"It's you, isn't it?" were John's first words, breathed out so softly against Sherlock's skin, his eyes still yet to open as the sunlight began to bathe over them both through the linen that hung from the windows.
"That depends on who you expect me to be." Sherlock murmured, staying very still yet leaning ever so slightly back into John's touch. John just hummed, presumably having opened his eyes to confirm his suspicions, before pulling his arm out from under Sherlock's chest, most likely numb and drained of blood from that pressure for so long.
"It is." John assured quietly. Sherlock nodded, letting John hold him for a while, their breathing matched, one of John's hands dangling ever so gently over Sherlock's shoulder so he could pluck at the curls that were hanging gently around his forehead. They were quiet for a moment, it was a beautiful moment, while Merlin simply chirped and sang on the window frame, as all birds did when morning arrived.
"I'm not even sure if last night was real or not." Sherlock admitted finally, letting John's hand trail about his face before finally grabbing at his hand and holding it carefully.
"I'm quite sure it was." John assured quietly.
"Yes, yes." Sherlock agreed, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to or why he was agreeing to anything.
"You don't regret it, do you?" John clarified in the sleepiest of voices, kissing Sherlock's shoulder as it was the only part of him that he could reach without moving.
"Of course not, no that was...well it was everything I expected and then everything more." Sherlock admitted in a breath.
"Yes, and me as well. I never imagined my first kiss might be with a boy." John murmured, however he didn't sound the least bit regretful.
"Was that really your first kiss?" Sherlock wondered with a laugh, pretending like that was something to be ashamed of when in reality it was his situation as well. Except the different was he had never expected to have a first kiss anyway, much less share it with another boy. He had always thought that he was somehow to practical for love, and yet oh how wrong he had been.
"Well yes, of course. I don't date much; in fact I've never dated anyone, at least on my own consent. My parents have tried to set me up with other rich girls in town, none of which I took a liking to." John admitted remorsefully. Sherlock hummed in agreement, mildly amused with John's story as he had ended up with someone so drastically different than a rich girl. John ended up with a poor boy, someone he had literally found on the street, and yet somehow he had managed to fall in love. Oh how ironic love can be, almost as if Cupid was attempting to play jokes on people.
"Well the boy at the pub said that you've never been with anyone, I had always just assumed you've kissed someone. You certainly seemed like a um, a professional." Sherlock admitted with a little chuckle. John, however, seemed to get a little bit tense.
"What boy?" he asked nervously, the air of conversation changing drastically.
"Oh well there was someone who came up to me, when you were in the bathroom or so he said. He wasn't there to do any harm, he was just..."
"Was it Greg?" John asked immediately, interrupting Sherlock's sentence entirely.
"Well, being as though I don't know who Greg is, I can't really clarify." Sherlock snapped, rather irritated that John thought his on questions were more important than the end of his sentence.
"He's um, well he's my friend. He was at the pub with me last night." John muttered.
"Ya, ya it was him. Because he left as soon as you came back." Sherlock agreed thoughtfully.
"What did he say to you? I didn't think he even knew you." John wondered, sounding all the more concerned, as if this Greg character was becoming more of a problem than Sherlock realized. Maybe it was just that he was concerned about Greg finding out about their being together? Maybe he was ashamed?
"Oh he um, well it was all rather odd. He said that he noticed you looking at me, and that since you didn't go over to me it meant something. And then he um, well he gave me money." Sherlock admitted carefully, still completely unsure as to what the money was for.
"He paid you? For what, what did he ask you to do?" John asked desperately, sitting up so that he could try to get a better look at Sherlock's face as he spoke, almost as if his facial expressions were crucial to the answer that was being provided.
"What are you getting so worked up about? I took the money; I just don't know what it was for. He said to um, to show you a good...oh my goodness." Sherlock muttered, rolling over so as to see John's face as he realized what was going on here. Suddenly John looked completely concerned, and he even drew back his hand from Sherlock's, almost as if he was afraid to touch him any longer.
"Sherlock were you only with me because he paid you?" John murmured, to which Sherlock shook his head quickly, readjusting himself so that he could sit up at John's level, shaking his head again as he kissed him once more. However John drew away, not seeming convinced with Sherlock's denial.
