A/N Please Read: I have finished planning the rest of this story, and because of what is planned for this story line I have found the need to update the warnings for this story. So please, check the beginning of the first chapter for the updated warnings and keep in mind that there is nothing extreme, but I felt the need to let you guys know.

Alright then, enjoy the chapter! And thanks to everyone who's reading! xx

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Sherlock was holding his hand. Sure, he was probably only doing so to ensure that they made a dramatic exit together and John didn't ruin his little monologue by standing around like a buffoon while Sherlock sped away, but there was still contact. Oh, how John had missed the simple feeling of Sherlock's hand in his. The feeling of warm skin against his palm was heavenly after being denied the simple sensation for so long.

Against his better judgment, John allowed himself to squeeze Sherlock's hand while they stood on the pavement waiting for a cab to pass by. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then released John's hand to flag down a passing cab. John's hand instantly felt cold, once again finding itself without the added warmth of Sherlock's own palm and desperately craving the heat it brought.

Sherlock didn't take his hand again when they got inside the cab. He stared out the window, but he didn't turn his body completely away from John, which he decided to take as a relatively good sign.

When they arrived at Baker Street Sherlock unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing John to go first. He silently passed by Sherlock and went up the stairs. He watched as Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, wondering if he was expected to speak first.

"Sherlock-"

"It was foolish of me to think we could resume working without addressing the current state of our relationship. Forgive me for putting you through that."

"Sherlock, it was me who started yelling. Please, forgive me-"

"I should not have made that comment to you-"

"I shouldn't have acted so horribly yesterday."

"No, you shouldn't have." John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "but we're not going to get anywhere through self-deprecation alone. So.." Sherlock planted himself on the sofa and gestured to the empty cushion beside him. John cautiously made his way over to sit beside Sherlock. He turned towards him and their knees knocked together. Neither man shed away from the contact; John figured that had to be a good sign.

"John, I admit I should have been more attentive to you on our anniversary, but you must understand that for your gift to have worked out properly some amount of secrecy was required.

"Properly? So you mean everything went according to plan, then?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes and turned away from John, who immediately apologised for his rude comment. "Sorry, sorry. I just... I think you could have gone about executing your brilliant plan a bit better." Sherlock in response turned further away from John, so far that their knees were no longer touching. The loss of contact brought a chill that spread throughout Johns body before settling once again at his knee. He sighed and forced himself to continue talking, to continue to try and fix this conflict between them.

"Look, I know I messed up, and I'm sorry. I truly am. I feel terrible about what happened, but you've got to admit that you haven't exactly been very tolerable these past few day either."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're being a bit... melodramatic."

"Oh, well excuse me for being upset that my husband doesn't trust me. I'm so sorry that I got angry at you for embarrassing me in front of my only other friend and putting a rather big hole into the plans I had made for our aniversary. I'm sorry for having feelings, and for being upset with you for your actions. Against popular belief I am not a robot John. I believe I'm allowed to be upset."

"What, because I was unable to catch on to your master plan? Because I might be a tiny bit jealous of your friendship with a man who so obviously wants more than a friendship from you. If jealousy and misunderstanding is enough to warrant acting like a complete arsehole, why haven't I had my turn with it yet?"

"Sounds like it's your turn now. And when have I ever misunderstood anything or been jealous?"

"Okay yeah, you're a genius and you never misunderstand anything. I'll leave that alone for now to protect your precious ego. But Sherlock, you've had jealousy issues since before we were even together."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, for starters, Ollie."

Almost instantly Sherlock's eyes flashed with something like anger and he pressed his lips into a thin line. "Exactly. You, Sherlock Watson-Holmes, are an extremely jealous man. Not only has there been Ollie, but that wedding planner, the woman from the surgery, even Mike and Bill!"

"Well forgive me for being insecure."

"You are many things, Sherlock, but insecure is not one of them. You say you're hurt because I don't trust you, because I don't like your association with one person who even you admit fancies you. You get jealous of anyone who breathes in my direction too hard. How do you think I feel?"

Sherlock's eyes immediately softened and his lips audibly parted when his jaw dropped.

"John."

"No, sod this," John said standing. "Sod all of it." He looked to where Sherlock was staring up at him from the couch. Sherlock was now resting completely against the armrest, leaning away from the centre of the sofa. John looked to where he had been sitting, and guessed that there had been at least a foot of space between them. It was a physical reminder of the growing rift between them, and of the way they had begin to emotionally pull away from each other. John felt his shoulders slump and he ran a hand over his face.

"I need a drink."

Sherlock made a noncommittal noise and stretched out on the sofa, facing inwards. John stared at his still form, trying and failing to comprehend how they had come to be in this situation. Just days ago they had been happily married and affectionate towards each other. Now, they couldn't even be near each other without an argument arising. John longed to reach out and run his fingers through Sherlock's hair, to place a kiss on his temple and leave him be like he used to back when they were dating. Instead he just sucked in a breath before turning to leave the flat.

Several hours later John was stumbling up the stairs to 221B with a determined look on his face. Against his better judgment he had gone to Ollie's instead of the pub several blocks over like he'd originally planed to. They shared a few drinks while sitting on Ollie's couch watching Bond movies and talking over the movie. It was strangely reminiscent of their university days, save for the fact that instead of discussing parties, finals, or who was sleeping with whom, John talked about his husband and Ollie about the interns he had to train.

After downing several drinks, John had resolved to return home and year Sherlock a new one, and to make him realise just how terrible he had been acting lately. However, all his resolve flew out the window when he caught sight of Sherlock curled up on the couch in his housecoat, his hair thoroughly tousled.

