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Chapter Text

A frown crept across Sherlock's face as he watched his best friend and flatmate interact with his once-enemy Jim Moriarty. It had been two months since the wedding, six weeks since all three of them had returned from the honeymoon Sherlock had crashed, and the two were being as sickeningly lovey-dovey as ever. They were sharing the couch, John on one end with Jim on the other sitting sideways, toes tucked under John's thigh, and watching some movie about space and intergalactic battles. That ridiculous actor Benedict Cumberbatch was playing the villain. (And, really, what kind of a name was Benedict Cumberbatch?)

Things hadn't been the same once John had married Moriarty. (Though Sherlock supposed he couldn't actually call Jim 'Moriarty' anymore, not since that surprise at the wedding. Objectively, he really should have suspected that Moriarty wasn't his real name.) He'd been warned that things would change. Mrs. Hudson had told him a pointless anecdote about a friend and Lestrade had squeezed his shoulder in quite a befuddling show of sympathy. Even Molly had tried in her own mousy, tiptoeing fashion to tell him that nothing would be as it was. It was the emptiness, the lack of John, in the flat after the wedding that had prompted Sherlock to follow them on their honeymoon in the first place.

As if sensing his thoughts, John glanced away from the TV to shoot a grin at Sherlock where he sat at the desk, trying to decide on a new case to take. The detective's lips automatically tugged into a returning smile, an immediate reaction to such an expression on John's face. These little moments of contact, though, just made the pain of slowly losing his friend, his only friend, all the harder to bear…and Sherlock had no doubts that he was losing his blogger.

John still tried to make an effort. He carved time out of his busy days to follow Sherlock on his cases, still took notes and typed up his sensationalized version events on that blog of his. There was something about that ring on his finger, though, that meant that Sherlock would always come second to Jim. It was doubtful that John could see the changes, but they didn't escape Sherlock.

Upon returning from the honeymoon, John had moved his things down into 221C. He'd make the trek up to 221B after work to hang out and both the blonde and Jim generally treated the upper flat as their living space, only going to the basement to sleep, but Sherlock knew it wouldn't last. It certainly didn't help matters that he and Jim were still mostly at odds with each other. Sherlock had never been very good at sharing and he doubted Jim had been any different.

John was Sherlock's only friend, though, and he wasn't about to lose him without putting up one Hell of a fight. The detective could throw the epitome of all temper tantrums if he was so moved, but he'd have to possess the IQ of Anderson to think that would get him what he wanted out of this situation. If anything, throwing a fit would only drive John further away. No, this situation required something more delicate, a sideways approach as opposed to a frontal assault. Over the past week, he'd reached out to his contacts in an attempt to do exactly that.

Lestrade had, of course, been his first option. However, the Yarder proved himself surprisingly uncooperative when Sherlock had burst into his office.

"No, Sherlock! I can't just fake a crime scene so you have an excuse to hang out with John! You make my life difficult enough as it is!"

Sebastian Moran had been equally unwilling to see reason, despite Sherlock appealing to his mercenary tendencies.

"Uh…no. While I have no doubts you could offer a very competitive rate, you really couldn't pay me enough to pull Jim into the office during his 'John' time. He may not be as moody as he used to be, but I like my head attached."

As an absolute last resort, Sherlock had turned to his brother. He loathed being in Mycroft's debt, but he could be…useful on occasion…Just apparently not this one.

Mycroft heaved a sigh.

"As much as I would like to lock your criminal mastermind friend up forever you and I both know that he'd weasel out of it somehow. Besides, he's careful enough that we have nothing to hold him on, especially since the wedding. I am not wasting precious government resources on your petty feud. Can't you just…tell John you want to get dinner or something?"

Fat bastard.

The whole affair left Sherlock with very few options about what to do. He couldn't just give up, it wasn't his style and this was far too important, but he found himself at a loss as to what exactly it was that he could do. A chime from his phone interrupted his thoughts and alerted him to a new message. Flipping the small device open, Sherlock was surprised to find the incoming note was from Jezebel, one of Jim's minions who had befriended John.

'Hey snuggle butt! :3 Heard about your recent issues from hunky muffin top! I think I have a solution for you ;)'

Sherlock scowled as he typed out a reply. What did John like about this girl, again? She insisted on coming up with obnoxious nicknames for everyone, was irritatingly happy all the time, and couldn't seem to help herself when it came to poking her nose into other people's business.

'Do not call me that. I doubt Moran would appreciate your new nickname for him, either. -SH'

'Aw, lockipop D: youre no fun! Do you want to know my plan or what?'

Sherlock was pretty sure he was going to break a tooth from how hard he was grinding his teeth together.

'I'm listening. -SH'

'What if you and the boss man did a shared custody thing? Like in a divorce work out who will get john when and go from there'

Scratch that. Forget everything he'd thought previously. Sherlock loved this girl.

JWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSH

Sherlock's opportunity to act came faster than he would have expected. John was called into the clinic early Sunday morning, the day following the text conversation with Jezebel. Jim usually spent his time in 221C if John wasn't around, but he'd chosen that day to wander into the flat for tea. Sherlock wasted little time in cornering him against the stove.

"I wish to negotiate the terms of a split custody agreement concerning your husband."

Jim stared at him for a moment, clearly trying to catch up with the conversation. It didn't take him long and he was soon leaning back against the counter, arms crossed and smirk in place.

"You're seriously suggesting a contract for dividing our time with John? You do realize we aren't his parents, right?"

And wasn't that a disturbing thought. Sherlock scowled at the other man who was clearly not taking the situation seriously.

"If current patterns hold, there will be problems that develop."

"Problems for you. What, exactly, is my motivation for going along with this plan? Why shouldn't I just monopolize John's time and completely shut you out? I could do it, you know. It wouldn't even be that hard."

Sherlock's fists clenched at his side and he forced himself to stay calm. Emotions, positive or negative, would only complicate the situation. Still, he had an ace up his sleeve.

"I think you know."

Jim gave his a sideways look before sighing.

"Yes, you are way too good at being irritating. I can only imagine the impact you could have on John and my sex life if given the proper motivation…and you are much too important to him for me to contemplate removing you. Very well, let's get this over with."

Gleeful to find that his plan was actually working, Sherlock flounced into the living room. Both geniuses settled around the coffee table, Jim on the couch and Sherlock in a chair. In order to make this work, there were a lot of variables that would need considering. Jim gazed at Sherlock imperiously over his cup of tea.

