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<|text|> limbs touching, breathing synchronously, hearts beating against each other's chests. Reassuring and quiet in the calm morning. Dean eyes are already falling shut again, now that the adrenalin has faded and the medication not yet completely out of his system, consciousness fleeing. Cas feels the moment he falls asleep, his tense body finally relaxing back into the restraints. “What’s important now is that this is mine now. And so are you. All of you. Even all that you regret and I’m thankful for it, because it’s a part of you.” He kisses Dean openly, holding his gaze, “And I’m so proud of you. For getting through today and being so fucking strong. I think a reward is in order,” he lets his hand gently massage Dean balls and slide down the enclosed shaft. Fortunate that he’d decided to focus on denial this week as Dean’s body would welcome the chance for release and distraction. Cas hoped that maybe he could forget for a little while at least. “But you have to tell me before it gets too bad, before I have no choice but to force you,” Cas is leaning over, willing their eyes to meet, he holds Dean's chin tightly circling his head with his other arm, his weight pressing them both down to the bed. Locking him into the uncomfortable conversation. “Alright. I’m going to have him do the pelvic floor monitoring internally today. I want you to try at least, if it’s too much, ask him to step back. It won’t be a failure if you can’t do it. Ok?” “I’ll be massaging your prostate for a few minutes to stimulate a release. You won’t orgasm and you won’t get hard, though it should feel fairly nice, if a little intense. You might feel like you need to go, you don’t. The best thing to do is just relax, let it happen.” "Can I ask, where exactly do you think you went wrong?" Castiel enquires gently, knowing it’s a sensitive subject. Dean rolled his eyes at him. Of course it’s for him, but it’s for himself too. He wanted to learn to trust, it’s just really hard. The OSP had been right. Dean needed a firm but kind, carefully placed hand. Experimentally, Castiel had spanked him once, when Dean had forgotten to drink enough, leaving the carefully labeled bottles in the fridge for Castiel to find when he returned that night. Dean hadn’t fought as Castiel shifted him over his knees, but he hadn’t relaxed either. Not even when Castiel had steadied him, working his hand down his neck and along the edges of his spine, like it normally would. Instead he took the hits with a flinch and a hiss, forcing himself through sheer will to endure it. “It says here that you were severely dehydrated and underweight as well as suffering from shock and extreme post-heat syndrome. I’m not surprised it took that long for your body to recover enough for you to regain consciousness,” Cas notes. Next, they’d contacted his lawyer, his employer, his old university mentor and his parents, each time offering higher pay, more

<|output|> <|example|> limbs touching, breathing synchronously, hearts beating against each other's chests. Reassuring and quiet in the calm morning. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> And so are you <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Dean hadn’t fought as Castiel shifted him over his knees, but he hadn’t relaxed either <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “It says here that you were severely dehydrated and underweight as well as suffering from shock and extreme post-heat syndrome <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> limbs touching, breathing synchronously, hearts beating against each other's chests <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> and more incentives. His body already knows how, instinctively relaxing as his alpha commands. And suddenly it's not so bad, the slide feels deep but comfortable and fulfilling, and the want has returned too, the need to be filled up. It feels so good, each minute push, a beautiful expansion of the sensation, pleasure sparking down his spine where only minutes ago he felt only panic and pain.

<|output|> <|example|> and more incentives. <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> It feels so good, each minute push, a beautiful expansion of the sensation, pleasure sparking down his spine where only minutes ago he felt only panic and pain <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> It feels so good, each minute push, a beautiful expansion of the sensation, pleasure sparking down his spine where only minutes ago he felt only panic and pain <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> <|example|> He has finished the apple by the time he gets to the motel. He wipes his hands on his clothes, looks at his reflection on the window of a car and deems himself presentable enough. With a quick sniff at his clothes he thinks he doesn’t smell too bad. He hopes he is not going to be thrown out without getting a chance to talk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to kill him. And he is okay with that. The last hang-up that Dean had about him and Cas, the one that he didn't even realize was there, suddenly is not valid anymore. Because now they are equals, both human, both mortal, with no power imbalance. With no fear of angering a mythical being, a being that can smite him or punch him like he was nothing. With no guilt of having all that power at his disposal, by just asking, by just twisting the truth a tiny bit. It's a new path opened to him, with a possibility of an almost normal life. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> say you know them, right?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> game. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> minutes before, with the promise of shots sprinkled across his tight-lipped grin. And, of course, Castiel found himself waiting, barely able to mask his anticipation in front of their friends. He fears he’s being obvious, that each turn of his head holds a number count that only <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he can think. He knew Cas would be home in two months, had been holding onto that time with a vice-like grip because two months were only sixty days and sixty days he could manage. After waiting for so long, sixty days were a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him. Perhaps he’s decided to get back together with Lisa. Or maybe he got that waiter’s number, from the hotel’s restaurant. Gabriel kept <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He has finished the apple by the time he gets to the motel. He wipes his hands on his clothes, looks at his reflection on the window of a car and deems himself presentable enough. With a quick sniff at his clothes he thinks he doesn’t smell too bad. He hopes he is not going to be thrown out without getting a chance to talk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> After waiting for so long, sixty days were a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> game. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> minutes before, with the promise of shots sprinkled across his tight-lipped grin. And, of course, Castiel found himself waiting, barely able to mask his anticipation in front of their friends. He fears he’s being obvious, that each turn of his head holds a number count that only <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he can think. He knew Cas would be home in two months, had been holding onto that time with a vice-like grip because two months were only sixty days and sixty days he could manage. After waiting for so long, sixty days were a <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him. Perhaps he’s decided to get back together with Lisa. Or maybe he got that waiter’s number, from the hotel’s restaurant. Gabriel kept <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> okay right now, he would. Instead, he files that observation away under the already bulging folder of Weird Things Becky Does and nods. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> sure?” John tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Charlie was Neutral. She might know the correct information, but she had no practical experience with the sort of ‘Pure’ level protocols Castiel would be expected to abide by. Hell, almost no-one did, Pure dominants were just so rare. But that was the point he supposed, in that sense Charlie was as good as anyone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to pass all cognitive test questions and therefore initiation of the intervention phase may be delayed upon reassessment in an hour.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> game. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 |

<|output|> <|example|> Hell, almost no-one did, Pure dominants were just so rare <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him. Perhaps he’s decided to get back together with Lisa. Or maybe he got that waiter’s number, from the hotel’s restaurant. Gabriel kept <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> okay right now, he would. Instead, he files that observation away under the already bulging folder of Weird Things Becky Does and nods. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> sure?” John tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Charlie was Neutral. She might know the correct information, but she had no practical experience with the sort of ‘Pure’ level protocols Castiel would be expected to abide by. Hell, almost no-one did, Pure dominants were just so rare. But that was the point he supposed, in that sense Charlie was as good as anyone. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> to pass all cognitive test questions and therefore initiation of the intervention phase may be delayed upon reassessment in an hour.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> usual, shaded in arousal. “Every morning, I would wake to your need. God! I wanted you so badly then and every night I would go to sleep knowing how much you wanted it.” he’s panting too, working himself so that Dean can see, his cock thick and ready. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the Mainhouse before Michael and the security team picked him up. But he played it off, said that he was out for a midnight stroll. We gave him the benefit of the doubt. By the third attempt, after he’d almost made it over the estate walls, we stopped believing his stories. By the fifth, they brought him back biting, kicking, and screaming. By the seventh attempt, after the cops in the next town over picked him up, we realised that this was deadly serious. Dean was utterly terrified of us and trying desperately to escape.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile. He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay. But, they had already rung home, you know how they panic when a submissive streak that strong is identified. Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave. He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> when that Bastard came back?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> heavy-handed and a little claustrophobic, he frequently requests it be left off. This time though, he doesn’t comment, he meets Cas’s eyes and holds perfectly still for him to fasten the straps securely on each side of his head. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and <|indexes|> 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him. Perhaps he’s decided to get back together with Lisa. Or maybe he got that waiter’s number, from the hotel’s restaurant. Gabriel kept <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and <|indexes|> 2 |

<|output|> <|example|> He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> to pass all cognitive test questions and therefore initiation of the intervention phase may be delayed upon reassessment in an hour.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> usual, shaded in arousal. “Every morning, I would wake to your need. God! I wanted you so badly then and every night I would go to sleep knowing how much you wanted it.” he’s panting too, working himself so that Dean can see, his cock thick and ready. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the Mainhouse before Michael and the security team picked him up. But he played it off, said that he was out for a midnight stroll. We gave him the benefit of the doubt. By the third attempt, after he’d almost made it over the estate walls, we stopped believing his stories. By the fifth, they brought him back biting, kicking, and screaming. By the seventh attempt, after the cops in the next town over picked him up, we realised that this was deadly serious. Dean was utterly terrified of us and trying desperately to escape.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile. He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay. But, they had already rung home, you know how they panic when a submissive streak that strong is identified. Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave. He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> when that Bastard came back?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> to pass all cognitive test questions and therefore initiation of the intervention phase may be delayed upon reassessment in an hour.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile. He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay. But, they had already rung home, you know how they panic when a submissive streak that strong is identified. Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave. He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> when that Bastard came back?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> heavy-handed and a little claustrophobic, he frequently requests it be left off. This time though, he doesn’t comment, he meets Cas’s eyes and holds perfectly still for him to fasten the straps securely on each side of his head. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and <|indexes|> 1 | <|example|> in surprise, but just for a moment, before he is pulling Cas down for another kiss. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his own. Sam and Dean help him down to the bunker. When they reach the reading room, Cas throws a hated look towards Crowley and nods to Kevin. Charlie waves, but Dean realizes they never met. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile. He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay. But, they had already rung home, you know how they panic when a submissive streak that strong is identified. Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave. He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face. <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 |

<|output|> <|example|> He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> in surprise, but just for a moment, before he is pulling Cas down for another kiss. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> his own. Sam and Dean help him down to the bunker. When they reach the reading room, Cas throws a hated look towards Crowley and nods to Kevin. Charlie waves, but Dean realizes they never met. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> dreams, this single person could just ring the doorbell and change everything? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> really, if anything goes wrong, it can all be blamed on Sam. They wouldn’t even <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> that moment, something changed. For the first time in months, he wanted to step away.  It felt wrong, facing this man while in the arms of Daphne.  He should be on the other side of this door, he knew part of who he once was lies in the presence of this green-eyed stranger.  The man cleared his throat and looked at the ground before introducing himself. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Yet, all the stops were still very far from the bunker. He was close, but if he was going on foot, he might never <|indexes|> 1 | <|example|> get there. Dean scanned the roads while driving, figuring Cas would at least stick to the main roads. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> some company for the long drives, and adds to his long list of adventures. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> being about an angel at all. It is some pagan god that heals women and in exchange impregnates them and then takes the child. Wacky, but all in all, easy to deal with. Dean wonders when dealing with gods has become an easy job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> in surprise, but just for a moment, before he is pulling Cas down for another kiss. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> really, if anything goes wrong, it can all be blamed on Sam. They wouldn’t even <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> that moment, something changed. For the first time in months, he wanted to step away.  It felt wrong, facing this man while in the arms of Daphne.  He should be on the other side of this door, he knew part of who he once was lies in the presence of this green-eyed stranger.  The man cleared his throat and looked at the ground before introducing himself. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Yet, all the stops were still very far from the bunker. He was close, but if he was going on foot, he might never <|indexes|> 1 | <|example|> get there. Dean scanned the roads while driving, figuring Cas would at least stick to the main roads. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> some company for the long drives, and adds to his long list of adventures. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> being about an angel at all. It is some pagan god that heals women and in exchange impregnates them and then takes the child. Wacky, but all in all, easy to deal with. Dean wonders when dealing with gods has become an easy job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> not having a control group to ascertain the validity of my situation." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> really, if anything goes wrong, it can all be blamed on Sam. They wouldn’t even <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Yet, all the stops were still very far from the bunker. He was close, but if he was going on foot, he might never <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> being about an angel at all <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> some company for the long drives, and adds to his long list of adventures. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> being about an angel at all. It is some pagan god that heals women and in exchange impregnates them and then takes the child. Wacky, but all in all, easy to deal with. Dean wonders when dealing with gods has become an easy job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> not having a control group to ascertain the validity of my situation." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> same to Cas, starting by ruffling his hair and ending up in some kind of tickle fight. He is positive Cas never had one of those, and that's part of the entire being a human experience. He is also very certain that Cas is in no condition for any kind of rough play, so he just helps dry him off. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> How much more could those blistered feet have taken? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> you part of the way. Where is home?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> some company for the long drives, and adds to his long list of adventures. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Dean wonders when dealing with gods has become an easy job <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> same to Cas, starting by ruffling his hair and ending up in some kind of tickle fight. He is positive Cas never had one of those, and that's part of the entire being a human experience. He is also very certain that Cas is in no condition for any kind of rough play, so he just helps dry him off. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> How much more could those blistered feet have taken? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> you part of the way. Where is home?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> way to make him an angel again? Do we keep searching for angels? Can we finally get to hunt for Metatron?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> those feelings, not that. Part has always been the fact that Cas is an angel. Or was. Sam had had relationships with monsters and other supernatural beings, but Dean had always tried to avoid it. Not always possible, true, if he missed the fact that who he was fucking was something other than human. And it had always been just that. Just sex, casual, one time things, <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> time I heard you laugh. I… I was surprised. I still am, every time you do it." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> told, he’s still getting used to the human body. It has been almost a month since Metatron took his grace, but everything is still very new, still very strange. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> same to Cas, starting by ruffling his hair and ending up in some kind of tickle fight. He is positive Cas never had one of those, and that's part of the entire being a human experience. He is also very certain that Cas is in no condition for any kind of rough play, so he just helps dry him off. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I still am, every time you do it <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> way to make him an angel again? Do we keep searching for angels? Can we finally get to hunt for Metatron?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> those feelings, not that. Part has always been the fact that Cas is an angel. Or was. Sam had had relationships with monsters and other supernatural beings, but Dean had always tried to avoid it. Not always possible, true, if he missed the fact that who he was fucking was something other than human. And it had always been just that. Just sex, casual, one time things, <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> time I heard you laugh. I… I was surprised. I still am, every time you do it." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> told, he’s still getting used to the human body. It has been almost a month since Metatron took his grace, but everything is still very new, still very strange. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> some things that will never change, and Dean feels that Cas is far too close, far closer than anyone would have been even fully clothed, or at least anyone other than Cas. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> by Cas’s sweats, until they both discard their underwear. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> head, it could have been something else too. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> I should have their card somewhere, in case something else happens, they said. I can dig it up for you." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> way to make him an angel again? Do we keep searching for angels? Can we finally get to hunt for Metatron?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|example|> way to make him an angel again? Do we keep searching for angels? Can we finally get to hunt for Metatron?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> those feelings, not that <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> told, he’s still getting used to the human body. It has been almost a month since Metatron took his grace, but everything is still very new, still very strange. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> some things that will never change, and Dean feels that Cas is far too close, far closer than anyone would have been even fully clothed, or at least anyone other than Cas. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> by Cas’s sweats, until they both discard their underwear. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> head, it could have been something else too. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> I should have their card somewhere, in case something else happens, they said. I can dig it up for you." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> who would do carpentry on the weekends, maybe build dollhouses for the daughters. Not maniacal angel bent on destruction. But then again Cas looked like a holy tax accountant, and he was anything but. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> told, he’s still getting used to the human body. It has been almost a month since Metatron took his grace, but everything is still very new, still very strange. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> head, it could have been something else too <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> He has finished the apple by the time he gets to the motel. He wipes his hands on his clothes, looks at his reflection on the window of a car and deems himself presentable enough. With a quick sniff at his clothes he thinks he doesn’t smell too bad. He hopes he is not going to be thrown out without getting a chance to talk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|example|> game. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 | | <|example|> Castiel’s savoring evaporates at the thought of what Dean might want to share with him. Perhaps he’s decided to get back together with Lisa. Or maybe he got that waiter’s number, from the hotel’s restaurant. Gabriel kept <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and <|indexes|> 2 | | <|example|> to pass all cognitive test questions and therefore initiation of the intervention phase may be delayed upon reassessment in an hour.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> day Dean was given his submissive designation, Dad flipped! The school brought in a Dynamic Assessor for all the kids that were missed in early childhood and Dean tested out Submissive on the 99th percentile. He was shaking all the way home, terrified of Dad finding out and of the meeting the school had wanted for the next d ay. But, they had already rung home, you know how they panic when a submissive streak that strong is identified. Anyway, by the time we got home Dad had already packed up our stuff and was waiting to leave. He ordered Dean not to tell anyone, ever.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Dean doesn’t complain. Cas’s kiss is intense and hungry. He uses his hands to hold Dean’s face, and he is not ashamed of using his tongue. Dean might have gone gentler for a first kiss, taking into consideration Cas past hangups about sex. He is glad Cas took the initiate though. He moves his hands to hold on to Cas, to make sure they can deepen the kiss, that none of them are going to stop. It does bring them closer together, and it’s surprising to feel Cas’s erection pressing against his. He gasps, for air and <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face. <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 | | <|example|> in surprise, but just for a moment, before he is pulling Cas down for another kiss. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Dean Winchester, you better not be lying right now because after today, I don't think I can take it," Cas takes a few deep breaths to steady himself and settles his hands on either side of Dean's face. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> really, if anything goes wrong, it can all be blamed on Sam. They wouldn’t even <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Yet, all the stops were still very far from the bunker. He was close, but if he was going on foot, he might never <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|example|> some company for the long drives, and adds to his long list of adventures. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> same to Cas, starting by ruffling his hair and ending up in some kind of tickle fight. He is positive Cas never had one of those, and that's part of the entire being a human experience. He is also very certain that Cas is in no condition for any kind of rough play, so he just helps dry him off. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> way to make him an angel again? Do we keep searching for angels? Can we finally get to hunt for Metatron?" <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | |

<|output|> <|example|> He has finished the apple by the time he gets to the motel. He wipes his hands on his clothes, looks at his reflection on the window of a car and deems himself presentable enough. With a quick sniff at his clothes he thinks he doesn’t smell too bad. He hopes he is not going to be thrown out without getting a chance to talk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> Gabe entered the room again but this time didn’t raise the lights. Dean was straddling Cas, busy licking his way down Cas’s torso and encouraged by Cas to take his time. <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|indexes|> 0 <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 2 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “I missed you so much, baby,” he says once he pulls away slightly, unsurprised to find tear streaks on Cas’ face as well <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> Sherlock rolled over and checked his phone, getting up and getting ready to head out. He didn’t change his clothes -- he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to see the band or meet friends. He would just be watching for the dealer. He set out to walk to the bar which wasn’t too far from the flat. The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to -- I just wanted to know why you suggested it and now you’ve told me,” Sherlock said. “Do you want to? Or are you offering just so I can try it?” "Good," Sherlock said. "Right . . . and how's your day going? Are you doing something with Mrs Hudson?" “You’ll make new friends at school,” his mum said. “And even though your friendship with John will change, it doesn’t have to end.” She gave his hand a little squeeze. “If you don’t believe us, believe John. I know he understands.” "You're not in trouble," John said. "I just . . . something happened at work and I don't want you to freak out." “I’m all right,” she said and took a sip of tea. “Have you been thinking about going back to work, though?” she asked softly. John nodded, putting his hands into his pockets as they walked through the woods. "I suppose that's everything, then? It seems odd. I feel like I had a lot more in my letters." “Right,” Sherlock said, reaching for the bag. “No better way to convince me you don’t treat me like a child than to throw away my things. . .” he added as he began to look through the bag. John's brows furrowed. "Fine. Don't wait up for me. Maybe I'll make plans for tomorrow too since you want to be an arse about it." He walked out of the flat and slammed the door behind him, so upset that he didn't bother with a cab as he stormed off. Sherlock leaned against the door, listening to the sound of the man’s footsteps down the stairs and then the opening and closing of the front door. “Because I’m difficult and you’re sensible,” Sherlock said. He shifted a little lower, moving his mouth down to one of John’s hip bones. He traced his tongue over the contours as his hand began stroking John’s cock again. Eventually he began sucking the head as he began to massage his balls. He took his time -- there was no rush because it was just them and it could be just them in this flat for as long as they wanted. John ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it even more as he tried to fix it. "You look beautiful and smart too," John said. "You know that shirt is...well, it fits you really well." “Well, first off, you don’t know that, do you? Maybe it’s exactly the same except another person just happens to be there –- you don’t know for sure since you don’t know what sex is like,” Sherlock said. “Secondly, just shut up about it. I mean,

