It didn't take long for John and Sherlock to apprehend the suspect, and once the police arrived he'd confessed almost immediately. Everyone had thought the case was closed until the bookstore manager told the police that there had been another person involved: an employee at the jewelry store. The police could handle that on their own though, so Sherlock and John were free to go after Sherlock answered a few questions for the police records.

The first thing John had done when he got inside the flat was take a long hot shower. When he came out of the bathroom into the living room Sherlock was sitting at the table looking at something on his phone. He sat down across from Sherlock and picked up the newspaper that was sitting in front of him. He let out a breath and stretched his legs out underneath the table in an effort to relax, and accidentally stepped on Sherlock's sock covered foot.

"Sorry," he said quietly. Sherlock's only response was to glance up at John briefly before returning his attention back to his phone. However, after a few minutes had passed, John felt something pressing against the side of his foot. He looked underneath the table and saw that Sherlock had placed his foot right next to John's. John kept his head turned downward, but lifted his gaze to look at Sherlock's face. He nudged Sherlock's foot and saw the hint of a smile on Sherlock's face that appeared before he placed his foot on top of John's. John placed the foot that wasn't trapped on top of Sherlock's foot, and soon the two of them were giggling like idiots and an all-out game of footsie had erupted.

Who knows how long they would've continued kicking at each other underneath the table if Sherlock hadn't received a call from St. Bart's requesting his presence at Matthew Greene's room. He'd asked John to come along, and of course John said yes. Mere minutes later the two were sitting in the back of a cab on their way to the hospital. John tried to keep his eyes staring out the window, but he found that he kept looking over at Sherlock for the entire duration of the cab ride.

When they finally made it to St. Bart's and got out the car, John remembered something he'd been meaning to ask Sherlock about.

"Um, Sherlock?" he asked as they made their way through the hallways, "When we were sitting in the car, before the robber showed up…you were saying something."

"Was I?" Sherlock said, looking down and taking off the gloves he was wearing. " I don't remember."

"Yeah, right," John said, rolling his eyes. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Sherlock bit his bottom lip and looked down at the floor, then up at the ceiling and anywhere but at John.

"Oh, nothing, just…" Sherlock didn't continue with his sentence, but instead trailed off and stared forward, his eyes unblinking and brow furrowed.

"Sherlock what's wrong?" When Sherlock didn’t respond John turned his head and tried to figure out what Sherlock was staring at, and that was when he saw Lucy. She was standing just outside of Matthew's room at the end of the hall, her hands covering her face and her shoulders shaking slightly. Sherlock's walking speed increased until he was at a slow jog, though John had to run to keep up with him. When they reached where Lucy was standing, she removed her hands from her face and looked up. When John saw the tears that were streaming down her cheeks and the look of sadness and despair in her eyes, he knew the following conversation would not be a good one.

"He's…he's gone," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. John's jaw dropped, but Sherlock's face was emotionless. Lucy wiped away a few tears and shrugged. "Well, not really, but he might as well be." John didn't understand what she was saying, and his confusion must've been evident on his face. Lucy took in a deep breath and sighed.

"When he first got here… When they first checked him in, the doctors all told me there was a chance he could make it. That he could survive." The reached up to wipe away more tears as she continued talking. "But now, now they say he's too far gone. He's one hundred percent dependent on life support now." She continued her attempt to rid her face of any tears, but each time she wiped her eyes new tears took the place of the ones that had been wiped away. Her head dropped and her shoulders slumped, and John suddenly became very uncomfortable. He wasn't the best when it came to comforting others or handling grief, so he knew he was pretty much useless here.

He felt a vibration in his pocket, and pulled out his phone to see that his friend Oliver was calling. He let out a sigh of relief before excusing himself and taking the call.

"Hello Ollie," he said, trying to sound cheerful, yet not too cheerful considering the fact that Sherlock and Lucy weren't standing too far away and might be able to hear him.

"John! How are ya mate?" His words were a bit slurred, which confused John. Who could be drunk this early in the day. Then again, when John thought back to his days as a university student he remembered many mid-day calls he'd received from a drunken Ollie.

"I'm alright, and you?"

"I'm doing great." There was a brief pause before he continued. "Even though this is the first time we've spoken since I saw you at the park. What's up with that John? Why haven't you called?" John sighed and shrugged, mentally kicking himself because he knew Ollie couldn't see.

"I don't know, I've just been…busy I guess."

"Yeah, I bet you and Sherlock are pretty busy fellas right?" John squinted and furrowed his brows, his eyes glancing over in Sherlock and Lucy's direction. They were still standing in the hallway, and Lucy appeared to be talking to Sherlock about something. Sherlock looked over at John and mouthed something, but John couldn't read his lips. He mouthed 'what', but Sherlock just waved his hand in the air and turned away, focusing his attention back on Lucy.

"I suppose so. We actually just finished up a case-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah I don't care about all that detective crap right now. Believe it or not, I've got a real reason to be calling you."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, I'm a bit angry with you John Watson."

"What did I do?" John asked, sighing and rolling his eyes.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were shagging your flatmate?"

