been what John had been expecting. "Because I…" John shifted and restrained a gasp when the movements brushed Sherlock's lips against his ear lobe. "Lots of reasons," he said pathetically. "I'm waiting." "Because…I didn't want you to think I was using you. You're always doing things for me or bailing me out of something and I do nothing for you. And…and I hate seeing turd face all over you. I know that's stupid, I told you no but I still hate it and I didn't want you to think of me as some stupid kid. Or naive," he added, remembering that awful conversation a month ago. Sherlock moved and John wanted to curl in on himself and hide somehow. "Idiot," Sherlock said fondly as he pulled back. Wait, that was it?

"You should put all of that somewhere safe." Sherlock motioned towards the envelopes in John's hands with an odd smile. Right… -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary Right. So this was the first ending to "One thousand pounds" . In terms of John's character it sucks. I was aware that John was becoming more and more like a damsel in distress and here, once again, Sherlock just swept in and cleared everything up for him. In the posted ending, John got a chance to show his bravery by sitting at the table and also gave readers a glimpse at to why Sherlock was so fascinated by him when he relaxed with a man that had last threatened to chop off his fingers. Sherlock is also far too dark in this. The fact that the readers don't actually see what he did might imply he did something far more sinister. His demands to know why John didn't tell him seem far more ominous in this version, despite the fact that both have pretty much the same conversation. The only humour that would be in the chapter is both John's horrified reaction to having accidently gambled away a thousand pounds, and the fact he misunderstands the situation with Sherlock. After having the drama, you do need some relief and this does feel a bit like denseness for the sake of it. Hencethe reason it was then changed to find some humour and fun in the situation. My biggest problem though was the fact that after the build-up of the chapter it ends with a limp stagger. John runs around trying to find the money and then Sherlock takes care of it. It's a bit of a let-down tension wise. I originally shied away from the posted ending because I was afraid it would be a bit hammy. I think sometimes the worst thing you can do as a writer is give the audience what they want because it never quite lives up to expectations. Therefore I couldn't show the poker game itself, but I could show the "boring" aftermath when Four Beats was counting the money out.

It's almost like a misdirection – showing the readers what they want to see but twisting it so it's unexpected enough that they won't focus on the fact it's not what they expected because it's different enough (I think that sentence made sense!) That said, as a reviewer on ff wrote, I could never have Sherlock kissing John here. It wasn't the right time even though it was what I wanted to write. Assuming then that the readers felt the same way I could then play with it and have Sherlock look as if that was what was about to happen then turn it. Had Sherlock have kissed John here it would have been too quick and utterly wrong timing – completely taking advantage which would have gone against the previous chapters.

Operation 'Get Sherlock to date John' Chapter Summary

Dear God - this is probably the worst one! This would have happened after "One thousand Pounds" when Sherlock helped John out with the Poker games and the money.

Operation 'Get Sherlock to realise he's a massive prat' begun in John's living room with Faye, Ruth and Yvonne. All of whom belonged to various flatmates. "So he's admitted that he likes you?" Ruth asked carefully with an encouraging smile. "Yeah," John nodded pacing. "That's not the issue." "John's high maintenance," Faye whispered not so quietly. "What," she protested when John whirled around to glare at her, "You almost lost a thousand pounds." "A thousand-" "That's not the issue," John cut Ruth off as her eyes widened in horror. "The issue is, how do I convince him that he should at least try?" "You could always beat him over the head and torture him until he says yes," Kenny muttered from where he and Yvonne were on the sofa trying to watch a film. So Yvonne wasn't entirely contributing and Kenny was there. Big deal!

"You could make him jealous," Ruth suggested. As one they all turned to stare at Mike's girlfriend who was quite possibly the sweetest girl John had ever met in his life. "What?" she asked, "It always works in films." John nodded, "Yeah, I could do that…I think." "You'd have to get a girlfriend," Kenny pointed out, as if it were the most unlikely scenario on the planet. "Or a boyfriend," Faye added. A boyfriend? Huh…that was…an idea? "Or are you just Sherlocksexual?" Faye asked with a grin as she blew on her freshly painted toenails. "Please never use that phrase again," John muttered. "Seconded," Kenny added from the sofa. "Ok, so…what about the boyfriend idea?" Ruth asked gently. How the hell did he get out of that without them thinking he was entirely mental? Going trawling for guys seemed so utterly beyond John it wasn't even funny! "I…let's stick to girls for the moment," John shifted. "Okay, so…I get a girl to date me. Then what?" "Ooh!" Ruth grinned, "You could show how relaxed you are! How undemanding you can be." "Okay…" That sounded as if it might have some flaws. "Or you could try and show Sherlock what he's missing in the sack," Faye smirked.

That sounded like it would probably have more flaws. "Oh my god!" Yvonne sat up suddenly on the sofa. "John, for heaven's sakes, you are not the kind of boy that just uses girls to make someone jealous. You'll get halfway through, feel guilty and probably spend the rest of your life with her just to make amends. Pick another plan!" For a second no-one knew what to say. "Yeah, she's right," Faye slumped. "You'll be useless at the plan." "That's 'casue he's useless in the sa-" "Kenny!" Yvonne must have poked him because Kenny made a grunted pained sound. "Shut up!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary Quite honestly cringing at letting this see the light of day! Way too chick flick moment! It's going for the cheap laughs. It utterly pulls John's character into a far to OOC role and sets up something that was likely to be far too over the top and should be seen by Sherlock within seconds. Which then would have him scolding John for being such an idiot making him seem harsh. Either that or have Sherlock not say anything which would be OOC for him! It's also setting up a sort of bizarre setting where all the lads have partners and are all best friends and all listen to each other's' problems. A dicey thing to do in my opinion because then you have to work so hard at finding a way to surprise people with it; it's a very typical scenario and can fall into being far too easy and chummy. Introducing all the girls like this makes them blur together. They seem rather nothing-y to me and there was always a danger I would then have to use them again. It's hard enough to juggle a conversation with a lot of people about – typically why a lot of my characters in a group will find things to do and helpfully bugger off– without introducing new characters

via it. I have an issue with dialogue – when I write I sort of want to be able to tell who it is without needing the "said Mycroft" or "said Sherlock" etc. I know that isn't possible for every line but as a rule if I could tell who was saying what in the scene without those additions then I know the dialogue is working. It's that difference between having good dialogue and character specific dialogue. I back space so much because often I look at a line and think "that doesn't look like a John line" or "I can't hear that in my head without it seeming awkward" and out it goes.

Alternate Ending to The Games we Play Chapter Summary

This is an alternate ending to when John and Sherlock are in the night club and John leaves.

In retrospect giving Sherlock a house key as a thank you for the poker game thing may have been a small mistake. John was sat in the living room, nursing a warm beer and starting to stop obsessing about what had happened by watching an old episode of "Have I got news for you", when the door slammed open. Only one person slammed the door open like that. Hissing in annoyance, John grabbed at his coat and sped into the hallway. "Don't," he said, cutting Sherlock off before the man had a chance to say anything. "Some of the others have exams." The expression on Sherlock's face suggested that frankly he couldn't give a fuck, but John, for once, was able to push Sherlock around and direct him back out into the warm summers night. "Keep going," he growled at Sherlock, pushing him in the direction of the park up the road. The kids that usually hung out there should have gone home by now and the clubs still weren't kicking out for another hour or so. Inside the park John stopped manhandling Sherlock and just collapsed onto the swing. "Go on then," he said monotonously, "Rant."

"You are not a dramatic person," Sherlock said closing the gate precisely and walking over. "You underplay everything if you possibly can." "And?" "Which means," Sherlock said, as if John hadn't spoken, "That your mate was trying to be helpful and Victor was lying through his teeth." "I have no idea-" Sherlock stepped in between John's legs and stepped forward so the swing was perched higher than usual and John was sat in a rather compromising position. "Sherlock…" John felt his breathing speed up. "What did they say?" "Victor implied that you have been trying to get my attention," Sherlock seemed very focused on John's shoulder. Hunching John shrugged, "Gay Alf was trying to-" "Take advantage of the situation. Either you found a willing body or I would be overcome with jealousy," Sherlock replied with some distaste. "Victor then added that you stormed off when he tried to talk to you." "Sure," John said, agreeing in a flat tone. Sherlock took another step forward, raising John and pushing them even closer together. "Why were you there John?" "To ruin your life," John replied staring ahead. "Cause trouble, that sort of thing." Another step forward and John tried to ignore that they were almost eyelevel now. "What did he say to you?" Sherlock snarled. "The truth." "You are usually far more intelligent than this!" Sherlock snapped. "Whatever he said, whatever he twisted-"

"He didn't twist it-" "He must have! There is nothing that he could have said that was the truth about my dealings with you that would make you act like-" "He told me what he got to do with something I want." Too late John realised that the position he was in afforded him absolutely no escape. He was stuck, pinned, his feet no longer on the floor. His face burning with humiliation John stared firmly at the dip of Sherlock's throat. "He…said I was like some annoying kid with a crush and it was like dealing with an annoying little brother." Sherlock started to laugh. John waited it out, almost sick with how embarrassed he felt. "Brother?!" Sherlock questioned before sniggering again. John closed his eyes. He could feel the tear starting to spring up and had no idea how to hide it from Sherlock. When it finally fell Sherlock stopped laughing, as if someone had pressed the off switch. "John," he whispered softer. "The idea that I see you as a brother is sheer foolishness," To scrape the tear away would mean letting go of the chains of the swing which was the only thing keeping him from being completely pressed against Sherlock. Not to mention he'd have to almost hug at him to reach his face. But a gentle thumb swept the tear away. "It appears you and I have been in very similar positions today," Sherlock added. "Do you have any idea what it was like tonight? To walk into a room twice and see you being pawed at? To see you being kissed and undressed and practically fucked against?" There was a bitter jealous tone that surprised John and made him look up.