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock rolled over and checked his phone, getting up and getting ready to head out. He didn’t change his clothes -- he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to see the band or meet friends. He would just be watching for the dealer. He set out to walk to the bar which wasn’t too far from the flat. The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “No better way to convince me you don’t treat me like a child than to throw away my things <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock leaned against the door, listening to the sound of the man’s footsteps down the stairs and then the opening and closing of the front door <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> " He walked out of the flat and slammed the door behind him, so upset that he didn't bother with a cab as he stormed off <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> I feel like I had a lot more in my letters <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> you know I’m not one who is ‘into’ feelings and everything, but I have a feeling this whole conversation is quite insulting to me.” “I know how to take my own temperature, John,” Sherlock said. Since he was already up, he moved into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “Besides you’re the one who was been exposed – are you feeling all right? You should be honest.” Sherlock put space between them and reached down, sliding his hand into John’s boxers. He wrapped his fingers around John’s hardening cock. He looked up and kissed his mouth roughly. “Rest is what you need -- the doctor said it, even Doctor Watson said it. A few days without work and he is part of your work so please, just take a break. Do you want Mother to come stay with you?” This thought led him to the last time, the man at Molly’s wedding. It was nothing, just a bit of fun really. And it was fun. It felt good. Actually, he remembered, he didn’t even need someone else for that feeling. He stood up to lock the flat door and then lay back down, slipping his hand into his pajama bottoms. He’d just do it to clear his mind, to relax. When it was over, the tension would be gone and he could get up, go to his desk, and figure out how to get his own cases. After checking his vitals, she said, “Your brother wanted me to ring him when you woke up -- shall I do that now or would you like a little more peace before he arrives?” Sherlock let John kiss his mouth. He slid his hands around John's waist, pulling him tighter. The sense of relief -- of being home -- felt so good. He tipped his head to deepen the kiss. "I don't like being away from you," he said softly, pulling John even closer. "I need . . . to have you by me." “That would be fine,” Sherlock said. “Wait, actually -- would it be possible to stop by late afternoon . . . perhaps at the end of your shift?” It was all annoying him too much so he turned on the television just to have some sound to try to distract him. Sherlock looked his things all over the floor and then looked up at John’s bedroom door. He stood there for a moment and then stormed off to his bedroom, also slamming the door. Due to his earlier nap and the anger pumping through his body, he knew his only option was his Mind Palace. He lay down and as soon as John made an appearance, Sherlock slammed the door in his mind shut as well. Sherlock relaxed into this kiss. When it ended, he snuggled in against John and sighed as sleep started to call him. “What are the chances we can just stay in here like this until this whole thing is over?” he asked. “I never ‘freak out’ and I’m actually offended by that comment,” Sherlock said. “Will this entire conversation be about attacking me?” Sherlock set the laptop

<|output|> <|example|> you know I’m not one who is ‘into’ feelings and everything, but I have a feeling this whole conversation is quite insulting to me.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Besides you’re the one who was been exposed – are you feeling all right? You should be honest <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> to have you by me <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> down on the bed. He hadn’t thought this out. He got up and moved to the window for another cigarette. This was probably a stupid idea. Clearly, Sherlock had experience lying, even lying to John, but somehow this felt different and he wondered if he could pull it off. He also knew Mycroft would be furious. Yet, how could he pass up this chance to communicate -- to know for sure that John was all right? He had to think of something. He needed to focus on coming up with a case. He closed his eyes and tried to think, but all he could see was John’s face. He opened them again and thought some more. It’d been a few days since he’d interacted with the client, so he sent a quick message to say he was still working. “I don’t have condoms,” Sherlock mumbled, though as soon as he did he realised his timing was not ideal. "And do you like this as well?" Sherlock asked, turning on his side and snuggling in against John's body. John looked over at him again and smiled softly. He rubbed Sherlock's hand before pulling his own away. The taxi was stopped in front of the hospital. John paid the driver as they got out and headed inside. "Molly is going to be surprised, I think." When Sherlock heard noises in the flat, he stayed still, trying to determine whether or not he should get involved. Eventually, he realised he needed the toilet, but he still wasn't sure about getting up. However, when he heard the shower, he thought it'd be safe. He nipped to the bathroom and then went out to get tea and make sure that John was okay. But it wasn't John he saw on the sofa. It was Harry. He turned quickly toward the kettle. John nodded. "I know, but don't worry about that. We should focus on the case. What did you learn from the bodies?" "Well, whatever is going on here, I'm glad," she said. "Someone in this family should finally be happy." “I don’t know. I know I saw someone . . . I thought maybe she had something to do with the case or . . . I don’t know why, maybe she knew you or something. It doesn’t make sense now . . . it was stupid of me. I should’ve just left.” Sherlock’s body shivered with anticipation as he concentrated on John’s every move. John moved over his hips and followed the dip to the middle. He licked along the shaft before taking him into his mouth. Sherlock exhaled loudly and lifted his head off the bed to watch John. It felt incredible. John glanced up and met his gaze, bobbing his head steadily. Mycroft grumbled, but he was not unaware of how important John Watson had become to his brother. And how John's presence had been good for Sherlock. Finally, he said, "I'll make some calls." “He’s been doing a lot of little favours for some reason,” she said, sitting down. “So . . . how have you been?” But a few hours later he was still

<|output|> <|example|> down on the bed. He hadn’t thought this out. He got up and moved to the window for another cigarette. This was probably a stupid idea. Clearly, Sherlock had experience lying, even lying to John, but somehow this felt different and he wondered if he could pull it off. He also knew Mycroft would be furious. Yet, how could he pass up this chance to communicate -- to know for sure that John was all right? He had to think of something. He needed to focus on coming up with a case. He closed his eyes and tried to think, but all he could see was John’s face. He opened them again and thought some more. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” Sherlock’s body shivered with anticipation as he concentrated on John’s every move <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> I don’t know why, maybe she knew you or something <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” Sherlock’s body shivered with anticipation as he concentrated on John’s every move <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> The taxi was stopped in front of the hospital <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> lying there staring up at the ceiling. Was he having issues with sleep again? He hadn’t thought he was. It hadn’t seemed as bad since John got here -- obviously with cases he was awake all hours of the night, but on the few breaks they had between work, things had seemed to normalise a little. He still didn’t do well with boredom, but he actually liked just being around John who was willing to at least tolerate Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He did like being around John -- this living together and working together arrangement was working well for Sherlock Holmes. John shook his head. "I didn't say you had to leave," he countered. "I wanted you to stay the night." "I'm in med school, last year," John said. He tried not to smile. He knew that's not what Sherlock was talking about. Sherlock reached around John’s body with one hand and began to stroke John’s hard cock. He kept rocking John against him, pressing his own cock through his rough trousers against John’s bare skin. His mouth dropped to the top of John’s shoulder, biting it softly. “Don’t spoil the afternoon with unfounded accusations,” Sherlock said. He sat down in his chair. “Well, that was fun.” “Wrong,” Sherlock said. “You had an early morning. It was late.” He looked up. “I never said I didn’t want to see you again.” Sherlock turned a little to see the film, which also gave him an excuse to curl around John. He slid his hand over John's waist and held him. He looked over the film, which was one of his favourites. "Hope you like the film," he said. "Because you've disrupted my flat and now my work, that's why," Sherlock answered. "And you've upset John." “I don’t know -- one of those tricks of yours,” Sherlock said. “You occasionally have forced me to reveal things I’ve been hiding -- do one of those things.” He got up and moved to open the window before lighting a cigarette. What was going on in his head? Why was he still thinking about some random man with bad taste in music? Then he remembered, the man had said he was working. He hadn’t come as a fan, he’d come for a job. Greg stood up for his desk. “Everyone relax,” he said. “Sherlock, it's more of a personal angle that I need John for. There’s a woman involved. Everyone’s life would be so much easier if she’d talk . . . and John’s better at that kind of thing.” “Is this a children’s story?” Sherlock asked. “I’m not complaining . . . just curious.” He pulled his legs up under him on the sofa. "Well, we're here, it's cold, you already have your shirt off, and now I know you like them," Sherlock said. "But it was just an idea . . ." Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of John’s lips on his. Yes, this is what he’d wanted. They’d never done it before yet it felt familiar and comforting and good. He pulled his head back and said, “I liked

<|output|> <|example|> lying there staring up at the ceiling. Was he having issues with sleep again? He hadn’t thought he was. It hadn’t seemed as bad since John got here -- obviously with cases he was awake all hours of the night, but on the few breaks they had between work, things had seemed to normalise a little. He still didn’t do well with boredom, but he actually liked just being around John who was willing to at least tolerate Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He did like being around John -- this living together and working together arrangement was working well for Sherlock Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “You had an early morning <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “I’m not complaining <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ” Sherlock turned a little to see the film, which also gave him an excuse to curl around John <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> that. Did you?” John looked over at him, slightly surprised. "Do you feel a little better? Can I see your bruising?" "Fine," Sherlock said sharply. "I wasn't listening to her -- I spent all afternoon trying to tune her out." He sat down on his chair. "Isn't Clara the ex?" “I thought everyone was isolating? That’s what you told me – that’s why I couldn’t go out,” Sherlock said. “A suicide,” Sherlock said. “That wasn’t a suicide.” He stopped abruptly when the server brought over the wine and took their order. After he left, Sherlock took a sip of wine and continued, “I’m sure it’s murder, but the ruling is suicide. I’m trying to get the police to trust me so they re-open the case. And when they do, I plan to have it solved.” When John brought the sausages over, Sherlock put one on his plate, pressing his knife in to double check that it was cooked. He took a bite. "It's edible," he said with a smile. “Perhaps,” Sherlock said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Not quite cooking, but it’ll be edible.” “The biscuit’s absorbing the alcohol,” Sherlock said. He stood up and turned on the kettle. “Don’t mock me anyway, I’m convalescing.” Sherlock pulled his arm. “Let go of me,” he said, looking straight at Jim. “I don’t need your help.” Sherlock’s attempt to think of nothing led to hours of his revisiting memories, most of which seemed utterly irrelevant at the moment -- riding a horse when he was five, needing stitches when he was ten, his first class at uni, a trip to the dentist. He ended up lost in thoughts, which was precisely the opposite of his plan. Eventually, though, it did exhaust him and he fell into a deep sleep. John looked around again. "I'm sorry. I feel like I've intruded. I was told a flat was available and that the owner was expecting me -- I didn't mean to barge in like this," he said. "I'll tell you what," Sherlock said, opening the door for John. "I'll keep the coat -- you can have the hat." She looked at him for a moment before waving him forward. She followed him out and up the stairs. "It’s in his room? He told you to go in there?" John undressed and climbed right into bed as soon as he got home. When he was comfortable and starting to doze off, he remembered his research. He sighed and didn't move -- he was too comfortable now. He would deal with it in the morning. He fell asleep and had weird dreams -- he didn't remember them in the morning but when he woke up he was all twisted up in his bed sheets. He untangled himself and stretched before getting up to start his day. "Don't get yourself worked up -- I said I'll give it to them," Sherlock said. He lay there quietly for a few minutes. "You're not even slightly interested in what I found?" he asked quietly. Sherlock really hadn’t thought all that much about this silly game after being distracted by Lestrade’s request, but it now

<|output|> <|example|> that. Did you?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Don’t mock me anyway, I’m convalescing <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “I don’t need your help <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> "It’s in his room? He told you to go in there?" John undressed and climbed right into bed as soon as he got home <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> "Isn't Clara the ex?" “I thought everyone was isolating? That’s what you told me – that’s why I couldn’t go out,” Sherlock said <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> kind of seemed important to him. He knew John would need lunch soon and Sherlock didn’t want that to disrupt this non-plan of his, so he made them two sandwiches and set them on plates on the table. He put the kettle on and while he waited for it, he dug out some candlesticks and put those on the table as well. “Maybe,” Sherlock said. “Well, you’re right. Hold on.” He got up and went to his parents’ bedroom door. They were in there, but they were talking. He tapped lightly. Sherlock was still standing on the other side of his bedroom door, listening. When he could tell John was in the kitchen, he pulled out his phone. "No one does," John said. "But the situation is serious, so we have to do it. Stay in, wash your hands, don't touch your face, and we'll be fine. We’ve actually been safe staying in, and let’s face it, you’re an expert at social distancing." “All right, Sherlock told John. We can share this cave. They waited until the morning light, though, to move John in. By then whatever had made the noise outside was gone.” John smiled and finished his drink, moving a bit closer to Sherlock in the process. "Slow dance or fast dance?" he asked. "Where are we going?" he asked, giving his head a little shake as if that would help him understand what was happening. “Don’t worry -- I’ve already sorted all that for you,” Sherlock said. “Your jumpers will donated for medical research.” He laughed at himself a little. "Is it a scary story?" John asked, taking a sip of whiskey as well and then setting it on the nightstand. "Good night," he said. For one second he took a step towards Sherlock's room before remembering he couldn't sleep there anymore. He turned for the stairs and hurried up to his own room. Sherlock read through his Inbox which had nothing of interest. He kept watching for John to come back down, but he didn’t. He slid his phone from his pocket. “Don’t pout, it’s unattractive,” Sherlock said, repeating something his mother had said to him often. “You can read it when we’re old and open the box.” Sherlock was quiet for a few moments. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “That sounds . . . difficult.” John laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair, trembling at the feel of Sherlock’s mouth. Then Sherlock grabbed one of John’s hands and led it to the waistband of his pants. Together, they pushed the material over his hips until his pants dropped to the floor. They stood together naked. Then Sherlock moved their hands to the front of his body, palming his hardening cock. Sherlock looked at the plate but didn’t pick up a fork. “Perhaps I’m ill,” he said. “I never get ill. Do I seem ill? I thought you were a doctor, why didn’t you prevent this?” “Oh, right,” Sherlock said. He rolled over to face the wall. “I’m not saying you have to get another one. I’m just saying it’s okay if you do.” “Let’s try that,” Sherlock said. He got up and

<|output|> <|example|> kind of seemed important to him. He knew John would need lunch soon and Sherlock didn’t want that to disrupt this non-plan of his, so he made them two sandwiches and set them on plates on the table. He put the kettle on and while he waited for it, he dug out some candlesticks and put those on the table as well. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock looked at the plate but didn’t pick up a fork <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He knew John would need lunch soon and Sherlock didn’t want that to disrupt this non-plan of his, so he made them two sandwiches and set them on plates on the table <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> I’m just saying it’s okay if you do <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> difficult <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> moved over to the sofa next to John. He lay his phone on the cushion between him. “You dial and then put it on speaker.” Mycroft could see his brother really did not remember anything about the day of the accident. “You were working when it happened,” Mycroft said. “I should hope your brain was at its best. No, Sherlock, you are not going to rehab -- well, not that kind of rehab. You’ve been prescribed rest, relaxation, respite. Well, respite for me at least. No work until you’re well.” "How could you . . . all this time," John said, moving closer to him. "Do you know what it's been like? What I've been through?" “I’m not pressuring you – I’m saying you stink,” Sherlock said before disappearing into the bathroom. They went downstairs to get a taxi. "You can even have wine if you like," Harry said, as she climbed in. "I'll be fine." “Perhaps you should see the bedroom,” Sherlock said. “Of course this is all hypothetical, but it is right there, seems silly not to go look at it.” He motioned to the stairs. John made his way to the bookshop where the notes said the woman works, but by a stroke of luck he spotted her going into a cafe a few streets away. He went inside without a real plan. He got in line a couple people behind her. He noticed when she walked up to the counter they had her order ready -- she must come here a lot. He should add that to the notes. He ordered a tea for himself and followed her out, walking a short distance behind her. He didn't know what he was hoping for in the middle of the day. She went straight to the bookshop, waved at the girl in the front and disappeared into the back. John went inside and browsed the shelves, making his way around slowly, but she never came back out again. Next time he would intercept her at the cafe, since that seemed to be her usual routine. He made a mental note of the time, back tracking to when she was at the coffee shop so he knew what time to get started tomorrow. Sherlock glanced over. "No," he said. "I'll stay here with you." His face softened a little as he sat back down. "Fine . . . now what?" Sherlock lifted his hands to the back of John’s head and pulled it toward him. He kissed his mouth softly, letting the kiss linger. “I need you in a way I didn’t think I would,” he said quietly. “No -- I want to do what we did last night on the sofa,” Sherlock said, with a soft smile. “Please . . .” Sherlock was surprised for a moment, but an urge took over -- an urge to be closer to John, an urge to explore this difference. He dropped his hand to John's waistband, sliding his fingers inside. John moaned a bit louder, pressing flush against Sherlock. “That’s why you shouldn’t make assumptions, John,” Sherlock said. “They’re not going to see

<|output|> <|example|> moved over to the sofa next to John. He lay his phone on the cushion between him. “You dial and then put it on speaker.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> She went straight to the bookshop, waved at the girl in the front and disappeared into the back <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> now what?" Sherlock lifted his hands to the back of John’s head and pulled it toward him <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” Mycroft could see his brother really did not remember anything about the day of the accident <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” "How could you <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> He kissed his mouth softly, letting the kiss linger <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> You’ve been prescribed rest, relaxation, respite <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> He kissed his mouth softly, letting the kiss linger <|indexes|> 6 |

<|text|> a person at all. They’re going to see a tiger that Sherlock met one day while he was out by himself in the woods. The tiger gave them some fresh meat and they went back to the cave and John cooked it over a fire and ate almost all of it except for a small bit that he let Sherlock have. I told you there was going to be a tiger in this story.” Sherlock made his tea. He wasn't sure what to do -- could he just stand there frozen until John came out? He didn't turn around but did ask, "Want tea?" John turned to look at him. "You left me," he said again. "Why did you even bring me if you weren’t going to let me help?" he asked. John took Sherlock into his mouth, bobbing slowly up and down around his cock. His hand kept playing at the base as he moaned softly. “Fuck off,” Sherlock said and turned to head back to his room. He could hear the two of them laughing as he walked away. "Okay," John said. He followed Sherlock and sat with him on the sofa. "Were there cells in this cup?" he asked. Sherlock swallowed a sip of tea. "You're wrong about him -- he'll know, you'll show him somehow, he'll see. But you're right -- he does always believe the best in people." He looked over. "Don't let him down." “Not yet,” Sherlock said. “Soon but not yet.” It was torture for both of them, but he knew that it was the good kind of torture. He pulsed his finger inside John and then slid in another one. “Does this feel good?” “No, I cannot,” Mycroft said. “However, I know that you appreciate cleverness -- I know you see the value in logic. Until yours recovers, I know you’ll follow my guidance.” Sherlock leaned into John, pressing their bodies together. “Are you keeping your clothes on as well?” he asked before nuzzling against John’s neck. They were eating lunch -- well, John was eating lunch while Sherlock was fiddling with his empty mug -- when John's phone vibrated. Sherlock saw John's face change the minute he read the text. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Is it a case?" It wasn't too long after John noticed the handsome man that things started wrapping up. The announcement was made, and Molly grinned out at the crowd. John couldn't help smiling as well. She looked truly happy. He watched them leave, and then the guests started to file out. John waited until he saw that man passing, squeezing out to walk behind him. He was very tall. John hoped he would be going to the reception. Maybe he could find a reason to talk to him there. Sherlock climbed into the bed and lay awkwardly flat on his back. "Is this all right -- do you mind that I'm here?" John carded his fingers into Sherlock's curls, his own head falling back a bit. "Sherlock . . . fuck," he moaned. "Fuck," John moaned, his knees more giving out than controlling his movement to the ground. He looked up at

<|output|> <|example|> a person at all. They’re going to see a tiger that Sherlock met one day while he was out by himself in the woods. The tiger gave them some fresh meat and they went back to the cave and John cooked it over a fire and ate almost all of it except for a small bit that he let Sherlock have. I told you there was going to be a tiger in this story.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> "Is it a case?" It wasn't too long after John noticed the handsome man that things started wrapping up <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Why did you even bring me if you weren’t going to let me help?" he asked <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “Does this feel good?” “No, I cannot,” Mycroft said <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> Sherlock. "You look really good." He didn’t pick up his phone until he was already under the covers with the lights out. He was relieved to see John’s apology, but the feeling of unease didn’t quite leave him. He wished he was still at home and everything was as it had been. Or maybe he wished John was here, even though that didn’t really make sense to him just yet. John browsed on his computer while Sherlock worked at the desk. His mind wandered to Harry and what she was out doing. Hopefully it all went well and they didn't fight. Everything had been so messy before. He was worried, but was trying to be hopeful. John gave a heated look at Sherlock, the annoyance from earlier building. "You don't have the skills necessary," he said. John's mouth snapped closed, fell open, and then he closed it again. "Oh." He shifted to sit up a bit. "Well, I like the film, don't get me wrong . . ." He paused it again. "But I wouldn't complain about an interruption." “No,” Sherlock said. “I’m feeling better today.” He leaned over and turned off the lamp. “This all feels quite nice, actually,” he said. John's breath shuddered a bit as he tried to compose himself -- feeling Sherlock's hand exploring his body like that was driving him crazy already. “How was the interview?” Sherlock called, but John was out the door. He climbed the rest of the stairs and went into the flat. "Oh," John breathed, wrapping his fingers around Sherlock's cock. He stroked slowly, tipping his head a bit to look down at it. When Sherlock came back in, he went upstairs to his room. He checked his phone and saw a message from John. Sherlock came in and sat on the sofa. “What’s the weather like? Perhaps we could take a walk later. I feel like I have more energy than I’ve had in a while.” John flushed lightly. "Not really,” he said. “But I do love food, which probably shows," he added, patting his belly. For John, the whole thing had been a whirlwind. He’d watched Sherlock bent over the body, barely touching it, and then he watched Sherlock list an amazing amount of details about her before shouting and running off. “Come on then,” Sherlock said. He kept his coat and opened the door, waving his arm to encourage John to hurry. "Oh, your neighbour called, saying something was wrong with his water, but looks like it was a false alarm. All is well." “You’ve always been interesting to me,” Sherlock said. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Can’t you do something to make me forget what’s going on? I don’t like this, John, and I’m worried that I won’t be able to think about anything else,” he said softly, like a confession. “The handyman you just met a few hours ago,” she said. “Pay attention, please, he’s the one we’ve been talking about.” For a second, Sherlock questioned himself, but then he hit Send. There was no turning back now. A few minutes passed before she responded. Sherlock didn’t say anything. He stayed on the bench,

