Hi! So, I just wanted to say sorry that this update is a little late, though only by some hours. Well, a lot of hours because I try to update in the mornings, and it's night time now... sorry! But, it's here!

Also, thank you to everyone who's read/voted/commented on this! You guys rock!

Aaaaaand, since you guys seem to like the idea of a Sherlock POV thing, I suppose I'll do it. But only after I finish this, cause it might be a bit confusing if I wrote it now. But it'll be coming!

Okay, enough talking, here's chapter seventeen!

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John and Sherlock were to leave for the cottage on Saturday. The plan was to leave the flat in the morning, arrive at the cottage sometime that afternoon, then spend a few days there and return to London sometime on Tuesday. In the days leading up to their departure, Sherlock seemed to grow more and more excited with each passing day.

When they'd first met, Sherlock had told John that sometimes he wouldn't talk for days on end, and John had come to find that he was telling the truth then, but he hadn't known that Sherlock was also capable of talking nonstop for several days straight as well. When he wasn't going on and on about how beautiful the countryside was, Sherlock was telling John about how much he was going to like the cottage. It was strange to see Sherlock so animated, but John didn't mind sitting silently in his armchair and watch Sherlock pacing back and forth in the living room with an excited smile on his face, and his brilliantly beautiful pale eyes lit up as he talked about how wonderful the trip was going to be.

On Friday Sherlock went to see about getting a rental car for the weekend, and of course John came with him, unable to resist tagging along and admiring Sherlock's face in secret while he was out in the sunlight. Though it pained him to be so close to the man he felt so strongly for and not be able to reach out and touch him, to run a hand through his dark, curly hair, John had decided that it would be best to keep his feelings hidden, for fear of ruining his friendship with Sherlock.

Only once before had John developed romantic feelings for a friend, and it hadn't turned out favorably. Her name was Tabitha. She had bright red hair and big blue eyes that were the color of the sky on a beautiful spring morning. They'd been friends for years, but John had only realized his crush when they were hanging out one weekend. They were at her house, in her living room watching some movie and eating popcorn. She had started to laugh at something she found to be incredibly humourous, and John had noticed then just how gorgeous she was when she laughed. From that day on his crush grew and grew until he felt that he would go mad if he kept his feelings a secret any longer.

Finally after two years of torturing himself, John invited Tabitha out to a picnic in a park near her house. They'd sat underneath an oak tree and talked for a while until John had finally built up enough courage to make his move. He'd looked deep into her eyes, and told her how he felt, then kissed her underneath that oak tree. Tabitha had just sat silently for a moment afterwards, not looking at John, before telling him that she 'valued their friendship too much to jeopardize losing it due to a breakup'. Then she'd stood up and left John sitting alone on that picnic blanket under an oak tree, surrounded by uneaten food that the ants had already started to attack.

Of course, John had been completely humiliated, and thus swore to himself that he would never endure that pain again. As a result of this, John made sure to never date any friend of his, and whenever John did date someone he made sure they weren't friends first, so that if the relationship went south there would be no friendship lost. He figured it was better this way, so no matter how much it hurt to keep his feelings hidden, he knew it would be worth it to have Sherlock as a friend instead of not at all.

"John."

He hadn't even realized Sherlock was calling his name until the detective placed a hand on his shoulder. John's heart rate accelerated at the contact, but he maintained a relaxed composure as he looked around. He found that he was surrounded by cars, and that confused him greatly. He didn't even remember getting out of the cab. He supposed he had been on some sort of auto-pilot mode while he'd been wandering down memory lane.

He looked up at Sherlock, who was staring down at him with an expectant look on his face. It appeared as if he'd just asked a question, but John had no idea as to what it was.

"I'm sorry," he said, "What?" Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, but John thought he saw a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"I said pick a car." John tore his eyes away from Sherlock's face to look at the cars around hm. After a while he looked back to Sherlock.

"I can't pick one," he said, "You pick." Sherlock squeezed John's shoulder before speaking.

"No, you."

"No you." Sherlock smiled down at John, then looked past his head with a smile on his face.

"Would you give us a moment?" John turned around to see a woman in a blue uniform standing not too far away, smiling at them. She glanced at John briefly before nodding her head and walking away. John watched her as she left, then turned back to face Sherlock, looking slightly bewildered. He hadn't even realized there was someone behind him. He supposed it was just a 'side affect' of his crush on Sherlock: he didn't see anything or anyone else when Sherlock was nearby. It was rather annoying to be frankly honest, but John figured there was nothing he could do.

"You know," John said after clearing his throat. "You should probably pick out the car, since you'll be the one driving it." He reached up and patted Sherlock on the back before flashing him a smile. Sherlock's eyes glanced down briefly before he met John's gaze and nodded.

"Alright."

About an hour later John and Sherlock were in a Nissan Qashqai on their way back to the flat. Sherlock was at the wheel, and John was in the passenger seat, enjoying the view. It had been quite some time since he'd been gotten to sit in the front seat of any vehicle, and he had to admit it was nice to be able to see clearly out the front window.