"Let go of the swing John." "But-" "Let go of it." John obeyed and instantly found himself slipping the few centimetres to connect with Sherlock's crotch. And then there he was, with his legs wrapped around Sherlock Holmes, completely unsure as to what he should do with his hands and staring up with eyes that must be as wide as saucers. "At least it was fucked against and not just fucked," he hissed. Sherlock's eyes were frosted with anger when he wrapped a hand around the back of John's neck andGod almighty! They'd kissed before but never like this. It was as if Sherlock wanted to lay siege and conquer his lungs! Frantic hands suddenly moved to John's shirt and started working the buttons open. "They had their hands on you," Sherlock hissed into his mouth. "I'm not yours," John hissed back and arched as Sherlock's hands smoothed and stroked his skin. "Yet," Sherlock replied, kissing a trail to his chin and then his throat, stepping forward a little to adjust their heights again so he didn't have to bend. John's hand snuck under Sherlock's top and the skin was warm and smooth and god he wanted to see it, taste it. "Yet?" he questioned breathlessly. "Need to finish collecting data first." Right. God John could hardly think with Sherlock on his neck, his chest…it

was addictive and wonderful and… "What does that mean?" Why were words coming out of his mouth? "Once I have completed the experiments. When I'm ready for domesticity." Right. "Which will be?" Oh Christ? Why was he still talking? "A few more years. Maybe five." MaybeJohn hit him. Hard. Stunned, Sherlock staggered from him and John stared blankly down at his fist that pounded form the impact. Years? "Let me get this straight," John panted, standing off the swing now Sherlock wasn't blocking the path, "You want me to wait and watch you fuck, suck and drug yourself into oblivion for a few more years!" Sherlock had staggered up and was touching at his cheek. "John-" "No!" John gaped at him. "How in the hell did you think that would work?" "I have a plan-" John laughed; there wasn't really anything else he could do. "A plan?" he echoed weakly. "You have a plan? I'm not a fucking nectar card from Sainsbury's Sherlock; you don't build up points to use when you feel like it!" "That's a ridiculous metaphor-" "Then it fits the situation perfectly!" John yelled. "I can't believe you…I

honestly thought…" he broke himself off shaking his head. "Don't-" Sherlock darted forward. "John, listen to me; you are the most important thing in my life. You are…I want you with me. But I need to learn, I need to know these things. Experiential knowledge needs to occur before I can do anything of use and there are stages-" "Do you want me?" John asked fiercely. "Yes-" "Now?" John tilted his chin. "Right now. Do you want to be with me?" "John-" "Yes or no?" Sherlock screwed up his features in irritation. "You aren't listening to me!" "No," John shoved at him, "You aren't listening to you. What I hear Sherlock is that I'm not good enough for you-" "That is utterly absurd. And do not get on your high horse – you know we aren't where we need to be to be a couple yet." "Because I'm not…" John failed to find the words "…Because I know you! You'd swallow me up and I'd be nothing once you were through with me. I need to find me first. But you…your reason is that you still want to go out shagging and partying and getting high." "You are reducing this down!" Sherlock shouted. "No! You tell me the name of one girl, one guy I have started seeing since you and I became friends," John yelled back. "Go on, name one!" Sherlock shook his head. "That's-" "You can't! In fact the one time I looked to be getting anywhere with someone you did this! You can't have it both ways. Either we are together or we aren't. Either you're mine or you do what I have done and smile

nicely when I introduce you to the person that gets to take me home at the end of the evening." Sherlock scanned his eyes. "No…it has been working. It's fine-" "No it isn't!" John screamed at him. "This is not fine! This is me putting my life on pause for you when you won't do the same for me." "I'm not…this is for work!" Sherlock replied looking flustered. "One day you will thank me for this." "Thank you?" John breathed in horror. "Thank you?" Sherlock seemed to notice the error, "That's not-" "Thank you for getting so high on coke that your brother texts me once a month to check you're still alive? Thank you for having sex with that fucker and having threesomes and having half of London know that you'll shag anything once if it's new? I'm meant to thank you for knowing every crook and bastard-" "If I didn't you would be missing fingers right now," Sherlock sneered. "So do not pretend that you do not benefit from this. Believe me John, one day my name will be known throughout London and no-one will dare touch you because they'll know you're mine." "I refuse to be groomed into being your boy toy." John went to hit him again and this time Sherlock caught the fist. "A bit late to pull out now." John froze and Sherlock's eyes widened in horror. "John," he said sounding suddenly wretched. "I didn't…that's not what I think." John stepped back. "I want the key," he whispered. "John-"

"Now!" John demanded, the world blurring around him. Sherlock dug into his pocket and then held it in his palm, looking at it as though he'd never seen anything so amazing in his life. "Sherlock..." Damn it, his voice wobbled as he asked again. "No." "Sherlock_" "No," Sherlock said sounding suddenly strong. "Absolutely not." "Right," John dropped his head. "We'll change the locks then." "I don't give a damn about the locks!" Sherlock roared at him. "You are not doing this." "I chose what I do," John snapped. "Me and me alone. I am not your toy!" "What if you were mine?" the words tumbled out in panic. John stared. "And I was yours?" Sherlock pleaded stepping forward. Don't do this, please don't do this. John looked away and up at the startling clear night sky for help. "John?" Sherlock seemed to sense he had an opening and stepped forward, nuzzling at the side of his face. "John? Please. We'll find a compromise… some-way to keep us both happy." There. It was as if his prayers were answered. "Compromise?" John swallowed, amazed at how suddenly calm he felt. Numb even. "Fine, here's my compromise." Sherlock looked lost, clearly sensing that this wasn't going the way he

wanted it to. "We are friends-" "John-" "You do what you have to do. What you need to do." Because John knew Sherlock, knew that he'd keep on doing it, whether by truth or deceit. "And I will be your friend." "John-" "And if you ever, ever bring up anything more; anything like this again. If you throw a jealous fit or corner me like this again, that will be it." John said frankly. "No more treating me like some precious trophy or someone who needs you to come swooping in. No more kid gloves Sherlock. No lies, no more texting you when I'm out so you can plan my route away from you when you're high. "I am you friend." John swallowed, "And we are never going down this road again." Sherlock was shaking his head minutely. "You won't" his eyes alight with determination. "You can't just stop John. I know you, I can make you cave." John nodded, "Yeah," he said, standing his ground. "And I would never forgive you." Sherlock faltered. "I'd change your mind," he said, though he sounded a little unsure. John stepped close. "Fine. But I've watched you Sherlock, I know how to be cruel," he threatened. "You pick, because I am going to start looking for someone," he added, trying to ignore the way Sherlock flinched, "And either I can be discreet or I swear to go, if you push me, I will go back into that club and fuck anyone on the dance floor who'll have me in front of you." Sherlock looked as if he'd just been slapped. "You…you wouldn't. That's not you."

"It's who you are making me into." Sherlock stared and John pushed past. His friend didn't move to stop him; it was as if someone had rooted him into the ground. "Give me a week to calm down," John said swallowing, "And we'll start again. If you don't want that then don't come at all." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------John managed to get through the doorand slam it shut. On the other side of the door Sherlock listened and crashed to the door step. "How much did you see?" "All of it," Mycroft nodded the car away and walked over to his brother. "A very moving performance." Sherlock didn't say a word. "How can you still take this?" Mycroft hissed throwing the bag of coke at his brother. "Look at what is happening to you! You are destroying that boy-" "I dealt with it!" "This?" Mycroft shook his head. "This was beyond cruel Sherlock. If you didn't want the boy, there were far easier ways to let him down than manipulate the entire night." Stubbornly Sherlock remained silent. "Oh!" Mycroft cringed. "Oh no. Oh spare me from young love. This wasn't about getting rid of him! This was about keeping him safe. From you! Tell me Sherlock will you manage to stay away at the end of the week?" "Shut up-" "He has been the one good thing in your life-" "I know," Sherlock glanced back at the door and stood, moving their

argument away from it. "Then stop using-" "I am coping!" Sherlock snarled. "I am fine! And I understand more about the world than you can begin to imagine Mycroft because I haven't hid from it in some office most of my life-" "Just because you have thrown yourself headfirst into the seedy underbelly of the world does not mean you are hiding from it." "Fuck off!" "You cannot do this Sherlock," Mycroft stepped aside to let him go, "You cannot be just friends with someone who you love this much and are this afraid of." Sherlock stopped with his back to Mycroft. "I am not in love with him," he sneered. "Yes, you are. And you know it. You knew it the minute you heard him announce he'd been in the gay bar. You saw it when you walked in, looking for him. When you saw him leave upset. You could have left it alone each time Sherlock but you love him too much to just sit and watch him be upset. You just make things worse and worse while trying to help him. Tell me, would you have knocked on the door right now if I hadn't shown up?" Silence. "Get clean, get tested and get your life on track before you lose him completely." Sherlock smiled bitterly. "I thought you were listening tonight brother dear? I have lost him. I'll give him everything he asked for, every dirty secret, every filthy corner and he'll leave eventually. And then it will be done." "You are wasting your potential," Mycroft snapped. Amused, Sherlock reached into his pockets and knocked back whatever it was Victor had given to him, watching as Mycroft flinched.

"Go back to your boring little world," Sherlock smiled. "Perhaps next time you could engineer my meeting with my 'saviour' to not involve housemates who steal my stash. It's terribly irritating to replace cocaine." "I didn't." Sherlock paused in walking away. "I'd given up," Mycroft replied, "Before that boy came back into your life I was fully prepared to bury you within the next four years. "There's still time." "Apparently so." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary Yeah, Back in the Day would have been very different! The most annoying thing about this when I was ranting at having written nigh on three thousand words, was that I think it flowed! In terms of character interactions it worked to the point where I then nicked from this and used it in a later chapter. In terms of the story though – big mistake! It's too soon to have this conversation. Far, far too soon. Like, you know in a TV series when you're screaming at the TV for a character to realise what's right in front of them (cough- Lex in Smallville, Arthur in Merlin cough), those tv people do have a point in dragging it out because the characters need, desperately need, to be in a different place when this argument happens. My original plan believe it or not was to then have them not see each other for a year, then have Sherlock's mother die, leading him to seek out John in the pit of despair and then starting something far more unhealthy which would push John into the army and then have them reunite at Barts having not seen each other in years. Then end.

But reviewers had been saying how much they liked the fun! The humour, the escapades. This way would have been just angst and the humour would have vanished very quickly. So I changed it. First to John going to Harry and staying with her and Sherlock slowly realising that he needed more from John. But that was again, too much John running away and in the end it solves very little. So there had to be some way of getting John and Sherlock to ignore this issue for a while. Accidental drug overdose anyone? :P

Alternate start to the friends with benefits situation Chapter Summary

Another alternate scene of what could have happened after "The Games we Play" chapter.

You went to your sisters?" Sherlock muttered as he closed the door behind John. "Sister, of course!" John ignored him and looked in the living room. Empty. "Victor here?" he asked. "No." "Anyone here?" John asked, keeping his back to Sherlock. "No, what-" John turned, grabbed his wrist and pulled Sherlock forward. Clearly it took Sherlock completely of guard because he stumbled into John with enough force to half knock them into the sofa. Somehow they ended up tangled on the floor and John nearly rolled his eyes when he felt Sherlock start to try and slow down the kiss. Rolling them so he was on top, he pulled back and looked down at Sherlock who was staring up at him as if he couldn't decide whether to be amused or simply confused.

Keeping his gaze fixed on him, John skimmed his hands down Sherlock's chest and then, with utterly steady hands started to undo Sherlock's belt. Those pale smoke eyes widened slightly and then looked down at what John's hands were doing. Pulling the belt free John tossed it across the room and undid the top button, feeling Sherlock's eyes studying him. "John-" "Shut up," John muttered. "Stop thinking." A hand slipped behind John's head and curled into his hair. "I do not intend to be monogamous." Sherlock said after a moment. "I will not curl up with you on the sofa and eat popcorn, I will not hold your hand, I will not be your boyfriend." "And I'm not a fucking trophy," John hissed. "I want you, you want me. What's the problem?" he cupped Sherlock through his trousers and watched the eyes flutter a little. "We are friends." "And now we have benefits!" John grinned as his hand worked inside Sherlock's trousers and pulled his free. "And condoms," he added, pulling one out of his back pocket. Sherlock closed his eyes and then opened them to the ceiling, "This will not end well," he warned. Staring down at the dick in front of him (both kinds) John took a breath and slipped the condom onto Sherlock. "I'm bored of being sensible." He said as he slid down Sherlock. "I'm tired of it!" With far more bravery than he felt, he swopped down and started to suck. Then lost all confidence when there was just silence above him. How did he like it?

