Together at Last

Old Habits Die Hard

I wake suddenly, fear intensifying when I reach out and find only empty sheets. Sherlock is gone, awake unusualy early. I sit up, trying to slow my breathing.

"John?"

Sherlock walks back into the room, siting beside me.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a dream."

"Oh. How did you sleep last night?"

"What where you doing? Whatever it was, you actually slept through the rest of the night."

"Playing calms me."

"It was cute, watching you dance across the floor."

"You saw that too?"

He blushes, suddenly awkward.

"Yeah. It...it was good. I liked it."

"Oh. Thanks."

I havent seen this side of Sherlock in a long time, the boyishly awkward side. He is still blushing, but pulls me into a hug.

"Lestrade stayed over."

"Again?"

"And guess what..."

"What?"

"So did Mycroft."

I laugh at this, we both know what happened the morning after the wedding.

"Together?"

"I think so. Only one way to find out for sure."

He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room, heading down the hall. Mycroft and Greg are sleeping, arms around each other. Greg has his head on Mycrofts chest, 55%obviously they are together in some way. Sherlock smiles, he knew what was going on the whole time. We walk into the kitchen, letting them sleep.

"Are you eating?"

Sherlock nods, grabbing an apple from the counter.

"You need to eat more than that Sherlock."

He glares at me, taking another bite of his apple.

"I'm fine, not hungry."

A noise comes through from the sitting room, Mycroft and Lestrade must be up. They are talking louder than they should be, obviously unaware that we are in the kitchen. Sherlock hops up on the counter, swinging his legs over the edge. The conversation is getting louder, broken every few seconds by what I assume to be them kissing. Sherlock is thinking the same, trying to suppress a fit of laughter.

"Are they..."

"I think so."

Sherlock slides across the counter to sit right above me, watching my face as I look up at him. His gaze is one I see often, though its usually used on strangers.

"What're you thinking about?"

"You."

"What're you really thinking about?"

"I'm scared John, we have nothing. We know nothing."

I tug him off the counter, its never good when he admits hes scared.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He is tapping morse to me again, SOS. I pull him against me, feeling how tense his body is.

"You're going to be okay Sherlock, I've got you."

"I know."

His voice is barely a whisper against my skin, a note of pleading in his voice.