"You realize, of course, that John can know nothing about this."

"It would likely not end well, no."

"Good, then we're in agreement about one point, at least."

In the hours that followed, it became blindingly clear that it would be their only point of agreement. The two argued about who would get which days, a tricky business since John's shifts at the clinic were unpredictable at best. That was not even considering the fact that there were an odd number of days in a week, what exactly constituted a 'day', the punishment for being late, and a thousand other details.

It was finally decided that Sherlock would get Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays while Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays would belong to Jim. They would alternate Fridays. If one or the other wished to have more days in any particular week, there was the option of buying or trading for one of the other's days. The form of payment and the amount would be determined at the prerogative of that particular's day's holder.

Originally, a day had been interpreted to start at 12:01 AM and end at the following midnight, but the issue with that arose from John's sleeping arrangements. It was highly impractical to expect either Jim or John to remove themselves from their bed based on the day. (To Jim, at least. Sherlock thought it was completely reasonable.) The issue was finally settled when they thought about what the blonde soldier would do to them should they interrupt his sleep schedule.

A day began when John got out of bed, whatever time he chose that to be, and ended whenever he returned to sleep. Since some of Sherlock's cases kept him up all night, it was further determined that, if John did not sleep, the new day would start at 8 AM. Which brought them around the John's availability to go on cases.

Sherlock insisted that John be able to go on every case, something Jim was not overly opposed to given that John enjoyed them and it would be hard to explain why he could participate in some and not others. Still, he wasn't willing to allow his whole life to be sidetracked by Sherlock's cases. (After all, he had no doubts that Sherlock would start taking up more and more of them just to get John all to himself.) So they had to come up with another solution.

John would have the option of going on every case. He would be fully informed and then given the choice as to whether to participate or not. If John chose to participate, he was welcome to, no matter the day. All time spent on cases, however, had to be paid back in full to Jim if they occurred on his appointed day. An interest fee of 15% would also be applied to time stolen ("Borrowed, Jim."). Furthermore, notifications to John about a new case would have to wait until the end of any ongoing date and/or coitus unless the case was urgently pressing. (Which had prompted an entire hour long debate about the definition of 'urgent', of course.)

By the time they had all of the details fleshed out, the morning had progressed into late afternoon. Both geniuses blinked in surprise. Sounds of tea making from the kitchen alerted them to John's presence and they exchanged panicked looks. If John had heard them planning, they were both in deep water. Cautiously, the two men rose and headed towards the other room.

John was whistling as he bustled around the small kitchen, making tea with long-practiced motions. He didn't even blink at the jar of pickled tongues in the cabinet with the tea or at the severed foot in the fridge when he went to grab the milk. His best friend and his husband both watched him from the doorway in silence. He looked pretty happy for someone in a blinding rage, but they didn't let that fool them. They each knew that when John was angriest he masked it with a bone-chilling amount of joy. Yes…they had learned that lesson well.

They were so silent, in fact, that John nearly dropped his mug of fresh tea when he turned and found them filling the doorway. The steaming liquid slopped over the edge of the mug but, thankfully, didn't catch the man himself. He cursed softly and grabbed a paper towel. Sherlock might have no interest in keeping their kitchen habitable, but that didn't mean John wouldn't do his part.

"Hey, I heard you two talking in the living room. Is there a case on? Must be pretty complicated if you've gone to Jim for help."

The greeting was followed up by an interested grin, an expression that would have looked puppy-ish on another's face but merely looked attentive on John's. Another look passed between Sherlock and Jim before the detective spoke.

"You didn't hear what we were talking about?"

John's expression had a touch of confusion added.

"No. I only just got in and wanted some tea first. Why?"

Jim smiled broadly and stepped in before Sherlock could respond. He crossed the kitchen to deliver a peck to John's lips, kissing away any suspicions the man might develop.

"No reason. Sherlock just asked my opinion on an old case that had him stumped." That brought a frown to the curly-haired man's face, but he didn't dare comment. "I'm afraid I couldn't bring any new light to it."

John's grin grew and he looked between the two happily.

"Well, it's good to see you two starting to get along again, though I'm surprised there's anything that could stump the both of you together."

Sherlock grinned despite himself. The contract would go into effect in the morning and John would be his for the day. He wasn't going to lose his best friend after all.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was up early on Monday morning. More accurately, he didn't really sleep the night before. His stomach fluttered with anticipation. It was the first day of his contract with Jim and he had to make sure that everything went perfectly. There were no cases on, but that didn't deter Sherlock from wanting to figure something out to reconnect with John. Besides, it would be good for them to do something outside of the Work. It would show John just how much Sherlock valued him.

Unfortunately, as the three sat down to breakfast in 221B, Sherlock found that luck was just not on his side. John seemed to be in a fine mood, which Sherlock regarded as good tidings until he asked what John's plans for the day were. The blonde swallowed his eggs before answering.

"There's a blogging conference in town, BlogCon. It's a week-long event and apparently it's a pretty big deal in the blogging world. They've asked me to speak on one of their panels. Can you believe that?"

Sherlock and Jim exchanged a look.

"So…you're planning on going, then?"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, I'm not sure that I'll have anything too profound to say at the panel, but there are several other writers there so I think it'll be alright. Besides, there are several other panels I would be interested in going to. I had no idea how much information there was available when it came to blogging! Did you know you can make money off of blogging?"

The two geniuses shared another look and John frowned.

"What? What is it?"

Jim cleared his throat.

"I just thought…you and Sherlock haven't hung out much lately."

John looked quizzical for a moment, clearly not sure exactly where the concern had come from. If Sherlock didn't already know, he would have been floored himself. The blonde looked thoughtful for a moment before grinning widely.

"I know! Why don't you both come with me? I'm told there are bloggers there who cover all kinds of subject, I'm sure you'll be able to find something!"

If anyone thought that Sherlock was the one out of the pair that could steamroll over anything, they had clearly not met John when he was excited about something. Stubbornly ignoring and pushing aside any protests the two geniuses could come up with, the doctor soon had them in a taxi and heading across town. The conference was being held at the International Conference Center of ExCel London in the Docklands district. Sherlock was impressed, not just anyone could get in there.

The taxi dropped them off at the main entrance and it didn't take them long to find the registration booths. The line for them stretched out the door and around the side of the building. John found a con worker and quickly obtained directions on where to go since he was speaking.