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock. "You look really good." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He leaned back and closed his eyes <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say. "Do you have a job?" Sherlock asked. He glanced at John. "She said she wanted to talk about something else," he said as an explanation. “Yes,” Sherlock said. “I’ll be fine.” He grabbed a few things from his desk and then moved to the door. “Well, goodbye, then,” he said, glancing around. “Don’t destroy anything while I’m away.” His mother smiled softly and glanced at John. “You won’t be -- you’ll make friends there and you’ll see John on break.” "The grocery stores are considered essential and will not be closing. We can go out shopping only when it’s necessary," he said. They lay quietly for a few minutes, and then Sherlock heard his phone ring. He reached down and grabbed it from his trouser pocket. “It’s Lestrade,” he said. “What should I do?” "I've already seen Mum and I'm here now," Harry told John. "There aren't many people I care about but you know, I'm trying." “You’re not here as my doctor,” Sherlock said. “Besides I’m the boss here since you’re the boss at the flat.” Sherlock stood up and moved into the kitchen. After a few loud noises, one spill and multiple curses, he was ready. Or at least as ready as he was going to be. He moved over to his desk and opened his laptop, knowing he needed something to distract him for these last few minutes or his head would probably explode. John nodded. "I thought it was because of the case, the way you were acting . . . but I see now," he said. Sherlock peered around her and then took a step inside. He wanted to see this so-called man to make sure it was all on the up and up. “So, it’s sorted?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen. John dragged his fingers over Sherlock's nipples, grinning at the sigh and soft moan. "You also stood close enough to press your arm against me while you explained your train of thought." "I know we're best friends, but sex isn’t a part of friendship. Do you want dating to be part of our friendship?" John asked. "I've never been before, but I would love it." John looked over at him and smiled. "When everything opens up again, we'll plan it." "You can, the woman that owns it . . . well, you'll see. I'll text you the address later." They went back to their lunches and more honeymoon talk. Sherlock looked at John properly. “You’ve been trying to have sex with everyone you know,” he said. “Now you’re going to stop?” “Let’s get you home,” he said, reaching for her arm. “I think you’re overly tired.” He gave her a smile, and they headed out, finding a taxi to take them home to Baker Street. Sherlock handed John a mug. “Fine, sorry,” he mumbled. “But we’re supposed to be working on this case together, you know, so I do need to know what you’ve found out.” John looked over at him. “It

<|output|> <|example|> wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Now you’re going to stop?” “Let’s get you home,” he said, reaching for her arm <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> "You also stood close enough to press your arm against me while you explained your train of thought <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “What should I do?” "I've already seen Mum and I'm here now," Harry told John <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> was a very good dinner party, Sherlock,” he said. “Small but intimate.” “John,” Sherlock said. “I think our stories are more interesting than these people’s actual lives.” They turned their attention back to the screen, focusing more on finding the missing man. "Why?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Why have you become John Watson's biggest fan all of a sudden?" Sherlock checked his watch and then put the kettle on. He hadn’t heard anything from anyone so assumed things were going to plan. John looked over at him. "Look, you're not a constant ray of sunshine either, so we'll see how this all goes." Sherlock moved quickly back to the computer, opening the webpage for the club. He couldn’t find the man on the staff page for the bar. He found the calendar and located a link to the webpage of the band that was playing that night. No clues there. If he wasn’t working for the band or the bar, what could that guy have been doing there? John gasped softly and then groaned Sherlock's name as he came, bucking into his hand. His free hand gripped Sherlock's hair and kissed him hard. John took a drink and shrugged. "I'm just trying to make it interesting. Let's play something else if you want." John was sitting at his desk, looking through his essay and marking where he'd be editing and making changes when his phone finally buzzed. It was his friend with a new job. John was eager for a break. He accepted and quickly got ready. Harry shrugged. "All I'm saying is you're the only one dragging your feet. Acceptance is the first step, after all." “And you look lovely -- very handsome out in the sun. You should spend less time inside, the sun suits you.” Mrs Hudson pretended to think for a minute. “Let’s go get something nice for dinner,” she said. “With a bottle of wine.” John hummed softly as they kissed again. He moved Sherlock's hands to the zip of his jeans while his own started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock nuzzled John's lobe and then stepped back. "I'll get us another drink," he said and headed to the bar. When he returned, he handed a glass to John. "The band's not good . . . if you want my opinion for your friend," he said with a smile. "It doesn't," John said again, his voice harder. "It's just . . . it's not true. If someone said untrue things about you wouldn't you correct them? If it was true, it wouldn't matter." Sherlock pulled away a little and tried to get comfortable. “Are you going to go to sleep now?” he asked. It wasn't Sherlock. It wasn't even coded or disguised. John even recognised the name. His first urge was to just delete the message. How could he reopen the business without Sherlock? Without Sherlock, there was no business. There was nothing. Maybe he should tell Williams that; in fact, how dare he assume John could just pick it up? He clicked the reply button, his fingers hovering over the keys. But he couldn’t do it. John sent Sherlock the message and leaned back

<|output|> <|example|> was a very good dinner party, Sherlock,” he said. “Small but intimate.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> When he returned, he handed a glass to John <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Maybe he should tell Williams that; in fact, how dare he assume John could just pick it up? He clicked the reply button, his fingers hovering over the keys <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> in the seat of the taxi. He was a bit tired but eager to get home again. Hopefully, they would have a case when he got home. It had been a little while, and he knew Sherlock was at his best with a clear focus. Sherlock's initial thought was relief that John's issue had nothing to do with him before realising it had everything to do with him. "I don't think that's a good idea, John," he said, glancing up at the window. He was a bit curious but not enough to open the flat to someone else. “I bet you were good at it,” Sherlock said. “I never did public speaking -- even when we went to science competitions, I didn’t do the talking.” John sent the letter and tried to enjoy his time while waiting for a reply. He was worried -- if Sherlock took a long time to respond, how were they going to make a plan for the visit? Did Sherlock want to see him? Would he want to explain his experiments to John who could barely follow along now that he probably had real scientist friends who could actually contribute? He didn't like thinking about that. He understood now how Sherlock must have felt when John’s letters included stuff about his new friends. “God,” Sherlock called loudly, his upper body lifting slightly off the bed. “Fuck . . . that’s good.” He glanced down but then closed his eyes, letting the pleasure take him. "I didn't know what he wanted -- he wouldn't tell me. But I don't see what the big deal is, it’s Christmas, you know, family time," he said. "Good," Sherlock said. "I'm done with mine." He set his plate on the table. "I'll top up our wine while you finish." He went into the kitchen. He realised there was no space in the sink to leave the new plates, so he quickly did the washing up. Then he returned with the bottle. “I wasn’t even invited!” Sherlock pouted. “Fine,” he said. “You enjoy yourselves on luck money. I prefer income I worked for.” He got up and headed to his desk before realising that was useless. “I need tea,” he stated and went to the kitchen. Sherlock smiled to himself and then reached over and petted John’s head. “There, there,” he said. “Don’t feel bad – maybe they’ll have a question on ugly jumpers. I bet you’ll get that one straight away.” "Well, what have we been doing?? I don't know -- read or work or . . . fuck, John, what have we been doing all this time? I honestly can’t remember." "If they get sore, I could do this for you," Sherlock said. "I don't mind." He rubbed from John's shoulders to his lower back. "I kind of like it actually. I like helping you, John." "Okay, but I don't think it'll be gross. I'm going to get ready while you do that," he said. He went into the house with the dishes and put them in the sink before changing into his swimming trunks. Sherlock looked down at him lovingly. “You could’ve

<|output|> <|example|> in the seat of the taxi. He was a bit tired but eager to get home again. Hopefully, they would have a case when he got home. It had been a little while, and he knew Sherlock was at his best with a clear focus. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock looked down at him lovingly <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Then he returned with the bottle <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ” He glanced down but then closed his eyes, letting the pleasure take him <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> just asked me, you know,” he said softly and then his voice turned a little sharper. “You’ve got a job to do, soldier,” he said as he undid his trousers and opened them. “Whatever,” Sherlock said. “I have nothing to hide from you, and I’ll take my chances in the dark.” He pulled his cigarettes out of his bag. “I’m going to go outside and have one of these.” “Nothing,” John said. “She knows nothing about me. She has a boyfriend . . . if she’s interested, it’s not going to be for my interesting backstory.” Sherlock looked over. “No, you have never lied to me,” he stated. John had never lied -- not once. Sherlock had never doubted him. However, he knew John didn’t know things would be okay, no one could know that. John’s statement was more about belief. John believed things that Sherlock couldn’t, and sometimes Sherlock was jealous of that. He dropped John’s hand and said, “Sorry -- let’s stop talking about it. Don’t bring it up in front of her, okay?” "Hmm, the first. But like I said at the bar, I haven't found that person yet. Could be anywhere," he smiled. “There’s got to be something,” Sherlock said, dramatically throwing down his arms. “Oh my god, John,” he said, suddenly leaning forward in his chair. “Are we . . . boring?” John opened a cupboard and looked inside, then closed it and got on the floor to look under the bed. "Hmm." He got up and was about to leave the room when he noticed the door being wide open. He pulled it and grinned. "Found you!" Sherlock closed his eyes when the music began. “Fine choice,” he said, opening his eyes again. “So does this music hold any memories for you? Tell me about your life when you first heard this song.” “It was fun,” Sherlock said. “Remember the other day when we were trying to prove we were interesting? We should have done that instead of the prank phone calls.” John walked into the flat and didn't know what to look at first. The place was kind of a mess -- books, newspapers, beakers and solutions, just general clutter everywhere. “I suppose so,” Sherlock said. He set his mug down. “Let’s go.” As they walked down, he asked, “Will you have a lot to move?” Yet he hated leaving puzzles unsolved, and he was certain this was a puzzle. He sat down on his chair and stared out into the flat which suddenly seemed entirely too quiet. He used to love that quiet, but now it seemed wrong somehow. And that, of course, was because of John. "Not right this second," he said. "I finally snuck out -- I guess that’s something that has changed.” “It’s very interesting,” Sherlock said, giving John a serious but sly look. “Perhaps I could tell you about it the next time our pipes break.” “I appreciate your coming to the wedding,” she said softly. “I hope it wasn’t too horrible for you -- I know you don’t like that kind of thing.” "The gun's gone," Sherlock said. "Chemicals are in those beakers, but

<|output|> <|example|> just asked me, you know,” he said softly and then his voice turned a little sharper. “You’ve got a job to do, soldier,” he said as he undid his trousers and opened them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” As they walked down, he asked, “Will you have a lot to move?” Yet he hated leaving puzzles unsolved, and he was certain this was a puzzle <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> if she’s interested, it’s not going to be for my interesting backstory <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> none of them is alcohol," he added. He stood up but wasn't sure why. He decided he needed more tea. "Maybe you should go up to John's room," he said as he moved to the kitchen. John picked up his phone and furrowed his brows at the message. He walked normally to the door but through the window he saw the deer and froze, taking careful steps and being very quiet as he moved next to Sherlock. He watched the deer. Sherlock pushed a pillow toward John. "Don't, though," he added. He took a sip of tea and lifted his legs onto the table, sliding down a bit. "Do you like her?" he asked. "I mean, if she wasn't your sister, would you be friends with her?" John took the clipboard and smiled. "Thanks--oh, is that the time?” he asked, noticing the clock. “I have to go, I'm sorry. I have a full afternoon." John raised his brows slightly, but he didn't say anything. "Well, I will leave you my own card as well so if anything actually . . . I mean, if something happens again, you can call me directly." “Why don’t you move in and send this grump to your house?” she said. “Sherlock, did you tell John all about your school?” John headed out early, wanting to stop into speak to Lestrade a bit about his progress. Sherlock’s reactions to all this had been awkward and John wasn’t sure why. John brought some toast from the kitchen and sat back down on the sofa, turning on the news. The sound changed the room, and he glanced over at Sherlock who had obviously gone away into his mind. John turned off the telly. "Fine, we are there in that world." “Could we talk for a few more minutes?” Sherlock said, stepping in and standing at the door awkwardly. Sherlock opened the door wider and stepped forward a little. “Is this something kind of insult about my own health? I can assure you I’m well,” he said. When they got back to school, she dropped his hand as they got off the bus. “Let’s take a walk,” she said. “It’s just -- that’s not what I want. I just want you to be here. That’s all I’m trying to say. But now you’ll be at work and out doing other things,” Sherlock said. He didn’t feel like he was making himself clear, but he couldn’t think how else to say it. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I think I’ll do a little more work now,” he said as he made a move to get up from the bed. John actually had been looking and had found an article about a robbery at an art gallery. He read it out to Sherlock and asked, "What do you think?" “Then we’ll be fine,” Sherlock said. He finished his food and set his plate on the table. “Though . . . I’m worried that if you get ill, I won’t know what to do.” There was nothing more infuriating than his brother being right, but Sherlock knew he was. “What . . . can I do?” he

<|output|> <|example|> none of them is alcohol," he added. He stood up but wasn't sure why. He decided he needed more tea. "Maybe you should go up to John's room," he said as he moved to the kitchen. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “Let’s take a walk,” she said <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> John turned off the telly <|indexes|> 2 2 2 2 2 <|example|> “Sherlock, did you tell John all about your school?” John headed out early, wanting to stop into speak to Lestrade a bit about his progress <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> He watched the deer <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> " “Could we talk for a few more minutes?” Sherlock said, stepping in and standing at the door awkwardly <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> "Thanks--oh, is that the time?” he asked, noticing the clock <|indexes|> 7 |

<|text|> asked. "I don’t want to," he said. “There’s a risk, but the benefits are worth it.” He slouched a bit lower and sighed softly. “Well, you’re being rude to me right now,” Sherlock said. “I thought you care about the cases. I thought you like working together.” Sherlock glanced over at his bookshelves. “My books don’t make very good stories,” he said. “Can you make one up?” Sherlock stood up and walked over to the window. The street was empty. It was too unusual so he pulled the curtains shut and tipped the rest of the tea into his mouth. He glanced at the kitchen where John was busying himself, so Sherlock flopped on the sofa and flipped through the channels. "You should get an early night tonight or maybe a nap," Sherlock said. "I mean, you've probably not slept very well on the sofa and all." John kissed back, unable to answer back, unwilling to stop the kiss long enough to answer back. He shifted towards Sherlock, moaning softly. “Yes, the overly eager employee who contacted the police before contacting Mr Altamont will eventually be relieved of her position, but yes, that’s it. You’ve solved the case. I’ll be in touch when you are required.” “You’re not trapped here,” Mycroft said. “You’re an adult, you can make your own choices. I’m sure that -- as an adult -- you realise that a short rest away from work is exactly what you need and thus will choose to stay.” “I don’t want to stop,” Sherlock said. “I just wanted to say it was unusual. But unusual is good, right?” He twisted himself around to face John. He lifted his hands to the sides of John’s head and gave him a soft kiss. “Not really. Are you? Hold on, wait,” Sherlock said, moving over to the bag he’d put in the kitchen. “I brought something for you,” he said, handing John a bag. “It’s popcorn -- like we used to have when we watched movies sometimes.” "If we're going to start making up stories to pass the time, I'd like a little warning to get mine together," John said, not looking up from the computer. Mrs Hudson returned to the table. “What happened to John?” she asked. “Did you do something to him?” "Okay. Well, he's mostly bruised up. His body needs to rest and heal. Also his blood pressure is elevated, most likely because of the pain he's in. We'll keep him overnight with the stronger medication, but then he should be able to go home with oral pain medicine. He needs to rest, though." John rubbed his neck awkwardly. "I know. I wanted to but got busy. And I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me again. You left so quickly.” “Right,” Sherlock said. “I fill one role, but now you’re looking for someone else who is clever and funny and shares similar interests and is easy to talk to. All things that don’t describe me, it appears. Right, I get it.” John finished up his last few patients, heading out to hail a cab. He could do his paperwork the next time he came in. “Is it

<|output|> <|example|> asked. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Mrs Hudson returned to the table <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Mrs Hudson returned to the table <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 <|example|> “What happened to John?” she asked <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He glanced at the kitchen where John was busying himself, so Sherlock flopped on the sofa and flipped through the channels <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> ” “I don’t want to stop,” Sherlock said <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “You’re an adult, you can make your own choices <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> “I brought something for you,” he said, handing John a bag <|indexes|> 6 <|example|> He needs to rest, though <|indexes|> 7 <|example|> “Can you make one up?” Sherlock stood up and walked over to the window <|indexes|> 8 8 <|example|> “It’s popcorn -- like we used to have when we watched movies sometimes <|indexes|> 9 |

<|text|> our guy?” Sherlock said, excitedly before looking closely. “No . . . oh well, good on the kid for making a little extra money,” he added with a laugh. “Wait – didn’t we just see that woman kissing a dark-haired man and now she’s holding hands with that elderly guy. Think she’s running some kind of scam?” "Intriguing," Sherlock said with a sly grin. He took another sip of tea. "Maybe we could try…see what it's like. Do what we both want to do . . . don't do what we don't want to do. That is one way to find out if it's what we both actually want." John winced a bit as the light came in. He nodded, rubbing the five o'clock shadow on his face self consciously. "Okay." John shrugged. "It’ll give me good experience -- I’m going to be a surgeon. And it’ll be pretty exciting," he said. Sherlock sat down. "You can deal," he said. "But be sure to shuffle in front of me -- I don't want any tricks." “Yes,” Sherlock said quickly then realised that lying was not good or necessary. “I am now -- I got checked when I got back. I’m all right, just . . . sore.” John looked over his schedule plan for Monday. "I might be able to stop by Monday afternoon," he said. News about the virus was all over every page he clicked. How had he missed this? He grabbed his phone and sent a text to his brother. “I loved you too,’ Sherlock said. He moved over toward the sofa and paused before he sat down. “I didn’t know it . . . I wasn’t expecting it. . . but being away from you made me understand.” He looked over but couldn’t quite meet John’s eyes. “Like I said in the messages . . . you made me happier than I’ve ever been." Sherlock pulled it out and brushed it off. He looked over at John who was now bent down as well. He looked closely at his face, and he thought he could see his friend there. “Do you remember the combination?” he asked, pushing the box toward John. “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. Both our client and his maid had seemed genuinely surprised for not having realised that the latch was not operating properly, so it was unlikely to have been in that condition for long. We were once neighbours. You and your wife visited us several times for supper and some light musical entertainment. I recall her distinctly noting that you enjoyed those sorts of evenings, but little else in the way of normal pursuits. “We don’t want to give him anything to calm him or treat his pain until we know how extensive the head injury is; his overall condition,” the neurologist explained. “It would probably help if you talked to him.” He had timed his “walk about” carefully. He knew that Malcolm was going out to see a film that evening. His brother was God-knows-where, his driver with him. When Mrs

<|output|> <|example|> our guy?” Sherlock said, excitedly before looking closely. “No . . . oh well, good on the kid for making a little extra money,” he added with a laugh. “Wait – didn’t we just see that woman kissing a dark-haired man and now she’s holding hands with that elderly guy. Think she’s running some kind of scam?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> You and your wife visited us several times for supper and some light musical entertainment <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “Wait – didn’t we just see that woman kissing a dark-haired man and now she’s holding hands with that elderly guy <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> Parker had brought the tray up to his room, she seemed weary. He was genuinely a bit concerned and gently reached out and touched one work-worn hand. I am not, in retrospect, surprised that he knew that I was accompanied by someone other than his brother. My use of his surname, and his response using mine, indicated that with his usual lightning-quick reasoning, he had deduced the situation. “Come over here,” Winifred invited, placing her bag on the table in a different bedroom than he had been inhabiting. She had found her patient there, sitting on the floor and impatiently flipping through the pages of a book. Etta had filled her in on their patient’s somewhat rough start to the day—a tetchy stomach, outburst in the kitchen. Thankfully, things had smoothed out after that. He had seemed to genuinely enjoy his brother reading to him, and after that, he had gone wandering through the immense house, eventually involving himself in a creative (and harmless) activity. “God, Sherlock, I am so sorry. I just meant… I meant to cleanse you… to bathe you. I know that you feel horrid from your exertions and the heat of this wretched day.” His own reaction has been disturbing. He now seems completely unaware of his injury even as it obviously impedes his movements. He was impatient with my examination, of course, and then began to act as if the incident had never occurred. He huffed impatiently as I tested the water and adjusted the taps, then continued stripping, carelessly dropping his shirt onto the pile on the floor. I looked pointedly at his combinations. Whilst we were discussing this, Sherlock had entertained himself by apparently selecting a few books for his journey (he had muttered something about how dull the shipboard journey was unless there was a disappearance or murder or even a good theft to entertain him). However, his method of selecting the tomes was to remove each book from our crowded shelves, glance at it, then discard it as he had been discarding everything else. The pile around him was growing and he was clearly ignorant of any pain he had caused to his own (bare) feet whilst engaged in this activity. The regular thuds of the books as they fell and his still-constant speech was beginning to give me a headache. The woman—who reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on who just then—returned with a glass of water in one hand and a neatly-folded flannel in the other. “Come sit back down,” she said firmly. “I am relieved that she will be staying. She is nearly as good a cook as you are, Mrs Hudson,” I told her honestly. The second tin—a smaller one shaped like a stack of chocolate digestives—held an encouraging amount of cash. He took it all and replaced that tin. He was Catholic and the eighth of nine children. Not that he had told them that, of course, but Mycroft couldn’t help noting the facts. He wondered if Sherlock still automatically observed and catalogued facts like that about people. Not knowing what was going on