Slowing down he started to lick, careful cat like licks. It was harder with the condom…ok, so he needed a way around that! Dropping lower he started to nuzzle at the balls below, taking soft swipes with is tongue and exploring the texture. I am sucking off a guy! Oddly it wasn't as weird as he'd thought it would be. Different, but not better or worse. The thighs he was holding onto flexed and the body shifted, positively! Emboldened John looked up. Sherlock was staring at him with wide startled eyes, pupils almost fully blown and he was up leaning back on his elbows to watch what John was doing. Confidence built up a little, John tried again with the cock, this time trying slower, more exploratory moves. The condom tasted pretty foul if he was honest but it was manageable. When Sherlock came it was amazing! He'd just made Sherlock Holmes gasp and swear and come! Pulling away John grinned, pleased at his handiwork and looked up at Sherlock who was staring at him thoughtfully. "So," John sat back on his heels. "How close are you to getting thrown out of here?" "Three weeks, maybe four," Sherlock replied, clearly considering something else. "Should probably put the condom in the bin then," John sighed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary

Tempting though it was to get John to take a more proactive role, I think it feels very forced and almost uncomfortable; both what John is doing and what Sherlock is letting him do. There had to be a very clear point where both characters talked about changing their relationship. It's also setting it up for a rather cheesy situation where both aren't sure of the other's intentions. Which is a trap I may have fallen into anyway with Back in the Day, but I think this would have made it even more so. I think it's just very ooc for the verse I created and it also feels so rushed; like someone trying to get it over and done with as soon as possible just so they can say they've done it (both the wrting and John's attitude). There's no real connection between the two in this and while I'm not saying it has to be over the top, I do think there has to be a feeling that the characters are enjoying each other rather than ticking off a list of sex acts. That said, I always love using canon and the opening line was hard to let go!

Alternate scene for "Four Golden Rules" Chapter Summary

Alternate Chapter showing the friends with benefits relationship

John Watson's Twelve Point Plan to surviving being Friends With Benefits. Step 1: Find a good way of bringing up this change in status with your friends. Strangely enough most people didn't seem to like it when their flatmates came home in the early hours of the morning, obviously suffering from a bad case of taking too many drugs. Which of course meant Sherlock was on the sofa again. Or would have been if there had been any room. But Andy's brother was staying and he had hooked up with some girl and Andy was on the sofa complaining that he needed therapy to get rid of the sight of his brothers bobbing naked arse in his bed. And he wouldn't stop complaining, or drawing an audience. Sherlock seemed fine to most people, but John could tell from the way he sat and the slight sneer that crossed his face every so often that he was shattered. Exhausted. The only thing was that John had an early lecture in the morning and everyone knew it. If he invited Sherlock into his room he could hardly go elsewhere. Fuck it! May as well do it with a bang.

John disappeared into his room, pulled open a drawer and stared at the contents for a moment, then picked a packet up. Opening the door, he caught Sherlock's eye and repressed the grin at seeing Sherlock suddenly looking on edge, as if he knew what John was about to do. "Oi" he said loudly and tossed Sherlock the condom. "Found 'em. Are you coming or what?" Andy spat his coffee everywhere. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Step 2: Have a very frank and clear discussion about where you both stand in this. "This is to be used at all times," Sherlock said tossing the condom back at John as the door shut. "You didn't yesterday," John said watching him strip off as if it was a completely expected. "Did you?" Crap, how tried had he been? "I do not need one for that. You however will need one for me." "You…do you have something?" John asked, mind racing over the numerous lectures he'd had about STI's. "The lifestyle I lead would certainly suggest that is likely." Sherlock sat to take off his shoes. "Yours does not." "What if I want to shag half of London?" John asked fiddling with the packet. Was it his imagination or had Sherlock hesitated. "Then use a condom," Sherlock suggested as if John was really thick. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Commentary What had started out as a "chapter to jump a lot of time" suddenly became a chapter that was jumping a few hours. I think if the first two follow on like this it sort of sets up an expectation that the others will follow like this, which wasn't what I wanted. However I liked the idea of showing it was a big change for John and that his mates saw it as such, hence what became Four Golden rules with the guys talking about it and then snapshots showing these rules in action. It allowed me to both focus on the short and long term effects of Sherlock and John's changed relationship. This seemed to be skirting around what I wanted to show them, hence it went on the "not to be used pile". Or folder. You know what I mean!

Alternate scene for "Everything Changes" Chapter Summary

This would follow the dinner John has with Sherlock and his family and the promise that John made Sherlock offhandedly to have sex.

31st December It was hot, despite the fact it was ice cold outside. The music was pounding in his ears, an easy rhythm to follow. "Wanna go outside?" a voice murmured in his ear. Hell yes. John grinned and let himself be pulled through the crowd, weaving through masses of heaving bodies celebrating the New Year. Stumbling outside John flashed an apologetic smile at the bouncers and let the hand pull him around the corner. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------12th December John took the stairs two at a time, mind buzzing with nerves. He had a promise to uphold after all! It had been going so well recently, as if Sherlock had sort of forgotten that they weren't in a relationship. After all, who brings their friends to a dinner party to meet-

A guy nodded to John as he closed Sherlock's flat door behind him. John froze as the guy walked past, staring blankly at the door. Oh God! How stupid was he? How utterly and completely stupid! Rule four, the golden rule and he'd been fucking kidding himself. Sherlock had been far too good at keepingJohn suddenly saw red. Sherlock knew exactly what time he was due to come over. Turning on his heel John dialled his number. "On your way?" Sherlock asked, sounding lazy. "No games," John hissed as he sped down the stairs. "Isn't that what we agreed? No games? No fucking around?" "That depends on your definition-" "Sherlock!" John snapped. "Fine. What was this? A reminder?" he asked as he stormed out of the building. To Sherlock's credit he didn't try to lie his way out. "Yes. Yesterday was a mistake on my behalf-" "Fine." John drew in a deep breath, "Fine. Message received." Sherlock sighed down the phone, "I assume you're no longer coming over from the way you're stomping about." "No, no," John soothed mockingly, "I'm going out fucking benefiting!" he yelled as he ended the call. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Condom?" the girl panted.

John nodded, reaching out for the drawer as he hands, small and tight, worked on him. Then rested his head on the wooden edge. "You okay?" John stared at the foil packets inside, wondering if Sherlock would realise that he'd set up something of a Pavlovian response at the sight of the damned things. "I'm using you for sex," he confessed, sitting up and away. "You shoul-" "So am I." John stared at her, "Huh?" "What? You think guys are the only ones who want one nighters?" "No…?" John stared down at her, "Seriously?" She smiled and sat up reaching into the drawer. "You're cute!" she shrugged, "Why not?" "Er…" John winced, "I…I'm not very good. At this." "At sex?" she teased. "No…I mean at the one night thing. The casual thing." "Ah…you like someone." John shifted and turned to her, leaning his back against the wall, wondering what the hell he was doing. She was gorgeous, sweet, sexy. He was clearly mad. "Oh!" She shifted and sat up against the pillows. "It's the 'love' thing." "He's a dick!" John muttered and then winced. "I…I'm bi!" he added stupidly. Her hazel eyes dipped down to his crotch. "I had noticed!"

Leaning forward she rolled the condom onto him and he watched her closely. "Sex can be fun sweetie," she said lifting herself up onto her knees and sinking onto him. Shifting John held his breath as she settled all the way down. "It's relaxing," she smiled, "Enjoyable. Think of it like a hobby." She started to roll her hips and John moved to meet her. "It means as much as you want it to mean." "And this?" John lifted his hands to her hips to help her rhythm. "Is therapeutic," she winked. "The best kind of therapy there is!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------John stirred as she poked at his nose, fully dressed and holding her shoes. "I'm off," she smiled down at him. "Thank you for last night." John grinned, "For bitching to you?" "Made me feel important and wise!" she pressed a kiss to his lips. "I'll see you-" The door slammed open, "John –" Oh god! Sherlock. Sitting up in horror John stared up at Sherlock, Mary completely forgotten. Sherlock, who looked as if he hadn't slept, still looked sober and looked… hurt. Wretched. "I'll…go," Mary squeaked and mouthed "I'm sorry" at John as she slid around Sherlock who just stared at her as if he'd never seen a woman before.

Slowly John sat back, closing his eyes and sort of hoping time utterly erased itself. But, when he opened his eyes, Sherlock was still standing in the door, staring at the wall. Apologising would be stupid. It wasn't as if he had cheated, wasn't as if he'd been told to do this, hell it wasn't even as if he'd been anything less than honest – he'd practically announced his intention to Sherlock last night. But it still felt as if he should say something. Anything. No words would come. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary Having Sherlock all over the place like this made it hard to see a time when John would trust him. There's that fine line between tension and drama, and then having there be no-way back for the characters to realistically be good to each other. In this John seems a lot more browbeaten , I think. It also throws Mary in there for the sake of it. I had an issue in that I think a few reviewers were a bit uncomfortable with the idea of Sherlock and John sleeping together because John had promised Sherlock he would (unprompted). Againt it felt too structured, so I needed to find a way of stopping them from sleeping together (bye-bye Sherlock's Dad). Another had commented that Sherlock seemed awfully "boyfriend-y" and I thought this might be a good way to remedy this. However it is far too harsh and then far too hard to repair the relationship after what both have done. I think it was at this point that I realised I would either have to have them together properly or have their relationship end because it would slip into angst and problems that I wouldn't know how to realistically solve.

Dealing with homophobia (Alternate chapter for 'To those who wait') Chapter Summary

This is the start of the chapter you wuld have had instead of "To those who Wait"

"This is wrong," Sherlock frowned at John's notes. "They're lecture notes. And how would you know?" Evidently deciding that wasn't worth dignifying with an answer, Sherlock flipped the pad of paper over to read the next lot. "Have you seen my keys?" "If you let me teach you how to pick the locks you'd never need them again," Sherlock muttered distractedly. "Sherlock!" "I'll let you in." "Like last time?" Sherlock looked up, peeved, "How was I meant to know it would rain and you'd come back early?" "Maybe because you're the all-seeing Sherlock Holmes?" John waggled his fingers dramatically. "Better than a crystal ball at predicting the future." "A blind monkey is better at predicting the future than a ball!"

Glaring over his shoulder John started emptying his drawers. "Are you copying down wrong?" "No," John sighed at the sight of all the socks and condoms spread over the floor. "No!" he said, suddenly registering the question. "Piss off am I copying the notes down wrong. I've been doing this for long enough. It's like my only skill set!" Sherlock started rooting through his bag. "Sherlock!" John started forward, "Find your keys John." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------The keys, which had been behind Sherlock on the window sill, found John ended up late to the lecture. And then got a hiding afterwards. "Do you think you can pick and choose when you turn up?" Doctor Evans asked. "No-" Evans took the register that was usually passed around at the start and put UA in John's spot. Unauthorised absence. "That's not fair," John breathed, "I was here! I was ten minutes-" "Ten minutes absent," Doctor Evans smiled pointedly. John let out an exasperated breath and sighed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Then his notes were turned away.

