Before Sherlock new it, the morning came, and he zoned back into reality. John was in the kitchen making a cup of tea. Sherlock sat up so he had room to sit. John handed Sherlock a cup of tea, and sat down, propping his foot up. John was thinking, and he just had a realization.

"I just remembered! Sherlock. You never guessed who I liked!" John exclaimed happily. He laughed to himself. Sherlock just rolled his eyes. He couldn't figure it out, so he was hoping John would forget about it.

"As soon as my leg is all healed and I can walk correctly, then you'll have to show me all your hiding places." John told him. Sherlock nodded.

"If I must." He sighed.

Sherlock wasn't going to leave the flat until John got better, he made sat down, and decided to watch something from the telly for the first time in years.

He skipped around through channels, and looked through news channels. They were all boring. Sherlock stopped on one channel that was showing the Pirates of the Caribbean. He raised an eyebrow.

"People actually enjoy this nonsense?" Sherlock commented. John nodded.

"I quite like the series myself. Very entertaining." John told him. Sherlock decided to turn the tv off, and went to play some music. It was mostly songs he created, or different songs that he added his own flare to. Nothing super special to him. John enjoyed these moments. He liked watching Sherlock play the violin. Although his facial expression was emotionless, his eyes almost sparkled when he played. John could tell that he enjoyed playing the violin. John could occasionally hear him humming to the song, but he didn't sing that day. Sherlock was playing an extended version of a particular song, and John closed his eyes, and got lost in the music. At one point, he got so lost, that he accidentally feel asleep. The damned medication made him so drowsy all the time. Sherlock stopped playing when he saw the John's breathing had slowed. He placed the violin down, and sat down on the couch, John's feet close to his thigh.

John looked very peaceful. He was slumped down, with his back and knee supposed with a pillow. Sherlock smiled slightly watching John. He felt the same way he did in his mind palace the night before.

'Should I?' Sherlock thought to himself. He mentally nodded to himself. Sherlock carefully leaned over, and laid his light body on John's lower half. His face was resting on John's chest, away from the diaphragm, and the rest of his body was lying in between John's leg. He made sure not to lean on John's bad leg, so he wouldn't wake up in pain. Sherlock rested on arms also on John's chest, and leg his other hand off the couch. It was as comfy position since the couch was a bit wider from the back to the front. Sherlock sighed, and closed his eyes. He drifted off.

Mrs. Hudson walked into their flat to check on them, and found the two sleeping. He was about to say something, but decided against it. He took a throw blanket, and laid it over them, then left.

'I knew it.' She thought.

Sherlock...

John...

Sherlock!...

John!...

WAKE UP!

Sherlock and John both jumped back into reality and opened their eyes. Apparently the one shouting was Mycroft, who was sitting in John's chair, sipping on a cup of tea. John felt the weight on himself, and looked down. It took a moment for John to register their position, and he turned bright red. Sherlock decided to play it smoothly. He ignored John, laid his head on John's chest again, and spoke to Mycroft.

"Why are you here, Mycroft?" He asked dully. John didn't want to move, but he did. His body made the decision to freeze and pretend not to exist.

"Obviously I'm here to get you and John. Edgar Newman's killer is still out there, and the family is paying you and I a boat load of money for you to seek justice. So when I heard that you two weren't going out for the rest of the week, I had to come to drag you out of your honeymoon." Mycroft told him.

"You are such a bore. John cannot walk around because he was shot. He already got an infection yesterday from going to Newman's body. He's not leaving the flat until the end of the week." Sherlock said.

"Then come with me." Mycroft said. He rolled his eyes at the obvious fix.

"Mycroft. You know that if John cannot go out, and I'm not going out, then that means we are both not going out. Both out of situation and choice. I chose to stay here until John can walk around so we can go on hunts together. It would be boring without him if I went alone." Sherlock told him. John looked down at Sherlock, who sounded much softer.

"Since when can you not go on hunts alone. You've been doing that for years. And now you can't all of a sudden." Mycroft reasoned.

Sherlock sighed. "The reason why I turned to drugs was because I was bored. Going to scenes was less boring, but drugs made everything more eventful. Now that John is here. I have a much less reason to take drugs. So going back to a scene after such awhile would make the experience all the more boring. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Would you be willingly to leave with John if he was in a wheelchair?" Mycroft asked. Sherlock shook his head a little.

"Leg needs elevation." He said.

"Then how about a facetime over the phone. You can speak with him while you run around." Mycroft tried to reason. Sherlock denied.

"It's not the same if he's not physically there." Sherlock said. John almost believed he was becoming invisible. But at the moment, he was glad no attention was being spent on the position the two were in. Sherlock had not moved from his spot since he woke up.

"Sherlock. I am paying for your flat, so if I've got a high paying job, you must do it." Mycroft ordered.

"I cannot hear you. I am going into my mind palace." Sherlock said, shutting him up. He scooted down to place his face on John's stomach, and he zoned out with his eyes closed. They could tell he was in his mind palace since his breathing was still regular and not slowed. Once Sherlock is in his mind palace, he can turn his hearing off, and practically be dead to the world.

"What a pain." Mycroft said. He turned to John.

"So what's all this. Have my predictions come true or is it complicated?" He asked. John shook his head.

"No no no. When I went to bed, Sherlock was playing the violin. We didn't not sleep in this position. I just woke up with him on me. Believe me it's just as much of a shocker to me as it is to you." John hurried to defend himself.

"I'm not shocked. I knew it would've happened soon. You are the only person I've seen that can make Sherlock genuinely laugh. And he's clean. That's even more surprising. It seems he has gone clean for you. I believe he's taken a liking to you." Mycroft said. John was a bit surprised. He knew it would happen? John looked at the stubborn Sherlock, and smiled a little.

Mycroft watched that. "Is the feeling mutual?" Mycroft asked. John panicked.

"Um. Well. You see..." John started. He was looking around for an explanation, but couldn't think of one that could fool Mycroft.

John gave up, leaned his head back, and covered his face with his hands.

"It's mutual." He admitted. "Although I doubt he actually likes me. Probably thinks of me only as a good friend." John said.

"A friend that deliberately falls asleep, cuddled onto you. One that went cold turkey, and won't leave the house until you feel better. A friend that rushed you to the hospital because even though he knew you would be fine, he was still worried. Sherlock knew that the bleeding would be bad, but not bad enough that you'd die. But he was still worried for you as a person. I can say the feelings are very mutual, just Sherlock needs to realize it." Mycroft concluded for John. He placed the empty cup of tea on the coffee table, and joined his body guards downstairs.

John sighed a little. He was becoming hungry, and wanted to get some early dinner. He poked Sherlock on the head repeatedly. When he didn't wake, John shook him.

"Is he gone?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes he's gone. Now get up please." John asked. Sherlock sat up, and stretched a little.

'He's such a child. Running to his mind palace to escape his brother.' John thought to himself.

"Hand me the phone, will you? I'll order some food." John asked. Sherlock got up to give him the phone, and then he sat at the desk to browse through the laptop.

John ordered the two their usual meals from the Chinese place again, and Sherlock fetched the food when it arrived. Once again, Sherlock ate rice with chopsticks in his chair, while John ate on a tray with a fork.

"So Sherlock. Do you have any clue now about who I fancy?" John asked again. Sherlock shook his head.

"Can I have a guess?" Sherlock asked. John smiled. He looked down at his food and casually replied.

"Alright. Here's your hint. It's you."