<|output|> <|example|> Parker had brought the tray up to his room, she seemed weary. He was genuinely a bit concerned and gently reached out and touched one work-worn hand. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He took it all and replaced that tin <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> The regular thuds of the books as they fell and his still-constant speech was beginning to give me a headache <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ” His own reaction has been disturbing <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Not that he had told them that, of course, but Mycroft couldn’t help noting the facts <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> He huffed impatiently as I tested the water and adjusted the taps, then continued stripping, carelessly dropping his shirt onto the pile on the floor <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> in his brother’s head was becoming increasingly frustrating. There had been a woman—dark hair and beautiful clothing and a wit as sharp as a tack. He had liked her, and she seemed to like him, but no—she didn’t seem the type to interfere with things like that. He had absolutely no qualms about drugging the nurse. As soon as she was out (it was fairly obvious because she snored), he set his plan into action. There was no time to lose. Malcolm would be back from the cinema soon, and when he opened the gate to drive in, he would have his opportunity. “Will you leave?” he suddenly burst out, spinning on his cushions to look into my eyes. “Will you move away?” Quite unexpectedly, the thin man thrust it at his brother, then glared at him. Clearly, he expected him to do something with it. The government man glanced at the topmost sheet. Ah. It was a list of the foods that Sherlock preferred and those he avoided, in Mycroft’s own writing. this? How can you conclude that it is a man from so little information?” I was spluttering, the questions crowding upon one another. “What do we have here?” she asked Christopher, who was making some final notes regarding his shift on the clipboard. He was absolutely correct. I removed and hung up my coat and turned. Sure enough, there was my dressing gown—a gift from him on my last birthday—draped neatly over the back of my chair. I slipped into it and discovered a note in one of the pockets. Sherlock was true to his word and behaved himself fairly well. I had lifted my ban, and he was now allowed to resume his experiments—within reason, and he was to warn us if something was likely to create any alarming noises or odours. He was being quite good about keeping to regular hours and decently garbing himself. I pointed out that, because Belinda left after the supper washing up, he would not be able to ring for food or even tea on a whim, so he had better eat when meals were offered. Surprisingly, he complied with this rule as well. Long before their trip to Harrods, John had agonized about what he could possibly get for him. He had immediately dismissed any sort of clothing—he wouldn’t be able to select a single pair of socks that were acceptable, let alone a shirt or something. He had considered a selection of different honeys, tins of biscuits, and even a selection of gourmet-flavoured popcorn—but seeing Mycroft’s overflowing basket, he was grateful for not having pursued this option, as anything he could have procured would have seemed piddling in comparison. Finally, it had dawned on him. Here he was, considering the most mundane sorts of gifts possible, when the man for whom he was buying was anything but. Sherlock Holmes was a unique man. Only a unique gift—one that truly reflected his personality—would do. “I see,” I mused. “I will make it clear that I am just popping out to retrieve some things that we need in the short term. I

<|output|> <|example|> in his brother’s head was becoming increasingly frustrating. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Only a unique gift—one that truly reflected his personality—would do <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Finally, it had dawned on him <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> I had lifted my ban, and he was now allowed to resume his experiments—within reason, and he was to warn us if something was likely to create any alarming noises or odours <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Sure enough, there was my dressing gown—a gift from him on my last birthday—draped neatly over the back of my chair <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Surprisingly, he complied with this rule as well <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> do not wish for him to believe anything except that these circumstances are temporary—that we only wish for him to get well—and then we can return to our lives.” And then that thought had caused me a flood of apprehension. “We “No,” Mycroft decided firmly but quietly. He sounded exhausted. “We can’t risk that—too difficult to maintain security. He’s safer here.” He and Anthea had already made it crystal-clear that every person in that room was to not just keep quiet about but if challenged to actively deny who they had been treating. “Besides,” he added even more quietly, “you’ve seen how he’s reacting now, in a familiar setting; what would it do to him to be in a hospital?” I did have a vague notion of your activities, as my own dear husband occasionally indulges in reading some rather fantastic stories—although I do attempt to dissuade him, and to entice him with much more wholesome fare—and he sometimes shares with me some details from your pieces in The Strand. Since my return, I have taken it upon myself to seek out and read some of these lurid tales myself. There was someone else… damn. She cleaned and she made biscuits and she complained about his experiments. No. She liked it when he was “dashing about” and there was something about… To see him curled up with the doctor on their sofa, gazing at a children’s programme or listening to him read aloud; to watch as he became completely engaged and calm whilst building with blocks or colouring… “Oh, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed. He pulled the straight-backed chair up and sat in front of him, still clasping the book. His brother’s eyes wandered in his direction slowly; he didn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular. “I have thousands of books. How did you manage to find this one?” He looked down at it, running his fingers across the title. “Why did I even keep it?” he mused. “Not do?” I pictured our dear landlady bustling about, going up and down the stairs. Ah. “We do not cook.” He looked at us blankly and I interjected: “He means, Sherlock, did you intend to just walk away from your half of the responsibility for the rent? For our other household expenses? Did you think that I could afford to manage on my own—or to take another lodger in your place?” He looked at his own hands for a while, observing the yellow nicotine stains, the healing wounds on the knuckles, the scars. The callouses caught his eye. Recognisable callouses, even if they were a bit softened now; at some point, he had played the violin. The room was terribly cold. He was dressed, if not neatly, at least as completely as he was able (he had no boots or collar, but otherwise was garbed against the chill, including stockings). As he had no coat, he had wrapped himself in a blanket from the bed. His brother was completely bare, water dripping off his fingers. He shook his head in mild distain (and just a touch of amusement) over the familiar image. “You did half

<|output|> <|example|> do not wish for him to believe anything except that these circumstances are temporary—that we only wish for him to get well—and then we can return to our lives.” And then that thought had caused me a flood of apprehension. “We <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> How did you manage to find this one?” He looked down at it, running his fingers across the title <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “Not do?” I pictured our dear landlady bustling about, going up and down the stairs <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> He sounded exhausted <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “Not do?” I pictured our dear landlady bustling about, going up and down the stairs <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> the work,” the doctor reminded him, smiling at the empty plate in front of him. “And now, if you do half the washing up, I will consider it a Christmas miracle.” “But otherwise, I have no desire to dress or to act any differently than as I do. I have not wished to present myself as a woman just to do the thing. I have never wished to be a woman. I have never once wished to be… a wife to you.” “What about them?” So, he did have family. He had thought so. The clothing; the public school accent. Had probably been to university. “Yeah. Come on. Up.” He was so slight Greg could probably have picked him up, but instead he carefully got him sitting up and slowly moved him back into the passenger seat of his car. The government man had rather numbly indicated the samples that he had collected so they could add them to everything that would be tested. “Breathe, Sherlock,” he had murmured to him. “It will all be over soon. You’re safe now.” “I’ll be waking him periodically to check on him and give him more medication,” Winifred explained as she nodded her thanks; Mycroft had just handed her a bin that she placed quietly on the floor near Sherlock’s head—she had been warned about his notoriously weak stomach. “You should probably sleep in the other room.” Solomon was delighted. His patient had, after being dried off and redressed, allowed himself to be manoeuvred down into the kitchen (he seemed more relaxed when in that room than anywhere else in the house) and he had eaten several slices of apple (peeled and doused with lemon and cinnamon sugar, as Mr Holmes had instructed) and two chocolate biscuits. “I should have been more diligent in my questioning,” she admitted, “but it is growing more and more uncommon—or so I thought. It simply did not occur to me. I feel quite horrid about the way I found out—me thrusting that wretched book under her nose. I do wish she had told me.” He, of course, had warned me at our very first meeting of these periods of melancholia, but as he did not experience such a low time immediately, I somewhat put his words about sometimes getting “in the dumps” behind myself. Besides, I wondered, what would a few days of sulking mean to me, anyway? I certainly found myself in a foul mood for a few days at a time more than once—is that all he meant? If so, I would simply do as he requested and leave him alone until it passed. Someone had done that for him, too—a long time ago. Who had that been? He drifted off trying to remember. There were times when observing him performing such an action was the most enticing, beautiful, stimulating thing ever—both for me and for him. But not now. His head was down; his face the very picture of thoughtful despair. He sighed as he passed the sponge across his flaccid organ. The DI wandered into the kitchen with the crumbled wrapping paper in his hands. He

<|output|> <|example|> the work,” the doctor reminded him, smiling at the empty plate in front of him. “And now, if you do half the washing up, I will consider it a Christmas miracle.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> His patient had, after being dried off and redressed, allowed himself to be manoeuvred down into the kitchen (he seemed more relaxed when in that room than anywhere else in the house) and he had eaten several slices of apple (peeled and doused with lemon and cinnamon sugar, as Mr Holmes had instructed) and two chocolate biscuits <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> tossed it in the bin and then leaned against the counter, watching the doctor as he retrieved mugs. “I should have thought to remove them first,” he admitted, accepting the bar of Pears’ soap that I offered. Sherlock glanced at it—he had been poking his finger into his hot, milky tea, pulling it out, and watching the droplets fall back into the cup. The nurse smiled at him. “Drink your tea while it’s hot,” she encouraged. “I’m Winifred, by the way.” Instead of responding, he reached a shaking hand out for the dish of orange segments. Unusual? More unusual than what? Than finding himself in a jaw-droppingly posh house as a private nurse to a patient apparently so important he had had to sign a confidentiality agreement? “I t’ink a lovely hot bath would be a good idea,” she commented. He looked down at himself and nodded sombrely, thoughtfully licking a few fingers. “Come on, then. Mr Holmes, you all right?” The government man had been completely silent since the younger man had (not terribly gently) pushed his plate back in front of him. He had eaten, mechanically, somehow clearing the plate without taking his eyes off his brother for even a second. It had been a Godsend when, spurred by his interest in solving mysteries, he had somehow gotten the attention of Lestrade, and there had been a few years of a somewhat uneasy peace. With the carrot of cases dangling in front of him, he, for the first time, actively attempted to get clean. He took a ratty little flat on Montague Street. He was stumbling along, spending what little money he made from cases on books, scientific equipment, and clothing… mostly. Sherlock nodded. He began to meticulously return each crayon to the box. While he focused on this, Mycroft gathered up the remainder of the papers from the floor, and Solomon handed him the drawings from the other room. He tapped them into a tidy stack. “These are very interesting, Sherlock,” he told him, sincerely. “Shall I keep them safe for you?” “John, thank God you have returned! Your professional services are required immediately.” Sherlock’s voice rolled up the stairs and into the hall, where I had just dropped my walking stick into the stand. Still, he was intelligent and thoughtful and was studying to become a doctor. He had a special interest in diseases of the eyes and in surgery, having grown up with a grandmother blinded by cataracts and so terrified of the idea of an operation that they never could convince her to have it done. He had felt so helpless back then. But now, when his studies were complete, he could help others in her situation. That was his plan. She couldn’t figure out what he wanted, and he began to get frustrated. “B…” was all he could manage. The nurse who had just been dismissed went into the staff room and emerged moments later with her coat. Not even pausing to put it on, she put her head down and dashed out the door, nearly hitting someone coming in. “Thankfully, nothing too bad—the patient realised

<|output|> <|example|> tossed it in the bin and then leaned against the counter, watching the doctor as he retrieved mugs. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock glanced at it—he had been poking his finger into his hot, milky tea, pulling it out, and watching the droplets fall back into the cup <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Still, he was intelligent and thoughtful and was studying to become a doctor <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Not even pausing to put it on, she put her head down and dashed out the door, nearly hitting someone coming in <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> it was the wrong tablets before he took any—but obviously it could have been much worse.” What had occurred to me as I struck out from the hotel into the bright, fresh day was this: everyone who saw me, decently attired and walking with calm purpose, would have assumed that I was off to attend to some mundane matter—stopping at my tailor’s, or at the bank. If I had my medical bag with me, everyone would assume that I was on my way to attend to a patient. We sat for a long time after that; my legs cramped a bit and I finally shifted from my position crouched in front of him. I rose stiffly and sat next to him on the bed. All three of us remained in silence for a few moments. “Several times, yes. This is the fourth that I know of definitively and I suspect there were a few incidents at a time when I was abroad.” “I have discovered something about her that took me somewhat by surprise, and I am afraid that my reaction was… well, I could have responded a bit more calmly.” “Can you come sit down?” his brother suggested in a somewhat kinder tone. “Can you sit and talk to us for a while?” “I am certain he does not mean any of it,” she pointed out. “He has nothing but respect and affection for you. He is out of his head, as you have said. He would never say anything so hurtful otherwise.” Equally, I should have had the wits to explain that snakes are, for the most part, not trainable. Likewise, they would be highly unlikely to crawl through a metal ventilator and down a bell-rope—unlike a bedpost, the fabric would not support their method of movement. As for hoping that an untrainable reptile would do so, bite the occupant of the bed, then return when whistled for is simply untenable. Sherlock did not slow in his pacing as he spat vitriol at his brother; at me. He accused us of terrible things—we had kept him confined against his will. We had deprived him of contact with others; with knowledge of current events. We had finally stripped him of even the most basic of human comforts—fire for warmth; fire for light. What he revealed horrified me so much that I—I admit this in retrospect and I am truly disgusted at my own behaviour—I walked out on him. I simply put on my coat and hat and walked down the stairs and out the street door and I did not return for hours. What I did—how I responded—I am ashamed. I took a good, deep drink of the cool drink I held. “No, it is fine,” I finally managed, “but I believe that I was under a misapprehension regarding the passing of your husband and child.” His uncertainty irritated him, as had Mycroft’s request that he tell them what had happened to him. He couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. “… three or four times before having them killed; doesn’t do it himself. Keeps his hands clean. Probably has The tall, pale man had concentrated quite

<|output|> <|example|> it was the wrong tablets before he took any—but obviously it could have been much worse.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> What he revealed horrified me so much that I—I admit this in retrospect and I am truly disgusted at my own behaviour—I walked out on him <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “Can you sit and talk to us for a while?” “I am certain he does not mean any of it,” she pointed out <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> What I did—how I responded—I am ashamed <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” “Can you come sit down?” his brother suggested in a somewhat kinder tone <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “Several times, yes <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> We had finally stripped him of even the most basic of human comforts—fire for warmth; fire for light <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> What I did—how I responded—I am ashamed <|indexes|> 6 6 <|example|> As for hoping that an untrainable reptile would do so, bite the occupant of the bed, then return when whistled for is simply untenable <|indexes|> 7 7 |

<|text|> hard on the shorter man’s words, frowning and sometimes shaking his head doubtfully, but the calm, steady voice did its job and he was able to accomplish his task, working carefully around the horrific head wound and the bruises on the almost emaciated face. She was not amused, however, and frowned at me. “Well, over time, I have marked several recipes that I wished to try, and it occurred to me that this would be an opportune time. Belinda is quite handy in the kitchen, as you have noticed, and I did not think that any of them were beyond her capabilities.” Oh, he could be amusing! Because, of course, he was exactly right. Puffing to keep my pipe going, I retrieved my book and made myself comfortable in my chair—the cushion crinkled. “I also believe that you will be perfectly capable of bringing up the coal and laying the fires—for us It was, in fact, that very duty which led me to my realisation. I had reached out to the director of the London Zoo for advice and to possibly arrange for the transportation of the animals to that establishment, and in doing so, I had to, of course, make a list of the wildlife. She shook her head vigorously. “It is no use, Doctor Watson. I know what I saw with my own eyes, and that vile sight will undoubtedly haunt my dreams for ages. I will take my leave of you now.” And she swept past me and hurried around the corner that I had just come from. I sighed and took the few steps I needed to reach our door. Sherlock was not supposed to stop all communication. He was not supposed to fall off the radar. He was not supposed to be damaged to the point of insanity and tortured to the point of death. He was not supposed to finally resurface on a dark street, filthy and strung out and injured, and eventually end up in his big brother’s house, so broken that he was unable to speak. “Very well. I met Mr. Bramsen at a secluded bench in Hyde Park, as he had instructed, and he shared his problem with me.” Sherlock smiled a bit wickedly as he leaned against the wall and counted the cash from the wallet that he had just liberated from its owner. More than enough—more than enough to take care of the swirling horribly jumbled unfocused confusing overwhelming thoughts. He needed to focus, and he knew exactly how he was going to do that. “Don’t be absurd, John. It’s merely a matter of selecting high-quality paper and attending to the folds.” He looked disdainfully at the colourful bags in which many of their gifts had arrived (and which John had insisted they save for re-use). If all the homes that had been burgled had already been listed for sale, it would probably have been far too obvious. But a valuation? Some of the homeowners, flustered and distraught by the break-ins, probably had not even thought to mention that they had recently had one done when asked about any strangers in

<|output|> <|example|> hard on the shorter man’s words, frowning and sometimes shaking his head doubtfully, but the calm, steady voice did its job and he was able to accomplish his task, working carefully around the horrific head wound and the bruises on the almost emaciated face. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> More than enough—more than enough to take care of the swirling horribly jumbled unfocused confusing overwhelming thoughts <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> their homes. She continued relating our maid’s history as I re-wrapped her foot. “First she was in the scullery of a country house…” I embraced him more tightly. “I always read your letters; you know that,” I chided. “That is not the reason you did not send it. Will you come sit with me and tell me what happened to change your mind about it?” I am, every moment, grateful to our host. When we arrived, the rooms had been, as promised, stripped to the bare minimum—all breakables removed. However, there are books (those are deemed harmless for the most part unless he throws them) and pencils and writing paper (Mycroft explained that they have learned not to provide him with pens or ink). Everything is kept fresh and airy—the bedding is rather exquisite. Meals arrive punctually, delivered by one of the very serious young footmen; letters likewise (all from Mrs Hudson—one each day, in which she faithfully records any visitors and more mundane issues regarding the drains and whatnot—all of which Sherlock takes very seriously, sometimes re-reading a letter several times and then writing a very earnest if rambling response). There are always clean towels and shirts and stockings. “Correct. In the flood of information my questions drew from the neighbours, there was not a single reference to a child, or children, so I finally inquired directly, and my observation was confirmed.” Mycroft gingerly placed the filthy garments in a bag so they could be examined. After his initial shocked outburst, he found himself swallowing hard, his mouth clamped shut, as he fully revealed his brother’s emaciated, mutilated body. The worst—God. Oh God. Really? Worse than he could “Let me examine you,” I responded instantly. She nodded, and I gingerly pressed on her foot, over the bandages. “The swelling has increased,” I reported grimly. “Has the pain, as well?” So now as he entered, I could instantly observe that he was, if not suffering terribly from it, at least uncomfortable from the heat. He removed his coat and hat, then looked down on himself in some surprise. I rose and went to assist him. Mycroft was impressed as his brother, pushing the helpful hand aside, shakily managed to get himself to the table. Sherlock tried to make eye contact with him, but he had already turned away and was opening the door to his tiny student hall room. Two other students walked in. One—his name was Paul, Sherlock vaguely recalled—was carrying a large amount of bottled beer. The other, a rather delicate brunette named Simon, had some packets of crisps and other staples of student diets. The beer was deposited on the small table next to the bed. “And that is precisely what I do not understand!” he protested quite vehemently. I felt his back stiffen. “There is a distinct seven-minute interval between periods of intense activity,” he reported succinctly. “’She greeted me with a few words of pleasant welcome in a low clear voice, and I sank into a basket chair feeling distinctly glad that I had accepted John’s invitation.’” [This piece, like only a few others in Doctor John Watson’s infamous dispatch

<|output|> <|example|> their homes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Oh God <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> She nodded, and I gingerly pressed on her foot, over the bandages <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “That is not the reason you did not send it <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Really? Worse than he could “Let me examine you,” I responded instantly <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> box of unpublished writing, is crisp and clean. It has been folded once and does not appear to have been opened and re-read often—if at all.] Now that we are to one another—what we are—I look back at this period with some astonishment. It was so very early in our friendship—we were really barely acquainted in some ways—but tending to Sherlock when these horrible moods struck him was something that I never once considered a burden or an imposition. As with his headaches, I understood that he was not able to control them, and although I could not truly treat them as I did his poor head, I do believe that I was a comfort. He remained silent for a few moments, his head down and his countenance obscured from me. “Do you mean that?” he finally asked, mumbling against his knees. —that I had never experienced with anyone else. His interest in me, his inclusion of me in his cases—insistence, really—his complete ease (to the point of immodesty) around me—how could I have not construed it? Persuading him to take in any sort of nourishment has been equally ineffective. At this point I do not care in the slightest what he eats—if he would only eat something. Sometimes he can be convinced to take some cake or a jelly—he does love his sweets. But anything proper and strengthening—a lovely roast pheasant such as what was brought up last night—he eschews. She entered the bedroom quietly. “Good evening,” she said politely to the older brother, who was sitting at the small desk, fidgeting with his mobile. He looked dreadful. “Are you all right?” she inquired. The fussing had woken Mycroft after a far-too-short kip; he was now observing her as she directed him back into the bedroom by a firm grip on his elbow. He was balking at this, which didn’t surprise Mycroft in the slightest. I made quick work with my sponge—and every stroke of it drew from him a whispered sigh of satisfaction; of contentedness; of desire. He was, without a doubt, in desperate need of a bath, and I was vigorous in my ablutions. And then I was done and he was fresh and clean and both of us were so very rigid and without preamble I engulfed him with my eager mouth and at the same time stirred his balls until he became quite speechless and rather unsure of his legs and it was a simple thing to tip him onto the bed and to rip off my own trousers and as I rather violently attacked his lips with my own my prick encountered his and I moaned and I thrust and I grasped at him and he at me and I knew that all my hard work with the sponge was going to waste as we both grew hot and soon soaked with perspiration as I continued to almost angrily thrust against his lovely cock and then I wanted to take it in my mouth again but— “Do you want to write something?” The doctor offered his clipboard and pen. Sherlock’s writing sprawled across the