"You are ignoring what I am telling you." Doctor Evans said as John stepped into his office. "I…" John had no idea what he was meant to do with this, "I'm not!" "John…" Doctor Evans shook his head, "I have to say…this course takes a high level of commitment-" John's mouth dropped open, "I'm sorry?" he asked, genuinely stunned. Noone had ever questioned his willingness to learn before, his aptitude for this. He was fucking good at this! "It takes a certain kind of person to become a doctor-" "I am that kind of person," John started to say, "I-" "Good. Then you won't have a problem writing a response to this to make up for your attitude so far." Doctor Evans pushed a paper forward. Should homosexuals be allowed to practice medicine on unknowing patients? John stared at it. "You can't be serious," he breathed. "It's an ethical dilemma, one worthy of consideration and discussion," Evans replied. "That's not why you're giving this to me," John reached out for the paper. "Why am I giving it to you then?" Slowly John met his eyes, the words somehow failing to cross his lips. "I want it on my desk by Monday." John picked it up still disbelieving.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Doctor Evans give you a hard time?" Mike asked as John stepped in. Sherlock was scanning the paper as if it held the answers to the universe. John didn't say anything, but leaned his back against the door. It was hardly the worst case of homophobia he'd ever heard of; hell his former step father had been far more vicious to Harry, but it was just so… Unbelievable! Sherlock put the paper down, "What did he do?" "Make-up work," John muttered. "Should be right up your street then," Andy muttered. "Ow," he hissed when Paul jabbed an elbow at him, "I meant because he's a bloody girl sometimes, not because of what he gets up to in there with him," he said pointing at Sherlock. Slowly John walked over and handed the question to Sherlock. He was expecting fireworks and death threats, not the measured, contemplative look that crossed Sherlock's face. "That bastard!" Mike hissed, reading over Sherlock's shoulder, "Is he serious?" John nodded "Wants it done over the weekend." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary First of all: 'John let out an exasperated breath and sighed.' ?

Head meet desk! They mean the same thing, dipstick! I thought that maybe I should show some homophobia because I hadn't really so far in the fic. Note to self; never do something because you think you have to! That was never the point of this story and I did figure that John, if he were going to experience it, might find it in the army or when he was older. I think uni students have a certain amount of luck because it's a bit like living in a bubble. And then I remembered, oh yeah – John had a rather homophobic stepfather who was abusive… There is also the issue of Sherlock. I'm not entirely sure what Sherlock would have done in this position, and if I'm not sure it's probably best not to write it. Otherwise it won't flow, I'll be second guessing myself and then it's not fun and b I'd be going back to six months ago when I used to open up comments and reviews, then hide for the next twenty minutes stealing myself to read them! I think it's only now doing "No Intention" that I deliberately do that to myself as I feel a lot more confident about trying new things and editing as I go/have betas who I trust to tell me when it's shocking! Someone also mentioned that bad things keep happening to John – which I suddenly saw and realised it could be getting a tad repetitive. So the chapter "To those who wait" was born instead.

Deleted Scene - Flushing the drugs Chapter Summary

Not entirely sure when this would have happened, but it was always a vague future one that could have occured had Sherlock tried to give up the drugs with John's help. And from the top this was written pre having them get together!

Being friends with Sherlock Holmes was certainly an experience. After all, how many people could claim to have spent an afternoon in a dingy bathroom, that just about fit the pair of them on the floor, flushing thousands of pounds worth of drugs? Opening yet another packet, John poured the powder down the toilet. "Do I even want to know how much this costs?" he asked. Looking as if he was weighing up the answer Sherlock poured his own bag in, "I imagine it would offend your sensibilities," he said thoughtfully, peering down the toilet, a move he had forbade John from doing. "Enough." Obediently John closed the lid of the toilet and backed away as Sherlock flushed. Then scooted forward again as they started to repeat the process. "So he really pissed you off then?" John asked dumping the plastic bag he'd just poured into the toilet into the bath that was half filled with cloudy water. Sherlock nodded. Part of John wanted to pretend that he was concerned or saddened for Sherlock's sake. But the idea that, finally, Victor Trevor was out of Sherlock's life (bed) was a relief.

"And you aren't even tempted to keep just a bit?" John asked picking up the fourth from last packet. "This is his supply," Sherlock sniffed dismissively. Ah. Trying not to be disappointed, John poured the powder. God he needed to sneeze. Just at the moment where he was about to drag in breath and what might be more cocaine than he could ever afford, Sherlock clamped a hand over his mouth and nose with one hand and batted the packet away from John's fingers with the other. The resulting sneeze was rather pathetic and not at all satisfying. Glaring at Sherlock over the hand that was still clapped around his face John tried to push the hand away. Sherlock shook his head. "You'll sneeze again," he explained. Pointedly John sucked as much breath as he could from the air trapped between his face and Sherlock's hand and raised an eyebrow. Oxygen? Looking irritated Sherlock let his hand drop and then pulled John up. "This was a stupid idea," he muttered as he shepherded John out into the living room. John sneezed three times in a row. "It was your idea," he muttered. "I can still have exceedingly stupid ideas," Sherlock stared at the bathroom door contemplatively. "I should not have called you." "Yeah…" John clicked his fingers. "I know, you could have done it all by yourself then I could have been called in to identify your vomit covered body when you decided to try flushing it into you rather than the toilet."

Sherlock glared. "That would have been a brilliant idea! I could have fit in a visit to the morgue! I'm going there anyway most days now! Ooh, do you think I could have practiced surgery on your stomach?" "Enough," Sherlock hissed. "Fine." Looking around he reached out and grabbed a scarf from a hook. "Here," he said pompously, wrapping the fabric around John's face. "Your very own mask." God, he probably looked like a right twat! Following Sherlock back in, John glared when he was directed to sit against the door and simply watch. "You realise you have no protection?" "I always have protection," Sherlock muttered as he started to open another packet. Amused, John stretched out a little. "Is that in case you finally can't resist the urge to jump my bones?" Oddly that statement didn't throw him into a panic. Or gut wrenching embarrassment. It was all just very nice. Sherlock looked at him, then down at the packet in his hand and muttered something under his breath. Commentary I actually quite like this scene and I think, in another verse it might work. But Sherlock in this keeps John and the drugs utterly separate, no mixing, no crossover. It made no sense to have John there at all and it made no sense for Sherlock to ask for help to get rid of the drugs. Why would he bother? They just seem too serene here for what they are doing, so while I did like this scene I had to sort of accept that it didn't fit their motivations of their actions for the story.

Alternate scene for finding out about the army Chapter Summary

Again; in a vague, maybe one day sort of sense after John chose to sign up and run away from his problems with Sherlock.

"We should go away," Sherlock said nuzzling John's shoulder, enjoying the smooth slope and unmarred flesh. "Mm," John agreed eyes closed. "Have you ever been abroad?" Sherlock asked, relatively sure the answer would be no. "Yeah," John said turning to him and leaning on an arm. "The Isle of White," he deadpanned. Rolling his eyes Sherlock sat up and leaned over John. "Paris," he decided, "To improve your cultural knowledge you philistine." John giggled as Sherlock pressed kisses to his jaw. "That sounds far too typical for us," he said arching back to let Sherlock have the space he wanted. Sherlock hummed. "Then to the south of France," he continued. "You'd be bored," John argued. "No. You can learn about wine," he bit at John's ear. "We could fuck in the vineyard and buy a bottle." John laughed. "And the rest of the time we'd-"

"Then move on. Spain, Sicily, Italy. Austria. I could take you to Russia and show you what proper Vodka tastes like rather than that swill you insist on drinking," he added, moving down John's chest, licking and sucking his way. "I could give you the full cultural experience; sex in every country and in every accompanying language." John raised his head as Sherlock stroked his tongue across the sensitive stomach. "You could do that?" he asked. Sherlock nodded, "I have a far more practical use for languages than some." "You mean Mycroft?" "Unless you think he asks diplomats how fast they want it?" Sherlock asked with a smirk, letting his tongue wander down and smiling at the way John's breath hitched. "Okay," John tipped his head back, leaving a wonderfully open sight that made Sherlock want to crawl around him and keep him safe from the world. "So when are we going to do all this travelling?" he teased. "Summer." John snorted. "You almost sounded serious." Sherlock paused where he was blowing teasingly on John's cock and looked up. Then sat up. "I am," he said ignoring John's frustrated groans. "You will be far too busy for the next two years. You should have a break." John sat up slowly. "You'd never make it through customs, unless you plan on buying cocaine in every country too. What's Spanish for 'get me as high as possible right now?' Don't' be stupid." "John," Sherlock shifted. "Next summer," he promised. "Sherlock-"

"In the south of France. If…if you're willing." Huge eyes stared at him, "Are you…are you saying…" "It fits," Sherlock announced. "We'll be far away, far away from distractions or temptation. I won't have anywhere to go to without outsmarting you and leaving you behind which would be an unacceptable option." John's face wasn't lighting up with joy or relief. It was falling. Why was it falling? "John?" Sherlock frowned, "You want this-" "Of course," John was staring at the covers. "Of course I do." He looked up, sad. "You can go on your own though right? Cheaper and-" "For God's sake John this would hardly be a free holiday." Sherlock sat back. "Why…" John wouldn't meet his eyes. "What have you done?" Sherlock breathed. "You've done something already-" "No," John said quickly. "I haven't…nothing to you. I just, have plans this July." "Change them." "Okay," John sat so he was facing Sherlock and placed his hands on Sherlock's folded legs. "Remember I said I needed to find a placement?" "Yes." "Well I have." John took a huge breath. "I signed up." No. "To the army," John added unnecessarily.

No. "I leave for basic training in July and then off to an on base hospital." No. "Sherlock," John looked terrified, "Say something, please?" "I talked you out of it," Sherlock muttered, shaking his head. "You haven't thought of it for years." It made no sense. Grabbing at John Sherlock gripped him tightly pulling him forward to examine him intently. "What changed?" he demanded, "When, when did you do this?" he shook John slightly then shook his head, "No. How do you get out of this. Mycroft will help-" John looked away. No. NO. NO. NO. "You're not going," Sherlock declared, rolling off the bed and yanking on his trousers. "I forbid it." Instead of getting incensed that Sherlock would dare forbid John to do anything, his partner just closed his eyes and sighed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary I think this strikes me as trying to pull at the heart strings, ie. Oh John if only you'd waited, you could have had a lovely holiday! Originally I had planned to have them go away and Sherlock to realise what he wants, John helps him but falls behind on his studies then goes into the army because he needs to catch up/resurrect his chances of being a doctor. But it seems like a punishment and the more I thought about it, the more I

thought that Sherlock wouldn't just decide one day to stop because that would be admitting he had gone wrong somewhere. But I still wanted them to be silly and go away together and…frolic I suppose! Never happened because it's a bit pointless here to see them like that. They 'frolic' enough as it is at times! In the end I decided to go with the argument and then forced drug use. Sherlock, no matter what I tried, seemed to need a shock. I'd thought of the forced drug use a while ago and dismissed it as being too dramatic but the more I thought, the more it seemed like the only way to get Sherlock to voluntarily stop properly in an in character way. I needed him to reach rock bottom and this wasn't the way to do it at all. This was far to fansical and whimmish!

One Fixed Point - Chapter Two "No, really, you don't need to," John protested, freezing at the thought. "But darling, you've just qualified as a doctor. Of course we have to take you out to dinner." No she didn't! She absolutely didn't. "Well, you know I only have two more days left before I'm deployed-" "That's the word isn't it? It always sounds much more exciting to say deployed rather than leave." John blinked at the phone, and then closed his eyes in bewilderment at his mother's priorities. "Yeah, the thing is, Sherlock and I were going to-" "I suppose he could come as well," his mother said, sounding as if she was being especially gracious after having invited herself along to their date. "But we should invite Harry and Clara." Jesus! Millions around the world could get lessons on torture from his mother. "Mum, Sherlock and I are going out to celebrate-" "But I'm your mother," she said, sounding hurt. "You could die out there." John felt his mouth just drop as his mind halted, torn between hissing in astonished horror and just cackling with laughter. "All the more reason to have a romantic night with my partner." "Oh you can have a shag once we're gone," his mother snapped. Shag! His mother knew the word shag? His mother had said shag? Hell was freezing over"Phil can book the restaurant," she announced as if that hadn't just happened.