Just over an hour later, all three of them had badges and were talking with a very enthusiastic gentleman in his late forties who apparently was one of the original founders of BlogCon. He practically fawned over John from the moment they'd met.

"We're just so honored that you agreed to speak, though I still can't believe you declined our offer for a personal panel. It was Justine who suggested that we send you the invite; I don't think any of us thought you'd actually accept. I mean, we get some high end bloggers, but no one like you!"

John rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and shifted from foot to foot.

"I'm really not that big of a deal. I don't have any idea what I'd do with a panel all to myself. I'm afraid I'm not even sure how much good I'll be able to do anyway."

Sherlock scowled at John's abashed expression, even though he knew the modesty was entirely in character for him.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. You're blog gets thousands of hits every day. I'm sure it has had a great impact on the blogging community."

Jim nodded along, but hung back from saying anything to avoid a breach in the contract. That was still, technically, Sherlock's day with John. The event founder nodded excitedly.

"It's true! The number of attendees had tripled since word got out that you were speaking! We had to move the panel to our biggest room just to accommodate the increased interest. There's been a line for it since 7AM."

John looked flabbergasted that anyone would be so interested in hearing him speak, but Sherlock couldn't help the swell of pride in his chest. Of course people would want to listen to his blogger, as if he would surround himself with anything but the absolute best.

The panel was scheduled to start at 1 in the afternoon, so the founder invited them to lunch, clearly interested in picking John's brain. As the event grew closer, John grew more and more nervous. Sherlock bumped his shoulder as they waited back stage for the panel to get started. The hall the event was in held almost 1,500 people and John was clearly feeling jittery.

"You shouldn't worry. You'll be fine."

John nodded, though his nerves were clearly still getting to him. Hold a gun to the man's head and he was cool as a cucumber, ask him to speak in front of more than four people though….

"You and Jim will be watching, right?"

"We'll be right backstage if you need us."

There was another distracted nod.

"Right, good."

There wasn't much time to talk after that as the panel's host headed out onto the stage. He was a redhead in his thirties, a mess of freckles crossing his nose. He grinned into the microphone as he spoke.

"Hello, everyone and thank you for joining us! I'm Kevin Andrews of 'I Blog You Not' and welcome to today's panel, 'The Big Picture of Amateur Blogging'." There was a round of applause. "In this panel we'll be discussing things like how blogging has affected news coverage and global communication as well as what it means for keeping in touch. We've got some very exciting guests for you who, we all know, are really the reason you showed up. May I introduce David Farrell of 'You're Hate Mail Will Be Graded', Pamela Scott of 'Sweet and Sour Restaurant Reviews', and finally Dr. John Watson of, you guessed it, 'Dr. John Watson's Blog'."

Sherlock could see the blush coloring John's neck and face from his view backstage. No doubt the title of John's blog would be changing as soon as they got back to the flat. Despite this, the crowd was going wild as the three guests walked out onto the stage and took a seat at the table. David was an older gentleman with a stern countenance, a drastic comparison to Pamela's easy smile and relaxed demeanor. Once the applause died down, Andrews prompted each of them to share a little bit about themselves and their blogs. David went first.

"Hello, I'm David Farrell. My blog focusses on current events, popular trends, and just about anything I feel like writing about. My goal in each post is to take an argument and tear it apart piece by piece to present my readers with an unbiased view of the facts so that they can draw their own conclusions. Because what I have to say is not often well-received, I do, indeed, receive a lot of hate mail. As my title states, each message is graded based on the strength of the argument and use of language before being returned to sender. My day job is as a Professor, so I guess some habits are hard to break."

He nodded for Pamela to take up the mantle and she happily did so after a polite spattering of applause.

"Hey, everybody! I hope you're enjoying BlogCon so far!" There was some additional applause. "My name is Pamela Scott and I started out at a food critic for magazines and newspapers all over the world. I'm technically retired, but I just can't seem to stop running my mouth when it comes to where I eat! I decided to start 'Sweet and Sour' to share what I know about food!"

There was another round of applause and then it was John's turn. Sherlock could see the muscles tensed in his back. He tentatively leaned towards the microphone in front of him.

"Um, hello, I'm John Watson."

The explosion of applause was near-deafening and Sherlock knew that, if he could see John's face, it would show the man's deep surprise at the reaction. The blush was returning ten-fold. Andrews motioned for the crowd to settle and let John talk.

"Uh, ta for that. I actually just sort of stumbled into blogging and I'm incredibly honored to be here. I'm not nearly so qualified as these two, I must admit. My blog is about my best friend Sherlock and his adventures solving crimes." A brief chuckle. "He forgets his pants, I blog about it."

As the panel went on and John found himself getting good responses from the crowd he relaxed more and more. By the time they had reached the last 15 minutes of the panel, the question and answer portion, John was grinning and joking with both the other guests and the crowd. His natural charisma had taken over and Sherlock would have been surprised to find a single person in the room who didn't love him already.

The audience members quickly lined up behind a microphone stand in the center of the room to ask their questions. Everything went rather smoothly until the fourth person stepped up the microphone. She was a young woman, late twenties, with her hair dyed at least five different colors.

"My question is for Dr. Watson. What, exactly, is Sherlock Holmes to you?"

There was a pause in which Sherlock could just see John's expression in his mind's eye, eyebrows up in surprise. Still, the man handled the question with all the grace his flatmate knew he possessed.

"Sherlock Holmes is one of the best and most human…human beings I have ever met. I wouldn't want to think about where I would be if I hadn't met him that day in St. Bart's. He is my best friend and one of the most important people in my life."

Sherlock couldn't stop the smile the tugged at his lips. Objectively, he knew he was important to John, but it still felt good to hear him say it. The man who stepped up to the microphone next wore a t-shirt that read 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' and it wasn't hard to figure out who his question would be for.

"I'm fanboi9863, founder of 'The Study in Johnlock' fansite. I was wondering if you could settle a rumor that's been going around."

John's confusion was clear in his voice.

"I, uh, I could certainly try."

The man from the crowd pushed his glasses up further on his nose before continuing.

"Who is this man that you've been spotted with in recent months? Short, black hair? Almost always in a suit?"

"Jim? He's my husband."

