Sherlock had always detested parties. He had for as long as he could remember. Whether it had been a birthday party, family reunion, formal event or casual get together, Sherlock had never enjoyed himself. Lestrade's party was so far proving to be no different, despite John's comforting presence beside him. Even the promise of a rather enthralling case did little to ease Sherlock's ennui. Perhaps it was the atrocious easy listening music that was playing in the background, or the rather unpalatable drinks that Sherlock had had two too many of and which had done nothing to make the evening more bearable as he'd initially hoped.

Though, at the end of the night Sherlock was glad for the excuse to lean against John as they made their way from the cab to their flat. He had only had two drinks, so he was far from being inebriated, but John didn't know what his tolerance level was, and so he allowed Sherlock to commandeer his shoulder as they made their way to his bedroom.

After having been separated from his own bed for so long, Sherlock welcomed it like an old friend. The thought crossed his mind to take his shoes off, and as he began reaching for his feet he felt a dip in the mattress. His heart stuttered when he realized that John was settling beside him in his bed. He eventually managed to sit up properly and made himself comfortable beside John. He hadn't expected this to happen; He hadn't expected to ever be in a bed with John again, but here he was, sitting so close to the man he could feel his body heat radiating off of him. He wracked his mind for something, anything to say to keep John here just a moment longer.

"That was absolutely horrendous," he said, because it had been, and Sherlock could think of nothing else to say.

"Oh come on Sherlock, it wasn't that bad." Sherlock turned to look at John, who appeared to be suppressing a laugh.

"John, you can't be serious." John shrugged and averted his eyes, and Sherlock suddenly regretted speaking. Of course John had enjoyed himself. He was a social being. He liked people, and people certainly liked him.

Sherlock could feel his stomach clench when he remembered the way John's arm had looked slung casually across the shoulders of a Mr. Oliver Wood. The way his face had lit up with a smile any time the two of them made eye contact from across the room.

Sherlock finally caught himself and nearly rolled his eyes when he realized he was actually jealous of John's old university friend. Jealousy was an unfamiliar feeling to Sherlock, and a rather unwelcome one as well. Then again, that could be said about nearly all human emotions. They were tedious and aggravating, and Sherlock hated them all. It was why he'd suppressed them for so many years, but then John Watson had shown up and turned his entire world upside down.

"You do understand that you didn't have to go." It took Sherlock a moment to realize John had spoken, he'd been so lost in his thoughts.

"Yes I did."

"Oh?" Sherlock chanced a glance at John out of the corner of his eye and nodded his head.

"If I hadn't gone you wouldn't have, am I right?" Sherlock knew the answer to his question before he'd even asked it, but he asked it anyway.

"Well..." John said slowly, obviously not wanting to admit that Sherlock was correct, "Why does it matter that I went?" Sherlock had been asking himself that same question since they entered Lestrade's flat, but each time the question crossed his mind he looked at John and the answer became crystal clear. He wanted John to enjoy himself. It had been so long since he had, and Sherlock knew he was the cause of it. If it hadn't been for his imprudent decision to text while driving John would be living life to the fullest, not sitting at home every day playing board games with his flat mate. What kind of life is that? Though, Sherlock had to admit as much as he loved the adrenaline rush that came with a riveting case, he enjoyed lazy days in with John almost as much.

Sherlock suddenly decided he needed to distance himself from John. His mind was tearing itself apart with guilt. John continued to speak to him while he changed and though he heard himself answering back, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure of what he said until John mentioned his broken leg and something in Sherlock snapped.

He'd been living with the guilt of hurting John ever since the accident, and in addition to the soul-crushing guilt, his nightmares had been getting increasingly worse. He'd seen John strapped to explosives, thrown off of buildings, and pushed in front of speeding trains. The only solace he'd had was waking up and knowing that it had only been a dream, and that John was perfectly unharmed. Now, he'd seen John harmed in real life, and it had been his fault which made it that much worse.

Words began spilling from Sherlock's lips so fast he could barely keep up with himself. He barely registered himself mentioning his nightmares, but he didn't realize until he'd slid underneath the covers that he'd basically outed himself.

Much to Sherlock's surprise, John got beneath the covers as well, and turned on his side to face him. Sherlock continued to lie on his back, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling and anything but John.

"In each dream... something happens to you, and there's nothing I can do to stop it." Sherlock figured he might as well tell John everything now. There was no point in trying to retract what he'd said. John was too smart for that. "And... and I always end up losing you." Sherlock's voice broke at the end of his sentence, and he rolled his eyes, annoyed at his own mauldliness. He tried to calm himself, to no avail. "It's awful John. Just terrible."

Suddenly there was a warm pressure on Sherlock's hand. He turned his head to the side and stared at John, trying too hard to keep his facial expression impassive. John smiled at him, and Sherlock felt as if a small weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

"It's okay though. I'm fine, and I'm right here. Nothing's going to change that." Sherlock continued to stare at John while he processed what he'd just heard. John had promised to stay. That much was clear. But what did he mean by that? Surely John would tire of Sherlock and his idiosyncratic ways eventually, but for now his promise was enough to bring Sherlock closer to contentment than he had been in a while. Now, if only Sherlock could get John to love him. Then perhaps he'd actually get there.

Sherlock reluctantly pulled a hand from underneath John's to turn out the light, and when they were engulfed in darkness he returned his hand to his middle, gently patting John's. Sure, he had made no real progress with this situation with his love for John, but for now all that mattered was the fact that he was here and promised to stay, and that was good enough for Sherlock.