"Sure," John said, still recovering from her language. For a moment he'd probably just glimpsed the woman his Dad had married. "Right then, see you tomorrow." "Darling, if Sherlock doesn't want to come, do let us know. It's terribly bad manners to cancel a seat at the last minute. They do have table plans to consider." John nodded. -------------------------------------------------------------------------Sherlock was badgering the police again. "More stew?" Violet asked, ladling the stuff into John's bowl. John just nodded tiredly. "You seem quiet, is everything all right?" Violet asked sounding concerned. Nodding, John took a spoonful. "Is it Sherlock?" Violet didn't seem as if she was going to let this go. "Really, he could wait another day-" "No," John shook his head, "The fact that he's managed eleven days is impressive. I was starting to worry he'd commit a murder just to solve it." Violet smiled and nodded. "God only knows what he did to the gas fire yesterday." She took a deep breath, "So are you excited? Officers training at Sandhurst is great fun so I hear." "That's because you know how to work your way along a cutlery set," John shuddered. "I must be a gentleman before I can have a commission." "I'm sure we can give you a few tips before you leave," Violet offered. An idea suddenly bloomed. A terrible, evil idea… "What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?" John asked. "Chicken," Violet looked at him and then frowned, "Aren't you and

Sherlock dining out tomorrow?" "My mother invited herself, her boyfriend, my sister and her girlfriend along," John reached out for the wine. "Want to come and watch your son bristle in displeasure?" "Invited herself?" Violet sounded vaguely repulsed by the idea. John nodded, "Fancy it? I can almost promise there won't be a dull moment." Violet sat back and for a moment John panicked, wondering if he'd insulted her in some way. In retrospect inviting someone to witness a car-crash could be viewed as a bit not good. "John," she said hesitantly, "I couldn't possibly go. Mycroft is bringing around his newest assistant for me to meet" "Bring them," John shrugged. Violet nodded smoothly and stood to clear her plate. John stared at the seat and then at the ceiling. Well, Mycroft and Sherlock had to get it from somewhere he supposed. -------------------------------------------------------------What the hell had he just done? Sherlock and Mycroft still didn't get along at the best of times. Sherlock and Harry had a wary truce that would be broken the minute his sister reached for a bottle. Sherlock and his mother had developed a war level of glaring. Harry and his mother had started a passive aggressive battle. John felt fucking sorry for Mycroft's new assistant. Still, probably best to scare her off now. -------------------------------------------------------The phone call came through an hour later and, with a thud of the book he'd been reading, John made his way down to the holding cells.

----------------------------------------------------------"He tried to break into the evidence locker," the DI was protesting. "He's bored," John shrugged, "You have met him, haven't you?" The fact that the DI didn't look utterly bewildered by the excuse suggested to John that the DI had in fact dealt with Sherlock before. "I'll occupy him up until Sunday evening," John offered, leaning against the desk. "He'll only annoy you if you keep him here." A finger waggled in his face, "You'd better," The DI huffed before turning on his heel to have Sherlock released. Occupied might be a bit of a misleading word, John thought as he watched the officer with the big chunky key ring disappear around the corner to the holding cells. Potentially homicidal might be a better phrase. -------------------------------------------------------------------"You are developing more convincing arguments," Sherlock announced sounding pleased as they left the building. "Did you lie?" "Nope." Only Sherlock would look vaguely annoyed by that. "You do need to get better at lying, John," he complained. "Okay," John turned to face him. "My mother invited herself along to our dinner and is bringing Phil, Harry and Clara, so I invited your mother, Mycroft and his PA." Sherlock snorted, then frowned, his facial expression dancing from amused to almost terrified. "What?" he hissed in the end. "She blindsided me," John defended, starting to walk again. "How?" "She started talking about shagging," John screwed up his nose, "It was

disturbing." "I don't believe this," Sherlock grabbed at his arm, tugging him back. "Tomorrow is our last proper night together-" "For six weeks," John protested. "That's nothing to us at the moment." "And if they deploy you straight away?" Sherlock challenged. "Then we'll have a wonderfully romantic shag in the toilets at Gatwick," John offered and then frowned at the hurt look on Sherlock's face as he let go of John's jacket. "I'm not happy about it either. I'm not. But, she's paying and we can always leave whenever we want." Sherlock seemed to mull it over. "I do not like the woman," he declared, folding his arms. "I know," John said, stepping closer. "I don't like her much at the moment either," he added. "But your mum is offering to give me a few etiquette lessons and I really need them." Sherlock nodded automatically and John jokingly punched at his arm. "Shut up," he grinned. -------------------------------------------------"Was it essential to copulate before appearing for dinner?" Mycroft asked as they sat followed the waiter to their table. "Your brother seemed to think so," John rolled his eyes. "You have a twig in your hair," Mycroft pointed out before walking slightly quicker to catch up with Violet who was chatting with Betty. Great! John reached up to remove it, but Sherlock batted his hand down. "You cannot be serious," John gaped up at him. "I look like I've just had a tumble in the hay!"

"You invited them all to dinner," Sherlock replied loftily. "And this is punishment?" John asked shaking his head. "No," Sherlock pressed against his back as they walked. "I have far better things in mind for that." John felt his cheeks flush. -----------------------------------------------------------------It was a surreal moment. They all sat at a large round table, all the people that John could call family (plus one frankly terrified looking PA) and they were all there for him. He'd pictured it as a sketch show; a dinner that would descend into chaos. Instead Violet was talking about cooking with his mother, Mycroft, Phil and Betty were having a rather light discussion about politics, Harry and Clara were looking lovesick and no-one was shouting. John almost ran from the table, muttering something about the toilet. Outside he paced, needing the fresh air. Back and forth he went, his mind almost turning back to endless drills that made the pacing wonderfully rhythmic and calming. Until his nose crashed into Sherlock. "Daja vu, "John joked, turning to pace again. "No wanking in the toilets at this dinner though, huh?" "Would it be easier if we didn't make the effort?" Sherlock enquired sounding genuinely curious. "No," John frowned, "Well yes but…it's nice to see." He paused and shook his head, "I just…I don't know what's wrong with me." Sherlock pulled him forward, kissing him and wrapping around him. John gripped on, and what the pacing had started to calm, the presence of Sherlock finished off. Feeling far more settled, John pulled back a little.

"Even Mycroft's behaving," John muttered. "It's freakish." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Commentary John here seems far too pathetic! He's letting everyone push him around and it feels like a slip backwards rather than showing John Watson; army doctor to be. I was struggling when writing the first part of "One Fixed Point" mainly because the only thing I knew when I was writing it was that I wanted to get them to the series and it felt like filler. A lot of these early deleted scenes will flail without aim because I didn't know what I wanted to do with the story. I think it was only at Mike's wedding that I stumbled upon the idea that maybe splitting John and Sherlock up would be the best way forward because they both felt static in these chapters. The biggest problem with this however was the dinner party. To me, it doesn't feel like there are lots of people around the table, it feels like John is glancing over at another table he has no link with. To have this scene work I needed to have direct dialogue between the characters and having that many voices to juggle when I was struggling with it anyway seemed like making life very difficult for myself.

One Fixed Point - Chapter Three - Missing Chapter Chapter Summary

John starts at officers training while Sherlock deals with a new DI who is possibly ruder than he is.

Chapter Notes

This would have come between what is now chapter two and chapter three of One Fixed Point and absolutely would have gone into the fic if I'd known how to end the damn thing!

Week One "I still don't see why you need to go." John sighed and looked up at his very naked boyfriend who was draping himself around the suitcase. Any second nowThe suitcase tipped and John caught it, glaring at Sherlock. "I swear to God, do that one more time and-" "And?" Sherlock questioned, flopping onto his back in a dramatic fashion. "You're going away for ten weeks. What could you possibly hold over me?" "Tonight?" John grinned wolfishly, "We can spend it having wild sex in a location of your choice or I can go downstairs and have a chat with your mother about these," he tapped at the cigarette box that was on the bedside table.

"You've used up your nagging quota," Sherlock muttered. "That's not nagging, that's telling," John corrected before zipping up the case. "Besides just think, when I've finished the training, I'll be an officer." Sherlock looked utterly unimpressed. "Dull," he muttered, shifting again. "I'll be used to people showing me respect, doing what I tell them to do." Amusement tugged at Sherlock's lips, "No, you'll be taught by people who'll still be higher than you. Idiot." John climbed over him and Sherlock stretched languidly underneath him, a challenge in his eyes as John traced his fingers down Sherlock's arms. "I'll want to be in charge," he continued, tightening his hands around Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, his expression doubtful even as his lips twitched together. "Of course you are," he said patronisingly. John glared, trying not to laugh. "You're being rude," he said leaning in close, "And do you know what happens to people without manners?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "They're fucked," John breathed throatily, just as his fingers closed around the packet on the bed. The second he had a good hold he twisted, rolling away and heading for the door. Or at least that was the plan before Sherlock, who had probably read his intention from a mile away, grabbed at him and they both tumbled to the floor, just short of the door with an almighty crash. John couldn't stop laughing as Sherlock wriggled around him, trying to get the cigarettes from him. God, he was flexible. "They're mine," Sherlock almost whined as John curled up around his precious cargo. "Give them back."

"You're being rude again," John warned squirming as Sherlock jabbed him in the ribs to make his arms move out the way. "I'm always rude. Give them to me." "Get stuffed." "Later. Give me back my-" John, sensing he was about to lose, threw them away, aiming them towards the door and turned in Sherlock's grasp, pulling him down to kiss the rude, wonderful man. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------It was hateful having John so close. The knowledge that he was just two train rides away, sequestered at Sandhurst was beyond frustrating. By the third day Sherlock was irritating himself with the amount of times he found a reason to stand at Waterloo station staring at the departure board. Once he even wound up in bloody Ascot, staring hatefully at the train to Camberly. It was painfully pathetic. But he always dealt better with John being on a base when it was far away and the temptation wasn't being dangled in front of his face. Which was why he almost broke his phone in his eagerness to answer it when he saw it was Lestrade. "What? Murder? Theft?" he asked, not even bothering to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He had assumed it would take Lestrade another six to ten weeks to call. "For fuck sakes," Lestrade muttered on the other end of the phone. "You aren't at work," Sherlock sat down on the chair despondently; "You wouldn't be that unprofessional on a business call." "I'm being unprofessional?" Lestrade was probably gaping at the phone. "I

didn't just-" he seemed to be restraining himself. "I have a…there's a DI with a case he's having difficulty with. He's under some pressure, he'll hate it but he won't be able to turn you down." "Murder?" "Missing persons. Probably." Lestrade must have stepped outside because the traffic suddenly echoed in the background. "You free for it?" "Free?" Sherlock asked in some distaste. "What is that meant to mean?" "I…I know you don't see John that often." Ah. "He's training to be an officer." Sherlock frowned at his own tone. "Moron," he added, hoping to compensate for the slight twinge of pride he'd heard in his voice. "DI Walters," Lestrade sounded as if he was grinning. "And uh…he's your kind of person." "He has two brain cells to rub together?" Sherlock snapped. "Something like that." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Week Two "I require your thoughts." "Are you asking for my advice?" Sherlock was silent and John waited patiently, twirling the phone's cord around his finger, aware he only had a certain amount of time before his phone call was up. "No." "Really?" John asked. "I have four minutes left-"

"DI Walters is the most obnoxious man I have ever met." John sat up, startled. "I'm sorry?" he asked, gripping the phone. "What did you just say?" "I am aware of the irony," Sherlock hissed. "How do I deal with it?" "Deal with it?" John asked, "What do you mean deal with it? You're not seriously asking me for tips on how to crush someone." "No," Sherlock sounded appalled by the idea. "But I am asking you how I deal with someone who I need to ensure continues to allow me onto a crime scene." John scrubbed a hand over his forehead. "You solve them, surely that's enough to-" "The man's pragmatic. He either passes the cases off or dismisses them as cold when they're interesting. How the man became an Inspector I fail to understand. It's as if Mycroft's running-" John pressed his lips together, trying not to grin. "Count to ten and, if he's being Sherlock Holmes level of obnoxious, then try counting to one hundred." "You are of no help," Sherlock snapped. One, two, three, four"If you count just to prove a point we'll have very little time left," Sherlock sulked. "Why? Was there something you wanted to tell me?" "No. I want you to tell me a strategic plan of dealing with this ridiculous man." John opened his mouth and then paused. "No way," he said firmly, "I'm not telling you how I handle you, you'll just remember it the next time I have to deal with your moods."