<|output|> <|example|> box of unpublished writing, is crisp and clean. It has been folded once and does not appear to have been opened and re-read often—if at all.] <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> As with his headaches, I understood that he was not able to control them, and although I could not truly treat them as I did his poor head, I do believe that I was a comfort <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> paper. He wrote rather slowly, they all noted, and seemed to be concentrating quite hard, but then he handed the clipboard back to the doctor. “Germanium-nickel-uranium-sulphur?” he read aloud, struggling a bit to decipher both the handwriting and the spelling. He had transposed several sets of letters. I am sure that all of this had passed through Sherlock’s mind in the time it took him to jump down from the windowsill. And I certainly had a rich source of material—currently sitting on a high stool at his table of chemicals, using a pipette to add a blue liquid to a beaker of something an unappetizing shade of green (did it just move on its own? He is not leaving that vile stuff sitting there when he is done). My ridiculous man. Mycroft knew he was experiencing an uneasy combination of stress (loathe as he was to admit it) and fatigue, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It left him with a vague sense of unreality that gave everything a somewhat soft edge. It wasn’t that he was not thinking clearly—that would never happen—but it smoothed and cushioned the hard edges of what he was feeling—both physical sensations and his emotions. He had been eating whatever was placed in front of him automatically, but he was not aware of feeling either hungry or satiated. He had showered when it was convenient. He had slept as much as he could when he could. The man in front of him, dressed in a dark shirt, black jeans, and, surprisingly, a suit jacket, was clearly high as a kite. He was talking a mile a minute even before Lestrade could move directly in front of him, gesticulating wildly. His pupils were wide and dark, and he moved in little jerks. “Yes.” He sounded distinctly sulky. “But only when I have pushed you far more than any more ordinary man.” “I should like to point out that, firstly, the statement in Leviticus is not part of the ‘ten commandments’ that are supposed to represent the most moral of acts—or the least moral, I suppose. Secondly, Leviticus is in the ‘Old Testament,’ and in theory, people who term themselves ‘Christian’ adhere more closely to the strictures set out in the ‘New Testament’. Our... particular behaviours “Doctor Watson,” she repeated somewhat sharply, “I am not as delicate as you may think. Tell me honestly how you are doing.” “And about the ill will which existed between my father and my mother due to... those circumstances.” And now we are here. I’ve been back for a few hours, and he is being so very sweet at the moment, allowing me time to write. He greeted me so eagerly upon my return that it quite touched me, and I admit that I greeted him likewise. Even those several hours apart, after being with him every moment for so many days, were rather harder than I had realised they would be. I had already discarded the concept of supper. I knew that he would not eat nor drink, and I admit that I had no heart to do so either. I

<|output|> <|example|> paper. He wrote rather slowly, they all noted, and seemed to be concentrating quite hard, but then he handed the clipboard back to the doctor. “Germanium-nickel-uranium-sulphur?” he read aloud, struggling a bit to decipher both the handwriting and the spelling. He had transposed several sets of letters. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Yes <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> The man in front of him, dressed in a dark shirt, black jeans, and, surprisingly, a suit jacket, was clearly high as a kite <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” He sounded distinctly sulky <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He had transposed several sets of letters <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> The man in front of him, dressed in a dark shirt, black jeans, and, surprisingly, a suit jacket, was clearly high as a kite <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> could have a drink once we reached Baker Street. Mrs Hudson’s relating of the beginnings of the life of our new friend had piqued my interest, and now I encouraged her to share her experiences with me as she swept and wiped and beat cushions. “Belinda, I am so sorry, but Mr Holmes has had a small argument with the fireplace.” I indicated the mess he had left. That the mess was more from his efforts to clean up than from the original situation was the only thing keeping me from shouting at him. I had banished him to his bedroom, however. “What on earth is going on, Doctor?” Mrs. Hudson demanded. She was standing before me in the hall, her arms crossed and her face severe. She was wearing her nightdress. She glared down at my case. “Did you two have an argument?” That was when I put two and two together. Mr. Harper was an eligible bachelor. Perhaps a young woman had set her heart on him but—but what? Was there some issue which prevented her from becoming his wife? Why would she enact such a bizarre trick? She explained that upon mutual agreement you had completely broken off contact and indeed did not know precisely where in America she was living, nor her assumed name. To her new acquaintances in New York, she described herself as a widow of an officer in Her Majesty’s army. If pressed for more details, she would feign grief, thus embarrassing the questioning individual into a withdrawal of their inquiry. Matilda’s patient, sprawled out across the mattress, groaned unconvincingly. “Oh, poor you,” she responded lightly. “You’re going to have breakfast with your brother, and you’ve got a nice new suit to wear.” “Not yet. Why?” Honestly, I was not sure if I had done the forks yet, so distracted was I by the image of that lithe body in front of me. “Oh, please. I do know that on top of everything else you’ve been going through nicotine withdrawals. You were probably smoking like a chimney the entire time you were gone. Did it at least take the edge off?” He nearly dropped the pot. He looked up slowly. Benjamin stood in the doorway; he had been summoned to receive his instructions for the proposed excursion. This hit me so very hard I sat back in my chair, stunned. 1878? Sherlock and I had moved into our rooms in 1881. It had happened—it had all happened—so much more recently than I had realised. The quiet man bent his head down as he began to examine each page of the oversized tome. He was quite focused and methodical. He carefully opened the book and smoothed his hands across the pages, and then, using his fingers as a guide, scanned each map. In fact, it is those changes that have spurred me to complete this bit of our history. We have just returned from a stay there, and despite my darling’s complaints of boredom, it was a generally successful and peaceful holiday. I feel quite refreshed and able to face my notes of that dark time which is—thankfully—now

<|output|> <|example|> could have a drink once we reached Baker Street. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” “Not yet <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “Oh, poor you,” she responded lightly <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “Belinda, I am so sorry, but Mr Holmes has had a small argument with the fireplace <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> I do know that on top of everything else you’ve been going through nicotine withdrawals <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> Mrs Hudson’s relating of the beginnings of the life of our new friend had piqued my interest, and now I encouraged her to share her experiences with me as she swept and wiped and beat cushions <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> in our past. “We can take turns,” he exclaimed after examining them. “Doing the same… puzzle, and count… time us.” He regretted finishing his egg; it would have made a much more satisfying mess on Mycroft’s elegant, understated wallpaper than the empty cup did. “What is it?” I encouraged. “You were about to tell me something—and please know that this is all in the deepest confidence and I will He made a sort of whimpering sound and allowed his head to tip forward, pressing against my stomach as I stood in front of him. Shouldn’t it be someone else doing that? Someone shorter, with dark eyes and sort of blond, sort of grey hair? “Then we will get to the heart of things. Shall I summarise?” I continued without waiting for a response. “I admitted to becoming stimulated at an investigation. It was inappropriate of me, but sometimes one cannot control these matters. I excused myself and our client and his maid were none the wiser. We ascended to our rooms shortly before ten o’clock, and although he is well on the road to recovery, I did insist that he have his milk and then encouraged him to change his clothes and ready himself for sleep. He asked me something at that point that even now I hesitate to record, but as it is only my eyes that will ever see these sheets, I will put this down. “They did not actually say much more than what I have already expressed. I simply described—again—how I had been feeling that morning and how your actions were—are—very stimulating.” “Once again, surely the doctor here is not the only medical man who has discovered a better application of his skills and knowledge than attending to sick headaches and ‘bad chests’.” Sherlock fiddled with his cigarette, examining its smoking end intently. “Oh, my love! Of course we can.” I would not have wanted to move right at that moment even if he had risen from my lap. I needed time to collect myself; his sorrow was so heartfelt that he had nearly brought me to tears. I paused, absorbing this information and turning it over in my head. “You’ve done this before,” I finally remarked. “Possibly...” He mulled over this for a moment. “But you cannot possibly believe that I would allow you to go on your own.” He was on the floor at the foot of my bed, curled up and leaning against the bedpost. I fell to my knees in front of him. “I am so sorry,” I whispered. I reached out and realised that my hands were shaking. “I will never leave you like that again—not when you are so low.” I reached out and put a finger under his chin, and raised his head with difficulty. I was mortified to see that his face was drenched with tears. They had headed back up to his room. Yes, he was tired—he was clumsy ascending the stairs. As soon as they were in his room, he climbed back on the bed, looking hopefully at the book they had laid down there. “You will tend to your own bedroom—no leaving

<|output|> <|example|> in our past. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I excused myself and our client and his maid were none the wiser <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Doing the same… puzzle, and count… time us <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> We ascended to our rooms shortly before ten o’clock, and although he is well on the road to recovery, I did insist that he have his milk and then encouraged him to change his clothes and ready himself for sleep <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> I simply described—again—how I had been feeling that morning and how your actions were—are—very stimulating <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “You will tend to your own bedroom—no leaving <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> “You will tend to your own bedroom—no leaving <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> “Oh, my love! Of course we can <|indexes|> 6 6 |

<|text|> soiled clothing in odd corners or a mess when you shave.” She nodded and answered the call. “Yes?” She spoke briskly; professionally. She listened for a few seconds. “So, he’s back?” A pause. Listening. “No,” she replied calmly. “I haven’t seen him. I’ll let you know if I do. Bye.” She ended the call. “Get going,” she breathed, tipping her head towards the door. But there was no response. He seemed to sink back into himself. He began to study the bath water—raising his hand and watching with interest as the water droplets coming off his fingers made ripples. But who would do such a thing? Burglary was clearly not the purpose—as far as I knew. At least the client had not revealed that anything had gone missing from the house whilst I was in his presence. “You know that I enjoy new clothes. In fact, you have remarked more than once that my taste in clothing is faddish.” Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. “I mean I can’t really walk around pressed against you while you’re seeing patients,” Sherlock said. “Are you planning to quit?” "I don't understand what's wrong," Sherlock said. He threw down his cigarette butt and started walking. "I . . . no, I came for the invoice . . ." John said, looking at the mugs sitting out and wondering if Sherlock had prepared this for him. “Right,” Sherlock said. He’d been talking about the flat, but John was talking about the woman. He poured his tea and came back to the table. “Let’s not talk about the case,” he said, hoping to change the subject but then realising how unusual a thing it was for him to want. “I just mean I don’t want to make you anxious, now that you’re going to back to being a doctor for a day.” John nodded again as he sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh. "You were right -- this was a bad idea." For a millisecond, Sherlock considered calling John – John was the one who helped people. But if the man was sick or injured, why would he have come here and not a hospital? John tapped his fingers against his thigh as they made their way home. He didn't know what to expect. He was nervous for the first time in a long time, but in a good, excited way. Suddenly the pleasure was too much for Sherlock. “Yes, John, yes,” he began mumbling as he felt his cock jerk and spill. His hand moved desperately, wanting John to feel this good as well. “John!” Sherlock called but he’d hung up. He set his phone down. He actually felt more agitated than when he’d called. He moved to the kitchen for a cup of tea. His

<|output|> <|example|> soiled clothing in odd corners or a mess when you shave.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> He actually felt more agitated than when he’d called <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Then he sat back up and decided to think instead <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> He didn’t like it, he never had <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He began to study the bath water—raising his hand and watching with interest as the water droplets coming off his fingers made ripples <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> favourite? What was that comment about? John knew it’d just annoy Sherlock. Why was he trying to further upset him? Sherlock took the book from him and handed John the wine glass instead. Curling his legs onto the sofa, he turned to face John as his hand slid over the back of the sofa and lightly fingered the hair on the back of John’s head. “I’m sure you found out a lot -- you’re very good at finding things out,” he purred. “You know what else you do well?” “I see,” Sherlock said, looking down. He took a sip of his tea even though it was now cold. “What’s that all about, then? PTSD?” he asked softly. John finished eating, put away the leftovers, and then sat with his computer to start taking notes. He started with what Sherlock told him before he forgot it all, and then devised his own plan about trying to find the girlfriend tomorrow. Sherlock lifted the top and looked at the items in the box. He pulled out a few army men and handed them to John. “These are yours,” he said. Lestrade stepped into the flat and noticed Sherlock was not alone. “I’m sorry . . . am I interrupting something?” he asked. “I’m glad you think so,” Sherlock said. “Mrs Hudson agrees as well. But we needn’t tell her about all this,” he added moving his hand between their bodies. "I don't have anything specific. But I have stories about John from when we were little he probably doesn't want you to know. I know his middle name. I know some other things . . ." she smiled and shrugged. "He worries about silly things. Plus he'd never want to be embarrassed in front of you." “You should. You’re good at it,” Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. “I liked the tiger one. Just don’t fall asleep yourself before you’ve finished telling tonight’s,” Sherlock said. "I'll get it," John said, stretching before walking out of the room without even putting his clothes on. He didn't even think about it until he was coming back into the room again. She sighed and nodded. "True. I hope his mother isn't too fond of her walls . . ." She looked at the bullet hole smiley face on the wall. "Hmm. Well, I just came up to tell you if you need anything just let me know." John arrived a bit early, got his drink, and picked his spot, just like always. He sat in the tall stool chair and looked around. The place wasn't very crowded, so they weren't off to a good start. John saw his friend moving around the stage, holding an earpiece and murmuring instructions. He looked stressed but completely in his element. John took out his phone to pass the time a bit -- it wasn't long before the band came out. John put his phone away and looked around at the crowd. At first people looked interested, dancing along to the music. But as the second and third songs started, people were losing interest. They started talking amongst themselves, leaving to

<|output|> <|example|> favourite? What was that comment about? John knew it’d just annoy Sherlock. Why was he trying to further upset him? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “I liked the tiger one <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly. Between songs the band tried talking to the crowd and riling them up, but the lead was a bit awkward and his jokes and comments weren't landing -- the laughter leaned toward mockery. John was typing this all up as he was seeing it. He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected. He would help the band get some tips and tricks, try them again in a different setting, and eventually he'd find the right fit for them. He was good at his job. John sat at his desk and worked on the computer for a long time, taking notes for the paper he had to write. Forty pages on an advanced medical procedure and the effect of it on society. He hated writing papers, but he was so close to the end of school and to the start of a residency that he tried to ignore his annoyance about it. Four hours later he had to break for more food. His friend had texted for another job, and John accepted eagerly. After staring at the computer for the last few hours, he was ready to get out into the real world for something fun. He didn't know the band playing, but he didn't mind. That made it easier to do the job his friend needed him to do since he didn't go in with his own biases. As he was getting ready he wondered if that rude man was going to be there again. He didn't know why he thought of him all of a sudden. He imagined that the night would be more interesting if he showed up again. “He’s not coming,” she said. “Please don’t smile or complain. I don’t precisely know why he’s not coming -- you know how he talks in circles, and I wasn’t in the mood to fight him. It’s all right.” John shook his head. "I know she won't know the difference, but I want to trust her. She's stuck with it and worked hard . . . let's just see and hope for the best. She won't be here for another couple hours." John got ready for bed and set his alarm, wondering about Sherlock. This drugs case seemed to have thrown him off a bit so it would be good if a simple case turned up to keep him busy. Harry patted his shoulder and gave him a small, genuine smile before heading up to the bedroom. John paced back and forth as his mind raced with what he was going to do about this and how exactly he was going to keep it all a secret from Sherlock. Sherlock thought for a moment. He really hadn't had many flatmates -- he had his own room when he was a child but he did share with a few people in college. John was his flatmate, of course, but he also felt like more than that. He thought for a few more minutes and then took a drink. "My turn,"

<|output|> <|example|> get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly. Between songs the band tried talking to the crowd and riling them up, but the lead was a bit awkward and his jokes and comments weren't landing -- the laughter leaned toward mockery. John was typing this all up as he was seeing it. He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected. He would help the band get some tips and tricks, try them again in a different setting, and eventually he'd find the right fit for them. He was good at his job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He imagined that the night would be more interesting if he showed up again <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> he said. "I have never lied to you -- except for the few times, which you know about and which I've apologized for so we don't need to go into all that again." He lazed around for a bit and then forced himself to start tidying. The flat wasn't even messy, but he felt he wanted to make an effort for John. He wanted to do something different because things were different, even now that it would just be the two of them alone. He stripped John's bed and replaced the sheets and then did the same to his own. He put away the clean dishes and a few of the small messes he'd made across the flat. Once he'd finished, he fancied a bath so took one and then took a cup of tea and a book to his room to wait for John's return. Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute. His skin didn’t really hurt that much -- John’s touch and the cool aloe felt quite nice actually. When John had finished, he said, “Thanks for always thinking of things I don’t. Should I put my shirt back on or leave it off?” Sherlock steepled his fingers. "You're doing the Twelve Steps but not attending meetings?" he asked. Sherlock moved swiftly up and down John's cock. He could feel his own straining against his trousers. With one of his hands, he gripped John's thigh. John carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair as he looked down again. That mouth looked perfect -- the sight had John leaking. John studied Sherlock's face, remembering the question coming up in the middle of sex. "If you'd like me to," he said. Sherlock slowly pushed a finger inside John. It was so intimate, being inside him like this. Since John had moved in, they’d shared so much, but this -- and what was going to happen -- was the most intimate thing they could share and the thought was almost too much. “You know what it means,” she said. “I’m teasing you,” she added before turning to John and saying,” He’s lovely actually, don’t worry.” As they were hanging up their coats, John took a deep breath and turned to Sherlock. He held his gaze for a minute, stepped closer and kissed him hard. Sherlock lay down next to John, quickly reaching over to touch him as he kissed his mouth again. “It’s been a long time . . .” he said softly. “But I remember how to do all this. . .” “On occasion, I may need a mind like yours,” Mycroft said. “Not this time, obviously, but in the future.” "It's drugs, import or manufacture, they don’t know yet, but they're trying to get the boss. We should go over to get all the details.” “Just read, worked, that sort of business,” Sherlock said, keeping it vague. “We might have a couple clients I’ll check out tomorrow while you’re at work.” "Don't you try and get me into even more trouble," John said. "Let's talk about what you made for dinner." Sherlock got to work -- it was so much easier when things were just normal

<|output|> <|example|> he said. "I have never lied to you -- except for the few times, which you know about and which I've apologized for so we don't need to go into all that again." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> " He lazed around for a bit and then forced himself to start tidying <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> in the flat. He occasionally glanced over at John, glad he was home. He made great progress in just a few hours. “What have I done? I’ve stayed inside all day -- I’m not even lying,” Sherlock said. “You told me to stay inside while you were at work and I did, so why am I in trouble?” Sherlock pulled her wine glass toward him. “All right you’re cut off,” he said. “Complaining about things being boring is very childish -- you must be drunk.” "I am," Sherlock said, moving a little closer. "I suppose I always knew the potential was there, but now . . . was this your ultimate goal?" Later that night, while he was having dinner with Mrs. Hudson, he got a text from Williams. He had paid for a more extensive background check than the company's usual pre-employment one and found a whole secret life to his assistant. She was arrested, along with his partner, and the money was going to be distributed back where it was supposed to be from the beginning. He enjoyed his meal with a little more gusto after that, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's curious looks. She didn't ask, but she looked happy as well. After she went home for the night, John found himself at the computer, staring at the blog again. He was supposed to write about what happened to him, to get over his trauma. It couldn't hurt to write this up like old times -- it was only one story about helping a friend. That was all. He licked his lips and started typing slowly. Sherlock slipped his phone into his pocket and handed the driver some money. He got out, unlocked the door to Baker Street and moved quickly up the stairs. He took a deep breath and stepped inside the flat. Sherlock was alone on a train. He had “cleaned up” a section of Moriarty’s network and was moving on to another. As Mycroft had instructed. He’d spent the last six month doing as Mycroft had instructed. Of course he enjoyed the challenge, but he was also tired. His body was thinner and weaker. His mind was still as strong, but his heart ached. It’d taken him a little while to realise what was happening, but eventually he knew what was happening: he was missing London, he was missing the flat, he was missing John. He told his brother he was ready to go home. As soon as John’s trousers were opened, Sherlock slipped a hand inside his pants and began stroking him. His cock was hot and hard. Despite it being a while since Sherlock had felt like this, he was filled with want. He got down on his knees, pulling John’s trousers and pants with him and sucked his cock into his mouth. He is pacing and muttering to himself, but does not seem inclined towards the violence we experienced yesterday. I will stretch out on the bed in here and perhaps escape to my own dreams for a while. It was then that he begged to turn our minds to something more cheerful for

