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Description
Sherlock found himself in the middle of the Sahara Desert. The air scorched his lungs and the wind blew grains of sand into his hair and mouth. Just then, Sherlock could hear a low chuckle fill the air around him. He tried to ignore it, but the sand beneath him began to shift. The detective could see the surface of the sand rise as something large circled him.

"You are impossibly pathetic, you know that?" A ghostly voice taunted. "Such a naughty secret."

Laughter ensued and Sherlock grit his teeth, the voice beyond irritating.

"This is none of your business," the brunet stood his ground.

"Oh, but it is...It always has been. For he will be my legacy and I will relish in your rich, hot blood...As I should."

Sherlock shielded his face with his arm from a gust of wind and when he opened his eyes again he was back to the real world in the middle of his sitting room. His hands were to his side with the violin dangerously close to slipping from his loose grip.

Downstairs, John exited Speedy's with his laptop carrier and food in hand, but soon noticed something was off with his bike. The tires appeared weak. That's when he saw that the air caps were missing, and then it dawned on him. John didn't like this feeling. It was like the whole world was suddenly against him and he wanted to tell off the next person to look at him funny.

"To hell with this."

He turned and opened the front door, thankful that it was unlocked, and shut it with an aggressive slam. He let himself breathe and straighten out his new black and blue plaid shirt for a moment, then stepped to Mrs. Hudson's door. However, the woman's voice spoke from within before he could knock.

"Come right in, John!"

The blond did so and looked to see Mrs. Hudson and Patrick playing a game of cards in the tiny sitting room. The consultant was sitting on the floor wearing nothing but white shorts and white tiger print socks. He was in the midst of wiping his forehead with a grey shirt.

"This isn't fair. I haven't eaten them in ages," Jane complained before hiccuping.

The doctor could see that the bruises on Jane's jaw, wrists, and his taser burns were still present, but his skin was now accompanied with a new injury. A pale, red bruise was spread all around his neck in uneven shades. The whole collection of bruises made Patrick look as if he should be laying down, not goofing off.

"That's not my fault, now is it?" The landlady giggled in amusement before ushering John into the room. "John, quit lolligagging by the door and come sit with us. There's dinner left over."

John placed his things against the wall before approaching the coffee table. There were two empty plates to the side and a jar of pickled jalapeño slices next to the cards.

"What's going on?"

"Mrs. Hudson is being evil, that's what," Jane responded with a huff, followed by another hiccup.

"I am not...We're playing speed, except with every ten cards we place down we have to eat a jalapeño. It makes it more difficult to concentrate. And as luck would have it, Patrick can't handle spicy food. Ha!"

"Why not drink some milk?" John suggested.

"I- hic...can't. I'm lactose intolerant."

After John got his food—soft tacos and rice—from the kitchen he sat down by the landlady to watch the other two play. It didn't take all that long because before he knew it Mrs. Hudson won the game. Jane couldn't stop sniffling and was even on the verge of vomitting at one point. He dropped his cards onto the table in frustration, the hiccups thankfully gone.

"How could you, Mrs. Hudson? Remind me to never play cards with you again...What was the point of me even washing my sheets down here if I'm just going to sweat through the night?"

"Oh, I'm sure you had at least some fun. If anything, you feel a little better from that banter earlier, right?" The woman patted Jane's hand to cheer him up.

The consultant suddenly got up then, pulling his shirt back on. That's when John happened to catch a quick glimpse of the scar that stretched across the man's stomach, which looks to have been there for sixteen years.

"Speaking of which, I should go take care of that."

Patrick went down the hall to retrieve his sheets from the electric dryer and left with a wave goodnight. Once he was gone, John immediately whispered to Mrs. Hudson.

"What the hell happened to his neck?"

"No, John. I will not play this gossip game with you anymore. I will say there was consent, in case you were actually concerned, but I refuse to speak of their private life for your own gain. They have a right to privacy like everyone else."

John was shocked by the landlady's words, but then his features grew bitter.

"Privacy?...And what about my privacy? The whole city hates me now no thanks to the newspapers. I didn't do anything wrong!"

The blond instantly covered his mouth to stop himself. He never meant to shout at her. He pulled his head down, feeling like an idiot, but Mrs. Hudson placed her hand on his shoulder.

"...None of you seem to be having a fond day, are you?...What am I going to do with you boys?"

Upstairs, Jane opened the door to the flat and spotted the brunet in the kitchen, sitting timidly in a chair pulled away from the table. He looked as if he was ready to receive a lecture from his angry parents.