"Handle?" Sherlock hissed. "You handle me, do you?" "As often as possible," John said sweetly. "There, see? I use sexual innuendo and charm. That's one way to deal with him." Sherlock snorted, sounded reluctantly tickled by the situation. "Charm? You think that's charming?" "You can test my charmingness when I get back," John offered and then sighed. "If I survive the next week." "I may have killed him by that point," Sherlock muttered. "Sometimes when you're being really annoying I picture a cartoon version of you that I can drop off cliffs." Sherlock was very quiet. "Does it have to be a cartoon version?" he asked after what clearly had been an intensive thought process. "Well, in the cartoons the worst thing that happens is that you get a bump on your head that you can push back in." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------"You," Walters jabbed his finger in Sherlock's direction. "Skinny one. Get here." The problem with Walters was that he seemed to have no shame. When Sherlock had deduced him the first time they'd met with the hopes of shutting him up or stunning him into merciful silence, Walters had merely looked annoyed and told Sherlock he bloody well knew his own life story and then seemed to treat Sherlock like a malfunctioning SatNav that was giving directions to the wrong destination. If Sherlock hadn't been forced to work with him for the interesting case he was almost sure he would have nodded appreciatively at the man's thought process. As it was, it was just irritating. Count to one hundred John had said.

Wordlessly and to the surprise of DC Herrad who had winced in expectation when Walters had summoned, Sherlock walked over. Counting. It was inane. "So?" Walters gestured to the room where the kidnappers had kept Luke Dallard for a few days. "Go on." Sherlock started counting again. "Nothing?" Walters asked, clearly irritated. "I thought you were bloody psychic or something." A thousand. That was how annoying the man was. Sherlock now had to count to a thousand. "If you're gonna sulk like a bloody woman then you can get off my crime scene." Ten thousand. Walters made an annoyed, strangled sound and stomped away, leaving Sherlock in peace. The idea had some merit then. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Week Three "So?" John asked as Sherlock answered the phone. "In prison for murder yet?" "No jury would convict me," Sherlock muttered, "I'd be paid for conducting a public service." "Counting didn't work then?" "It depends on the desired outcome. If I wish for him to leave me in peace

then silence is an excellent method of dealing with him. Counting however is dull, I have far better ways to utilise my time." "Glad I could help." "You haven't helped," Sherlock snapped and John winced, fiddling with a pen. "There are occasions where I need to discuss things with the man." "I've told you. I'm not telling you!" "I'll annoy you then and document your various ways of dealing with the situation." John rubbed at his forehead, "I swear to god I am asking for training in withstanding interrogations," John promised, "And it'll take an additional month." There was a pause, "That's not even vaguely believable." What had been the other piece of advice he had wheedled out of John? Oh yes. The cartoon visualisation. Childish. "The assailant was in his mid-forties, he works at a cinema-" "How d'you figure that?" Walters asked, crossing his arms. "Did you ask a crystal ball?" Sherlock stared, trying to conjure up a satisfying death for the man. He was a large, bloated looking man who constantly had his hand around some form of pastry. A tapeworm. That would be a fitting"He has pressed gum and popcorn into the carpet," Sherlock pointed. "It's hardly a great leap of logic. Additionally-" "Don't care," Walters turned around. "Nearest cinema?" he asked DC Butters. "I'll track down a few-"

Even an image of Walters being repeatedly bludgeoned with a fire extinguisher didn't help. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Possible methods John uses. Withholding Sex. Not an option. Possible derivations include withholding solutions to murder. Last option. Lestrade will get annoyed if he hears about it. Being understanding. Not my area. Being deliberately obtuse. No. Being patient. Unlikely. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Week Four "I am being blinded by sentimentality," Sherlock complained. "You solved it," John's rested the phone in-between his chin and shoulder as he highlighted the notes from the day's seminar. "You've solved three of them." "He has another case," Sherlock sounded almost upset by the idea. "He's getting the good ones, everyone seems to be passing the interesting ones to him." John paused and lifted the phone with his hand, "Really?" John asked, trying to keep his tone light. "What?" Sherlock asked, clearly catching the tone. "I…just…" John smiled at the door. "Just stick with it." The glare Sherlock was shooting down the phone was probably lethal. "Stick with it?" Sherlock asked, sounding disgusted by the idea.

"Yeah," John tried to keep the triumph out of his voice even as he typed an IM. JWatson: Sherlock's being hazed by Scotland Yard! Iamaceinsack: Seriously? That's fucking brilliant! JWatson: Weirdest thing is I don't think he's figured it out yet. Iamaceinsack: Probably deleted it. Plus when was the last time he did proper work? JWatson: Lived with you for three months. I think that counts. Iamaceinsack: Fuck you. I'm a sodding angel compared to that playstation wrecking twat. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Week Five "What is it?" Sherlock demanded the second John finished dialling his number. "Uh…I just wanted a chat?" John frowned at the barked question. "You know, like we do every week at this-" "What do you know?" Sherlock rephrased. "You know something, you're deliberately keeping it from me." It was impossible not to grin. "Why would I do that?" "For your own amusement," Sherlock snapped. "I'll tell you next week." There was the strangest almost strangled sound down the line John was sneaky. He looked and acted like a bloody saint sent down to listen and smile and do all those good things, but no-one knew better than Sherlock what a bloody demon he could be.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Things John does when he's being sneaky Win over mothers. Walters' mother is deceased. Endear himself to siblings. Has promise. All siblings hate him. Makes good use of his friends. Paul? No, overly earnest. Additionally could mean meeting Adam and having to use up not killing quota for the day. Mike? Too shy to be of use. Andy? Tempting but perhaps overkill. Gay Alf? Probably would get arrested for marijuana plants. Not a satisfying outcome. Conclusion. All useless when dealing with police. Not tell significant other important information for three months. When striving to impress the police into handing out cases one does not refuse to give the answer for three months. They have a rule or a law about that. Lestrade has been very clear, repeatedly. Annoying. Perfect wounded puppy look. Too late to act sweet. Point for next time. Sherlock stared with some dissatisfaction at his list, stroking over the words thoughtfully. ---------Commentary I loved writing this chapter and it's something I really wanted to write what does Sherlock do when faced with someone who doesn't care about the impact of his deductions. The problem that started to dawn on me as I wrote it was that I had absolutely no way of resolving it. I played around with a few ideas but they either seemed too much like super!Sherlock which is just not good or like Sherlock was too pathetic. I could see no way of creating a proper pay off at the end or a satisfying ending to the chapter. This was also the 'for fuck sakes, I just wrote 2000 words and now can't use it' moment! Also, editing this chapter now was a pain in the arse and I'm almost a year on and (vaguely) better with using a03.

Listen Commentary The next few out-takes were all written ahead once I realised I was going to break Sherlock and John up. They were sort of done as experiments so that I could know what I was aiming for when writing. For instance, this would have been the reunion scene after John was shot. I knew I wanted to use Victor to get them talking again but I was sort of wary of using him to make Sherlock swoop in and rescue John as it once again pushed him into the damsel role. So I tried for something that was deliberately angsty and...it's dreadful. Anyone looking to try out concrit (as was part of the original intention of this), please, go nuts. No illusions here :P -------------------------------------------------------------------------------"He would have killed John," Sherlock yelled. "John is no longer yours to protect," Mycroft snapped. "Has that not been made abundantly clear?" If Mycroft thought that would help his argument he was sadly mistaken. All it did was remind Sherlock that he had nothing left to lose. Not anymore. "He was," Sherlock levelled his gaze at Mycroft. "You took my chance at-" "I will not see you waste your life away over this," Mycroft stood firm. "John left you, he does not deserve this level of devotion." Slipping past his lumbering moron of a brother, Sherlock darted through the door, ignoring his mother as he stormed to the door and yanked it open. Then stopped dead.

John. For a moment all he could see was the familiar face, paler than he'd seen it in years, lined and almost with an odd grey tinge to it. He was leaning against the pillar at the bottom of the steps, arms folded, weight on one leg. "What are you doing here?" Sherlock breathed. John's gaze slid over Sherlock's shoulder. Mycroft. Interfering yet again. But Sherlock couldn't bring himself to turn and scream bloody murder, not when he was finally seeing John properly after over a year. It was hateful. Never before had he had to deal with this lack of permission to study every fibre of John's being when the man was stood in front of him. He wanted to see the scars, the new reactions, the way John would react after a year of them last talking. "Come inside," Mycroft's tone was not gentle, more rigidly professional. "We will all discuss this." Fear flickered in John's eyes but he nodded. Unwilling to see that look, Sherlock turned on his heel and walked back inside, Mycroft turning as well without waiting to see if John would follow. He would, Sherlock thought as he walked back into the house and followed Mycroft into the kitchen. John wouldn't back down from anything. Strange how something he had so delighted in could now be a source of bitterness. Their mother's startled gasped sob made both Sherlock and Mycroft pause. Almost as one, they turned. John was limping heavily, using a cane to help him. In the light of the hall the shocking amount of weight loss was hideously apparent as were the

dark circles around his eyes. The pain of his movement hovered around his mouth as it drew tight. He was using the wrong arm and hand for the limp. His other arm seemed to be awkward, his body hunched as if to protect it. "It's not that bloody bad," John said with a sigh. "No need to look as if I'm dying." Sherlock stormed through the kitchen door and then straight through the pantry, reaching for the back door. He needed air. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Sherlock had vanished by the time John got into the kitchen. All he was left with was an over protective Mycroft (who was playing the role of bitchy best friend to Sherlock's role as put upon heroine) and Violet who looked as if she couldn't quite bring herself to stop fussing around John. None of them seemed to know what to say. "Victor's been released then?" John asked sitting heavily in the chair. Mycroft was silent, studying him in the unnerving Holmsian manner. In the end Violet sighed, bustling with the kettle and tea cups, not even bothering to ask John if he wanted one as she lay out four cups. "Last week. Sherlock's been…" she hesitated. "Difficult about it." "Stupid," Mycroft corrected. "His over protective angst will fade. It appears it is harder for some than others to break a habit formed over years." "I'm guessing you have a solution?" John asked, determined not to shift uncomfortably despite the entire disapproving air of Mycroft being thrown at him. "Yes. I will tell Sherlock that if he kills Victor I will frame you for it." Violet didn't react.