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say because the room exploded into a clamor of noise. Everyone was suddenly shouting, at each other as well as at John. The man who'd asked the question looked like someone had just run over his puppy. Andrews once again proved his worth by bringing the room to a semblance of order. Unfortunately, the news about John's relationship seemed to have completely derailed the already off-topic room.

The next question came from a group of four girls who couldn't have been more than 14. The speaker of the group had wavy blonde hair and the skin tone of an internet addict. Sherlock did not like where this was going.

"So, just to confirm, what, precisely, are the chances of a three-some occurring between you, Sherlock, and this Jim character? Because I, for one, have seen the pictures of this man and Ooh!"

Before John could answer, both Jim and Sherlock had appeared behind him, leaning down on either side to steal his microphone and respond the same exact way.

"None."

In response, another of the girls shoved her way to the mic stand.

"How can you be so sure? John clearly loves you, Sherlock. If he loves Jim, too, than you guys have to have a threesome!"

Jim gaped at the girl.

"What kind of insane logic is that? I'm not sure if you're aware, but Sherlock and I hate each other. Also, yes, John loves me. That's why we're married. You know who he's not married to? Sherlock! You want to know why? They're not a couple."

The girl glared at him so harshly she gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'if looks could kill'.

"Why do you have to come between their love? You came out of nowhere and just jumped in where you didn't belong! Who are you to take John away from Sherlock, you…you…home wrecker!"

Sherlock saw Jim's jaw clench so hard his own ached in sympathy. The consulting criminal's eyes turned to John, a fire burning within.

"Can I blow them up? I know you said no more killing people, but maybe just this one exception? Please?"

And that, apparently, was why Jim never did things in person. He'd forgotten he was standing in front of a microphone in a room full of people. The first cry of, "Oh, my God! You're Jim Moriarty!" was more than enough to remind them all, though. Suddenly, the room was in an uproar all over again.

"I can't believe this!"

"OMG! Best day ever!"

"Johniarty for life!"

"Oh, I told you! I told you!"

"No! John's true love is Sherlock!"

"It's like fanfiction is coming to life before my very eyes!"

Ok, so, surprise of surprises…apparently they liked Jim more for being an international criminal who had once tried to kill both John and Sherlock (not to mention others). The curly haired man shook his head, he would never understand some people. At least Jim and John looked as shocked as he was.

Unable to get the crowd back under control, Andrews finally called the panel at an end and let Security take over for handling the crowd. They all filed backstage once again to find the man from before, the con founder, waiting for them. John started apologizing immediately, but was waved off by the beaming man.

"Are you kidding me? That was a huge success! Please tell me you'll come back next year!"

It wasn't until they were all in the taxi heading back to the flat that they could take a breath again. John grinned at the men on either side of him.

"Well, that was interesting!"

Sherlock stared resolutely out the window.

"I can't believe you agreed to come back next year…with us."

"Oh, come on! You can't tell me you didn't at least have a little fun! Jim?"

Neither man replied, but all three men knew it was only because they couldn't say 'no' without lying.

It wasn't until later that day they found the email on John's computer from D. The rest of the Deadly Dozen were in the tag line of who the email had all been sent to. The message was blank, but the subject line read, 'saw something interesting today'. John was confused for a moment until he saw the video attachment…Oh, They were never going to live this one down.

Chapter Text

The three days that followed the incident at BlogCon found Baker Street still flooded by the media. There'd been no hope of containing the news about Jim and John after the former had all but announced it to a room full of bloggers and internet addicts. Word had hit the Twitter-sphere, and just about every other popular internet forum, before the trio had even had the chance to leave the convention hall. Since then, they'd been holed up inside of their flat, avoiding going out for any reason, and it was driving Sherlock insane.

"I can't take this anymore!"

The curly-haired genius ran his hands repeatedly through the aforementioned locks, mussing them up for a true bed-head look. He stalked angrily across the room, causing Jim to quickly remove his tea from the coffee table before Sherlock could kick it on his way to flop dramatically onto the couch. John popped his head out of the kitchen, where he'd been making himself a cuppa as well, and Sherlock could already see him rolling his eyes.

"Well, you lasted longer than I expected, at least."

Sherlock wasn't the only one feeling the strain of being cooped up, though, and they all knew it. Jim was drumming his fingers across his knee repeatedly, the pattern of the taps becoming more and more intricate. He was better at hiding his unrest, but it was only a matter of time before he, too, lost control. John's gaze swept over the two geniuses before he heaved a sigh of resignation.

"Alright, get up, both of you. Let's get this over with. I feel like Italian, what about you two?"

Sherlock sat up quickly, turning wide eyes to his flatmate. Jim was sitting at attention, too. Both of them hoped John meant what they thought he meant, but neither could be sure. It was Sherlock who took the plunge.

"You want to go out?"

"Well, they're not going to just go away, are they? The way I figure it, us hiding out in here makes it look like we have something to hide. What we need to be doing is going out there and going about our business. Once they see that there isn't a story to tell, they'll turn their sights on something else."

A grin spread across Sherlock's face as he leapt to his feet. The throbbing in his head that demanded stimulation pulsed behind his eyes, but he knew it would soon quiet. He threw off his robe as he entered his room and scrambled into one of his trademark suits. Oh, how he loved Thursdays….

His hands stilled on the buttons of his purple shirt. It was Thursday. Jim's day.

For the first time, Sherlock hated that contract. He hated that he'd agreed to give Jim Thursdays, hated what he was going to have to do because of that decision. He did not, though, hate it enough to back down from what he knew he needed to do. Buttoning his suit jacket and smoothing his hair back, Sherlock turned once more towards the living room. He ignored the buzzing in his head, the fiery burn of need. He would handle this with dignity.

John looked up as he walked into the living room. Jim was standing, too, and the two had clearly been sharing a couple-y moment that made Sherlock cringe on the inside. It was just another reminder of how he and John were drifting apart. He sauntered past and into the kitchen, much to John's surprise.

"Uh, Sherlock?"

"I have decided there is an experiment that requires my immediate attention. There is not time for this foolishness of dealing with the media."

John gaped at him, but Sherlock kept his eyes resolutely on the table. His hands shook minutely as he began moving around the beakers and other chemistry equipment. His head felt like it was splitting open, all the energy and thought threatening to break free. Jim was giving him a critical look, clearly having figured out what was going on. He would remember this later, Sherlock knew, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they got out so Sherlock could drop this mask and try and find something to occupy his mind.