The blond placed his dry sheets down in John's chair before he approached Sherlock and gave a sigh in defeat. He brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his boyfriend's hair in a comforting manner.

"...Sherly....I'm sorry for overreacting..."

Sherlock's tense shoulders gave way and he watched Jane pull out another chair to sit in front of him.

"Now...Is there a reason why you don't want to tell me about this particular friend?" Jane asked in a calm voice.

The detective had to stop himself from gritting his teeth.

"He's not my friend....Not anymore...We...went to university together....He was the only person I spent time with..."

"Can I meet him?"

Sherlock looked up with wide eyes, completely taken by surprise from Jane's question.

"W-What?!"

"Well...He was a part of your life, right? It'd be nice to meet someone who influenced you while growing up. Speaking of which, do your parents know I'm back yet?"

"S-Slow it down," the brunet put his hands up for emphasis, "I'm still trying to understand why you want to meet Victor."

"Aha! So his name's Victor!" Patrick's eyes lit up from the name drop.

"Fine, you caught me," Sherlock sighed, "His name's Victor Trevor, and....last time we spoke we...didn't leave off on good terms."

"Did you date him?"

"No! Never!....Things...just got....bad...." Sherlock grew quiet, fighting the urge to look away.

"Did he hurt you?" The consultant asked quietly.

"No."

A lie...Yet also the truth?

"...I didn't want to be with anyone that wasn't you, not even then," Sherlock added.

Patrick rubbed at the back of his neck, trying and failing to hide his blush.

"So you really did restrict yourself, all for me?"

The brunet nodded.

"...You know people would find that a bit creepy, right, given the circumstances?"

"Yes, but you don't," Sherlock dared a smile.

"Yeah....I should."

"...Anyway, the whole point of the texts were because Victor was reaching out to me on Twitter; on..social media, and I don't know if I want to reconnect with him or not...I've been blaming him for so long."

Jane thought for a minute before speaking.

"While it would be nice to meet him and see what he's all about, it's your choice," the blond smiled and patted Sherlock's hand twice.

A silent pause transpired before the brunet's keen eyes began picking up information on the blond's skin. Lips pinker and slightly swollen. Eyes glossy. Beads of sweat around forehead and mouth. Recently blown nose.

"...Were you eating something spicy?"

"Oh..Yeah. Jalapeños. Mrs. Hudson and I were playing a card game," Patrick answered with a meek smile.

"And you let her beat you?"

"Eh...She"s a nice lady," Patrick attempted a white lie to avoid embarrassment.

Whether or not the detective picked up on it, he chose not to address the silly matter further.

"I changed the noise on my phone," Sherlock quietly informed.

"Good....The only moans you should be listening to are mine."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed then.

"But you hardly moan at all! It takes rough sex just to accomplish that!"

Jane instantly covered Sherlock's mouth, his face going red.

"Shhh! Mrs. Hudson doesn't need to know that, let alone John."

The brunet moved the consultant's hands with a confused face.

"When did John get here?"

"Really? You didn't hear him slam the door earlier?"

"I was in my Mind Palace," Sherlock stated.

"Ah...So, you call it a Mind Palace?...Did you come up with the name all by yourself?" Jane smirked.

"Shut up," the detective blushed, "So what if it was inspired by yours. Mine's still better."

Though the blond still wasn't convinced that his Memory Palace could be beat, since it did in fact come first.

"If you say so," Patrick stood up and put the chair back, "Where did you put those cookies?"

"Cookies?...Oh, they're in the shelf," Sherlock got up as well, "Did John want to take a look at your injuries?"

"No. I think he came to see you," Jane said as he grabbed the custard creams, "He looks upset."

"Too vague. Upset how?"

"Well, he doesn't seem like the type to ignore rumors so it must be because of the papers," Jane concluded.

"That'll do it."

"Anyway, I'm off to go study now," the blond handed two biscuits to Sherlock before taking his sheets and retreating to the landing.

"Get some rest," the brunet insisted.

"I'll be fine. Ain't no pain going to slow me down from finding Red John," Patrick stated like it was a fact, stopping on the staircase.

"I know, just..." Sherlock paused as he looked up at Jane with sincerity in his eyes, "I only want the best for you..."

"...Thank you...my little monster," Jane smiled and winked before going upstairs, "Goodnight!"

Sherlock was left standing in the centre of the sitting room, blushing beyond all hell. He had to focus on eating a biscuit just to calm his beating heart.