"I assume it will take you a few months to recover, should you return before his residual care has run its course we will discuss a new solution." Mycroft sat at the head of the table as if opposite his greatest foe. Mycroft didn't know. If that wasn't the greatest indicator of how far he had fallen from grace then John didn't know what was. Time had been that Mycroft had known every minute detail of John's career. It hurt. An aching pain like a dull throb under the main wound that had been the loss of Sherlock. "You could have told him that without me." "You will agree to it," Mycroft stared at him. "It is the least you owe him." Probably. Violet settled the tea in front of John, just how he liked it. Tea and murder. How apt. Slowly John nodded, not really sure what else he could say. God knew he could defend his decision 'till the end of time; he loved Sherlock dearly but the man would never have been truly happy following John around. But it was a decision he had made, knowing full well that others wouldn't understand it. Sherlock had needed their support not him. It would be easier now, surely. The horror in Sherlock's eyes when he had seen John had been hard to bear but it had eased John a little. However hard Sherlock had found the end of their relationship he would surely accept it easier knowing that John was…less than he had been. "Couldn't have done it on the phone," John asked, careful to use his good arm to drink the tea. "Certain things can be made clearer face to face," Mycroft stood. "Understand that I am serious John. I will not hesitate should Mr Trevor turn up dead."

No, he wouldn't. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Every time John looked at his gun he found he couldn't do it. If he died there would be no-one to prevent Sherlock from throwing his life away killing Victor. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Just one hint?" "No," Sherlock stared down the microscope. "I skate on thin ice with Lestrade as it is without adding you to the mixture." Andy slumped down in the lab chair, "Come on, I'm your oldest friend." John. No. Sherlock ignored the comment. "If you had any real interest, you would learn more about chemistry." "I really can't be arsed," Andy tilted the chair back in a gravity defying move, "Besides, always way better when a fit girl explains it to you." Molly, who seemed oblivious to the fact that someone was actually interested in her for a change. "You are annoying me." "Give me the hint- fuck me, hello mate!" Sherlock looked up as Andy managed to stand up from his death trap chair and walked over to greet Mike with genuine affection. He ignored them for a bit, let them catch up on the dull things on life; the wife who would never be more than mediocre at her career, Mike's own turn to teaching and Andy's latest article.

"You seen John?" That he did listen to, despite his better judgement. John who had looked so ill last time he had seen him. He must be readying for deployment again. "Oi," Andy said, folding his arms, "You know the rules. John got you, he got me," he said, jabbing a thumb in Sherlock's direction. It was oddly gratifying to hear again, though still odd. "Besides, he must have gone back by now," Andy added moments later, the hint of curiosity touching into his voice. Silence. Something wasn't right with this. Sherlock glanced up. Mike was stood, an uncomfortable air radiating from him. "Wait…you two don't know?" he asked, glancing between Sherlock and Andy. "He got shot," Andy said, "Saw the news," his voice betrayed some of the fear that had been in his eyes that day. "He's been discharged." What? Sherlock almost dropped the slide as Andy's eyes widened in shock. "Discharged?" Andy asked, stunned. "Why?" "The limp's psychosomatic," Sherlock looked back down. "When that's cured they'll revoke the act." "John's shoulder," Mike snapped, sounding annoyed. "He was shot in the shoulder you twat. It's caused nerve damage. He can't hold anything for too long in that hand or else the muscles spasm. The army won't take him and surgical training don't want him. Not when John's muscles can't be relied upon."

John's entire body had been protecting the shoulder and the arm, hyper aware of it. Ashamed of it. "Holy fuck," Andy sat looking horrified. "How's he coping with it?" Mike looked at Sherlock with a stunning amount of accusation in his eyes. "You done with the lab equipment? I'm meant to be locking it up for tomorrow's class." "Answer his question," Sherlock snapped. Mike shook his head as if disgusted and turned. "Hey," Andy stood, "No, John ended it with Sherlock, you don't get to-" "He ended it because he knew this would happen," Mike turned and for the first time in the years Sherlock had known Mike he looked as if he was about to explode. "I've had Harry on the phone ranting that her stupid brother is too fucking self-sacrificing-" "Don't give me that! Sherlock offered John everything-" "He offered to give up his entire life for John and John knew there was a chance Sherlock would end up with nothing." Mike almost roared. "Straight swap eh? Now John's the one with nothing left but a fucking gun in his room and a packet of bullets in the drawer. Every bloody time I get a phone call in the middle of the night I think it's Harry telling me tonight's the night he's actually pulled the trigger." No. The idea was obscene. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------The place where John was staying was miserable. Dull eyed men and a few women who seemed lost in the world. John stared at him when he answered the door. Two months hadn't improved him much, though there had been some weight gain which was a

relief. "Harry or Mike?" John asked flatly after a moment or two. "Mike." Looking unsurprised, John nodded limping back heavily to the bed and leaving the door open for Sherlock. The room was like a cell. A bed, a desk, dull curtains and a boring view. A small en-suite. And there was nothing in the room that distinguished it as John's, as if John had just stopped overnight and not for eleven weeks. "You've been discharged?" "Yes." "Your shoulder?" John almost shrugged, "Lucky shot," he said, his mouth twisting in a parody of the easy smile that had fallen from his lips years ago. He stared at Sherlock, "Don't." "Don't?" "I don't know why you're here," John stared him down. "But the pitying look is not appreciated." "You're trying to push me away-" John laughed, "Push you away? We've seen each other once in a year. We divided up our friends, our lives and ended it. I don't need to push you away. I just need you to stop looking at me like I'm a baby bird about to get trampled." "John-" "Anthea texted. Victor's gone to America?" John said, stroking his cane.

"Yes, your deal with Mycroft is finished." There was an odd smile and a flicker to the drawer. Sherlock's blood ran cold. "Then it appears we're done," John said firmly. "Good of you to come and see me, thank you for the thought." Sherlock glanced between John and the drawer, a million thoughts racing. There was no doubt what would happen tonight after he left. And a tiny, terrible voice was hurt that John hadn't resorted to this when they'd ended their relationship. John let out a frustrated noise and crossed to the drawer. A quick rummage and he drew out the box with the rounds in. "Here," he tossed them at Sherlock. "Your civic duty for the day is done." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary It's manically indulgent in the John angst (not completely unsurprising for me :P) but it takes it way too far. It also sets it up for Sherlock to do exactly what I wanted to avoid and have him help John struggle back up again. It also complicates both Mycroft and Andy. Mycroft because either he is being a complete wanker by using John in that way or because he's suddenly weirdly omnipotent and can see that John is suicidal and comes up with a mutually beneficial plan…and then just leaves John to it. Andy is far too clear cut on Sherlock's side. In the fic I ended up with it being more that Sherlock was around and he and Andy became closer. The whole 'you get him' business sounds far too much like teens dividing up their friendship group. So, I managed to get a number of things; I couldn't have a big reveal moment with poor John's limp arriving at a scene of people because it's far too pathetic, I needed another way of getting Sherlock and John to talk again, Mycroft, for the most part, simply needed to stay away from John

and Andy and Mike's relationships needed to be a bit more fluid than what I was showing. And, that John angst is something I naturally drift to anyway, trying to make it angsty like this was just way too over the top. In the end I think I tried to make it as practically annoying and day to day as I possibly could and just let the angst sneak in to avoid the above! It also does terrible things to Sherlock's character - oh no John is sad. Must love him. So not Sherlock Holmes, in any incarnation. He does need to be impressed in some way and not so utterly blinded by love/the person he love's been in pain that he forgives instantly!

Proposal Commentary Looking around sheepishly. I sort of vaguely hinted at this to a beta who thought I was mad for even going down this path and then I went down this path and…I so need to learn to listen to her. For your reading amusement…take one of how I thought I was going to get Sherlock and John back together and engaged/married in one fell swoop before the series started. Yeah, you read that right. I'm now going to drown in chocolate…fuck the fact I embarrassed myself at the gym! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Here," Sherlock tossed him a box. John looked down at it blankly, "Uh…" "You said you were having money troubles," Sherlock replied carelessly as if he couldn't give a damn. "Until your wage comes through you should use it. It's yours anyway." "Mine?" "Yes." Now Sherlock was avoiding his gaze, wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Do what you want with it. Sell it, melt it for scrap." Then he was gone. What the hell was it? A medal? John was relatively sure he hadn'tHoly fuck.

John stared at the ring, his heart simultaneously feeling as if it had stopped and was thumping out of control. It was band of white gold, or at least the was what it looked like at first glance. On closer inspection it seemed as if there were two metals of similar colour weaved together so that you could hardly tell there was a pattern. The box was meant for two rings. Oh god. It was a wedding ring. When the hell had Sherlock bought this? There had been a few hints towards the fact that Sherlock had one day intended for them to have a civil ceremony when they'd been together, just the odd careless phrase that had set John's heart racing in panic. That awful, dreadful night when they had ended things played over in his head. I don't care, I told you once, I want to see you grow, grow old, grow up. The idea of not seeing it is unacceptable. I want us, what we used to have, not this part time idiocy. Sherlock hadn't finished, John realised with some dawning horror, remembering how his own voice had cut across Sherlock's. The thunderstruck look on Sherlock's face suddenly tore at him again. Had Sherlock intended to propose that night? And though he ached for Sherlock, John was beyond glad that Sherlock hadn't said those words. What was this then? Giving the ring to John? Was it meant to strike a blow, to make John feel guilty? Or was Sherlock really that emotionally thick now that he honestly did intend John to use it to pay the gas bill? The ring sat in the box, almost accusing him. Plucking it out, John turned it over.

'Do what you want with it.' The ring fit, of course it did; this was Sherlock Holmes. He'd never do anything so idiotically and boringly stupid as get the ring size wrong. And, unbidden, the thought crossed his mind. What would have happened had the circumstances been different, if Sherlock had proposed today? Yes. Despite the fact they'd been apart for over a year and a half, despite all that had happened since John knew his answer. Yes. But Sherlock hadn't asked. Sherlock had shown no indication that he still wanted John. When John had poured his heart out on New Year's Eve, Sherlock had remained stoic, despite the odd laugh throughout the case, Sherlock had kept himself distant. And yet Sherlock had almost killed Victor, had invited John to live with him, had looked pale and frightened when John had screamed out of a nightmare and still occasionally glared at John's shaking hand as if he could will it away with his gaze. You could love someone and not be in love with them. You could care for someone and not want them. John pulled the ring off of his finger and stared through the hole. Sherlock had fought for them, Sherlock had always risked everything for them; humiliation, health, harsh words. He'd always protected John, always taken the chance and pushed without any type of safety net. And John had been a soldier, a doctor. He'd commanded men, held lives in his hands to heal and kill, he'd held his gun in his hands and not shot to end it all. The risk was monumental. The gain without parallel.