"John, is there anything you'd like to get before we return to the flat?" John thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Are you sure? Because once we get there-"

"I know Sherlock. What we bring is all we have while we're there. There are no supermarkets in the countryside." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were turned upwards, which let John know that he wasn't really upset at having been cut off. No more words were spoken until they arrived at the flat, and the two men got out of the car. Sherlock had a bit of trouble with parallel parking, and nearly forgot to lock the vehicle, which led to some teasing from John, but that soon ended when they reached the living room. Sherlock went into the kitchen and started making tea, and John turned on the television. Sherlock eventually emerged with two cups of tea and handed one to John before making himself comfortable on the couch. John drank his tea in silence and listened to Sherlock talk about the cottage in between sips, then the two of them went into their respective rooms to change for bed. Once John was dressed in his night clothes he went back downstairs into Sherlock's room, and opened the door just as Sherlock was pulling his shirt over his head. John caught himself staring at the muscles in Sherlock's back that flexed as he did so, but quickly regained composure and averted his eyes before speaking.

"You uh, ready for bed?" he asked. John felt strange asking this, but only because he knew how much he wished that he and Sherlock were really going to be sleeping together. Not in the more mature sense of the word, though if Sherlock were to ever proposition John again like he had in Fiji he can't say he wouldn't consider it. He wished he and Sherlock were about to climb into bed and one of them would rest their head on the shoulder of the other, rather than Sherlock curl up into a ball underneath his blankets, facing away from John while he sat beside him on top of the covers, hands folded neatly in his lap while he stared into the darkness, and occasionally at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded his head, then climbed into his bed. John walked around to the other side and sat down, trying to find a way to occupy his mind other than thinking about how amazing Sherlock looked in the moonlight streaming through the window. The detective tossed and turned beside him trying to get comfortable, as he usually did, but the movement seemed to go on for longer than usual this night. Once John glanced down at him when he'd turned in his direction and saw Sherlock staring up at him with a smile on his face, his eyes half closed. John didn't understand the gesture, but he smiled back anyway, and Sherlock finally closed his eyes. John watched him for several minutes, then sighed and looked away. He let his head fall back to rest against the wall behind him and closed his eyes while Sherlock slept silently beside him.

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"John, wake up."

"Mmph," was all he managed to say. John felt something on his right arm, and reached up without looking to brush whatever it was away. When his hand came in contact with cool, smooth skin his eyes flew open and he looked down at his shoulder to see Sherlock's hand resting on his arm, and his hand laying gently on top of it. He quickly drew his hand back and looked down. The heat in his cheeks were undoubtedly making his face red and that was something he did not want Sherlock to see. He cleared his throat and covered his face with his hands.

"What time is it?"

"About seven o'clock. Now get up, we're leaving at nine."

With that Sherlock was up and out of the room. John yawned and stretched, and only when his hands hit the headboard did he realize he was laying down. He sat up and looked around and realized he was in Sherlock's room as well. He looked down and saw that he was in fact underneath the covers, and immediately he threw them off of himself and got up. He stared at the now empty bed for a moment, trying to figure out why he had been sleeping in it, and realized that he'd never made it back to his own room the previous night. The last thing he remembered was looking down at Sherlock's sleeping face, then leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He must've fallen asleep then, but that still didn't explain how he'd gotten underneath the covers. It had to have been a subconscious thing that he'd done during the night, because there was no other explanation for it.

John managed to take a shower and get ready in less than an hour, and came to join Sherlock in the kitchen. Much to his surprise, there was a plate of bacon and eggs sitting on the table across from Sherlock, who was reading the newspaper and hadn't even acknowledged John's presence.

"Is that-"

"For you? Yes." John glanced at Sherlock, who had yet to look up from the paper, then sat down. He ate his meal in silence, then washed the plate and fork. He noticed the absence of another plate and fork, and asked Sherlock if he'd already washed them.

"There was nothing to wash."

"You mean you didn't eat breakfast?" Sherlock shook his head and looked up at John with a strange expression on his face. John raised an eyebrow and took a step closer, and Sherlock turned his gaze away. "Why not?"

"Nervous stomach."

"Nervous?" When John asked this Sherlock's eyes grew slightly in size and his eyebrows raised a bit as well, almost as if he were surprised at what he'd said as well. "What are you nervous about?"

"Ahem," Sherlock cleared his throat and stood up. He began mumbling some nonsense about how long it had been since he'd last driven and started fretting over if he'd forgotten anything, and John just laughed.

"Would you stop all that worrying?" He walked over to Sherlock and placed a hand on his shoulder. He smiled up at Sherlock, who stared down at him with a blank expression. "I'm sure everything will be just fine." Sherlock took in a deep breath and held it, then nodded his head and let it out slowly. He stepped away from John, whose hand instantly became cold, missing the warmth of Sherlock's shoulder. John rolled his eyes and sighed. He was starting to turn into some sort of sappy idiot, and now he was about to spend four days completely alone with the sole cause of it. This was not going end well.