Sherlock was so lost in his own thoughts that he jumped in surprise when John slammed both hands down on the opposite side of the table. His gaze flickered up to meet that of the sweatered man and he was unprepared for the glare that was sent back at him.

"Sherlock Holmes, you and I both know that you are about ready to climb these walls from boredom. Why, I'd bet money that you've considered burning this place to the ground at least 27 times in the last three days-"

"28."

"There you go! And we both also know that you do not have any experiments on, or you would have completed them before now! So tell me, detective, given this evidence, why would someone such as yourself suddenly decide to hole up in this flat instead of going out to dinner?"

Sherlock blinked once before leaning back in his chair. He was a master of disguise, after all, and he was not about to let John know he was scrambling for an answer. As his mouth opened to utter a retort, though, John saved him the trouble by cutting him off.

"If the words about to come out of your mouth have anything to do with me spending some alone time with Jim, so help me…." He squeezed his eyes shut briefly while pinching the bridge of his nose. Meanwhile, Sherlock and Jim shared a worried look. John's eyes opened again and he glared between the two geniuses. "Don't think I don't know what you two are doing. Subtle, you two are not."

Jim stepped forward, hands held out placatingly.

"John, dearest, we can explain-"

"I don't want to hear it! You know, I wasn't even sure until today. I had my suspicions earlier, like when you tried to sneak off yesterday to spend all day locked up downstairs, but…"John seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping and his anger giving way to a pained expression. "I guess I didn't want to believe that you would do that, either of you…"

Sherlock and Jim shared another look. They had expected anger if John found out, yes, but they hadn't been prepared for this…defeat. Sherlock stood slowly and rounded the table to stand at John's side, Jim approaching him from the other direction. He reached out to put a hand on John's arm. Hadn't he read somewhere that physical contact offered comfort?

"John-"

His hand was shrugged off violently and John took a step back, the anger back in a heartbeat.

"I like my sweaters!"

Sherlock blinked several times rapidly, but otherwise kept a straight face.

"What?"

"You heard me! They're comfortable and warm and I like them! And I don't care what either of your think, I'm going to keep wearing them!"

Sherlock's mind whirred as it tried to catch up. Clearly, John was upset, but not about what Sherlock and Jim had feared. The curly-haired detective stared at his flatmate as everything clicked into place.

"You think Jim and I are working together to destroy your sweaters."

John's petulant silence was all the agreement they needed. An entirely inappropriate sense of relief swept through Sherlock. John didn't know. John didn't even suspect. He fought to keep the giddy grin off his face and could see Jim failing miserably to do the same over John's shoulder. If the blonde saw either of them smile...it just wouldn't end well for any of them.

"Oh…that…"

"Yes, that."

Truthfully, John's suspicions weren't completely unreasonable. There had been some talk about the destruction of his sweaters, but not for some time. Both Jim and Sherlock had decided that the risks, should they be caught, far outweighed the benefits. Besides, neither of them actually expected that such an attempt would actually stop John wearing those knitted atrocities.

"I can assure you, John, we are not-"

"Don't try to deny it! I know it to be true!"

A silence stretched across the room and John rotated slowly to face Jim, who had managed to get his facial expressions under control. He didn't say anything, but the look that was surely on his face was no less demanding. Jim, having recovered from the shock of John's revelation, had regained his usual demeanor of swagger. He crossed his arms and leaned one hip into the kitchen table. Sherlock narrowed his eyes over John's shoulder in warning.

"Really, sweetheart, you're being ridiculous. I can prove it."

"Can you?"

"Easily. Come along."

And so they trailed after the man like ducklings after their mother, out of the kitchen, down the stairs, and into 221C. Jim moved across the flat to their refrigerator, opening the door to the freezer and reaching inside to fiddle with something on the icebox. John looked decidedly unimpressed.

"How, exactly, is our freezer supposed to be proving your innocence?"

"Patience, John! I'm disappointed; usually you're so good about it."

He twisted something and prodded a few times until there was a beeping sound. Then, grinning broadly he removed his arm as the entire unit began to slide backwards into the wall.

"Jim…what is this?"

"A safe room! Just in case, of course. Usually, I only use it for hoarding presents for your birthday or Christmas or whatnot."

He disappeared into the slot in the wall, leaving a gaping John and a, admittedly, surprised Sherlock.

"You put a safe room in the kitchen and you never told me?"

Jim reappeared in the entrance, an oatmeal-colored bundle in his arms. He grinned at the two stunned men.

"It never came up. Besides, it would totally ruin it as a hiding spot for your gifts if you knew. Speaking of, I was saving this for our anniversary-"

"We only got married two months ago!"

"-but I suppose I could go ahead and give it to you now. Tada~!"

Jim dramatically unfurled the bundle in his arms, revealing a sweater that looked exactly like the one which had been burned on their date all those months ago. John reached out tentatively to take the garment.

"You bought me another sweater?"

Jim grinned.

"You said it was your favorite."

John's grin matched Jim's as they shared a look. One step brought them nose to nose and then John placed a kiss upon Jim's lips, only making that smile grow larger. Sherlock scowled.

"So, I take it you've put that theory of yours to rest?"

John pulled away from Jim to grin sheepishly over his shoulder.

"Yeah…Sorry about that…" His face turned serious. "But you're still going out with us. I suggest Angelo's."

"That Italian place with the fellow who jacks cars?"

"Jacked, past tense. But, yeah." John's eyes slid back to meet Sherlock's, humor within. "What do you think the odds are he gives us a candelabra this time?"

The detective couldn't help but scoff and roll his eyes.

"It would be no more absurd than that quote he gave The London Times."

John chuckled.

"Who knew Angelo came from such a long line of proud polygamists. At least it was better than the article in Continental Inquirer."

Sherlock scoffed.

"Aliens, indeed. No doubt it was the product of that atrocious 'fanfiction' those girls were shouting about at the convention. What drivel."

Jim slung an arm around John's waist and pressed himself up against the blonde's side, a regular act for them.

"Actually, you might be surprised. Some of it's not that bad. Actually, there's this one called, 'The Pawn and the King' that is rather fabulous."

Sherlock leveled him with a deadpan glare.

"You would."

Chapter Text

"John's been taken."