"What?" John asked, a bit loudly than he intended to. He ignored the stares he received from passing strangers and lowered his voice. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm here with Mike Stamford, you remember him right?" Anyway, he tells me you and Mister Sherlock Holmes are in love," Ollie said, dragging out the last word of his sentence. John looked towards where Sherlock and Lucy had been standing, but saw that they had disappeared. He figured they'd just gone into Matthew's room. When John didn't respond, Ollie must've felt obliged to continue the conversation. "Yeah, he just says there's one problem. Hey Mike," His voice became a bit faint, but John could still hear him call to Mike asking why Sherlock an John hadn't admitted to the world that they loved each other.

"I said they didn't know it yet!" the familiar voice shouted. Ollie laughed, but John just used his free hand to massage the temple on the right side of his head.

"Ollie, how drunk are you guys right now?"

"Does it matter?" John didn't answer, so Ollie continued to talk. "You know what my uncle used to tell me? He always said that drunk words are just sober thoughts. So according to him, the whole world would be a little bit more peaceful if all the world leaders went out and had a pint together. Don't you think so?"

"Of course." John ran a hand over his face and let out a long sigh. "Look, Ollie, It's been… great talking to you but I've got to go. I'll call you later when you've sobered up a bit."

"Alright then John. You take care! And tell Sherlock I said hello!"

"Will do."

John couldn't have pressed 'end call' fast enough. He placed the phone in his pocket and leaned against a nearby wall. He needed a moment to recollect himself before he went into that room with Sherlock. Ollie's words played over and over again in his head.

'Drunk words are sober thoughts.'

John thought back to that night in Fiji, when Sherlock had gotten drunk and had basically hit on him. If what Ollie's uncle said was true, did it apply to Sherlock as well? It wouldn't be unheard of for Sherlock to be the exception to the rule, but the more John thought about it, the more confused he became. Sherlock had been acting weird lately, and he was almost positive he'd been flirting with him when they were on their stakeout. Then again, Sherlock wasn't drunk then… or was he? John had no idea if he may have picked up something else from the gift shop and had been sneaking sips when John wasn't looking. He made a mental note to check and see if they even sold alcohol at that shop. He doubted it, which only made his confusion grow. John's mind was a clouded mess of jumbled thoughts and questions as he walked back to Matthew Greene's room.

Sherlock and Lucy were standing beside Matthew's bed, with their backs both facing the door. John was pretty sure they hadn't noticed him come in, and despite his better judgment he remained just inside the door while they continued their conversation.

"I wasted three years of my life because I was afraid," Lucy said, shaking her head. "But I refuse to live in fear anymore. And you should too."

"I still have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock replied, his tone defensive.

"Look Sherlock, it may be too late for me, but it's not too late for you. Tell him. Tell him you-"

"You're being ridiculous, Lucy! I have no idea what you're talking about."

"We both know that's not true." She reached up and placed a hand on Sherlock's arm, then turned to smile up at him. Well, smirk was more like it.

"You're not the only observant one here," she said. Sherlock quickly turned to face her, his face angry and his mouth turned into a frown. John could sense a serious berating coming on, so he cleared his throat in an effort to divert Sherlock's attention. It worked, and for a moment Sherlock just stared at John with surprised etched on his face. After a while all of the shock had melted away and he stared coldly at John.

"Hello John," he said. His voice was tense as well as his face and body. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," John said, taking a few steps forward. "Sorry about that, by the way." He gestured with his thumb behind him. "The phone call."

"Oh, it's fine," Sherlock said, his nose crinkling as he said this. John squinted at him, trying to figure out why he was acting so weird. He wondered what he and Lucy had been talking about.

"My friend Ollie says hi, by the way. You don't know him." Sherlock nodded his head, then turned towards Lucy and gave her a smile that John knew was fake.

"Well," he said, "It's been lovely speaking with you and I am terribly sorry for your loss, but John and I have got to get going."

"Alright then," Lucy said, eyeing Sherlock carefully. It was obvious she could tell the smile wasn't genuine. "Thank you for coming." Sherlock just nodded, then turned and walked out the room. John trailed behind him as they walked down the hall.

"So, Sherlock," he said when they got outside, "Why did she call you here?" Sherlock shrugged.

"Not entirely sure. All she did was talk about Matthew."

"Was that all she talked about?" John asked, leaning towards Sherlock slightly. He looked down at John with a confused look on his face.

"Yes." John smiled up at Sherlock. "What?"

"Nothing." Sherlock hailed a cab and the two of them climbed inside. Sherlock gave the cabbie directions to some restaurant John had been to once or twice, and then everything was silent for a brief moment.

"Are you hungry?" Sherlock said once suddenly. "I hope so because we're headed to a restaurant now. I'm sorry, I meant to ask before we got in the cab."

"It's…fine," John said slowly, staring at Sherlock, who was staring out the window and fidgeting. His eyes were darting around and his hands were constantly moving up and down his thighs. His feet were tapping and he was constantly shifting in his seat. "Sherlock are you alright?"

"What? Me?" he laughed nervously and nodded his head. "I'm fine. Perfect. Absolutely wonderful. Couldn't be better. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine Sherlock."

"Well that's good. That's great in fact." John continued glancing in Sherlock's direction every now and then, but each time he looked over Sherlock was staring out the window, and so John would look down at his lap until the next time he looked at Sherlock.

___

Just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who's reading, and thanks if you've left a comment. Can't believe this has over 3,000 reads! Thanks so much!

Also, starting today I'll begin a week-long process of moving into a new house, and I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write. Trust me, I won't wait a whole week to update, but I might just need an extra day. Sorry, and once again thank you!