And, he realised suddenly, if Sherlock was no longer in love, no longer wanted him, then John needed to know because Sherlock deserved a chance to move on, move past this. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------John hadn't said a word about the ring and the bills were paid. It hurt but it had been expected. Logical. "We need to talk," John said as he sat down on to the coffee table gingerly, close and opposite to where Sherlock lay on the sofa. Or perhaps not. "Why?" Sherlock asked, not opening his eyes. "I'm busy." "I have a question. A yes or no question and you need to answer it." He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to lie and say no, wasn't ready for John to use whatever his answer was as an excuse to leave. He certainly wasn't ready to have John's voice phrase the word 'love' in a tone that didn't fit the word. "It is a useless question," Sherlock snapped. "I gave you the ring because it was intended as a gift. You sold it and now we have heating. End of story." "Will you marry me?" Sherlock snapped his eyes open and stared at the ceiling, his mind trying to find meaning in what John had just said because there was no possible way that question had meant…that question. Slowly he shifted his eyes to John, who was sat elbows on knees, bent forward, hands clasped loosely between his legs. "I don't know when you intended to ask," John said staring at down at his own wrist, "I can guess but…I would have said no. You know I would have said no. and I can give you reasons until the cows come home about why I would have said no. None of them would have had anything to do with you

or my feelings for you and everything to do with me and my own wants and issues." Sherlock stared, reluctant to move and break the odd spell John seemed to be holding over him. "I…" John looked pained at his words, "I put everything into us at the start. Everything and it took everything to get us through it, and you know I will never regret that. But I lost me. I lost who I was and what I could do. And I'm not gonna lie to you Sherlock, if I were still in the army I'm not entirely sure how this conversation would be going." It wouldn't be. John would be off, risking his life like the fool he was and Sherlock would be avoiding the news like the sentimental idiot he was. "But…when I was shot my thoughts weren't on the army, they weren't on my mates or the mission. They…they were on you. And there was this moment just before the fever set in when all I could think was that I was so glad I had let you go because it was bad enough leaving you but to have had you uproot your life and then have me shot…I was glad I hadn't done that to you, that I'd made sure you had something"I didn't want it," Sherlock hissed. "You didn't trust me not to want it." "No," John's head shot up, "No," he laughed suddenly. "God, because I knew it was the only way I'd leave. You had your addictions Sherlock and I have mine." Something odd churned inside Sherlock, equal parts delighted realisation and sick horror. "The danger," he whispered, shifting. "The adrenaline. I made you feel too safe." John shrugged, as if it were of no consequence. "I wouldn't willingly leave," he said, not quite conceding the point. "And I…I didn't want you placing all your happiness on me." Dazed, Sherlock blinked, not entirely sure how he was meant to feel about this.

"I'd come back and you'd give me a safe haven." The smile was sad. "You kept me out of your work, away from danger-" "Because here I could," Sherlock almost snarled, "Do you have any idea how fucking helpless I felt?" "No," John said frankly, "Not until the other night." He dropped his eyes again, scrubbing his hands together, "This was the first time I saw your world…and I love it." Startled Sherlock froze. "You're beyond description," John said with a smile, "Fierce and wonderful and utterly fearless. It's…It's you. And I…I could be your partner in that. I've done what I wanted, I've served my time, I know what could have been. And I look down that road that I would have gone down and suddenly I am so grateful I was shot." What? "I am…" John licked at his lips, took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock. "I am happy to be at your side, to let you take the lead. I lost that somewhere along the way. But now I'm damn well happy to say no to you as well. To tug you back when I feel you've gone too far ahead, to point out something, to stop you getting walloped by a witness because you're a rude bastard sometimes," he added with a small smile. "We needed that to work, I needed to find that ability, that confidence and knowledge. And I can tell you that if I were still in the army, if I went another ten years, I would have regretted it. I went in because I wanted to be your equal, because I wanted to be the person that you could have at your side. I wanted to feel I could help you." John drew another deep, shaken breath. "I love you. I hurt you and I know that. And you probably will say no, but I can't not try one last time. And if all you want is a friend, a colleague then I will give you that for as long as you want it. But, if on the off chance that you still…then here it is. "You are the most incredible person I have ever met. And I am not stupid enough to believe that I can match you in any way because there is no-one who can match you. I told you once you were like a storm, a wild

untameable storm and that never needed to change. I never wanted that to change. But I can keep us from getting lost, I can keep us steady. "You were never meant to be mine. But I think I'm meant to be yours," John smiled weakly, eyes bright. "And that's okay now. I'm strong enough now for that. I'm strong enough that you can be you and not have to worry about me. "You're a great man Sherlock and you are going to do amazing things. And I am asking you to do me the great honour of being the man you come home to, who'll make you tea, listen to you play and correct strangers as they pass by the window. I want to be your right hand man, your back-up. I want to laugh over crime scenes and hold you when you come to bed. I want to be there for you because it's not a compromise. Anyone who knew you would be proud to be the person who could keep up with you. And, if you'll let me, I'd like to be that person for the rest of my life." There was only one possible answer. "No." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------John braced his hands against the work surface counter, the kettle warming up in front of him. He was trapped. Going for the kettle had been bloody stupid he could admit and now he couldn't turn. Sherlock probably wasn't watching but John couldn't bear the idea that he might see John's tears. He hadn't really expected a yes. Hoped for it desperately. He'd thought about it for days. What had started out as wanting to ask Sherlock if there was a chance for them had quickly turned into something else. They knew they worked, they knew they could be brilliant together. They couldn't pretend that history wasn't there and John didn't want to. The issue had been John's commitment and priorities. There had been a need to show Sherlock that he was willing to do whatever it took to prove himself.

The idea had come to him the other night and he'd dismissed it as foolish. But he hadn't panicked. Instead he'd had a sudden image of Sherlock saying yes and what might happen. And god had he wanted it. What was making him grab at the counter was the knowledge that this was the end of it. The end of the possibility of him and Sherlock. He hadn't realised how much he'd been holding onto the hope at the back of his mind that they would end up back with each other, how he'd simply assumed that would happen one day. Dimly he was aware the kettle had clicked an age ago. With blurred vision he poured the hot water into the cup. His hand shuddered and the kettle slipped from his grip and he swore, furious at himself for forgetting and stepped back as the plastic shattered on the floor and hot water hit his leg. The feeling, the sudden pain flared the image of shattered bone and ragged muscle and his leg buckled, though he managed to fall away from the boiling water. He was half expecting Sherlock to be there. But a glance around the flat showed it was empty. Sherlock had gone. The knowledge allowed him to bow his head and finally cry. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------The downstairs door sounded, and then there was the sound of feet on the stairs. John didn't move. He felt utterly drained and so exhausted. With any luck Sherlock would go straight to his room or lie on the sofa and lose himself in his mind palace. "What happened?"

"Dropped the kettle," John said dully. "I'll replace it." Somehow. He couldn't bring himself to sell the ring. A hand appeared in his vision, an offer to stand. John stared at it and then reached, feeling oddly flat. He was led to a chair and Sherlock pushed him down so he was sat into it. Clearly concerned about his leg, Sherlock knelt. "I don't think it burned," John sighed, elbow on the arm rest and rubbing at his forehead with his fingers. It was as if he couldn't feel anything. He could feel Sherlock pause and pull back then tug at his leg. "I'll sort it," John murmured, not wanting to look. "I can't…if you push the jeans up I'll… I'll do it later." Sherlock moved away. Away. Then he was back and there was a snipping sound. John made a valiant effort to feel annoyed but he couldn't really bring himself to care. "You-" Sherlock sounded beyond annoyed. "Are you trying to make the limp permanent?" All he could do was shake his head. He was aware of Sherlock disappearing, then returning, then a cold balm against his skin, then fabric and sticky tape. Then cold hands were on the sides of his face. "You were disappointed." John stared at Sherlock's chest. There was no possible way he could talk about this.

"But not surprised?" "No." The weight of Sherlock's gaze was almost unbearable. "And not relieved?" That, however, sounded like a proper question. "No," John said, some of the agony he was feeling bleeding through. He tried to push away, to get up but Sherlock's hands kept on him and his leg wasn't anywhere near to being ready to move. "Sure?" "Just leave it," John lifted his head. "What does it matter?" he asked, his voice sounding dead even to his own ears. Sherlock tried to get him to meet his eyes and John fought it for a few seconds. Why, what was the point? He gave up and just let Sherlock's hands guide him until he met the greengrey gaze. "I would have given it up. All of it up for you. And I will never forgive you for not allowing me the chance to prove that to you. "And I will never be able to thank you enough for not letting me." Startled, John looked at him with more focus, not entirely sure what it meant. "And as much as I would like to believe I could have done that, we both know I wouldn't have managed it." John said nothing. "Yes." "I, maybe-" John started, unsure because while it had to be a prompting

question to get a response, the tone hadn't sounded right. "John," Sherlock's grip increased and he leaned forward. "Yes." The smallest flicker of hope sparked. "Wait…are you…is that-" "Yes." Sherlock pulled his hand from John's face. And there, on his left hand, third finger, was a gleaming band. John's brain couldn't quite process. "But…I was a dick." "Like must marry like," Sherlock sat back on his heels. "You said-" "You startled me," Sherlock said. "I'd forgotten how easy it is for you to surprise me. And…" he sighed. "I wanted to see if you really wanted it. You'd given no indication that you wanted more again," he sounded baffled. "I…I thought I'd missed something…but I hadn't…" he looked at John curiously. "It's different now," John raised an awed hand to the ring on Sherlock's finger. "I…" he laughed bitterly. "In case you hadn't noticed I'm a bit fucked up now." Sherlock blinked as if he'd started speaking a different language, then leaned up and further forward, and then they were closer than they had been in so long. "Interesting," Sherlock corrected quietly. John stared at him, eyes dipping down to Sherlock's lips, "Yeah?" A spark of something lit up Sherlock's eyes as he dipped his head, a gentle press of his lips to John's chin. "Fascinating." The feel of him made John suck in a breath.

"Brilliant," Sherlock murmured lips on John's cheek. "Stupid." "Stupid?" "Of course I'm yours you idiot," Sherlock leaned his forehead against John's. "Always." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------However Sherlock managed it, whoever it was he knew, John would always be stunned that two hours later he was standing , exchanging the vows in front of two strangers Sherlock had dragged in from the street outside. It was as if Sherlock couldn't bear the idea of waiting, at all. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------John stood awkwardly in Sherlock's room. How odd that they had shared so much, had known each other so much and yet this… Gently Sherlock reached out and took the cane from John's hand, leaning it against the wall. The almost imperceptible way that John's throat clenched made Sherlock's heart skid. "You have done this before," Sherlock murmured, reaching for the buttons on John's shirt. "I know you have done this before." John frowned, "I…how much did Mycroft tell you-" "All of it." Sherlock didn't let himself think about the reaction he'd had to the news that John had turned part lothario after they'd finished. "Irrelevant." And there, as he pushed the shirt off, was the scar. The mass of lines from the clumsy surgery done in a frantic rush. The dreadful one that had threatened to take John away forever. And the one that had brought him back home. Sherlock ducked his head to it, stroking the lines and pressing a kiss to the

raised skin. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Commentary I am so, so sorry! A) Because I just realised I cut off just as it might have got porny which I'm sure most people may have been screeching (and I have just realised how long it has been since I wrote a sex scene in this verse…oops!) B) In general They had so many issues to work out that marriage was not a fix it – it was even worse timing than the first time. You can also see that there a few experiments about how they would break up (i.e. before Sherlock proposed). In all honesty I made him propose to make sure I didn't go down this path. They had to break up for a reason and develop so making Sherlock propose meant that I couldn't take the easy path with it or duck out of doing it properly. It's based on pity which again, is dreadful. And once again, Sherlock's reasons for saying yes are terrible. Or non-existent. It's so pathetic that I have no idea whyI should just leave this one alone. There are no redeeming features. But it did show me how far John's character had to come on his own and helped me to resist the urge to get them back together earlier. This version haunted me and ensured I didn't cave to the huge temptation to give in to commenters and get them back together much earlier. John had to get himself back up all on his own steam otherwise another version of this would happen.

End Notes

So...yeah. Have a few from One Fixed Point as well but I'll post those here once that's finished! Hope it was of some use...it's made a tiny bit of room on my computer now. Though at one point I did worry I'd accidently posted the next NatS chapter, half edited!

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