Okay, I know it's been wayy too long since I updated, and I won't give any excuses other than I've been busy and haven't been able to until now. Feel free to hate me, I'd understand. School started for me yesterday, but so far it hasn't been too terrible. I found time to write, so that's good. Also, I want to let you guys know that this story is almost finished. Just a heads-up. Also, I'm really nervous about posting this chapter. Please don't be too harsh in the comments? :)

Anyways, here's chapter Twenty-Three!

________________________

When John returned to the flat, two plastic bags in his left hand, his cane in his right, he was happy to find that the flat was as empty as it had been when he'd left. He put away the few groceries he had purchased as quickly as he could and sat down in his armchair. He turned on the TV and was about to take his shoes off he heard the door open.

He immediately sat back and tried to look as natural as possible, though he was quite sure he looked like he'd just killed ten people. Of course, Sherlock probably wouldn't have been too upset about that, if the murders had been done in a fascinating way.

Sherlock appeared beside John's armchair and smiled down at him. John attempted to smile back, then looked away.

"Hello," he managed to say. Sherlock took off his coat and placed it on the sofa, then grabbed his laptop off of the coffee table and sat down. For a while they sat there in silence, with Sherlock typing away at his laptop and John pretending to watch whatever it was on television at the moment. After an excruciating few minutes of silence, John decided he would try to start a conversation.

"So, anything interesting happen today?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of the television screen. When he heard Sherlock chuckle he turned in his seat to frown at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "Just, I've never known you to be one for small talk." John didn't reply, just shrugged and smiled at Sherlock, who smiled back. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when Sherlock's phone started ringing. Sherlock's eyes flickered up briefly at John before he retrieved his phone from his pocket and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?" There was a brief pause while he listened to the person on the other end talk. Sherlock chuckled, and John felt a twang of jealousy in his chest as he remembered what Mycroft had said.

"That sounds great." Another pause, then Sherlock sighed and lowered his voice. "I-I'm with John now."

At the mention of his name, John looked over at Sherlock, who was staring down at the floor. When he looked up and caught John's gaze he stood up. He mouthed a 'sorry' to John, then went into his room and closed the door.

John grabbed the TV remote and sat back in his seat. He was used to Sherlock ignoring him to text this mystery person who may or may not be his secret lover, but never before had he actually left the room to converse with them. It was bad enough that they'd been taking up so much of Sherlock's free time and so much of his attention, but at least Sherlock had been in the same room as John. If John was now going to be denied even having Sherlock's presence around due to this 'friend' of his, he was going to have a serious problem.

Oh, who was he kidding? His problem was already serious. John had never been so jealous in his life. He was more jealous now than he had been when he found out his ex-girlfriend had cheated on him for the last few months of their relationship, and he had been pretty angry then. He let out a breath and tried to relax himself, but it did no good. He started channel surfing, hoping to find something to take his mind off of Sherlock, though he knew that would be pointless as well.

___________

As the days went on, things went from bad to worse for John. Sherlock still talked to his friend on a regular basis, which only made John's jealously even worse. Due to his rising jealousy John had begun acting a bit hostile towards Sherlock, who in turn was hostile towards him and spent even more time talking to his "friend" instead of John. This only made John feel worse, and act worse, and the circle just kept going.

Eventually it reached the point where they barely even spoke, even if they still spent a decent amount of time together. John still made them tea in the afternoons, and they would sit in the living room and drink it, Sherlock sitting on the sofa and focusing all his attention on his phone, and John would pretend Sherlock wasn't even there.

Of course, John was always painfully aware of Sherlock's existence. His ears had become fine-tuned to the sound the sofa made when Sherlock would adjust his position, the sounds that his fingers made when they tapped on his phone screen, and the occasional heavy sigh he would give, most likely in an attempt to annoy John. John was never annoyed by Sherlock, though, not by his sighing at least. To him it was just a reminder that Sherlock was still there, living, breathing, existing. John had to admit, he would much rather have Sherlock there and sighing than not there at all. It was crazy, but John just may have fallen harder for Sherlock in the days they spent completely ignoring each other. That still didn't change the fact that he was also starting to go mad listening to the sounds of him breathing.