<|output|> <|example|> in the flat. He occasionally glanced over at John, glad he was home. He made great progress in just a few hours. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He is pacing and muttering to himself, but does not seem inclined towards the violence we experienced yesterday. I will stretch out on the bed in here and perhaps escape to my own dreams for a while. <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> As Mycroft had instructed <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> He enjoyed his meal with a little more gusto after that, ignoring Mrs <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> a few hours, and it was then that I came up with something which seemed to fit the bill. “I should certainly hope so,” he snapped back, but it seemed to be without his usual vehemence. “I have to admit that I am impressed.” “Doctor Watson and I share diggings. We have done so for some years now. In fact, that is how we met—we were both seeking someone with whom to share lodgings. Hardly an unusual arrangement, particularly considering the costs of rent in London.” “Yes, John,” he agreed sweetly, “but for the moment, the door to the corridor is locked, the curtains are drawn, it is quite late at night, and if you would turn down the gas again, I should like to add to my collection of observations regarding arousal.” “It is as you say, John,” he admitted as a shudder of delight ran all the way down his slender body. “No,” he admitted. I could actually see his brain working; reviewing his wardrobe—for despite his decidedly Bohemian approach when in the privacy of our home, every single garment that he wore outside of our rooms was respectable, sedate, correct. Even when travelling in the country, his tweeds and boots somehow looked more—dignified, I suppose—than mine. Finally, he responded. “I have remarked more than once on your taste in clothing—and music—and novels—and all sorts of things, John, but it was just to remark on them. I never once meant to be insulting. I “John… are you quite well?” He glanced briefly at the bell pull, obviously wishing to summon assistance—or interference. “Good Lord, Sherlock. You smell like you’ve been rolling around in manure. What have you been doing?” “Now, before you have your pudding, you will change into your pyjamas, and after you’re done, it’s lights out. I am not tolerating this topsy-turvy schedule. A man in your condition needs regular meals and a full night’s sleep.” “That is my intention,” I retorted, kissing his cheek in amusement. We lay quietly for a moment, and then something struck me. “Sherlock, at some point I would like to hear about your resolution of the case,” I remarked. are not, but urges in general are. They are as natural as feeling hungry or sleepy. All right, perhaps that was not a good example for you… or perhaps it was. It is not that you do not feel hungry or tired. Your body does feel those things. Your body requires nourishment and rest. You just choose to ignore those feelings—or more precisely to suppress them for a time. It is the same for your more… base needs. You have just admitted that you felt those things, before we ever even knew each other—but you seemed to have ignored them or pushed them away somehow exactly as you do with feelings of hunger or exhaustion.” But he smiled sadly as he accepted the book thrust at him with one shaking hand and sank down onto the sofa next to his baby brother. He groaned and I heard the bed creak as he extracted himself from the bedclothes and rose. “Very well, Mrs. Hudson,” he

<|output|> <|example|> a few hours, and it was then that I came up with something which seemed to fit the bill. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Sherlock, at some point I would like to hear about your resolution of the case,” I remarked <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> They are as natural as feeling hungry or sleepy <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Finally, he responded <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Finally, he responded <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> It is not that you do not feel hungry or tired <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> replied, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Please allow us a few minutes to dress before you bring him up—and coffee. I require a great deal of coffee.” “You have a great need, brother mine,” Mycroft supplied sadly. “I am afraid that our mother’s affliction has cursed you far more than we realised. I did not have any other recourse but to send her to that asylum, and if you persist in your current activity I will have no choice but to have you placed in one as well.” He had not gone to work the day I treated little Lucy, who had wispy thin curls of a sandy colour like his, and it was clear from his demeanour that he was dedicated to his small family and distraught at the idea that he might lose his daughter. They had lost a son, several years prior, before his first birthday, but the pain was still fresh. I considered her for a few moments. I know that other doctors, presented with a similar case, would probably offer laudanum or something similar. I knew that those cases, more often than not, ended not in the relief of the sufferer, but instead in the deepest of sorrow for the patient’s family. I considered a stimulant, but was not certain of the effects. What if it simply exacerbated her feelings? No, that was not correct. I did have one more piece of information—and it was one that I had inadvertently taken away with me. I reached into my coat pocket. Yes, the sheet on which I had been inventorying those mysterious items was there. I recalled now that I had thrust it in as I had hurried out of the house. It was rather crumpled. I smoothed it out and examined it. Perhaps predictably, Mrs. Bloom recovered herself first, and she was livid. “How dare you?” she hissed. “How . We kept separate bedrooms. I even, at times, lived elsewhere—ostensibly due to the detective’s maddening habits involving his chemical experiments—which proved nothing regarding our relationship or our natures beyond Holmes’ brilliant if rather eccentric one. That I often tended to him in an intimate manner—well, the man was notorious for getting himself shot at, stabbed, or nearly drowned in the course of his investigations, and his recurring illnesses necessitated my medical attentions as well. Every eccentricity of my love could, in fact, explain any possible scenarios of supposed inversion. “Only if I can see the body,” was the obnoxious and somehow eager response. “I’ll be positive, then.” “What will happen to… Belinda?” Sherlock’s query, delivered with no warning, brought me to an abrupt halt. I had been neglecting him of late, I had realised, and that evening I was attempting to rectify the situation. He was, when he asked his surprising question, quite bare, and I was rather enjoying the feel of his smooth skin under my fingers as I rubbed lavender oil into it. “Precisely. Up.” I rose, sliding him off my lap and to his feet. He obediently began to head towards his bedroom. I grabbed his hand and spun him so that he

<|output|> <|example|> replied, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Please allow us a few minutes to dress before you bring him up—and coffee. I require a great deal of coffee.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “Please allow us a few minutes to dress before you bring him up—and coffee <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “Please allow us a few minutes to dress before you bring him up—and coffee <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> I grabbed his hand and spun him so that he <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> was facing me. “You realise that we will not have a new maid for a few days?” I whispered, placing my face close to his. “And how they are to be prepared… I’m sorry, Mrs Parker,” he interrupted himself, sounding uncharacteristically contrite. “You’ve always done an exemplary job catering to his predilections.” For the second and possibly more alarming factor was that he dashed our door open with no warning whatsoever—eliciting Sherlock’s ejaculation, complete with the pejorative word “devil,” which was so rare for him. We were fortunate that we were both, having had received our early-morning visitor, completely and properly dressed, and engaged in our conversation with Sherlock in his own chair and I in mine. What if we had not been so keen on the case? What if we had been engaged in a rather more personal conversation—or even more intimate activities? I took another drink, then a deep breath. “I do not mean to bring up unpleasant memories, my dear lady, but I thought that it was cholera that took them.” His brother allowed himself to be slowly guided out of the bathroom. His chin was to his chest and his steps were unsteady. The new nurse (Mycroft had stopped even wondering about their names) was calm; steady. Almost clinical. That was fine. He got his brother seated on the bed and bent to retrieve the shirt he had dropped. It was not a proper pyjama shirt, he noted, but one of his oldest buttoned shirts. He frowned at its appearance. Apparently, Mrs Parker had held onto it to be made useful in circumstances exactly like this. Perhaps it is simply because it is springtime in London, and I long for the opportunity to throw open the windows, to air out our rooms from some dreadful, noxious experiment, and to hear once more him play his violin. I took my cue and, as gently as I was able, took hold of my darling’s hands. “Sherlock,” I said calmly, “leave the packing for a bit and come tell us your plans.” I drew him to myself before turning him and, with my hands on his shoulders, directed him into the sitting room. He struggled a bit, looking longingly at his case over his shoulder, but his brother, following us directly, rather emphatically shut the bedroom door behind us. In the privacy of our rooms, I am anguish and sorrow. I am devastation and horror. I am empty. I am racked by guilt. Why could I not save him? “I...” Mrs. Bloom paused, gathering her thoughts. It was time to unsheathe her last weapon. She took a deep breath, glanced around us (the dining room had thinned out considerably), and nodded firmly. She had decided to play her ace. “Mrs. Watson shared with me your lack of attention to the marriage bed, and your inability to satisfy your ultimate responsibilities as a husband.” “It is understandable,” he remarked. “You wished to detach yourself from an untenable situation. No one bears you a grudge, including myself.” Anthea sighed and wished that she had brought something for lunch. She was getting hungry

<|output|> <|example|> was facing me. “You realise that we will not have a new maid for a few days?” I whispered, placing my face close to his. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “You wished to detach yourself from an untenable situation <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> He struggled a bit, looking longingly at his case over his shoulder, but his brother, following us directly, rather emphatically shut the bedroom door behind us <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Why could I not save him? “I <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> She took a deep breath, glanced around us (the dining room had thinned out considerably), and nodded firmly <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> No one bears you a grudge, including myself <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> No one bears you a grudge, including myself <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> and it would be a long afternoon. “Thank you,” I murmured. “He really cannot bear to see anyone for whom he cares to suffer in any way.” We had both slept for a few hours—I did not realise until he had drifted off how very tired I was, as well, so I was surprised when his sweet, deep voice roused me. “I still do not understand why you purchased those garments.” I was somewhat astounded at the usually stalwart man’s reaction to this light teasing. He hesitated—I have never known Mycroft Holmes to hesitate. But we both kept quiet and he almost instantly recovered his usual haughty attitude and expression. “Well, then. I suppose we will have to keep this to ourselves until it hits the news?” Mummy’s inquiry was dry and bitter. He had stiffened when Mycroft first embraced him, but as his brother repeated his name, softly, he began to relax the slightest bit. “Come along, Sherlock,” he instructed softly. “Let’s get into the car.” The blasted bell had rung just then, and as I leapt from the bed in anticipation of our landlady knocking one of us up, I was instantly aware that my prick was positively engorged. “Well, yes, of course. That is why sometimes simply holding a crying baby close—against your chest—comforts and quiets them.” “I have come to realise—through her most excellent service—that although I did miss terribly cooking for you and Himself, I found it quite a relief not to have to do the really heavy cleaning. I am not getting any younger—no, let me finish (for I nearly interrupted her with an objection to this statement), and my back and my knees could do without the worst of it. So, Belinda will come in three days a week and tend to those tasks here, and three days at Mrs Turner’s, and that will allow her to manage well enough.” Dr. Grimesby Roylott was as awful as his stepdaughter described. His sudden appearance at our door was even more alarming than I related in my retelling of the incident, for I did not dwell on two matters of great concern to us. The first was that he had actually forced his way into the house. During our intense discussion of the possibilities of the case, we had not noticed the bell, and the bellicose villain had quite literally pushed our dear Mrs. Hudson aside in his impatience to gain entry. She was so taken aback that it was a moment before she could recover herself, and by then he was already at the head of the stairs. I did not bring this up with Sherlock; he would have been so distressed. Further distressed. Oh, Sherlock. Wasn’t that what I had been trying to explain? “Because you are my closest friend,” I told him plainly. “I do not wish to see you move away to live in New York or anywhere else.” “So, when you said that your weakness was caused by the heat, I knew that to be somewhat of an untruth.” I did as I had said, seating myself on a decorative little bench that was

<|output|> <|example|> and it would be a long afternoon. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> “I do not wish to see you move away to live in New York or anywhere else <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> I am not getting any younger—no, let me finish (for I nearly interrupted her with an objection to this statement), and my back and my knees could do without the worst of it <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> ” Dr <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” “I have come to realise—through her most excellent service—that although I did miss terribly cooking for you and Himself, I found it quite a relief not to have to do the really heavy cleaning <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> ” Dr <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> tucked under a lattice covered all over in ivy. The greenery threw a pleasant, cool shade onto the seat and I shut my eyes. He explained to me that he had wanted to know more about Mrs. Bloom, in order to ascertain whether she was truly a threat. Had she done anything like this before? Did she follow through when she asserted that she was going to do anything? How did she act towards the shopkeepers? Towards her neighbours? Oddly, I did not nor do I now blame Mary. I had put her in an untenable situation, and she had risen from the wreck of our marriage with calm and bravery. Would I have been able to relocate to another country, as she had? Even with my experience as ‘three continents Watson’, I have to admit to myself, as I did then, that no, I would not have been able to move from my beloved England, which I had missed so greatly during my service. “Lie down, love,” she suggested. She smoothed the blankets over him and he was asleep almost immediately. He adored hugs and cuddles and kisses and a firm but gentle hand rubbing his back. He was a bit quirky about food in a way that Mycroft had never been, and of course he was so very easily overstimulated, but he seemed to crave affection. I ignored his jab. “Yes. Your brother is correct. I do not know if I can always keep you safe. I try to contain you when I must, but you are too clever for me by far and highly adept at escaping my restraints, such as they are. I do not wish to employ anything more extreme, such as we are now, but, Sherlock, if it is to keep you safe, I will do it.” “And did not inform me.” I admit that I sounded a bit angry—even those few months together had made me protective of the man and of my relationship with him. I was jealous. “No; a client.” She proceeded to explain that a young lady was waiting for us in our sitting-room, and that she had something very pressing to communicate. he demanded. Well, he tried to demand. He was baffled; the words simply wouldn’t come. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and tried again. Nothing. This was madness! Sherlock Holmes, unable to ask the simplest question? Finally, Sherlock had hit a wall. He had consumed a surprising amount—one and a half pieces of toast, three-quarters of the orange, and most of his tea—but now his uninjured eye was closing of its own accord and his chin dropped to his chest a few times. Wife Number 2, as he thought of her, had recently requested that he remove himself from their flat. Apparently his erratic and infrequent appearances were getting the kids upset. I must turn my attention away from him and focus on something else or he will drive me mad, and then won’t Mycroft have a handful? , he muttered to himself. Probably tracking down the source of some bauble or other all the crime scenes had in

<|output|> <|example|> tucked under a lattice covered all over in ivy. The greenery threw a pleasant, cool shade onto the seat and I shut my eyes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He explained to me that he had wanted to know more about Mrs <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Wife Number 2, as he thought of her, had recently requested that he remove himself from their flat <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> I do not know if I can always keep you safe <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Your brother is correct <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> ” She proceeded to explain that a young lady was waiting for us in our sitting-room, and that she had something very pressing to communicate <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> common. That was the only reason he could think of that would get the younger man anywhere near the immense and wildly popular store at this time of year. “Are you admitting,” he responded in a low tone, “that my activities at a crime scene encourage—” His brows drew down. I absorbed this information quietly, while rather absent-mindedly rubbing his back. Finally, I was able to speak. “You are certain?” He nodded against my shoulder. “Then you are probably correct, my love,” I admitted slowly. I moved toward the stove. There was, indeed, a pot of some sort of white soup on it. I peered closely at it and frowned. “What are those dark bits?” I asked. “John,” he reproached, “you were a solider in Afghanistan, which has a much more inhospitable climate than England. You have shared with me the horrors of the conditions of your service and of the misery of your illness, and even in the throes of the worst of your fevers, you have never actually remarked that it was too hot for you. “Come, now, Mrs. H.,” I cajoled. The more time that passed since my disastrous morning, the lighter I felt. By bedtime, perhaps I would discover that it was just a dream. That Sherlock had not yet returned helped this self-delusion immensely. “It was a long time ago,” he began, and I tightened my embrace. “And even Mycroft does not know all—he was away at school for a great deal of it—although he deduced what had been occurring when he came home for the holidays.” I waited as he paused, gathering his resolve. “My father was an intelligent man, and he had enough self-control to not create any new marks when he knew my brother would soon be home.” "Just try not to focus on it -- whatever she said tonight, try to forget it," Sherlock said. "Look, why don't you sleep in my room tonight?" “It’s probably wise,” Sherlock said, shifting John off him. He took another sip of whiskey then picked up his phone. “John, it’s just gone seven,” he looked over at John. “It’s only seven o’clock.” Sherlock thought for a moment. He hadn’t really felt much about it at the time. It’s not like he’d hated it, but it definitely wasn’t very sexy or anything, because there was also something about it that felt like a trick. He thought about seeing Ellen with Jim at the end of term. “It was the person,” he said. “I didn’t like her.” Sherlock took a deep breath and held himself with one hand and rested the other on John's thigh as he lowered himself down onto him. The feeling was incredible. He looked up at John's face and said, "You okay?" "I'll find out what's going on," John said. He went back out into the hall and found the nurse. "Can you tell me what is happening with my friend, Sherlock Holmes?" “No, it’s clear you’re smart enough,” Sherlock said. “I suppose I just assumed you were more interested in going out and trying to make red-headed men fall in love you.” Sherlock groaned at John’s movement,

<|output|> <|example|> common. That was the only reason he could think of that would get the younger man anywhere near the immense and wildly popular store at this time of year. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Just try not to focus on it -- whatever she said tonight, try to forget it," Sherlock said. "Look, why don't you sleep in my room tonight?" <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> “It’s only seven o’clock <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> I moved toward the stove <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> common <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> ” Sherlock took a deep breath and held himself with one hand and rested the other on John's thigh as he lowered himself down onto him <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> “It was a long time ago,” he began, and I tightened my embrace <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> common <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> ” I waited as he paused, gathering his resolve <|indexes|> 6 6 |

<|text|> but lifted his hands quickly to hold John’s head, keeping the kiss going. Then he slid his hand between their bodies to stroke himself again. Every nerve was on fire, and his body felt tight and hot. Sherlock got up and put on the kettle, stretching a bit as he waited for it to boil. “Tea?” he asked. "They were fun," Sherlock said. "They definitely helped with feeling trapped inside." He wrapped his arms around himself. "So, your answer?" John leaned up and reached into the drawer, taking out the lube. He reached in again for the condoms. Sherlock grabbed the bottle and spilled some into his hand. He started stroked John. Then he slipped his hand between John's legs, slicking everywhere as he teased his tight hole with his fingertips. "I guess this one," Sherlock said, pointing. "I think I move when I sleep." He sat down on the bed. "Did you have a particular film in mind?" “I don’t know -- when I realised it wasn’t you . . . I didn’t recognise her face. She turned and went into one of the offices so I followed her.” “So I’m still the hero?” Sherlock asked, realising his question was quite childish. But that’s how bedtime stories were supposed to work. “I look forward to tonight’s adventure,” he added finishing up his tea. By the time the bath water had cooled, Sherlock felt clear on everything that had been confusing him about John -- from the moment they’d met until tonight’s little explosion. He got himself dried and dressed and went out to the kitchen. He poured himself a small glass of wine, sat down on the sofa and took a deep breath. John looked up from the kettle when Sherlock called out. "Very funny," he said. Then he realised Sherlock was actually heading for the door with his coat. He hurried over and blocked Sherlock's path to the door. "You're not leaving this flat, Sherlock. You can't." Sherlock kept his eye on the clock -- it seemed like she'd been gone a long time. Was that a good or a bad sign? Maybe she and Clara had reconciled and they'd start a new life together, and Harry would never come back to the flat. That seemed unlikely. He pushed back his chair and got up. "Tea?" he asked. “A rat? I thought they wanted a dog?” Sherlock said, then he glanced over and pretended to zip his lips. But then he unzipped them and asked, “Do you care if I lie down? Maybe your story will help me fall asleep.” He zipped his lips again and turned and stretched out on the sofa, making sure his feet stayed away from John. He nodded at John to continue. “In other words, fine -- I’m fine,” Sherlock said. “I’m better than yesterday and thus I’m more confident this idea of going away is even more ridiculous than I was then. I think I should just come home. I can ‘relax’ there.” "So he really left? I really didn't think he would, but then when his mother is involved . . . well, he doesn't

<|output|> <|example|> but lifted his hands quickly to hold John’s head, keeping the kiss going. Then he slid his hand between their bodies to stroke himself again. Every nerve was on fire, and his body felt tight and hot. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock got up and put on the kettle, stretching a bit as he waited for it to boil <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> I can ‘relax’ there <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> ” “So I’m still the hero?” Sherlock asked, realising his question was quite childish <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> “In other words, fine -- I’m fine,” Sherlock said <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> "So, your answer?" John leaned up and reached into the drawer, taking out the lube <|indexes|> 4 4 |

<|text|> like to upset her." "I wish you didn't have to go either," John said. "But you're going to love it. The science program -- you can do so many cools things. Better than our school." Sherlock was pleased with John's answer. He had him sit down and then he opened a file on his computer and showed him the notes he'd been taking, as he explained everything he'd been working on. He knew no one found this stuff very interesting -- including John probably -- but he really appreciated John's letting him explain it. "What do you think?" he asked. Sherlock still didn’t know what to do. He didn’t like her compliments, and the kissing really didn’t make him feel anything. When he finished, he put his plate on the table. “When I get bored in a bit, I’ll do the washing up and bring in tea,” he said, sneakily moving closer to John. After a few minutes, he moved even closer until eventually his legs were half over John’s lap and he was leaning against him. “This okay?” he asked. Sherlock pulled out two plates from the cupboard. “Well, have you cracked the case -- used your brilliant charm to seduce a confession?” he asked. “He died,” Sherlock said. He glanced over with a smile. “I think he was murdered, but I don’t know how yet.” "Okay, but I don't know any funny jokes except the ones from my childhood." He picked up the phone and dialed a random number, listening to it ring on the speaker. John cleared his throat just as the man answered. Sherlock undid John's zip. Then he stepped back and lowered himself to the ground. He pulled down John's trousers and then pants, freeing his hardening cock. He gripped it, stroking a few times, before slipping the tip between his lips and beginning to suck and swirl his tongue over him. “All right,” Sherlock said. He got out a mug for himself. “I’ve got nothing pressing tomorrow, so I suppose it doesn’t matter if I don’t sleep.” “Yes . . . If you want me to. So far it’s gone well, right?” Sherlock said. “I’d only do it with you.” "How so?" John asked, looking over at Sherlock. He really was very handsome with those features and dark hair. John wanted to put his hands in that hair, and suddenly he wondered what those sharp features would look like softened in pleasure. John felt his cheeks heat, and he looked away while waiting for Sherlock's answer. This was pointless and Sherlock knew it. He crushed the cigarette out and slammed his body against the bed. He hated his brother and Moriarty. They had caused all this. They had caused him to lie to John. But John didn’t know that. John thought he was dead. "Nothing is wrong. No," he said. "I . . . I really like your gift," he repeated. "Mrs Hudson was saying a lot about it." John walked into the flat and looked around. It was tidier than he'd even seen it actually. There were flowers all over, and he smelled food -- not take out

<|output|> <|example|> like to upset her." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> John wanted to put his hands in that hair, and suddenly he wondered what those sharp features would look like softened in pleasure <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> “This okay?” he asked <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> He crushed the cigarette out and slammed his body against the bed <|indexes|> 2 2 2 <|example|> They had caused him to lie to John <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> No," he said <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> “I think he was murdered, but I don’t know how yet <|indexes|> 5 5 <|example|> Then he stepped back and lowered himself to the ground <|indexes|> 6 6 |

<|text|> but food actually cooking and filling the air. "Sherlock . . ." Mrs Hudson made the tea and brought his cup over. “Yes, you should eat,” she said, wanting to comment on his weight loss but deciding not to. “Then a good night’s rest in your own bed, okay?” She stood for a second then said, “He’ll be back so I’ll go, but you know where I am if you need me.” “You’re not always sweet either,” Sherlock said. He moved to leave. “You’ll both be hearing from me if I’ve not got water!” he called on his way out. “Fuck, that’s good, John,” Sherlock said, dropping a hand to rest softly on John’s head. He stroked his hair lightly. “You’re so good . . .” "You seem confident, that's a good quality," she said. "How about whoever gets the job buys dinner?" Sherlock arrived at Scotland Yard and was locked into a small room with the evidence. It took him all day, but he found what Lestrade needed. He left feeling proud -- not because of Lestrade’s praise, but because he’d enjoyed the challenge and had met it. He spent the next day lazily -- first by sleeping much later than he’d intended to and next by helping Mrs Hudson shift the furniture around her flat. It was quite boring, but he did his best to tolerate her indecision and nitpicking. John’s noises built Sherlock’s confidence, and he moved on John’s cock more freely, licking and sucking and using his tongue. Although it was all quite interesting, his mind was clouded by his physical urges and he found his hips rolling against the bed as he got even more turned on by what he was doing and how John was reacting. John watched Sherlock's body moving on the bed, watched his mouth and lips wrapped around his own cock, and he could hardly believe it was happening. He moaned Sherlock's name and gripped his hair. Sherlock loved John’s hand in his hair –- it felt as intimate as what he was doing to John. It all felt so good, but after a few more minutes, he lifted his head and said, “Should I keep going or should we try something else?”