The call came in from Moran to Jim's phone moments before Sherlock's own rang. It was Lestrade. Before Sherlock could even answer, he knew the detective would be bearing the same news. The three men had been out at one of their regular pub nights and had, no doubt, all been together at the time of the abduction. Sherlock held the device to his ear and didn't bother with a greeting.

"Tell me exactly what happened. We're on our way."

Within moments, both geniuses were out the door and Jim was hailing a cab while Sherlock listened to Lestrade's explanation. He vaguely registered Jim giving Moran directions to contact his elite team, the Deadly Dozen, and call them all in. This was top priority.

"We'd just stepped out of the pub and turned the corner to head home. A black van pulled up to the curb and someone threw a flash bomb out, completely disoriented all of us. Some guys jumped out, three I think? They grabbed John and the whole thing was over before we even knew what was going on. God, Sherlock, it was so fast!"

"Tell me you got a better description than 'a black van.'"

Sherlock's voice dripped with acid, but he hardly cared. John had been taken and someone was going to have to pay for it. The least Lestrade could do, since he failed to stop the attack, was notice something useful.

"Yeah, yeah. It was an Express 2500. I think there was a yellow streak down the side, but I can't be sure."

Sherlock 'tch'ed and snapped the phone shut, peering out the windows of the cab as London zipped by. Without a moment's notice, he pointed to the side, across two lanes of traffic.

"Stop here. Now!"

His tone brokered no argument and the cabbie skidded to a halt by the curb, narrowly missing a sedan that honked loudly. Jim stayed in the cab as Sherlock jumped out and approached a man playing a trumpet, rather poorly, at the mouth of an alley. The detective pulled out his wallet, yanked out everything inside, and dropped it in the man's case.

"A black Chevrolet Express Cargo 2500 with a yellow streak along the side was involved in a kidnapping not ten minutes ago. There were at least 4 men involved. I want to know everything. I'm headed to Green's Feet now. You have 30 minutes and I'll double that amount."

The man had snapped the case shut and disappeared before Sherlock even slipped back into the cab. The driver gave him a questioning look but he only glared back.

"Drive, you fool, or the man next to me is likely to strap you into a bomb."

Jim's glare, despite still being on the phone, no doubt backed his threat and they were quickly back in traffic, zipping between vehicles. Sherlock snapped off a text to Mycroft with the description and a request for CCTV footage before settling back in the seat, mind racing. John didn't have a lot of enemies personally, but Sherlock and Jim each had their fair share. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that John was an important part of each of their lives. Likely, this incident was directly connected to the media discovering that John was Jim's husband not two weeks previously.

Lestrade and Moran were waiting for them on the curb as soon as they pulled up. Jim flipped his phone closed and threw a fistful of notes at the cabbie before giving him a glare that sent him peeling away, tires squealing. Moran was already on the phone again, this time contacting the various members of Jim's Deadly Dozen network. Sherlock turned his attention to the Detective Inspector.

"I need to know everything."

Lestrade ran a hand through his hair, clearly distressed.

"I don't know what else there is to say. It was over so fast. I mean, Jesus, Sherlock...This wasn't just some crew that got thrown together. They were professionals; no way they could have gotten away so smoothly if they weren't."

"Clearly. Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow our suspect pool down very much. I have Mycroft looking for the van but the more information we have, the better. Can you remember anything else?"

The older man looked off to the side, staring into the distance in the direction Sherlock deduced the van had gone. His eyes squinted as he looked for answers in the air.

"The van…it wasn't waiting for us." Both Sherlock and Jim perked up at that. "It wasn't on the curb or anything. It came from down the street, but I never heard an engine start. That means they weren't waiting for us, right?"

"It means there was someone else involved, someone in that pub who was watching you. There had to be someone who let them know when you were leaving."

Lestrade nodded sharply.

"I'll get the place locked down. We can interview everyone still inside."

"Don't bother." Jim was frowning deeply. "If they're any good, and as professionals they have to be, whoever they had inside hightailed it as soon as he sent the message. No way he's still here."

"But maybe someone saw something! We have to try!"

Jim was about to deliver a withering retort when Moran ended his call and turned back to them.

"I've contacted the others. The twins are already heading to this location. They'll scrub the scene and the surrounding area. The Duchess is calling her contacts to get a bead on what the chatter says. If anyone has heard anything, she'll find out. D and Francisco are still in Berlin, but they're standing by. Jezebel is also holding her position in south London."

"And the others?"

"Techno is checking the internet and searching the VLA database for records of that van, but there are over 600 in the London area alone. He's doing what he can to narrow it down. There's not much Scales or Graves can do, though. Eyes is deep undercover, it'd take more time than we likely have to pull him out, but he's prepping an exit just in case. Spinner is at the Norfolk safe house awaiting orders with Shaw. They're getting an infiltration team together."

Jim nodded sharply and grit his teeth. Sherlock knew exactly what he was feeling. There had to be something more they could do, but they couldn't move until they had more information. Luckily, like a charm(or possibly the Devil), Mycroft chose that moment to ring Sherlock's mobile.

"What did you find?"

Mycroft tutted at the younger's rudeness, but wisely chose not to comment. Instead, he launched right into his information.

"A van matching your description caught fleeing the area by CCTV, but the video of the actual abduction has been conspicuously removed. All of the cameras within four blocks of the pub are missing their footage, though they appear to be running just fine now."

"So we can't be sure if John is even still in the van…they could have switched cars easily."

"Indeed, but we have tracked the van to its final destination, a warehouse on the south end. It only just arrived before I called you. Anthea is texting you the address as we speak."

"Keep me informed if you find anything else."

Without waiting for a response, Sherlock ended the call. Moments later, his mobile chimed with Anthea's text. He showed the address to the others and Moran was instantly on his own mobile again, relaying the information to Jezebel, who was mere minutes away. The rest of them piled into Moran's SUV, Moran behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition as he tossed his phone aside.

"She's going to see if she can get into the building and get a handle on the situation. If John is in immediate danger, she'll move in. If not, she'll hang back and wait for us to arrive. As soon as we get a confirmation that John is there, I can have Spencer and Shaw's team mobilize."

Jim glared resolutely out the window as the world flashed past. Moran was driving well over the speed limit.

"And if John isn't there?"

"The twins will be at the pub in less than a minute. They'll call in some contacts and do a sweep of the area. We're going to find him."

The last sentence was said rather gently and Sherlock had to grit his teeth from snapping back at him. This wasn't some movie or book where you could know everything would work out okay just because they were the main characters. That's not how life worked.