"My God, you're a prostitute!" John hissed, looking completely disgusted, as if wondering what he was doing with someone like Sherlock in his bed, having fallen in love with someone who loved only money. And yet he was wrong, he was wrong!
"No of course not, John I swear, I only just realized why, John I promise you, you can have the money I don't need it. My God why didn't I realize it before?" Sherlock muttered angrily. Maybe he had just been clouded by the beer, by the atmosphere, and yet now sitting up in this bed, in complete clarity and realization flashing upon John's face, well it was obvious wasn't it?
"I swear on it John, I swear on my life, I loved you far before the money was given, and it didn't influence what happened last night at all. I'll give it back; I'll throw it from the window, so long as this isn't the last time." Sherlock begged, sitting up so as to cradle John's face in his hands and kiss him once more, softly, with tears brimming in his eyes. John seemed to believe him this time, for he held Sherlock's hands to his head and kissed him back, kissed him lovingly, until they were once more lying across the pillows, kissing each other softly as the sun continued to rise. It wasn't going to go anywhere either way, for morning brought responsibilities since it was Thursday and with Thursday came their weekly struggles. However their kissing might have lasted longer, despite the day of the week, should there not have been a knock at the door.
"Mr. Watson sir, breakfast is being served!" called a polite female voice at the door, as if she was too worried to wake him up. John sighed heavily, falling away from Sherlock at last and landing with a sigh onto the mound of pillows that had been pushed to the side over the course of the night.
"Yes Molly, I'll be down in a moment." he agreed with a sigh.
"Shall I come in and open the windows for you sir? It's getting quite warm already." She called in.
"Oh no, no that's um...no that's not necessary." John insisted desperately, all while Sherlock giggled as quietly as he could manage. Wouldn't that be something, for her to decide that she wanted to open the windows, only to walk in on the young master of the house rolled up in nothing but a sheet with a street peasant. That would make for a good surprise, yet the aftermath most likely won't be pretty.
"Well alright then, they're waiting on you in the dining room." she agreed, and Sherlock thought he could even hear her curtsey before her footsteps started downstairs.
"She sounds sweet." Sherlock decided with a grin.
"And she is, of course she is. And yet even of the sweetest of people might think our present state is a little bit...odd." John admitted, giggling a little bit and leaning over to look at the clock that hung ticking on the wall. "Nearly eight."
"Eight o'clock? Seriously? Oh my goodness my brother...he'll be worried sick!" Sherlock exclaimed horrifically, jumping out of bed in something of a fit as he scrambled about to get dressed and ready for his work day.
"Shush, keep your voice down!" John insisted, and Sherlock froze only to press his finger to his lips in agreement before going on buttoning up his shirt. John just lay back and watch as Sherlock tidied himself up, patting down his hair and pulling on his jacket and trench coat from where they lay scattered about on the carpet.
"I'll see you again, today?" Sherlock wondered hopefully as he grabbed at his shoes that were lying under the bed, somehow they managed to get kicked down there in their um, well their struggle. John hummed with something of a smile on his face, shrugging as if that answer was really up in the air for now.
"Oh I don't know, it depends really if I get out of classes, or if I want to see you at all." John said with a laugh. Sherlock just frowned at him, however he wasn't stupid enough to believe that John wouldn't want to see him.
"So that's a yes then?" Sherlock wondered.
"I'll be there at lunch time, so long as I can find your tent." John agreed.
"So long as Mycroft is even there! He might still be at the house, worrying about me." Sherlock said with a chuckle.
"You won't tell him, will you?" John wondered nervously, shivering as he pulled some more of the blankets over himself. He seemed to be getting a bit more modest now that Sherlock was fully dressed, as if he was somehow wrong by staying in bed for a bit longer, unclothed for the most part and shivering.
"No I won't tell him; of course not I don't have a death wish." Sherlock assured with a laugh. John nodded in satisfaction, as if he was hoping that would be the answer on Sherlock's lips.
"Good, that's good. Just so that you didn't go blabbing about that you spent the night with me, you know how that might soil my reputation." John pointed out.