<|output|> <|example|> but food actually cooking and filling the air. "Sherlock . . ." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock loved John’s hand in his hair –- it felt as intimate as what he was doing to John <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> “Then a good night’s rest in your own bed, okay?” She stood for a second then said, “He’ll be back so I’ll go, but you know where I am if you need me <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ” “You’re not always sweet either,” Sherlock said <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> He spent the next day lazily -- first by sleeping much later than he’d intended to and next by helping Mrs Hudson shift the furniture around her flat <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> <|example|> Sherlock rolled over and checked his phone, getting up and getting ready to head out. He didn’t change his clothes -- he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to see the band or meet friends. He would just be watching for the dealer. He set out to walk to the bar which wasn’t too far from the flat. The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> you know I’m not one who is ‘into’ feelings and everything, but I have a feeling this whole conversation is quite insulting to me.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> down on the bed. He hadn’t thought this out. He got up and moved to the window for another cigarette. This was probably a stupid idea. Clearly, Sherlock had experience lying, even lying to John, but somehow this felt different and he wondered if he could pull it off. He also knew Mycroft would be furious. Yet, how could he pass up this chance to communicate -- to know for sure that John was all right? He had to think of something. He needed to focus on coming up with a case. He closed his eyes and tried to think, but all he could see was John’s face. He opened them again and thought some more. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> lying there staring up at the ceiling. Was he having issues with sleep again? He hadn’t thought he was. It hadn’t seemed as bad since John got here -- obviously with cases he was awake all hours of the night, but on the few breaks they had between work, things had seemed to normalise a little. He still didn’t do well with boredom, but he actually liked just being around John who was willing to at least tolerate Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He did like being around John -- this living together and working together arrangement was working well for Sherlock Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> that. Did you?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock rolled over and checked his phone, getting up and getting ready to head out. He didn’t change his clothes -- he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to see the band or meet friends. He would just be watching for the dealer. He set out to walk to the bar which wasn’t too far from the flat. The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> down on the bed <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> lying there staring up at the ceiling. Was he having issues with sleep again? He hadn’t thought he was. It hadn’t seemed as bad since John got here -- obviously with cases he was awake all hours of the night, but on the few breaks they had between work, things had seemed to normalise a little. He still didn’t do well with boredom, but he actually liked just being around John who was willing to at least tolerate Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He did like being around John -- this living together and working together arrangement was working well for Sherlock Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> that. Did you?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> kind of seemed important to him. He knew John would need lunch soon and Sherlock didn’t want that to disrupt this non-plan of his, so he made them two sandwiches and set them on plates on the table. He put the kettle on and while he waited for it, he dug out some candlesticks and put those on the table as well. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> moved over to the sofa next to John. He lay his phone on the cushion between him. “You dial and then put it on speaker.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> a person at all. They’re going to see a tiger that Sherlock met one day while he was out by himself in the woods. The tiger gave them some fresh meat and they went back to the cave and John cooked it over a fire and ate almost all of it except for a small bit that he let Sherlock have. I told you there was going to be a tiger in this story.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Sherlock. "You look really good." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was a very good dinner party, Sherlock,” he said. “Small but intimate.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the seat of the taxi. He was a bit tired but eager to get home again. Hopefully, they would have a case when he got home. It had been a little while, and he knew Sherlock was at his best with a clear focus. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> just asked me, you know,” he said softly and then his voice turned a little sharper. “You’ve got a job to do, soldier,” he said as he undid his trousers and opened them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> lying there staring up at the ceiling. Was he having issues with sleep again? He hadn’t thought he was. It hadn’t seemed as bad since John got here -- obviously with cases he was awake all hours of the night, but on the few breaks they had between work, things had seemed to normalise a little. He still didn’t do well with boredom, but he actually liked just being around John who was willing to at least tolerate Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He did like being around John -- this living together and working together arrangement was working well for Sherlock Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Did you?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> kind of seemed important to him <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> moved over to the sofa next to John. He lay his phone on the cushion between him. “You dial and then put it on speaker.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> a person at all. They’re going to see a tiger that Sherlock met one day while he was out by himself in the woods. The tiger gave them some fresh meat and they went back to the cave and John cooked it over a fire and ate almost all of it except for a small bit that he let Sherlock have. I told you there was going to be a tiger in this story.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> Sherlock. "You look really good." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was a very good dinner party, Sherlock,” he said. “Small but intimate.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> moved over to the sofa next to John. He lay his phone on the cushion between him. “You dial and then put it on speaker.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was a very good dinner party, Sherlock,” he said <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was a very good dinner party, Sherlock,” he said. “Small but intimate.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the seat of the taxi. He was a bit tired but eager to get home again. Hopefully, they would have a case when he got home. It had been a little while, and he knew Sherlock was at his best with a clear focus. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> just asked me, you know,” he said softly and then his voice turned a little sharper. “You’ve got a job to do, soldier,” he said as he undid his trousers and opened them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> none of them is alcohol," he added. He stood up but wasn't sure why. He decided he needed more tea. "Maybe you should go up to John's room," he said as he moved to the kitchen. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> asked. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> our guy?” Sherlock said, excitedly before looking closely. “No . . . oh well, good on the kid for making a little extra money,” he added with a laugh. “Wait – didn’t we just see that woman kissing a dark-haired man and now she’s holding hands with that elderly guy. Think she’s running some kind of scam?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> just asked me, you know,” he said softly and then his voice turned a little sharper. “You’ve got a job to do, soldier,” he said as he undid his trousers and opened them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> none of them is alcohol," he added. He stood up but wasn't sure why. He decided he needed more tea. "Maybe you should go up to John's room," he said as he moved to the kitchen. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> asked. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> our guy?” Sherlock said, excitedly before looking closely. “No . . . oh well, good on the kid for making a little extra money,” he added with a laugh. “Wait – didn’t we just see that woman kissing a dark-haired man and now she’s holding hands with that elderly guy. Think she’s running some kind of scam?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> Parker had brought the tray up to his room, she seemed weary. He was genuinely a bit concerned and gently reached out and touched one work-worn hand. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in his brother’s head was becoming increasingly frustrating. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> just asked me, you know,” he said softly and then his voice turned a little sharper. “You’ve got a job to do, soldier,” he said as he undid his trousers and opened them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> Parker had brought the tray up to his room, she seemed weary <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> our guy?” Sherlock said, excitedly before looking closely. “No . . . oh well, good on the kid for making a little extra money,” he added with a laugh. “Wait – didn’t we just see that woman kissing a dark-haired man and now she’s holding hands with that elderly guy. Think she’s running some kind of scam?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> Parker had brought the tray up to his room, she seemed weary. He was genuinely a bit concerned and gently reached out and touched one work-worn hand. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in his brother’s head was becoming increasingly frustrating. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> do not wish for him to believe anything except that these circumstances are temporary—that we only wish for him to get well—and then we can return to our lives.” And then that thought had caused me a flood of apprehension. “We <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the work,” the doctor reminded him, smiling at the empty plate in front of him. “And now, if you do half the washing up, I will consider it a Christmas miracle.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> our guy?” Sherlock said, excitedly before looking closely. “No . . . oh well, good on the kid for making a little extra money,” he added with a laugh. “Wait – didn’t we just see that woman kissing a dark-haired man and now she’s holding hands with that elderly guy. Think she’s running some kind of scam?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|example|> our guy?” Sherlock said, excitedly before looking closely <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> do not wish for him to believe anything except that these circumstances are temporary—that we only wish for him to get well—and then we can return to our lives.” And then that thought had caused me a flood of apprehension. “We <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> the work,” the doctor reminded him, smiling at the empty plate in front of him. “And now, if you do half the washing up, I will consider it a Christmas miracle.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> tossed it in the bin and then leaned against the counter, watching the doctor as he retrieved mugs. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> it was the wrong tablets before he took any—but obviously it could have been much worse.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> hard on the shorter man’s words, frowning and sometimes shaking his head doubtfully, but the calm, steady voice did its job and he was able to accomplish his task, working carefully around the horrific head wound and the bruises on the almost emaciated face. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> their homes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> box of unpublished writing, is crisp and clean. It has been folded once and does not appear to have been opened and re-read often—if at all.] <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> paper. He wrote rather slowly, they all noted, and seemed to be concentrating quite hard, but then he handed the clipboard back to the doctor. “Germanium-nickel-uranium-sulphur?” he read aloud, struggling a bit to decipher both the handwriting and the spelling. He had transposed several sets of letters. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> could have a drink once we reached Baker Street. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in our past. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> do not wish for him to believe anything except that these circumstances are temporary—that we only wish for him to get well—and then we can return to our lives.” And then that thought had caused me a flood of apprehension. “We <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ] <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> paper <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> it was the wrong tablets before he took any—but obviously it could have been much worse.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> hard on the shorter man’s words, frowning and sometimes shaking his head doubtfully, but the calm, steady voice did its job and he was able to accomplish his task, working carefully around the horrific head wound and the bruises on the almost emaciated face. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> their homes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> box of unpublished writing, is crisp and clean. It has been folded once and does not appear to have been opened and re-read often—if at all.] <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> paper. He wrote rather slowly, they all noted, and seemed to be concentrating quite hard, but then he handed the clipboard back to the doctor. “Germanium-nickel-uranium-sulphur?” he read aloud, struggling a bit to decipher both the handwriting and the spelling. He had transposed several sets of letters. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> could have a drink once we reached Baker Street. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in our past. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> soiled clothing in odd corners or a mess when you shave.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> favourite? What was that comment about? John knew it’d just annoy Sherlock. Why was he trying to further upset him? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> it was the wrong tablets before he took any—but obviously it could have been much worse.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> box of unpublished writing, is crisp and clean <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> box of unpublished writing, is crisp and clean. It has been folded once and does not appear to have been opened and re-read often—if at all.] <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> paper. He wrote rather slowly, they all noted, and seemed to be concentrating quite hard, but then he handed the clipboard back to the doctor. “Germanium-nickel-uranium-sulphur?” he read aloud, struggling a bit to decipher both the handwriting and the spelling. He had transposed several sets of letters. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> could have a drink once we reached Baker Street. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in our past. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> soiled clothing in odd corners or a mess when you shave.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> favourite? What was that comment about? John knew it’d just annoy Sherlock. Why was he trying to further upset him? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly. Between songs the band tried talking to the crowd and riling them up, but the lead was a bit awkward and his jokes and comments weren't landing -- the laughter leaned toward mockery. John was typing this all up as he was seeing it. He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected. He would help the band get some tips and tricks, try them again in a different setting, and eventually he'd find the right fit for them. He was good at his job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> box of unpublished writing, is crisp and clean. It has been folded once and does not appear to have been opened and re-read often—if at all.] <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> Then he sat back up and decided to think instead <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> in our past. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> soiled clothing in odd corners or a mess when you shave.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> favourite? What was that comment about? John knew it’d just annoy Sherlock. Why was he trying to further upset him? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly. Between songs the band tried talking to the crowd and riling them up, but the lead was a bit awkward and his jokes and comments weren't landing -- the laughter leaned toward mockery. John was typing this all up as he was seeing it. He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected. He would help the band get some tips and tricks, try them again in a different setting, and eventually he'd find the right fit for them. He was good at his job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he said. "I have never lied to you -- except for the few times, which you know about and which I've apologized for so we don't need to go into all that again." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the flat. He occasionally glanced over at John, glad he was home. He made great progress in just a few hours. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He is pacing and muttering to himself, but does not seem inclined towards the violence we experienced yesterday. I will stretch out on the bed in here and perhaps escape to my own dreams for a while. <|indexes|> 1 1 | <|example|> a few hours, and it was then that I came up with something which seemed to fit the bill. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> replied, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Please allow us a few minutes to dress before you bring him up—and coffee. I require a great deal of coffee.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was facing me. “You realise that we will not have a new maid for a few days?” I whispered, placing my face close to his. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> and it would be a long afternoon. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> in our past. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock turned off the lamp and lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. He knew he was feeling something or many things, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was feeling rather than thinking. He didn’t like it, he never had. He closed his eyes and just felt for a few minutes. Then he sat back up and decided to think instead. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I require a great deal of coffee <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly. Between songs the band tried talking to the crowd and riling them up, but the lead was a bit awkward and his jokes and comments weren't landing -- the laughter leaned toward mockery. John was typing this all up as he was seeing it. He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected. He would help the band get some tips and tricks, try them again in a different setting, and eventually he'd find the right fit for them. He was good at his job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> he said. "I have never lied to you -- except for the few times, which you know about and which I've apologized for so we don't need to go into all that again." <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> in the flat. He occasionally glanced over at John, glad he was home. He made great progress in just a few hours. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He is pacing and muttering to himself, but does not seem inclined towards the violence we experienced yesterday. I will stretch out on the bed in here and perhaps escape to my own dreams for a while. <|indexes|> 1 1 | <|example|> a few hours, and it was then that I came up with something which seemed to fit the bill. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> replied, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Please allow us a few minutes to dress before you bring him up—and coffee. I require a great deal of coffee.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> was facing me. “You realise that we will not have a new maid for a few days?” I whispered, placing my face close to his. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> and it would be a long afternoon. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> tucked under a lattice covered all over in ivy. The greenery threw a pleasant, cool shade onto the seat and I shut my eyes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | <|example|> common. That was the only reason he could think of that would get the younger man anywhere near the immense and wildly popular store at this time of year. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "Just try not to focus on it -- whatever she said tonight, try to forget it," Sherlock said. "Look, why don't you sleep in my room tonight?" <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | <|example|> but lifted his hands quickly to hold John’s head, keeping the kiss going. Then he slid his hand between their bodies to stroke himself again. Every nerve was on fire, and his body felt tight and hot. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> get drinks with no worry about getting back quickly. Between songs the band tried talking to the crowd and riling them up, but the lead was a bit awkward and his jokes and comments weren't landing -- the laughter leaned toward mockery. John was typing this all up as he was seeing it. He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected. He would help the band get some tips and tricks, try them again in a different setting, and eventually he'd find the right fit for them. He was good at his job. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> He is pacing and muttering to himself, but does not seem inclined towards the violence we experienced yesterday. I will stretch out on the bed in here and perhaps escape to my own dreams for a while. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He used to feel bad, but he didn't anymore, not now that he knew his friend wasn't affected <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> <|example|> Sherlock rolled over and checked his phone, getting up and getting ready to head out. He didn’t change his clothes -- he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to see the band or meet friends. He would just be watching for the dealer. He set out to walk to the bar which wasn’t too far from the flat. The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> lying there staring up at the ceiling. Was he having issues with sleep again? He hadn’t thought he was. It hadn’t seemed as bad since John got here -- obviously with cases he was awake all hours of the night, but on the few breaks they had between work, things had seemed to normalise a little. He still didn’t do well with boredom, but he actually liked just being around John who was willing to at least tolerate Sherlock, whether he was busy or not. He did like being around John -- this living together and working together arrangement was working well for Sherlock Holmes. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> moved over to the sofa next to John. He lay his phone on the cushion between him. “You dial and then put it on speaker.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 | | <|example|> wishing he could call John and tell him about what happened. They hadn’t talked in so long, but Sherlock knew John would know the right thing to say. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 | | <|example|> just asked me, you know,” he said softly and then his voice turned a little sharper. “You’ve got a job to do, soldier,” he said as he undid his trousers and opened them. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 | |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock rolled over and checked his phone, getting up and getting ready to head out. He didn’t change his clothes -- he didn’t care. He wasn’t there to see the band or meet friends. He would just be watching for the dealer. He set out to walk to the bar which wasn’t too far from the flat. The night air was cool, and he enjoyed a cigarette on his walk. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “What happened?” Solomon asked uneasily. Winifred had met him on the ground floor, where they went into the library together. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> “You dial and then put it on speaker <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> John took Sherlock’s hand and answered firmly. “Yes, no doubt about it. Lets stop wasting time here on the pavement. I want to marry this man before he changes his mind.” He turned toward the doors and hauled Sherlock along by the hand, trusting that Mycroft would escort Mrs. Hudson. "I guess it does not matter if he goes back to his normal everyday life tomorrow, I just don’t know exactly what is the best course of action for now - he obviously needs to rest but I agree with you that he should not be alone. Is there anyone who could take care of him a bit when he returns to his room? " Because Sherlock had always had the habit of fake-smiling often, most people don’t notice. But John does. The subject of the novice lesson could not have been more appropriate - Father Andrew spoke of mercy and forgiveness and was not tired of reaffirming that they should be an indispensable part of charity to each one of us if we were angry with someone. He shook the hand still brutally grasping Sherlock’s nape, causing Sherlock’s head to snap backward. "By the way, you’ll find a phone in the office," Jonah whispered to me with a wink, "If you want to talk with Harriet." Quickly I went to the end of the room to see what it was all about - and was frightened. In front of me was Brother Jonah, next to him a broken bottle, the blond hair at the back of his head bloodstained. Now Sherlock was back, popping “not dead!” on him and babbling about some secret website John was supposed to have known about. His fist clenched at the thought. I waited until the ringing of the bell, then I went to the noon prayer in the church. The process did not differ from the other days until Prior Lambert rose after the closing prayer and addressed the brothers present. He explained briefly and unceremoniously that Brother William had been hospitalized in the morning with severe medical conditions and would now be treated there. A low murmur went through the rows; only Jonah sat in his seat, stony-faced, staring at the floor. The Prior cleared his throat to make himself heard again. I glanced at the heart monitor, but the readings showed no change. He probably did not notice me at all - and that was what scared me the most. During my professional career I had often found that the answer to the anxious question of whether the life of a coma patient continued or not was within a few days or weeks: either the patient woke up again - or the brain died. Again I let my eyes slip over the body of the young monk. Which group would he belong to? "It does not have to mean anything," I tried to calm the young man and put a hand on his shoulder, "Maybe this is just a misunderstanding ..." "Because there is a priest with Brother William supposedly with him to give him the sacraments. And after my meeting with Mycroft Holmes,

<|output|> <|example|> John took Sherlock’s hand and answered firmly. “Yes, no doubt about it. Lets stop wasting time here on the pavement. I want to marry this man before he changes his mind.” He turned toward the doors and hauled Sherlock along by the hand, trusting that Mycroft would escort Mrs. Hudson. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Is there anyone who could take care of him a bit when he returns to his room? " Because Sherlock had always had the habit of fake-smiling often, most people don’t notice <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> I want to marry this man before he changes his mind <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 <|example|> I waited until the ringing of the bell, then I went to the noon prayer in the church <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> ” He turned toward the doors and hauled Sherlock along by the hand, trusting that Mycroft would escort Mrs <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> And after my meeting with Mycroft Holmes, <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> " "Because there is a priest with Brother William supposedly with him to give him the sacraments <|indexes|> 5 <|example|> "I guess it does not matter if he goes back to his normal everyday life tomorrow, I just don’t know exactly what is the best course of action for now - he obviously needs to rest but I agree with you that he should not be alone <|indexes|> 6 |

