"What's wrong with you John?" Sherlock wondered quietly.
"Nothing, I'm just tired. Exhausted, really. And I know today Greg's going to try to convince me once more of your guilt, it's just too much to handle sometimes." John admitted, rubbing his eyes before grabbing Sherlock's coffee cup and taking a sip himself. Sherlock could only grin at him, taking off his sunglasses so as to appear just a bit more human, so that John could notice the telltale sparkle in his eyes.
"Maybe you should go in and take a nap before going to the station." Sherlock suggested.
"No, no I can't. If I break schedule people will wonder what's wrong, and I can't afford that now. Not when I have a secret to keep." John admitted in something of a whisper, rubbing his eyes and groaning.
"And I am that secret?" Sherlock clarified with a grin.
"Yes of course." John agreed, although he didn't look half as enthusiastic as Sherlock might have expected.
"I can't help but suspect you're regretting things." Sherlock presumed, sitting forward on the table so as to keep his voice down to a reasonable level. John sighed heavily, shaking his head but sitting back in his chair, as if it was an automatic reflex when Sherlock came closer.
"I'm not regretting anything. I'm just worried about the consequences of the things I've come to enjoy." John admitted, looking towards Sherlock for just a moment before shaking his head and looking away once more. He seemed almost reluctant to look at Sherlock, as if he thought that people might read too much into his stare, or maybe that very stare would cause him to lose control once more. Either way Sherlock was disappointed when he looked away, and he figured that there was nothing more he could do so as to help John concentrate more on what really mattered.
"Mr. Watson I just wanted you to know, I'm cutting off all my other romantic ties. All the men that used to come to me, drifters really, looking for love in all the wrong places, I'm closing my doors to them. I'm saving myself for you, and only you. I'm making an effort to be loyal." Sherlock announced, staring at John so as to gauge his reaction to such a confession. John blinked, his eyes coming to meet Sherlock's in something of a panic.
"Sherlock I appreciate that, you know I do, but I hope you don't expect me to make the same promises? I already told you I couldn't leave..."
"No, no I ask nothing more of you. I just want you to know that I want to simply our relationship as much as possible, I want you to know that while I know you cannot concentrate all your attention to me, I will concentrate all of my attention on you, and wait anxiously for your return to my home. Every night, Mr. Watson, there will be a place set for you at my table." Sherlock promised. John nodded, gripping the arms of his chair and keeping his eyes far away from where Sherlock's eyes dared to meet him. He looked almost as if he was scared of something, reluctant to accept the sort of commitment Sherlock was willing to offer him simply because he could not say the same. No matter how opened armed Sherlock was going to be about this whole matter John evidently knew that he could not offer the same treatment, a place at his table would prove something of a scandalous affair considering that Mary might notice. He did not have the luxury of offering Sherlock exclusive rights to his heart, simply because his heart was not entirely his own.
"I need to go." John said after a moment's thought, nodding his head and getting to his feet abruptly.
"Mr. Watson, that's a rather rude way to end things!" Sherlock exclaimed, getting to his feet as well so as to try to stop John in his tracks.
"I'm sorry...thank you, Mr. Holmes, for such an offer." John nodded, starting off towards his wife's table almost in an effort to get away from Sherlock as abruptly as possible.
"It wasn't just an offer, Mr. Watson it was an invitation! Tell me you'll accept it?" Sherlock insisted, following him across the sidewalk and making no effort to keep his voice down in the process. John halted right above Mary, who now turned her head in obvious confusion as to what this whole argument might be about, however Sherlock took no notice. It was John's problem if Mary found out, not Sherlock's.
"Mr. Holmes I'll make no promises, and I'll play it by year. If ever I find it necessary to take you up then I will, but until then I will not make any changes to my lifestyle. I accept and appreciate the fact that you have done your best to make yourself more available, but your own charity really is not my duty to accept." John snapped. Sherlock blinked, staring in awe at the man for just a moment and trying to process his words as quickly as possible. Yet with every syllable comprehended his heart stung more, until finally he stood with his mouth agape, staring at the man he thought might accept his sudden show of humanity. Instead John seemed to retaliate from all forms of eternity, he seemed to be terrified of such a thing as commitment, and acted as if his love was simply something that could show up again after weeks, whenever he thought that he himself needed it to be returned. Was he not considering Sherlock's feelings in all of this? Did he really think that Sherlock could accept his being a drifter, appearing and disappearing into his life as if he was a mere craving that would be satisfied on a whim? Was John trying to keep Sherlock waiting, waiting alone at his table set for two, never knowing when the other man would arrive? Would that be the sort of lonely hell John intended for the man?