"What reputation?" Sherlock wondered with a giggle, finally jumping to his feet, his shoes fully laced, and starting for the bed so as to give John one final kiss goodbye.
"How do you plan on getting out?" John wondered nervously, as if suddenly realizing that the downstairs was most likely filled with his family and their servants.
"Oh you know me, always a few tricks up my sleeve." Sherlock said with a smile.
"Always." John agreed. He sat up so as to press a final kiss to Sherlock's lips, mumbling how he would see him soon, before Sherlock finally made to the door, bidding John a good day before slipping out into the hallway, one which he had only glanced at before. It was only too easy slipping past the people in the entrance hall, for there were indeed plenty of them mingling about and doing whatever it was they did at eight o'clock in such a house. He made a little explosion on the other side of the house, so that everyone would suddenly look away, and with that he dashed down the stairs and out the door, long before anyone could discover that there was no apparent cause of such a sound. It was effortless, really, and yet that was the least of Sherlock's worries. His stomach growled insistently as he passed by the market stands of fresh baked bread and whatnot, all of the colorful fruits looking so tempting, however he had limited money (the rest of the ten pounds Mycroft had given him, and Greg's money that was still not officially his), and so he passed by. Merlin followed behind, stopping occasionally to peck at some seeds in the road, or at some breadcrumbs that had been dropped by careless passerby. Sherlock wasn't on his way to the house, instead he wanted to go to the shoemaker's, a place he had only been once before, in hopes that Mycroft would be there instead of moping around waiting for him to come home. The market wasn't as full as it usually was, most likely because he was walking about the whole thing instead of seeing the constant flow of people as they walked in and out. It was just relative at this point. And so Sherlock walked quietly through the throngs of people, going unnoticed and unseen, until he finally arrived at the shoemaker's little shop on the corner. It was a dingy little place, with grand old windows that were grimy no matter how many times you washed them (Mycroft made sure to complain about that) and it had just a little sticker, Moran's Shoemakers. Sherlock walked in cautiously, a little bell tinkling above his head as the strong whiff of leather hit him full in the face. He winced, looking about the shop so as to find Mycroft. Instead of Mycroft he found multitudes of shoes all lined up the counter, shoes that had been repaired, shoes that evidently needed repairs, and shoes that were only half made, the leather pulled tightly around some sort of wooden peg so as to form them into something that looked vaguely like a shoe while the stitching was done up. It was dark inside, lit only by a couple of oil lamps hanging above, and yet it seemed like much too drab of a place for the evident business Mr. Moran was having. Maybe he just wasn't spending his money as he should. The man himself was sitting behind the desk with a thick pair of glasses on, ever so carefully sewing up a pair of tan leather shoes, rather ghastly looking in this lighting, and looking very focused on his work. The bel had rung when Sherlock ahd entered, and yet it didn't seem as though Mr. Moran had noticed his coming in. He didn't want to scare him, of course, for he was known as Mycroft's brother and the last thing he needed was to make a bad impression. And so Sherlock walked up to the counter, trying to make his footsteps rather loud, while Mr. Moran just continued to do his sewing. Sherlock cleared his throat once or twice, however finally the idea of being ignored was simply too much, and he decided that he had to make himself known no matter how rude it may be. 

"Um, excuse me? Mr. Moran?" Sherlock said timidly, making the man jump and nearly stick himself with the needle as his little stool tilted threateningly. He was an aging man and yet by no means was he feeble, in fact the shoemaker looked in the prime of health despite his easily being somewhere in his fifties or sixties. He had greying hair and something of a mustache attempting to grow underneath his dry lips, and the glasses he was wearing made his eyes look much bigger than they probably were.
"Yes, yes?" he growled, making Sherlock feel the need to take another step back.
"Hello, sorry to interrupt, I was just wondering if Mycroft was in?" Sherlock said politely, trying to smile and look somewhat pleasant. The good thing was that he was dressed in his finest attire, the bad news is that said attire was probably misbuttoned and his hair was probably still in something of a knot on his head. He looked sleep deprived, that was for sure.
"Oh yes, you're the um...the brother." Mr. Moran agreed.
