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Sherlock had barely acknowledged Mycroft since he got back home. What was he supposed to say? He quietly made up the guest bedroom and cleared some space around the house, before swiftly tapping at his brother's bedroom door, glad John was coming because selfishly, he craved the feeling of another person taking care of him in some form.

"Mmh?" Mycroft was laying under his desk when Sherlock came in- the sun was hurting his puffed-up eyes, and he couldn't remember how to do the blackout blinds, so he stayed there. Besides, it was cooler, and safer there. If there had been a freak bombing, he'd have been prepared under the desk. Logic.

For a second, Sherlock lingered in the doorway staring. "A friend of mine is going to be staying with us for a while." He didn't ask if it was okay or if Mycroft minded at all; Sherlick had made most decisions for the both of them for a while.

"Who? Is she hot?" Mycroft, after at least 5 years, had gone back into his taunting big-brother mode.

Vaguely amused by this sudden change in attitude, Sherlock gave a smile and replied, "Judge for yourself. HE should be here soon."

"Changed your tastes?"

"Shut up, Mycroft."

"You love me really." He said it in a careless and light weighted way, but you could tell that he needed some sort of clarification. A chime rung through the house, a melancholy tune, informing the brothers that, indeed, there was someone at the door. "Your boyfriend." Mycroft smirked.

"Shut up." Sherlock hissed more insistently and strode away glaring.

"Never."

Muttering under his breath, Sherlock pulled the door open and stood aside to let John in. "Hello." he smiled.

John beamed at him, wearing a light green anorak, with his monotonous blue jeans. He had two suit cases per hand, with one, fallen over, on the floor. "Hello!"

"Do you need some help?" Sherlock asked, amused.

Watson nodded, biting his lip. "I thought I had less than this." He giggled.

"Apparent." Sherlock remarked as he lifted one of the cases and started walking down the hall. "Your room is this way."

"I'm not used to sleeping alone... I always used to stay with my brother, because of my nightmares." Or, he made up this story so he could sleep in the same room as Sherlock. Either is plausible.

Sherlock looked only mildly surprised. "Hmm. You could stay in my room if you'd like. You'll have to help me pull the mattress in." Frankly, it did not bother the younger man at all. Having John stay was comforting.

John grinned inwardly- actually, he grinned outwards. He beamed inwards.

Sherlock glanced at him with a small smile and led him through to the room he would have been staying in. "Grab that end." Sherlock pointed and took the other end in each hand.

John literally didn't stop smiling for ages- they both carried the mattress into Sherlock's bedroom, collapsing on top of it.

Sherlock lay on his back, wordlessly gazing at the ceiling with a small smile at his lips.

Turning, he couldn't help himself- Watson planted a small kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock froze, stunned. He wasn't accustomed to touch or affection and had no idea to react. He could play Beethoven on the violin, tell you how many cats you had because of the coat you were wearing but social finesse did not belong in his skill set.

John blushed, pulling away. "I'm sorry- I just.. Urges, you know?"

Sherlock didn't reply because he wasn't sure he did know. He sat up and faced John with a curious expression.

"I just wanted to kiss you.. You know about wanting?"

"Wanting what?" Sherlock blinked, blatantly confused.

"You?"

"Oh." Sherlock frowned, processing.

"Please, don't tell me you've never been kissed. Never?" John seemed kind of shocked- he'd kissed a few girls and boys in his life.

Sherlock looked at his feet silently. He'd never had the time to even consider such things.

"Can I?"

He remained quiet for a few seconds, still a little bit in shock. "Yes. You can." he finally replied.

He leaned forward slowly, kissing Sherlock's bottom lip lightly.

Sherlock's lips tingled; he tilted his head and kissed back softly, pulling away with flushed cheeks. Nervously, he cleared his throat, eyes fixing on his shoes.

"How was that?" Watson smiled.

"...Interesting." Sherlock allowed, unsure how else to best sum it up.

John looked hurt. "That's all?"

He shook his head profusely in protest. "No, it was... Nice." Cheeks still pink, he cursed his lack of coherence.

Watson gazed at Sherlock. "You're pretty when you're pink. Actually, you're pretty all the time. Pretty, pretty Sherlock."

He gave him a sideways look and though he did not speak, a smile played at the corners of his lips.

"Can I kiss you again?"

He'd never been a shy person but modesty overcame him suddenly and with a smile he simply replied, "I'd like that."

Watson bit his lip hard, then kissed Sherlock again.

This time instinct overcame and Sherlock snaked an arm around John's waist and tilted his head.

John whimpered lightly. "Mhh." And licked his bottom lip, just as Mycroft walked in.

Sherlock darted away from John's mouth like someone had shot him, eyes wide and hopeless. "I-"

"Gaaaaay. I knew that you had a boyfriend."

"I do not!" he protested, glaring furiously, mostly from chagrin.

John blushed. "You sure you don't want one?"

He beamed and then remembered Mycroft's presence. "Get out!" Sherlock whined at his brother, not caring if he sounded about 5 years old. The months of teasing did not appeal at all.