"Mr. Watson I'm astounded by you. Astounded and disgusted, I do hope this is exhaustion speaking, for I have never heard you speak in such a way before." Sherlock growled.
"You have not been listening, that is all." John insisted. Sherlock wanted to step forward, yet not to strike him, but to kiss him. He knew that the effects of such a thing would be a lot more painful, especially when Mary's head was swiveling so as to concentrate on both men at the same time. Yet Sherlock resisted, he stood tall and glared at John through the darkened lenses of his sunglasses (which he had placed back on his nose when he realized they were getting into something of an argument) and clutched his cane between his fingers menacingly.
"An act of kindness does not deserve this sort of abuse. Yet if you do so insist on being rude, then I shall take my leave." Sherlock decided finally, staring down John with a venomous look, one that he was sure would show itself even through his sunglasses.
"It's best that you do." John agreed with a stiff nod, glaring at Sherlock with a look that was very much unrestricted behind sunglasses. Yet it was accepted, no matter how much it may have hurt, and despite Sherlock's body taking no physical damage, he still walked away wounded. John's words cut like knives, effectively and efficiently, striking at not just his heart, but his soul as well. Through all of his dedication to trying to make himself more acceptable, more dedicated, and more approachable it would seem as though John had decided to make himself anything but. He had decided to be harsher, crueler, and much more alienated from the one man who would offer him the unconditional love he deserved. And maybe John deserved to house a little bit of anger, for Sherlock wasn't exactly making his life easier, yet couldn't John see that his presence was downright mandatory? Didn't he understand that even though his life didn't want to revolve around Sherlock, Sherlock's life couldn't seem to concentrate on anything else? Didn't he understand that while he had his hesitations, Sherlock was still dedicated not just to their present, but to their future as well? 

John POV: John didn't explain to Mary what was wrong; he didn't even attempt such a thing since he was still fuming. Yet the issue was he didn't even know what was wrong, he wasn't sure what Sherlock had done to anger him, and even more so he didn't know if Sherlock even deserved such abuse! Yet he didn't regret it, in fact a little part of him was very much relieved to have said what he did, despite its truthfulness. To be quite honest John was in love with Sherlock Holmes, that much was obvious and very much undeniable. No it was just the way that Sherlock processed this love, it was the way that Sherlock seemed to think John could simply shut his life down! Yes, John understood that Sherlock himself wanted to be faithful; he understood that while they were both falling in love it was only too easy for Sherlock to break off the rest of his life so as to make himself more marketable! Yet he seemed to only be doing it as something of a guilt trip, as if by making himself accessible he was only reminding John that he could never show the same amount of dedication. Well that in itself was selfish, pressuring someone else even though you knew they couldn't always offer you the fullest extent of their attention? Maybe it was right that Sherlock got a piece of John's mind, maybe it was appropriate that he finally realized that no matter how much he loved John the world couldn't just conform itself so as to fit in the palm of his hands. There were lines that couldn't be crossed, lines that had been drawn years before Sherlock had even noticed John's presence in the world, lines that would remain there for years after he forgot all about him. When his coffee was finished John headed over to the station, leaving Mary with a sort of grumpy goodbye as he started off down towards the road where a hansom was nearly always waiting to pick him up. When John arrived at the station Greg was already there, sipping at his coffee in the hallway once more, this time with a great big ball of yarn. On the board now was a new picture, a horribly sketched picture that John was pretty sure was meant to look like Sherlock. It must've been drawn by Greg's own hand, for the features on the man's should be beautiful face were tainted in an almost evil manner, the eyebrows were slanted and the mouth was contorted into a snarky little grin. There were strings of yarn pinned towards Sherlock's face, connecting him with Victor, John Clay , Henry Knight, and Stanley Hopkins. These were undoubtedly the names that Sherlock had listed from the interview, the names he had given of men he had admitted to having contact with. Greg was trying to put together connections, and while it seemed just a bit incriminating that Sherlock had been in contact with at least four of the eight vanished men, it was also not too surprising. Homosexuals around here must be a very narrow category; all of them must've been with each other at least once, if they wanted to upkeep the excitement of new lovers. It wasn't surprising at all that Sherlock had been with the men, especially when he had admitted just this morning that there were different men all the time at his manner, drifters he had called them.