One afternoon when Sherlock was sighing much louder and much more often than usual, John decided that he'd had enough. He got up from his chair and went into Sherlock's room to get his jacket and shoes. He'd barely gotten out of Sherlock's room when he ran into Sherlock, who appeared to have been waiting for him in the small hallway in between Sherlock's room and the kitchen. John took a step back and avoided Sherlock's gaze.

"Going somewhere?" Sherlock asked, his voice low. John ignored the way his heart fluttered at hearing Sherlock speak for the first time in about a week and nodded his head. "Where?"

"I hardly think it's any of your business," John said, finally looking up into Sherlock' s eyes. They looked slightly less emotionless than usual, though they were still quite cold and a bit unfriendly. John looked away. Sherlock folded his arms across his chest, and John could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"Well, someone's being a bit secretive." John's jaw dropped slightly and he stared at Sherlock.

"You're not serious." Sherlock took a step closer to John and furrowed his eyebrows.

"What?" John stood still for a moment, then sighed and pushed past Sherlock, making an effort to not let his hand linger on his chest for too long as he did so. He walked out into the living room and grabbed his phone. When he turned around Sherlock was standing behind him, arms still crossed, staring at John with a frown on his face.

"John..." his tone was cautious and questioning, as if he were talking to a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. Which, John almost was. If John didn't get out of that flat soon he had no idea what he would do, but he knew it wouldn't be good. Despite the many emotions currently welling up inside him, John managed to meet Sherlock's curious gaze with a firm gaze of his own.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John was proud of how calm he sounded, but for some reason his calms demeanor seemed to upset Sherlock. He stood up straighter and narrowed his eyes at John.

"Where are you going?"

"Why do you care?" John asked, a bit louder than he'd meant to. Sherlock winced at his harsh tone, but didn't back down. He took a careful step towards John, raising his hands slightly, much like a space traveler would to an alien to indicate that he'd come in peace.

"John, what's wrong?" His tone was gentle and quiet, and he was no doubt trying not to upset John further. Yet somehow, Sherlock's hesitance only managed to upset John more. He was starting to feel like the 'bad guy' though he'd done absolutely nothing wrong! It was preposterous. He felt his jaw clench and his hands were balled into fists at his sides.

"Oh nothing Sherlock, " he said, his voice shaking a bit out of anger. "Just that this is the first time you've really spoken to me in weeks and it's just to ask me where I'm going."

"I don't understand," Sherlock said, and by the look on his face John knew he was being honest. How could he possibly understand what John was feeling? He hadn't spent every night wrapped in the arms of the man he felt so strongly about, knowing that it meant absolutely nothing to him. He didn't have to spend every waking moment in agony, pining for the man who was sitting just across the room from him, acting as if he wasn't even aware of his existence. The past few weeks had been absolute torture for John, and he wanted nothing more than to scream from the highest rooftop that Sherlock was the cause of all his pain, of all the sleepless nights he'd had, that he just might be in-

"John. There's chamomile tea in the cupboard." John stared up at him, trying to comprehend just why Sherlock had felt the need to mention this mid-argument.

"What's that got to do with anything?" He asked, frowning at Sherlock.

"You've talked to Mycroft recently. About me." John swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and avoided eye contact with Sherlock. Sherlock took another step closer to him, and he fought the urge to push him back, or pull him closer until their lips met. John smiled despite himself. Even now, with an angry Sherlock looming over him he couldn't think about anything other than how much he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to slap him as hard as he could, then pin him up against the nearest wall and snog him until his knees went weak.

John had been so wrapped up in his little fantasy he hadn't realized Sherlock had spoken. He stared blankly at him, hoping for Sherlock to just give up on trying to get any information out of John, like he had given up trying to figure out who Sherlock's 'friend' was a while ago. Sherlock continued to stare at John, and it soon became obvious that Sherlock would not drop the subject.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Tell me."

"Why should I?" John asked, taking an angry step towards Sherlock. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and John copied his facial expression. This only made Sherlock angrier, and when the look in his eyes changed from slightly perturbed to furious John began to fear for his life. For a while neither of them spoke, they just stood there, inches away from each other, in the middle of an impromptu staring contest. John was the first one to break the silence.