They were almost five minutes out from their destination when Moran's mobile rang again. Jim snapped the device up and flicked it open and pressed the speaker button. It would be better if they all got Jezebel's information at once.

"Have you found him?"

Sherlock noted the tightness in Jim's voice but chose not to comment. Any rivalry between them would not help the situation and he would not be responsible for anything happening to John. Jezebel's voice was hushed, obviously needing to stay quiet.

"I've got eyes on him as we speak, boss man. There are four men that I've seen so far. I doubt there are more. Do you want me to move in?"

"Is there a threat of immediate danger? Is John hurt?"

There was a brief pause and then they could hear some shuffling at the other end of the line.

"I can't be sure from here…he's too far away. I'm moving closer for a better look…Wait a sec-Woah!"

There was a clattering of the mobile hitting the floor and Moran stepped on the gas even more as the sounds of a struggle started up. A man's cry of pain could be heard and then more shouting. Moments later the call ended as the device was no-doubt crushed. If Sherlock had been on edge before, it was nothing to how he felt now.

The SUV's tired screeched as they slammed to a stop outside of the warehouse. Sherlock was out of the car in an instant, the others following close behind. He dimly heard Moran tell Jim to stay in the car and the genius brush it aside. Good. He wouldn't at all deserve John if he was willing to stand down.

The door to the loading dock was standing open, the inside of the warehouse still blaring light. It took mere moments for Sherlock's gaze to sweep the room and determine that the van was, once again, gone. He curse viciously before heading over to examine the body, half hidden under a toppled pile of boxes.

Blood pooled around his legs, the only part of his that was visible, and was splattered around the area and in a way that suggested a sword. Jezebel's crushed mobile lay only a few feet away. Presumably this man had discovered the young woman's hiding space and attacked. Sherlock would have to see the man's wounds before he'd be able to properly determine whether or not all the blood was his.

Moran and Lestrade were already working on moving the boxes off of the body. A positive ID could lead them straight to the rest of the team. He moved forward to press his shoulder against the final box, a rather heavy one sitting on the man's face. After a moment of pressure it fell to the side with a solid thump.

The man had light brown hair, cropped short on the sides and slicked back in the middle. His nose had been broken by the box, but blue eyes stared up from a face with bone structure Sherlock recognized. The slash from his right hip to his left shoulder had been his likely cause of death. Nails bitten to the quick indicated heightened levels anxiety and Sherlock's brow furrowed.

He quickly had his phone back out, muttering darkly under his breath. It rang twice before it picked up.

"Yes, brother?"

"I'm looking at Alexander Kensington's body."

A pause.

"How unfortunate. I'd had my suspicions that he'd turned double agent."

"And you didn't do anything? I knew you were lazy, Mycroft, but this is a new low."

There was a more than healthy bite to Sherlock's words, but he could hardly be blamed considering the current situation.

"I had suspicions, Sherlock, not proof. I was working on getting it and had assigned him to several less-than-critical cases recently to prevent any security breaches. It takes more than just a vague suspicion to justify what we do to traitors."

"Yes, well now he's dead and John's gone. I suggest you figure out a new system."

"Settle yourself, brother. You will be receiving a list of Kensington's known associates from Anthea any moment. He is likely working with one of them. One of his many shortcomings was not liking to work outside of his comfort zone."

"If John has come to harm because of your oversight, brother…"

"Well then, I would get back to looking for him if I were you, instead of wasting your time threatening me."

Sherlock angrily ended the call and resisted the urge to chuck his mobile across the warehouse. Rage permeated his entire being and his jaw ached from how tightly his teeth were clenched together. He breathed deeply several times before managing to relax the death grip he had on his phone to flip open the list Anthea had sent him. After explaining the newest development to the others, he held out the device to Jim.

"Do you recognize any of these names?"

Jim took it and squinted at the screen, scrolling slowly through the list. He paused two-thirds of the way through the list and handed it back to Sherlock.

"That one, there. Isaac Hankel. He worked with us once, specialized in kidnappings. Moran-"

"Already on it."

Moran had his own mobile pressed to his ear for the umpteenth time that night.

"Marcus, I need you to bring up the records for Isaac Hankel. They should be from about three years back…Yeah, yeah. The one with the dogs….Good, text it to me and get the infiltration team headed that way. We have reason to believe that's where they're headed."

Jim had already turned back to Sherlock.

"Hankel was a control freak, he had multiple locations that he would use during any of his operations, but there was a safe house he'd always go to if anything went south. I have no doubts that he's there, especially since he never knew we found out about it."

Sherlock nodded sharply.

"Let's go."

JWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSHJWJMJWSH

The infiltration team was waiting for them just two blocks away from the house, a one-story building with a well-kept lawn. Spinner's tall, lanky form looked odd next to the group of five muscular men dressed all in black, not to mention the stocky red head that was Marcus Shaw. Spinner had a long sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, ready to provide cover from afar. The rest of the men were dressed to break down doors and get up close and personal.

Marcus handed an iPad to Jim as soon as he was out of the car. A picture of a black Express 2500 with a yellow streak stood at the curb. Lestrade peered over the consulting criminal's shoulder and nodded sharply.

"That's the van."

Moran took the tablet and flicked through the rest of the pictures, presumably of the house and the surrounding area.

"Let's hope John's there, too. And Jezebel." He turned to the team. "Listen up. We have two Priority Blue individuals that are possibly inside, Jezebel, who you all already know, and Dr. John Watson. His picture is here." He flipped the tablet around to display John's picture from his blog. "If either of these individuals are hurt, your heads are gonna roll. They may already be in need of medical attention. If so, you stay with them and call it in."

There were nods all around and they were soon swarming into position. Spinner broke off from the group to climb a nearby roof. Jim, Sherlock, and Lestrade hung towards the back while Moran led the team. The mercenary then threatened them that they could either stay in the back or they weren't coming in. There wasn't time to waste on arguing.

Moran opened the door of the dilapidated structure with a solid placement of his heel to just above the door jam. There was a splintering of wood and they group streamed in, covering each corner of the room before heading down the hall and further into the house. A shout of, "Contact made!" came mere moments later.

Jim and Sherlock quickly pushed themselves down the hall, desperate to quell the tightness in each of their chests. They burst into the living room to see the very man they had been so worried about sitting on the couch, calmly sipping a cup of tea. Jezebel sat beside him, with a cup of her own, and Mycroft sat in the arm chair across the coffee table. The elder Holmes smiled at them blandly.