"Yes, I'm Sherlock." Sherlock agreed with a smile. Before Mr. Moran could open his mouth to say anything, however, the door to the back opened up and Mycroft stood before them, evidently having heard their conversation from afar. With barely any warning Mycroft rushed up to where Sherlock stood and wrapped him in a very sort of forceful hug, as if he had been so worried that he just felt the need to hug his baby brother upon his safe return. Sherlock saw that he had no choice but to hug back, and yet it wasn't the worst punishment in the world.
"You idiot, I thought you had died! Where were you?" Mycroft insisted, finally pulling away and regaining the 'I'm still angry at you' look he got when he took on the role of mother.
"I was...well I'll tell you later." Sherlock murmured, looking on towards Mr. Moran who was not looking very pleased with this family reunion.
"My apologies Mr. Moran, but my brother hadn't made it home last night, I was worried about him." Mycroft admitted in a breath, bowing his head sorrowfully before taking a last look at Sherlock, scowling once more.
"Your tent and tin are sitting outside on the sidewalk, I thought you'd come here first. I'm still angry, Sherlock, but I'm glad to see you safe." Mycroft murmured.
"Yes, well I'm fine, that's what counts right." Sherlock said with a little smile, as if hoping he could make Mycroft forget his anger in his relief at seeing him safe.

"That's what counts." Mycroft agreed reluctantly. Sherlock nodded with a smile, nodding to Mycroft in farewell and starting out the door. On his way out he heard Mr. Moran mumble something along the lines of 'probably out with a girl', and before he closed the door he had the opportunity of hearing his brother laugh. Because it was ridiculous, of course...well at least the part about the girl. 

  Because of his terrible time management skills Sherlock and Merlin got stuck pitching the tent on the end of the market street, where basically no one ventures,however it was the last available space and he had to at least make do. Once more Sherlock was stuck next to multitudes of beggars, all of which were looking at him very curiously, as if wondering what a man dressed so nicely (as if) was doing down here with a tent. Sherlock, however, just pitched his tent and sat before it, for no one was going to go down here and surely no crowd would be attracted to such a hostile little alley. Sherlock decided that he'd walk up and down the streets eventually, however for now he was quite tired, as he had been running around trying to get dressed and find Mycroft, and with very little food that was increasingly difficult. Last night's dinner seemed ages away, and his stomach kept growling miserably, as if wondering why he had skipped breakfast when he had barely eaten anything yesterday either. Well what was Sherlock to do but ignore it, and try to think of better things? He was also wondering about hangovers, and while he was sure he wasn't the least bit drunk the night before he still felt as though he had something of a headache,maybe it was from the alcohol? Or maybe it was just because he had slept like...an hour. Okay more like two hours, five at most, and yet seven realistically. He hadn't gone out late, and they hadn't stayed up too horribly late at least he didn't think, and they had slept in late which was always a good additive of hours. So he really shouldn't be feeling this crappy, and yet here he was, sitting miserably in the dirt, and waiting on John to come collect him for lunchtime. Sherlock was still trying to process what had happened last night, oh it had all been a whirlwind, the memories were fading slowly and yet he could just grasp them, he could just remember. He had never felt quite so in love as he had felt that night, and never quite so helpless either. Sherlock suspected that those feelings really went hand in hand, for with love there came a lot of risks, a lot of vulnerabilities. You needed to trust your partner, that was for sure, however there was also a beauty in being so...exposed. Not necessarily nudity wise, just emotionally, pouring out your heart to someone who you're not even sure will accept it, or even understand.It was a crazy concept, it really was, and yet the rewards were just, they were astounding. For once in his life Sherlock didn't feel all together alone. He didn't feel helpless, he didn't feel lost. No matter what his financial situation was, no matter what he did and didn't do, well he had John now, John every step of the way. And it wasn't like he was going to be here all the time;it was just the mere thought of him, the self-esteem boost that Sherlock could use to hold his head high. He had a part of John Watson, and he always will, he had his innocence, and he had his heart so long as John didn't try to claim it back. But he wouldn't do that, would he? They were meant to be together,weren't they? It was love, oh it had to be love, there was no other explanation. Sherlock had been in love with John from the start, and last night only confirmed that those feelings were in fact mutual.