"I...I think I'll just go now."

He started to walk past Sherlock, but he reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pushing him back. John winced slightly, as it had been his bad shoulder Sherlock had grabbed. The angry look on Sherlock's face dissolved for a moment into an apologetic one, then the fury returned to his eyes.

"Look John," he began, obviously fighting hard to keep his voice even, "I don't know what in the world has gotten into you, and I'll let you leave and get fresh air or whatever it is you need to get over..." he waved his hands in the air. "whatever this is. But not before you tell me why you went to Mycroft."

"Well then," John said, crossing his arms. "Looks like I'll be staying here." Sherlock glared at him, and with each passing second John could feel a tension building up between them. He unfolded his arms and sighed, preparing himself for the inevitable storm of rage that was soon to come from Sherlock.

"Honestly John, you have got to be the most infuriating, frustrating, aggravating man I've ever met!" John kept a straight face upon hearing this, though on the inside he was dying after hearing Sherlock say such terrible things about him.

"Yeah well, right back at you!" he shouted, trying to match Sherlock' s level of intensity. "You act like me going to Mycroft once will bring on the next world war, yet for the last few weeks I've sat here in the background of your life while you run off to God-knows-where doing God-knows-what with God-knows-who and you've never heard me complain! Not once!"

"Oh? Is that what this is all about? You're jealous, aren't you?" John scoffed.

"You wish."

"Maybe I do." John stared up at Sherlock with wide eyes, but when he saw the completely expressionless look on his face, his anger quickly returned.

"No, Sherlock. Just, stop. I refuse to stand here and listen to you while you demean me by saying how irrelevant my concerns and worries are!"

"Then sit down." John took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"You've got to be kidding me, Sherlock." Sherlock took a step towards him, and the movement only caused John to become angrier. "No, you stay back. I'm done with this. I'm done with all the secrecy and indifference."

"What are you talking about John?" Sherlock asked, coming close enough for John to feel his breath on his face as he spoke. "Honestly John, you act like I'm the only person who has secrets!"

As John stood there and listened to Sherlock begin what was no doubt a very outraged rant on secrecy, he began to feel something stirring in his abdomen. He'd gotten so angry with Sherlock over one little secret, and here he was hiding a massive secret of his own. How could he possibly be upset with Sherlock for texting a friend when he'd kept hidden for so long the fact that he was in love with him.

John stood there watching Sherlock's reddening face as he yelled at him, and all he could focus on were his lips and he was overcome with an intense feeling of something he didn't quite understand. Then his hands were moving and before he even realized what he was doing, he had grabbed the sides of Sherlock's face and did something he never thought he'd do in a million years: he kissed Sherlock.

Their lips crashed together with enough force to nearly knock them over, but that didn't matter at the moment. All John could think about was how incredibly soft Sherlock's lips were, just like he'd imagined they'd be. John didn't have much time to enjoy the feeling of those full lips pressed against his, as Sherlock had completely frozen stiff, and John soon realized what he'd done. He immediately let go of Sherlock's face and took a step back, staring up at him with his mouth hanging open. Sherlock was staring back at him with a look of pure shock etched on his features, and John immediately ran his hands over his face.

"I-I'm sorry. I-" He pushed past Sherlock and went to the front door. He struggled to open it with his shaking hands, but soon he was limping down the stairs as fast as he could and had reached the front door.

"John?"

He paused, and turned to look over his shoulder. Sherlock was standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him with the same surprised look on his face, lips slightly parted. John found it impossible to look into his eyes at the moment, so he turned back around and left the flat.

He wandered through the streets of downtown London for a bit, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. They'd had an argument, then he'd kissed Sherlock. He sighed and ran his hands over his face, shaking his head. How was he going to explain himself?

He could call it a heat of the moment thing, but what moment? They'd been arguing. Perhaps if they'd just solved a case he could get away with saying something like that, but not now. He needed time to think about it, but it was rather chilly outside and he didn't like walking with a cane much. He pulled out his phone and called the first person he could think of. Ollie answered after the third ring.

"John! How are ya?"

"Not so well, Ollie. I think I might need a place to stay for a bit."