Description
Sherlock found himself in the middle of the Sahara Desert. The air scorched his lungs and the wind blew grains of sand into his hair and mouth. Just then, Sherlock could hear a low chuckle fill the air around him. He tried to ignore it, but the sand beneath him began to shift. The detective could see the surface of the sand rise as something large circled him.

"You are impossibly pathetic, you know that?" A ghostly voice taunted. "Such a naughty secret."

Laughter ensued and Sherlock grit his teeth, the voice beyond irritating.

"This is none of your business," the brunet stood his ground.

"Oh, but it is...It always has been. For he will be my legacy and I will relish in your rich, hot blood...As I should."

Sherlock shielded his face with his arm from a gust of wind and when he opened his eyes again he was back to the real world in the middle of his sitting room. His hands were to his side with the violin dangerously close to slipping from his loose grip.

Downstairs, John exited Speedy's with his laptop carrier and food in hand, but soon noticed something was off with his bike. The tires appeared weak. That's when he saw that the air caps were missing, and then it dawned on him. John didn't like this feeling. It was like the whole world was suddenly against him and he wanted to tell off the next person to look at him funny.

"To hell with this."

He turned and opened the front door, thankful that it was unlocked, and shut it with an aggressive slam. He let himself breathe and straighten out his new black and blue plaid shirt for a moment, then stepped to Mrs. Hudson's door. However, the woman's voice spoke from within before he could knock.

"Come right in, John!"

The blond did so and looked to see Mrs. Hudson and Patrick playing a game of cards in the tiny sitting room. The consultant was sitting on the floor wearing nothing but white shorts and white tiger print socks. He was in the midst of wiping his forehead with a grey shirt.

"This isn't fair. I haven't eaten them in ages," Jane complained before hiccuping.

The doctor could see that the bruises on Jane's jaw, wrists, and his taser burns were still present, but his skin was now accompanied with a new injury. A pale, red bruise was spread all around his neck in uneven shades. The whole collection of bruises made Patrick look as if he should be laying down, not goofing off.

"That's not my fault, now is it?" The landlady giggled in amusement before ushering John into the room. "John, quit lolligagging by the door and come sit with us. There's dinner left over."

John placed his things against the wall before approaching the coffee table. There were two empty plates to the side and a jar of pickled jalapeño slices next to the cards.

"What's going on?"

"Mrs. Hudson is being evil, that's what," Jane responded with a huff, followed by another hiccup.

"I am not...We're playing speed, except with every ten cards we place down we have to eat a jalapeño. It makes it more difficult to concentrate. And as luck would have it, Patrick can't handle spicy food. Ha!"

"Why not drink some milk?" John suggested.

"I- hic...can't. I'm lactose intolerant."

After John got his food—soft tacos and rice—from the kitchen he sat down by the landlady to watch the other two play. It didn't take all that long because before he knew it Mrs. Hudson won the game. Jane couldn't stop sniffling and was even on the verge of vomitting at one point. He dropped his cards onto the table in frustration, the hiccups thankfully gone.

"How could you, Mrs. Hudson? Remind me to never play cards with you again...What was the point of me even washing my sheets down here if I'm just going to sweat through the night?"

"Oh, I'm sure you had at least some fun. If anything, you feel a little better from that banter earlier, right?" The woman patted Jane's hand to cheer him up.

The consultant suddenly got up then, pulling his shirt back on. That's when John happened to catch a quick glimpse of the scar that stretched across the man's stomach, which looks to have been there for sixteen years.

"Speaking of which, I should go take care of that."

Patrick went down the hall to retrieve his sheets from the electric dryer and left with a wave goodnight. Once he was gone, John immediately whispered to Mrs. Hudson.

"What the hell happened to his neck?"

"No, John. I will not play this gossip game with you anymore. I will say there was consent, in case you were actually concerned, but I refuse to speak of their private life for your own gain. They have a right to privacy like everyone else."

John was shocked by the landlady's words, but then his features grew bitter.

"Privacy?...And what about my privacy? The whole city hates me now no thanks to the newspapers. I didn't do anything wrong!"

The blond instantly covered his mouth to stop himself. He never meant to shout at her. He pulled his head down, feeling like an idiot, but Mrs. Hudson placed her hand on his shoulder.

"...None of you seem to be having a fond day, are you?...What am I going to do with you boys?"

Upstairs, Jane opened the door to the flat and spotted the brunet in the kitchen, sitting timidly in a chair pulled away from the table. He looked as if he was ready to receive a lecture from his angry parents.