One thing John had always found fascinating about Sherlock was how easy it was to read his emotions on his face when he was sleeping. when he was at peace with the world and himself, it was easy see in his slackened jaw and parted lips, and the contented sighs he gave on every other exhale. When Sherlock fell asleep upset, he remained that way throughout the night until he either woke up or found himself lost in a dream that left his subconscious unable to focus on whatever distress he felt when falling asleep.

Even in the minimal light and with the dangerously high amount of alcohol running through his veins, John could easily discern the slight downward curve of Sherlock's lips and the crease between his eyebrows. They weren't as prominent as they might have been if Sherlock were actively frowning, but the emotion was certainly there. John found it strangely comforting that Sherlock was as affected by this row as he was.

There was a slip of paper on the coffee table that caught John's eye. He carefully padded over, mindful not to wake Sherlock, and picked it up, using the moonlight seeping in through the window to read the note that had been hastily scribbled on the paper:

John,

On the off chance that you do return home tonight and read this, feel free to leave me be and go to the bedroom. I believe it is my turn to sleep on the sofa tonight.

John was just finishing reading when Sherlock turned so that he was lying on his back with one hand resting on his stomach and the other draped across the armrest above his head. The fingers of his left hand were twitching, as if Sherlock were actually attempting to grasp something. John knew how vivid Sherlock's dreams could be. He could remember many mornings sitting at the kitchen table listening to Sherlock regale him with tales of himself as a swashbuckling pirate, or of his escapades as an international spy. Those mornings were always fond memories to John, always something he could go back to when the rest of the world was insufferable.

John caught himself staring at Sherlock's profile, or what was lit by the nearly-nonexistent light, and tried to remember why he was upset with the man sleeping on the couch. He tried to remind himself that there was a reason Sherlock had confined himself to the couch, and was not currently curled up in their bed.

However, the more John stared at Sherlock's face, peaceful except for the lingering traces of a frown on his features, the less angry he felt and the more he longed to curl up with Sherlock in their bed rather than spend a night alone there himself.

He pulled the coffee table away from the sofa to kneel down in front of the couch. He raised a hand and gently stroked several curls that had fallen over Sherlock's brow.

"Sherlock, wake up." One eye slowly creaked open and for a moment Sherlock simply stared at John. Eventually Sherlock seemed to realise just who he was looking at and tried to sit up. He seemed to be a bit off-balance, most likely due to the fact that he wasn't fully awake, and John had to help him to a seated position by placing a hand at the small of his back.

"John..." Sherlock said, his voice hoarse with sleep and several octaves lower than it usually was. "What ... I left a note-"

"Yeah, I read your note."

Then why-"

"Sherlock... I-"

"You've been with Ollie." John closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Of course Sherlock would be able to tell exactly where he'd been. He suddenly began regretting his decision to go to his friend's house, knowing he had been a prominent feature in the argument that had brought John there.

"Yes, I have. But I'm back now."

"Out of all the places for you to go when you leave here, you chose to go there?" Sherlock was bordering on livid now, all energy he had left being used to fuel his anger as he glared at John. "Why on Earth would you go there when-"

"Sherlock. I know I shouldn't have gone there. But I did, and I'm back now." Sherlock turned away from John and covered his face with his hands.

"Yes," he said, his voice slightly muffled by his own hands. "You're back. So you can go back into the bedroom and get a good night's sleep while I stay out here and try not to picture you all buddy buddy with your old university friend, talking about how horrible a husband I am and letting him comfort you."

John dropped his head and let his shoulders slump. He now hated himself for going to Ollie's. Now he knew it would be even harder for Sherlock to get over the animosity he felt for him, now that he also saw him as a person John went to when they were having marital problems. John hadn't said much, just that they were having an argument and he needed to get his mind off of it. It was completely innocent, but of course all Sherlock could deduce was that he'd been to Ollie's, and that was enough to cause another argument on top of the one they'd just had.

He sighed again, and Sherlock began to lay back down. His body reacted without him telling it to and John reached out to grab Sherlock and keep him sitting upright.

"Sherlock..." he said, staring down at where his fingers were clasped around the pale skin of Sherlock's wrist. "I ... I don't want us to be like this." Sherlock used his free hand to rub his eyes and yawned. He kept his eyes averted for several elongated seconds, then finally met John's eyes and sighed.

"Neither do I." John nodded and let go of Sherlock's wrist.

"Good. Then let's not be."

A brief flicker of unguarded hope flashed on Sherlock's face before he groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"But John, I don't feel like dealing with this now."

"Then it can wait until morning." Sherlock's head snapped up and he fixed John with an intense stare. John simply stared back and felt his face soften as he stood up and held out his hand. "Come now," he said, "Let's go to bed."

Sherlock stared at John's hand for a moment, his expression unreadable. John wriggled his fingers, and tried to keep a small smile on his face. Sherlock's eyes met John's and he reached out to grab John's hand. John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's and he gave a slight tug to help Sherlock to his feet. Their hands remained joined as they made their way into the bedroom, their footsteps the only sounds that could be heard in the entire flat.

Sherlock, already dressed for bed, laid down and watched John strip down to his boxers. Any other time John would have appreciated Sherlock's calculating look, but now he just felt exposed. Like he could feel some physical manifestation of Sherlock's stare running over the skin he had revealed.

It was a completely mundane task, John told himself, something he'd done thousands of times before. Yet, for some reason he felt incredibly awkward climbing into bed with Sherlock. Still, John refused to let himself dwell on any less-than-favourable thoughts and draped an arm over Sherlock's midsection. He felt Sherlock tense for a moment, then relax against him, like he had done so many times before. John let out a sigh. He hadn't realised just how much he missed holding Sherlock like this until he was once again allowed to. Whatever problems that would come in the morning, and John knew there would be plenty, they could wait until then. As for now, John closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe in the familiar scent of Sherlock as he drifted off to sleep.