"Well, you certainly took longer to arrive than I expected. Tea?"

He gestured towards the set still on the coffee table. Sherlock scowled heatedly.

"Mycroft, what is the meaning of this?"

"Quite simple, dear brother. I had a problem that needed fixing and John here was generous enough to agree to assist me."

"Ah. Kensington."

"Exactly. I had a third party contact of mine reach out to him about the job of kidnapping Dr. Watson. The rest of the men on the team were all mine. He was hardly ever in any danger. I simply needed to confirm that he was willing to commit such an act."

Jim nearly growled.

"And you used John to do it."

Now it was the blonde's turn to speak up.

"I knew about the whole thing before hand, so don't go thinking I'm just some unsuspecting victim. I agreed to it. Such a serious security breach in our nation's security is a major problem."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Jim was edging towards his lover, wanting to check him over for any injuries. He really could be a mother hen at times.

"Top secret." John stood to give Jim a quick kiss. "Besides, it's nice to see you and Sherlock working so well together. I knew you would make a great team if you wanted to."

The two geniuses turned to each other.

"Yes, I suppose we do."

Chapter Text

Sherlock and Jim sat across from each other, elbows on knees and chins on their folded hands. Each brunette was silent, staring into the other's eyes intently. An untouched tea set sat on the table between them, just as it had for the past hour. Neither had moved in that entire time. John was out getting groceries.

"This isn't working."

Sherlock sat back in his seat, clearly exasperated. Jim mirrored his movement and raised an eyebrow.

"Clearly not. The best laid plans and all that…"

"Neither of us has been able to get much alone time with John lately. Things just keep getting in the way!"

"Like the convention…and the duck farm after that, and the fake kidnapping…Not to mention that debacle with the Swedish model."

Sherlock shuddered at the memory.

"I think we need to find another solution."

Now both of Jim's eyebrows were up, this time in surprise.

"You want to get rid of the contract?"

"It doesn't seem to be doing us much good as it is."

"I can't say I disagree. What do you suggest?" Jim scoffed. "Group therapy?"

Sherlock frowned, appearing to actually consider it for a moment.

"Wouldn't do any good. I can only think of one person in Europe with enough intelligence to analyze either of us, much less the two of us together."

Jim nodded.

"Mycroft."

Sherlock nodded his head once to the side, curls bouncing.

"I don't feel much like divulging my inner thoughts to him, do you?"

"Fair point, but it isn't like we have a lot of options. Would you like us to move back into 221B? John and I spend all of our time here anyway."

Sherlock shook his head.

"It would be wholly impractical. The flat doesn't have the space for all of us and you would insist upon updating the kitchen."

The detective's distaste for this plan was clear in his tone and on his face. He liked his things the way they were. Jim glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen, stained and 'worn in' as Sherlock would put it, and wrinkled his nose.

"Oh, yes. I would definitely be updating the kitchen."

"So that's not an option."

"Perhaps…we could simply share."

Sherlock blinked and swiveled his head to look at his companion.

"Without a contract?"

"The lack of structure could possibly work in our favor. We would simply need to be conscious and…" his nose wrinkled again, "considerate of each other's needs."

Sherlock mulled the idea over, turning it around in his head.

"It's…not a terrible idea." Truthfully, it was the best suggestion yet. It just didn't feel like doing anything at all.

"We have already proven to work well together. It should not be very difficult to conquer this issue. After everything we have accomplished, this seems something that should hardly warrant so much effort on our part."

"So, working together it is, then."

"I'm glad you two have finally come to that conclusion!"

Both men jumped and swiveled to look at the doorway to the flat. John, in all his sweatered glory and clutching a few Tesco bags, stood in the doorway. His face was lit up in a smile as he moved into the kitchen and dumped the bags on the table.

"Honestly, it took you longer than I expected."

The two geniuses stood and followed him into the other room, eyebrows knitted together. Sherlock was confused, but the pieces were quickly falling into place.

"You knew about the contract the entire time."

John rolled his eyes.

"Of course I knew. You didn't really think you could hide something like that, did you?"

Jim approached slowly, clearly worried about John's reaction.

"So you're not mad?"

John laughed and planted a kiss on the other man's lips, just a quick peck. The display of affection didn't bother Sherlock as much as it used to.

"No. I'm not mad. How could I be? I planned the whole thing."

"What?"

Despite Jim's incredulous question, Sherlock could tell he was figuring it out as well, remembering every tiny detail that had pointed towards John's involvement. He'd made those plans to go to the convention weeks before, but had conveniently not told either of them. He'd been the one to suggest going out together during the media frenzy. So many of the problems they had encountered could be traced back to John. After all, since when did Mycroft ever go to someone else for help when managing his personal affairs? Going to Sherlock was one thing, but John?

It also didn't seem like a coincidence that the idea had come from Jezebel either, John's closest friend within the Deadly Dozen. (With the exception, of course, of Moran. But Moran would not have agreed to be put in the middle of something like this.)

Sherlock grit his teeth in frustration at not having seen this sooner, at having been played so easily. How could he have been so stupid? He wanted to take his anger out on something, anything. As usually, his aim landed on a human being and his tongue, sharpened by experience, lashed out.

"The print in your wedding ring isn't Jim's."

John's eyes widened comically and his mouth fell open in an 'O' of shock. It took him several moments to recover.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's Moran's."

John turned his accusing gaze toward Jim, who now had both hands up defensively.

"We share 38 points of similarity!"

Sherlock decided it was likely the proper time for some helpful input.

"That's out of a possible 150."

Jim waved his hands in an alarmed fashion.

"An experienced tech can make a positive match on as few as 6 matching points!"

John's scowl wasn't letting up in the slightest.

"You told me it was your print."

This promise of trouble in his voice wasn't disguised in the slightest. There was no doubt that Jim heard it, too. Sherlock saw the dangerous gleam in his eye just moments before the other man opened his mouth, when it was too late to stop him.

"Sherlock got his coat from Mycroft, that's why he won't tell anyone where it's from. It was a present when he got out of rehab."

The accusation brought John up short. He blinked at the information, brow furrowing.

"Is that…why you never wear it when he's around?"

Sherlock growled under his breath.

"I am beginning to think the truth is vastly overrated."