___________________________________________________________

John's eyes cautiously meet Sherlock's from across the table. They are incredibly blue and wide, and full of disbelief and suppressed excitement.

"Sherlock..." he says slowly, eyes drifting back down to the box Sherlock is holding in his hand. "Is this what I think it is?" Sherlock feels himself shrugging.

"That depends on what you think it is." Even in his slightly frazzled state, John manages a chuckle, and Sherlock feels his heart skip a beat.

"Well, I'm thinking that's a ring, in a ring box, which my boyfriend is holding out in front of me." Sherlock rolls his eyes, but smiles affectionately at the man across from him.

"Your observation skills are improving John," he says, nothing but fondness present in his tone of voice. He clears his throat, forcing himself to look at John, who is staring at the ring with the largest smile Sherlock has ever seen grace his features. As much as he loves the sight of his John so happy, he realizes he hasn't received an answer yet. He clears his throat again, and John meets his eyes. "So, will you?" John bites his bottom lip, and for a moment Sherlock feels his stomach drop.

"Sherlock, do you remember when I told you, that night after the party at Lestrade's, that I'd always be here, and nothing would change that?"

"Of course," Sherlock says, suddenly feeling worried that this evening would not go as originally planned. He decides to bring humour into the conversation, to ease his discomfort. "This is simply me making sure you hold up on that promise." John's eyes are now shining, and the impossibly-wide smile has grown. He holds his hand out over the table, and nods his head.

"Of course I will, you git. Now put that ring on my finger."

___________________________________________________________

Sherlock awoke with a smile on his face, which only grew when he looked down at John's head resting on his chest. He was still asleep, so Sherlock was allowed a few moments of bliss, in which he took the time to reflect on his wonderful dream.

Then Sherlock realized: he hadn't had an nightmare.

For the first time in far too long, Sherlock slept through the night, and he knew exactly why. Later that morning, as soon as his foot landed on the pavement outside their flat, Sherlock's phone was pressed against his ear, biting his lip nervously as he listened to the monotonous ringing on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"I need to talk to you."

"What happened?"

"We slept together-" There was a loud 'whoop' on the other end of the line, and Sherlock held the phone away from his ear to prevent any aural damage. "Not like that. It was just sleeping." Lucy made a disappointed noise.

"Well, it's a start."

"Is it really?" There was a long stretch of silence before Lucy spoke.

"Meet you at the usual place? Half an hour?"

"I've got some experiments to run. Should be two, three hours tops." He hung up before Lucy had a chance to respond and hailed a cab, giving the cabbie the address for St. Bart's. He managed to test and disprove three of his theories before the time came for him to meet Lucy at their 'usual place', which was just a local coffee shop down the street from St. Bart's. They'd only been there on three occasions, all to discuss Sherlock's situation with John.

Lucy was waiting for him at their usual table, two coffee cups sitting in front of her. Sherlock claimed one of them and sat down, not bothering to offer her a smile. They were past the point of pleasantries now. Lucy didn't seem at all put-off and was more than willing to get to the task at hand.

"So, you slept with him, but you didn't sleep with him."

"Correct." They both took sips of their coffee and a moment of silence passed between them. Lucy stared down at the table and Sherlock stared at Lucy staring at the table.

She had recently gotten a haircut, it was barely grazing her shoulders now. She was wearing less subtle makeup and a new perfume. She was no longer sitting with her shoulders hunched, but rather upright and almost confident. Sherlock predicted that her grieving for Matthew was almost over, and she was starting to warm up to the idea of putting herself on the market. He decided not to comment on what he'd deduced and instead asked her for advice.

Seeing as how Sherlock was rather inexperienced in the relationship area, and Lucy had had her fair share of romantic escapades. So, as much as it pained him to do so, Sherlock was actually willing to enlist her help.

"What do you think I should do?" As soon as Sherlock heard Lucy's answer he regretted ever making that first phone call to her after a particularly horrifying nightmare involving John and a pack of wolves, begging her to help him please because he never wanted to feel that way again. He didn't even have to tell her to try again; The look on his face had obviously been enough.

"Make yourself more accessible to him," she said.

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on," Lucy said, chuckling quietly, "Surely the great Sherlock Holmes knows what the word accessible means."

"Of course I know what it means."

"Just, make him see how great a guy you can be. Let him see that you can be caring, gentle, amicable, someone he would like to be around for the rest of his life. That is what you want, right? John, for the rest of your life?"

"And even after that if possible." A wide smile broke out on Lucy's face and her eyes glistened.

"God, Sherlock. John's a lucky man." She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. "If only he could see this side of you, the side that genuinely cares for and so deeply loves him, I know he'd be yours in an instant." Sherlock looked down at his coffee cup, frowning. He hated the way Lucy talked about his affections for John. It made him seem weak, like some male lead in a romantic comedy unable to sort out his own love life. Then again, Sherlock supposed he could understand how some parallels might be drawn.

Their meeting didn't last much longer after that. Sherlock spent some time walking through a nearby park, simply because he wasn't quite ready to face John yet. His thoughts were still jumbled and he was afraid of what he might do or say should he see John and that warm, smiling face of his.

He sat on a bench and simply watched passersby, not even bothering to deduce their life stories. He had other, more important things to think about, like how on Earth he was supposed to make himself accessible to John, and make him fall in love with him.