The blond placed his dry sheets down in John's chair before he approached Sherlock and gave a sigh in defeat. He brought his hand up and ran his fingers through his boyfriend's hair in a comforting manner.

"...Sherly....I'm sorry for overreacting..."

Sherlock's tense shoulders gave way and he watched Jane pull out another chair to sit in front of him.

"Now...Is there a reason why you don't want to tell me about this particular friend?" Jane asked in a calm voice.

The detective had to stop himself from gritting his teeth.

"He's not my friend....Not anymore...We...went to university together....He was the only person I spent time with..."

"Can I meet him?"

Sherlock looked up with wide eyes, completely taken by surprise from Jane's question.

"W-What?!"

"Well...He was a part of your life, right? It'd be nice to meet someone who influenced you while growing up. Speaking of which, do your parents know I'm back yet?"

"S-Slow it down," the brunet put his hands up for emphasis, "I'm still trying to understand why you want to meet Victor."

"Aha! So his name's Victor!" Patrick's eyes lit up from the name drop.

"Fine, you caught me," Sherlock sighed, "His name's Victor Trevor, and....last time we spoke we...didn't leave off on good terms."

"Did you date him?"

"No! Never!....Things...just got....bad...." Sherlock grew quiet, fighting the urge to look away.

"Did he hurt you?" The consultant asked quietly.

"No."

A lie...Yet also the truth?

"...I didn't want to be with anyone that wasn't you, not even then," Sherlock added.

Patrick rubbed at the back of his neck, trying and failing to hide his blush.

"So you really did restrict yourself, all for me?"

The brunet nodded.

"...You know people would find that a bit creepy, right, given the circumstances?"

"Yes, but you don't," Sherlock dared a smile.

"Yeah....I should."

"...Anyway, the whole point of the texts were because Victor was reaching out to me on Twitter; on..social media, and I don't know if I want to reconnect with him or not...I've been blaming him for so long."

Jane thought for a minute before speaking.

"While it would be nice to meet him and see what he's all about, it's your choice," the blond smiled and patted Sherlock's hand twice.

A silent pause transpired before the brunet's keen eyes began picking up information on the blond's skin. Lips pinker and slightly swollen. Eyes glossy. Beads of sweat around forehead and mouth. Recently blown nose.

"...Were you eating something spicy?"

"Oh..Yeah. Jalapeños. Mrs. Hudson and I were playing a card game," Patrick answered with a meek smile.

"And you let her beat you?"

"Eh...She"s a nice lady," Patrick attempted a white lie to avoid embarrassment.

Whether or not the detective picked up on it, he chose not to address the silly matter further.

"I changed the noise on my phone," Sherlock quietly informed.

"Good....The only moans you should be listening to are mine."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed then.

"But you hardly moan at all! It takes rough sex just to accomplish that!"

Jane instantly covered Sherlock's mouth, his face going red.

"Shhh! Mrs. Hudson doesn't need to know that, let alone John."

The brunet moved the consultant's hands with a confused face.

"When did John get here?"

"Really? You didn't hear him slam the door earlier?"

"I was in my Mind Palace," Sherlock stated.

"Ah...So, you call it a Mind Palace?...Did you come up with the name all by yourself?" Jane smirked.

"Shut up," the detective blushed, "So what if it was inspired by yours. Mine's still better."

Though the blond still wasn't convinced that his Memory Palace could be beat, since it did in fact come first.

"If you say so," Patrick stood up and put the chair back, "Where did you put those cookies?"

"Cookies?...Oh, they're in the shelf," Sherlock got up as well, "Did John want to take a look at your injuries?"

"No. I think he came to see you," Jane said as he grabbed the custard creams, "He looks upset."

"Too vague. Upset how?"

"Well, he doesn't seem like the type to ignore rumors so it must be because of the papers," Jane concluded.

"That'll do it."

"Anyway, I'm off to go study now," the blond handed two biscuits to Sherlock before taking his sheets and retreating to the landing.

"Get some rest," the brunet insisted.

"I'll be fine. Ain't no pain going to slow me down from finding Red John," Patrick stated like it was a fact, stopping on the staircase.

"I know, just..." Sherlock paused as he looked up at Jane with sincerity in his eyes, "I only want the best for you..."

"...Thank you...my little monster," Jane smiled and winked before going upstairs, "Goodnight!"

Sherlock was left standing in the centre of the sitting room, blushing beyond all hell. He had to focus on eating a biscuit just to calm his beating heart.