"What are you up to then?" John wondered, looking at the bulletin board without much enthusiasm.
"It's him, it's got to be. This alone is enough to file a warrant..."
"You promised not to use his homosexuality against him." John reminded him.
"And I won't, I can arrest him instead for murder, and see where that gets us. He's got connections with half, it's enough to hold up in court, at least until we get more." Greg admitted, tapping his hand against his leg in obvious excitement.
"It's too early." John defended, shaking his head and shedding his jacket and hat, stepping inside the office just to drop them off before returning once more in the hallway.
"You'll say that until he's literally caught red handed." Greg presumed.
"Right you are. He's innocent Greg; you'll come to see that in the end." John reminded him, leaning against the wall and frowning at the devilish drawing that remained on the board in front of him.
"Yet until you get either substantial evidence to prove that or another suspect at all, I will continue on the path I think fit." Greg decided stubbornly, glaring at the drawing as if trying to stare it down in some way before smiling once more at John. John could only shake his head in return, for despite his anger at Sherlock he could not deny the man's innocence. The only crime he had ever seemed to commit was being too clingy, and while that might be annoying it was by no means against the law. The thing was, Greg simply couldn't see past his own personal bias. John saw Sherlock as the angel he was, while Greg was so caught up in the vampire rumors that he couldn't see straight. No wonder this investigation had taken three years! The day was at least half productive, for while Greg was out on his wild goose chase, trying to track down more people that would be able to attest for Sherlock's connection with the men in question, John instead looked through the files and newspaper clippings for any evidence of other homosexual activity. This police station wasn't a very good place to investigate, because not only was it a complete mess in the filing room, but it also seemed that despite all the clutter that was stored in here, there still didn't seem to be any files! It would seem that in the decades this station had been open they had done nothing but wandered around waving their nightsticks at loiterers instead of doing any actual police work. Now maybe the lack of many case files would prove nothing more than a side effect of living in one of the most boring cities imaginable, however John was sure there were plenty of petty crimes going on every day that the local police simply couldn't begin to approach! No wonder a massive investigation like this needed help from London! As John went through the files he found nothing of real importance, there was only one homosexuality charge, something of a distasteful rape charge that had been filed against a foreigner, nothing to do with the men in question and most certainly nothing that had to do with the investigation. Yet Janine had told him earlier that some of the cases didn't get reprinted, and some charges were hiding amongst the individual files on the selected criminals. As desperate as John was for an actual suspect in this case he knew that he wouldn't get one simply by picking up on one trait and running with it, as Greg was doing now. He was going to go about this seriously; he was going to follow the legitimate trail that the world had laid out for them, a trail that had not yet revealed itself yet. And as biased as John may appear to be, that trial did not lead to Sherlock Holmes! God that man, that crazy man! Trying to open up his life so as to make room for John, yet did he not know this situation was more than that? The problems were not on Sherlock's side, they were on John's! Should John live the way his new counterpart did then they would already be married, that man was as lonely as any one man could be, while John had the weight and responsibility of a wife and a new child. It was he who had to make space for Sherlock, yet he simply couldn't clear space, wasn't that obvious? It was impossible! And if Sherlock wanted to keep dreaming, then let him, he would come to his senses soon enough, and he would realize that despite his hopes and prayers John wasn't going to get any closer while Mary was still there. And Mary wasn't going anywhere. John next arranged the folders of the men he knew to be homosexuals, so as to ask them any questions on who they might be connected to, and if any of their partners had any sort of prone to violence during their time together. The first thought of violence that came to mind was the bite marks all down John's chest, evidence that while Sherlock may be innocent he was still not the angel John made him out to be. What sort of love crazed animal bit the man they were with? It was barbaric to even consider a woman having that sort of audacity, yet maybe it was just another thing that homosexuals did. Maybe John was just not used to being with a man. The wounds stung, too, against the rough fabric in John's shirt. Every time he moved he was painfully reminded of the events that had come to pass the night before, and of course it wasn't like he wanted to forget, it was more that he couldn't be bothered with relieving the past while he had work to do. John tried to concentrate, organizing the files of the men who had check marks before going off to search if Sherlock had a file or not. It seemed unlikely that anything would be stored in there other than his parent's disappearance, for that seemed to be the only hiccup in his life that seemed to be noteworthy.