Mycroft left, immediately, leaving his brother and whoever that was to their own appeal. He was angry- he wanted Sherlock to himself. He ground his teeth. This faggot would ruin everything and steal him away. Meanwhile, John giggled.

Sherlock smiled and crossed his legs on the mattress. "I would." he replied simply.

"Really?!"

Sherlock nodded happily, unable to suppress his smile.

He kissed him again, sliding a leg over Sherlock's thigh.

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's neck, pulling him closer and closing the proximity between them.

John made a happy noise, like a cat. He licked Sherlock's bottom lip again.

Sherlock shuddered; his other hand rested at John's waist.

Watson licked into Sherlock's mouth, holding him close.

Almost nervously, he explored John's mouth with his tongue curiously.

Watson closed his eyes, and groaned quietly, because, wow. Sherlock hadn't kissed anyone before? Bullshit.

Vaguely, he began to wonder if he should take notes because it was certainly his most interesting experiment yet. He smiled a little as they kissed at the noises he ellicited from John.

John pushed himself closer, against Sherlock's hip. "F-fuck.."

He gave another shiver at the touch, his tongue grazing along John's bottom lip.

John grinded lightly. "Sorr-ry...."

"What for?" Sherlock asked innocently against John's mouth.

"Dunno.."

"Oh." Sherlock looked appeased and resumed kissing.

"Where do you want to go from here?" Watson asked quietly, hoarse, after a few more minutes of kissing and licking.

"Elaborate?"

"I don't know. What would you like to do?"

Sherlock looked at him, intrigued and gave a shrug.

"Do you want to do anything?"

"Like?"

"Sex?"

"Oh." Sherlock blushed.

"Oh?"John giggled, grinning at Sherlock.

"Oh." Sherlock smiled, looking down with pink tinted cheeks.

"You're so cute." John kissed both of Sherlock's high cheek bones.

Sherlock crumpled his hands into the front of John's shirt and kissed him.

Watson bit Sherlock's bottom lip- the reaction he got, surprisingly, was quite expected. Sherlock writhed a little, a small noise escaping his lips. Most people reacted that way.

Reluctantly, he pulled away a little with tingling lips and flushed cheeks. "I have to check on Mycroft soon..."

John nodded, and laughed. "Can I meet him officially?"

"Sure." Sherlock smiled and got up, extending his hand to pull John up.

He kept hold of Sherlock's hand, and kissed his chin- ahh, the height difference. He knew that it would come up at some point. John stood on tip toes.

Sherlock kissed the smaller man's forehead in turn, still smiling contentedly.

"Let's go!"

Sherlock led him hand in hand to Mycroft's room and knocked on the door. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft grumbled, half asleep. He'd taken to a new rota- walk around aimlessly, scratch himself, sleep. Repeat. Walk around aimlessly, scratch himself, sleep. Repeat. Depression like a textbook.

Sherlock knocked again, waited and then opened the door anyway. "I never formally introduced you. This is John."

Mycroft ground his teeth. He didn't want to meet The Faggot in the first place- who cared about formally or informally? "Good evening, John. as you can see, I'm going to sleep." He responded coldly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes as a warning, hoping Mycroft would get the message and drop the hostility. "I came to make sure you were alright. Have you eaten?" He didn't sugarcoat it, no need for pretense around John.

"Of course not. When do I ever eat?" Mycroft gritted his teeth- he did not want, nor need this.

"I know. I just thought-" Sherlock faltered.

"Well, you thought wrong." He glared at John, who stared solemnly back.

Sherlock looked between them and sighed pointedly. "Fine. Do shout if you become emaciated, won't you?" Mock sweetness and heavy sarcasm.

A sob escaped his lips when they left- why did Sherlock have to be so horrible to him?

Sherlock took John into the bedroom and sat cross legged on the mattress. "I can only apologize for my brother..!"

"It's quite alright. I have an annoying brother, as well."

"I know." It was his job to know.

"Of course."

Sherlock smiled a little. "Mycroft will warm to you, I'm sure."

"And if he doesn't?" John asked nervously.

He became quiet, uncertain. It was unlikely Mycroft would simply switch his opinion.

"Exactly. I feel that I have maybe blown it." Watson winced. Feeling slightly agitated, he fell back onto the bed, sighing.

"You did nothing wrong. I'll... Reason with him."

"I doubt it would do anything." John had worked with many people with psychological deficiencies- it was nothing new to him. He just wasn't sure if there was something wrong with Mycroft's brain.

Again, Sherlock stayed wordless because more often than not his brother was not able to be reasoned with.

After three months, one week, six days, twenty-three hours and four minutes, John was pretty much settled in. His possessions were stored in the appropriate places, and he had moved into Sherlock's bed. They had not tried anything so far, as Sherlock was nervous- John understood completely. The relationship between John and Mycroft was... Strained. After noticing little scratch wounds appearing on various parts of Mycroft, John believed that Sherlock's theory was correct, that he had fallen into a trap of self destruction. Of course he was correct, he was always correct.