<|text|> I can not imagine that it was Brother Williams' family that summoned this priest, so I'm worried that ... " John heard Mycroft sigh again. “Very well,” he said then the line went silent, leaving John staring blankly at his silent phone. Father Andrew, who had come in late, but as a novice master knew the brothers entrusted to him better than many others, shook his head with conviction. "You're the one who brought me into this situation!" I complained to him in a hoarse voice, knowing how unjust and defiant my accusations sounded. John was grateful when a clerk approached him while he browsed the Reds and Blended Reds aisle. He explained that he was looking for a special bottle, but not too outrageous, to pair with salmon. When the clerk suggested an £80 Pinot Noir, John winced at the extravagance - especially in light of his recent months of only drawing half salary - but he braced himself and dug out his debit card. Sherlock was the one who knew wines, not him, but the clerk assured him that the wine would please even the most discriminating palate. “Good god, John. Did you not actually spend days reading my letters or are you too dull to pick up on what I so obviously stated? A murmur went through the crowd until one of the men plucked up courage and asked the question that seemed to burn in their souls, "Brother William was ... poisoned?" “I haven’t started reading yet. I listened … listened to the conversation. From the rooftop. I listened to it and I have to talk to him.” It felt strange to me that the monks' lives went on as they had before the treacherous attack on Sherlock, the false accusations against Jonah, and the unmasking of the murderous novice Francis; no one seemed willing to discuss it. Francis’ disappearance was apparently simply accepted and not further remarked on, although I was sure that everyone in the monastery knew exactly what had happened. Sherlock took a moment to scan the room before he moved. The furniture was of high quality and the Oriental rug that covered the white tile floor looked hand-knotted. With a jerk to the top pull, Sherlock found a drawer full of elastic and drawstring waist athletic shorts, t-shirts and white athletic socks. The second drawer contained more of the same, plus sweat pants and fleece hoodies - everything he could need except pants. With a shrug at that omission, Sherlock picked out a navy blue t-shirt and navy shorts with white stripes running down the outer seam of both legs. He carried them into the bathroom, then stripped and stepped into the shower. Father Lambert led me up through countless corridors, stairways and down again until I was confused and convinced I’d never be able to find the way back to my room alone. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

<|output|> <|example|> I can not imagine that it was Brother Williams' family that summoned this priest, so I'm worried that ... " <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> With a jerk to the top pull, Sherlock found a drawer full of elastic and drawstring waist athletic shorts, t-shirts and white athletic socks <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> I can not imagine that it was Brother Williams' family that summoned this priest, so I'm worried that <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> From the rooftop <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> Sherlock was the one who knew wines, not him, but the clerk assured him that the wine would please even the most discriminating palate <|indexes|> 5 |

<|text|> * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ Sherlock moaned his agreement, working his fingers to the second knuckle. The sight was almost too much for John - he grabbed the base of his overwrought cock and squeezed “Yes, Sherlock, I did record the conversation and can send you the file. I’ll also send over a transcript of the conversation. But why would John believe it’s genuine? Might he just believe I had the conversation faked?” Mycroft sounded weary. "Today at noon, in the church. He prayed and then asked Father Christopher to hear his confession. Maybe he could help you ... " "Everyone should bring in the talents given to him by the Lord, for the benefit of the community, and both medicinal herbs and honey are often of great use to us all. And as I said, if you would like to help Brother William occasionally, he would not mind. " A little sound escaped John’s throat, startling him in the silent house. Sherlock had written this just two weeks ago. To him. Thinking he was sitting in his chair at Baker Street, praying for his lover’s safe return. This knowledge, I was sure, would never meet the high demands he had placed on himself and his work, if I could take the words of his fellow brothers for granted - and why would they lie to me? I could not escape the aura of perfection that seemed to surround him. How, then, would what I was doing ever be enough to ignite that tiny spark of recognition in his eyes once again, that he had showed to me yesterday afternoon? I had read the book until I had not been able to keep my eyes open any longer ... To my astonishment, he now gave me a benevolent look and led me immediately, as soon as I had put on the protective clothing, into his work. "Yeah, obviously," I snorted bitterly. I had not wanted to talk about the subject, but now it took possession of me and I felt rancor rise in my throat. I nodded in agreement. An easy life was really rare. But people like Brother Jonah made it more bearable. "Yes, very much!" I replied, and was amazed to realize it was absolutely true. This almost meditative calm that had prevailed during the common prayer had touched me unexpectedly deep. It felt like when you finally got home after a long journey. Still very inspired by these unfamiliar impressions, I followed the blond to the refectory

<|output|> <|example|> * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ Sherlock moaned his agreement, working his fingers to the second knuckle <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> Maybe he could help you <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Maybe he could help you <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> " "Everyone should bring in the talents given to him by the Lord, for the benefit of the community, and both medicinal herbs and honey are often of great use to us all <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> Still very inspired by these unfamiliar impressions, I followed the blond to the refectory <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> and to the novice’s table, where I greeted Brother Francis with a friendly nod and took the seat to his right. After a brief look around the room I remained standing like all others until grace was spoken and the brothers took their seats. Only half-heartedly did I go to the refectory after supper, and chewed cheerlessly on a slice of bread; I felt no hunger, and the idea of the imminent conversation made my throat dry. My unusual behavior must have aroused attention because Brother Elijah took me aside. The file lay on the table, innocuous manila cardstock somehow threatening him by its mere presence. John downed half his pint then plucked up the courage to open it. A tiny flash drive was taped to the inside of the folder. The top dozen pages of paper were stapled together precisely. A note in the top margin of the first page in Sherlock’s neat handwriting read: "No, you didn’t," I answered softly, because at the moment I simply lacked the strength to focus on the appropriate signs. went through my head. As he stood there in his black habit with the hood thrown back, the slender, pale fingers clasped over the waist, looking at me with his pale blue eyes … “Damn the cases.” John said, and Sherlock gave a mock gasp. “The more remote the better. I’d have you all to myself if I could.” “Just exactly that.” John chuckles. Sherlock is grateful that he doesn’t make to come back into Sherlock’s field of vision. In fact, he’s fairly certain John has his back to him as well. What an odd way to carry on a conversation. Also how brilliant. This way, Sherlock can’t get overwhelmed and ruin things. “I’ll stay,” he says, “But only if you want me to.” The third thing he notices is John, sat in a chair across from him. The odd sensation of having found yourself sitting when you had no memory of stopping standing, pales in comparison to Sherlock’s mounting mortification. “That was days ago, sir.” Wiggins replies, trying to hand Sherlock a syringe. Sherlock scoffs and waves him off. “Sorry, sir. Forgot you don’t share.” standards, Wiggins. Do try to remember that.” Sherlock looks about the dingy flat with his eyes for the charger he’d brought, but there’s no hope of finding it in this mess. “You sent me the address, Love.” He’s trying to get Sherlock to sit up, hands urging his body to move. Sherlock spares a glance at the man, sees he’s still in his rain soaked coat and scarf. Then looks back out the open window. Fingers card through Sherlock’s curls at the back of his head as he snorts the line, and then, with a fist of Sherlock’s hair, he wrenches Sherlock’s head back violently. The feeling of cocaine being absorbed into his system and the sharp pull have Sherlock making a wretched sound as he falls to his knees, hair still firm in Seb’s fist. “When I get better--” Sherlock tries but his throat convulsively swallows, effectively cutting him off. “What are we what? Doing? I thought you wanted to… ‘talk’. Or

<|output|> <|example|> and to the novice’s table, where I greeted Brother Francis with a friendly nod and took the seat to his right. After a brief look around the room I remained standing like all others until grace was spoken and the brothers took their seats. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 <|example|> “Damn the cases.” John said, and Sherlock gave a mock gasp. “The more remote the better. I’d have you all to myself if I could.” <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> I’d have you all to myself if I could <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> My unusual behavior must have aroused attention because Brother Elijah took me aside <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Then looks back out the open window <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> whatever.” He looks back down into his whiskey, concern creasing his brow, mouth twisted up to the side by his obvious discomfort with the situation. Sherlock scoffs, looking away, though feels a blush color him at John mentioning his arse in any context. “Perfectly,” Sherlock’s voice squeaks and he has to clear his throat, “Perfectly, perfectly.” He coughs and looks at anywhere but John, before narrowing his eyes in defiance at his own embarrassment and giving John an almost-glare. “Why wouldn’t it be?” “Sorry, sir.” Wiggins jerks himself awake and sits up ramrod straight, forcing his eyes to stay open. Sherlock always seemed to get like this when John told him he loved him. Even though he’d been saying it multiple times a day for these past four months, as if his lips couldn’t say it enough. Ever since that first day... the one where there had been too close a call on Sherlock’s part, a bullet speeding past, taking a chunk out of his Belstaff, but luckily leaving Sherlock with nothing but a graze. John had decided he couldn’t contain it anymore. Couldn’t risk Sherlock never getting the chance to hear John say those words. And so he’d just said them. Right there and then, while Sherlock sat grumbling on the back bumper of the ambulance. They hadn’t been alone, but John had said it anyways. In front of the EMT. In front of Greg. Hell, even Sally Donovan and Anderson were there. Sherlock had given him this almost quizzical look, and then smiled in a way John hadn’t before seen. And so John decided he’d just keep on saying it. “Oh... “ Sherlock looked down at a traumatized child as she watched Father Christmas swear up a storm and ruin her childhood forever. “Hello.” he said awkwardly. “Don’t worry,” Sherlock said, turning back to the children and their concerned parents. “That’s not really Santa.” Sherlock shammed a reassuring smile. The parents looked relieved. So did the kids. They kissed in front of the open window, snow drifting down outside in soft tufts, while the pink glow of the streetlamps outlined their joined frames. John forgot how cold he was. All he could feel was the warmth of Sherlock’s lips, and the warmth radiating and pulsing out from his heart. “Move!” Sherlock yelled, pushing the mouth-breathing pedestrians out of the way. “John! He’s heading towards the mall!” “I thought we had already discussed this.” From the change in John’s voice, Sherlock can tell he’s turned his head around to look at the back of Sherlock’s. “It doesn’t just have to be what you need. It can be what you want too.” “I’m fine,” Sherlock tries to protest, but Seb’s grip only tightens, probably painfully so, but Sherlock is too doped up to really tell. Sherlock takes a deep breath, can smell John, the scent concentrated at his pulsepoint. Can smell his own sweat coating John’s palm. Sherlock sighs dramatically and takes the straw, bending down to hover over the mirror and choose which line to take, which line is the smallest. Sherlock’s entire head had gone numb and every time he swallowed he

<|output|> <|example|> whatever.” He looks back down into his whiskey, concern creasing his brow, mouth twisted up to the side by his obvious discomfort with the situation. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock had given him this almost quizzical look, and then smiled in a way John hadn’t before seen <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> felt as if he were going to choke. He didn’t want more, but he did want to please Sebastian. John wore the hat when they went in to pick up their food. He then texted Mrs.H to be ready, and slipped the hat back onto Sherlock’s head right before they entered 221. She snapped a picture of him before Sherlock even had time to react. If it came right down to it, and one was forced to decide, Sherlock preferred men vastly over women. In fact, he preferred men entirely. John laughs up at the ceiling, rubbing both hands over his face. “Oh, god.” he breathes in humour and agitation. And perhaps also fear. He looks back at Sherlock, a defiant smile struggling to stay on his lips. "He doesn’t live here anymore," the blond man replied, without answering my question. He took a drag of his cigarette, already burned down to a small stump, then tipped his head back and blew the smoke into the air. Mary rose to follow more slowly, giving Sherlock a warm look of sympathy. She grabbed a few paper napkins from the dispenser on the table and handed them to Sherlock. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk him around,” she said sweetly. "I am sorry that I have caused you grief. It was stupid and I promise you that something like that will not happen again." He put down the cup, folded his hands in his lap and lowered his head humbly. "Please forgive me." "Oh, all of a sudden? After all, you were the one who sneaked into my room in the middle of the night because I aroused your interest! Has it not been you who held my hand while cleaning the dishes? And let me lick honey from your finger? " During breakfast, I never was so happy about the omnipresent silence as I was at that moment, because as soon as my eyes fell on Brother William, who barely touched the food on his plate and seemed to almost exclusively partake of tea today, I felt both hot and cold. In the next hour I would have a hard time dodging him, because along with Brother Jonah, we were on kitchen duty once again. I almost wished that the Order would have invested a small amount of its funds in the purchase of a dishwasher. However, since this was not the case, I found myself standing between the two young men in the kitchen again, after we had cleared the tables together. The tasks were clearly divided - William rinsed, I dried and Jonah put the dishes away in the cabinets. Tracing small circles on Sherlock’s hip bones with his thumbs, John toyed with the low-slung waistband of Sherlock’s tight black boxer trunks. Sherlock leaned lower, his cotton-clad erection brushing John’s as he rolled his hips, his cock stroking John’s from root to tip, his bollocks pressing softly against John’s. I scratched my head in embarrassment, hoping that my explanation would convince the officer that I was not planning a break-in, but had far more honorable motives. John double checked the date. What had he

<|output|> <|example|> felt as if he were going to choke. He didn’t want more, but he did want to please Sebastian. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> "He doesn’t live here anymore," the blond man replied, without answering my question. He took a drag of his cigarette, already burned down to a small stump, then tipped his head back and blew the smoke into the air. <|indexes|> 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 |

<|output|> <|example|> In fact, he preferred men entirely <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> And perhaps also fear <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> She snapped a picture of him before Sherlock even had time to react <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> "He doesn’t live here anymore," the blond man replied, without answering my question <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> been doing then? Nothing stood out in his memory. Just an ordinary day. He’d probably woken early, cycled to work. Met patients, written prescriptions, referred some to specialists. Cycled home, had dinner with Mary, perhaps followed by sex. Just an ordinary day in his small, petty life. He’d been sleepwalking while Sherlock was taking down nearly two dozen dangerous international criminals single handed "You don’t have to. For now, it would be enough for me if you helped me take my things back to my room. I feel so isolated here, I want to have other people around me again. " "Jonah, would you at least agree to let me do some neurological examinations in the next few days? If any abnormalities arise, you can still go to hospital treatment. " He seemed pleased, for he did not respond to my excuse, except for the fact that he was giving me a pat on the back. I sat down into the lounge and studied the daily newspaper in order to be left alone. I retreated to my room immediately after the end of the free time and the following Complet. Since everyone believed that I was tired and wanted to go to bed, at least nobody would disturb me. John felt the pieces of himself start to slide apart but Sherlock tightened his grip, his strong arm holding the bits of John together while he gasped and sobbed and tried to find the edges of himself. Sherlock didn’t go in for platitudes or empty comfort words - but the weight of his arm, the rhythm of his steady breathing grounded John and kept his pieces from breaking too far apart. Sherlock pressed his lips against John’s temple and breathed, keeping a steady rhythm for John while John fought to breathe at all. Finally John’s hysterical laughter faded to irregular hiccoughs then after a final sigh, they lay in silence for a while. “Mycroft, why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me John didn’t get my messages!” Sherlock stormed at his brother. John took a booth in the back, ordered a pint and stared at the closed file. “My explanation, my apology” echoed in his memory, causing him to wearily rub the heels of both hands into his eyes. He took a long pull from his glass to chase the memory away. They both laughed while John retrieved bandages, antibiotic cream, medical tape and nitrile gloves from the large stach on the counter top. He lifted the towel away from Sherlock’s shoulders and was relieved to find it free of blood stains. John snapped on gloves and went to work, gently spreading cream over the wounds with a square of gauze. “Looks good. You’ll have scarring but all of these wounds are healing nicely.” Affecting his doctor-mode helped John distance himself from the fact that he was cleaning wounds Sherlock had suffered while being tortured in an Eastern European dungeon. If he let himself think about it, John would fall apart. Instead he kept his mind on the task of cutting strips of bandage and taping them in

<|output|> <|example|> been doing then? Nothing stood out in his memory. Just an ordinary day. He’d probably woken early, cycled to work. Met patients, written prescriptions, referred some to specialists. Cycled home, had dinner with Mary, perhaps followed by sex. Just an ordinary day in his small, petty life. He’d been sleepwalking while Sherlock was taking down nearly two dozen dangerous international criminals single handed <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> " "Jonah, would you at least agree to let me do some neurological examinations in the next few days? If any abnormalities arise, you can still go to hospital treatment <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Just an ordinary day <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> place. Sherlock stayed silent. An occasional flinch was his only response to John’s ministrations. I knew the words I needed to tell him in many different languages, but I had never said them so seriously before - so serious that they almost seemed too naïve and cheesy. The words expressed exactly what my heart and soul screamed when I thought of him. The sign was simple and understood by most people, even people who didn’t know sign language, but for me it meant Immediately we left the refectory and went on the seemingly endless way through the labyrinthine passages again until the Prior stood in front of high double doors that looked as if they would creak at the lightest touch. I was surprised when they opened without the slightest resistance. it. And why do you think that I'd talk to Prior Lambert, breaking my vow of silence doing that, just to learn something about you? " "Yes," I replied simply, "And that's why I find it so hard to believe that he would be able to intentionally hurt another person. He must have said something about the allegations against him ... " In the course of the morning, I decided to visit Brother Jonah and was glad to find him in bed. This time he was awake, leaning against his pillow upright, holding a sketchbook in his hands. When he heard the door creaking, he looked up and smiled at me. ? Why was John preparing to present some strange woman a ring? He knew Sherlock’s return was imminent. What was he doing out with a woman at all – why wasn’t he at Baker Street waiting for Sherlock? "I don’t expect a monk to understand such things," I shot a toxic look in his direction, suddenly angry that he seemed to judge my feelings. John watched Sherlock trail his slickened fingers up his thigh then further, rubbing three fingers along his perineum, trailing back until they met his cleft. John sucked in a breath between his teeth - they’d never done this, hadn’t even discussed it. John had had sexual encounters with men before Sherlock, but only using hands and mouths. He’d never even considered actual intercourse and had assumed Sherlock felt the same. However, Sherlock put an end to my musing in a way I would later recognize as typical of him: He walked over to his bedside table, took out a packet of condoms and a tube of lube and shoved both into my hand before he glanced down at the broad bed then looked at me over his shoulder: John had known he was being a jackass to Sherlock the past few months but just couldn’t seem to stop himself. The smothering isolation of being shut up in the flat while he recuperated from a devastating shoulder injury with just the twice weekly visits from the physiotherapist, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson for company had narrowed his world to two points of focus - the unremitting pain in his shoulder and his lost playing career. Neither of those were Sherlock’s fault but it was easy for John to

<|output|> <|example|> place. Sherlock stayed silent. An occasional flinch was his only response to John’s ministrations. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> The words expressed exactly what my heart and soul screamed when I thought of him <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> When he heard the door creaking, he looked up and smiled at me <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> it <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Hudson for company had narrowed his world to two points of focus - the unremitting pain in his shoulder and his lost playing career <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> John sucked in a breath between his teeth - they’d never done this, hadn’t even discussed it <|indexes|> 5 |

<|text|> take out his anguish and frustration on his husband: Sherlock, who had been surprisingly supportive throughout the surgeries, the hospital stay, and the tedious recovery. Sherlock, who he’d continually pushed away until finally Sherlock had even stopped trying to engage him. Sherlock grinned wickedly. “It’s my first time here.” He raised an eyebrow rakishly, flirting too-obviously. - it shot through my head, but before I could think about it, a loud hiss, followed by a moan, pulled my gaze to his leg. He’d demolished the bandage and thus revealed the still slightly bleeding wound. Again, I received no reply. Instead, he seemed to have regained his composure and continued to dedicate himself to his work in an almost meditative manner, raising his hand from time to time when I tried to approach, which, I told myself, was more likely due to the fact that I did not wear any protective clothing than to the fact that he did not want to talk to me or to have me near him. "Beyond repair? This can not be determined at the moment. We'll have to wait and see if his vocal cords recover, but I do not want to give you false hope - his doctors think it would be a miracle if he would recover from his injuries without any sequelae. But miracles handled by your current hosts and I personally will leave the miracles to them. " Opening the site, John read over Sherlock’s last message. He exhaled sharply, thinking of the lash scars on Sherlock’s back that resulted from his capture by Moriarty's Serbian people. Sherlock had told him in the message about his injuries. How confused Sherlock must have been when John launched himself at him, knocking him to the ground on his injured back with all his weight. John swallowed the gorge that threatened to rise at the thought. "I want to go see Sherlock Holmes," I pleaded, reaching for the pen to sign the Visitor Log. The duty nurse put a hand on my forearm to keep me from doing so. Sherlock made a dismissive gesture. “I knew you’d want to do the honorable thing. Dull. Surely she’ll have figured it out by now.” form of endearment, because they had unshakable respect for each other. The joy in each other’s company, even if all they did of an evening was sit in front of the fireplace and read silently. Relating – really It couldn’t be true. All the suffering, all the pain, moving out of Baker Street, avoiding Mrs. Hudson because it was too painful to see her sweet, sad face … falling in with Mary, the affectionate relationship based mainly on sex and Mary’s bright smile and not much else… all of it, the huge to run back to Baker Street, tear open the door, throw him on the sofa and snog him silly. It hurt so badly to see Sherlock in the flesh, even more incandescent and magnetic than his memories of the man. The door opened and the friars, led by Prior Lambert, entered the church. To my astonishment, I realized that Brother William was the

<|output|> <|example|> take out his anguish and frustration on his husband: Sherlock, who had been surprisingly supportive throughout the surgeries, the hospital stay, and the tedious recovery. Sherlock, who he’d continually pushed away until finally Sherlock had even stopped trying to engage him. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He’d demolished the bandage and thus revealed the still slightly bleeding wound <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> Dull <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> “It’s my first time here <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> He’d demolished the bandage and thus revealed the still slightly bleeding wound <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> last to take his place in the choir loft, but settled on the edge, while all the other men went to their usual places. I decided not to let myself be irritated; my interest in the young man had brought too much trouble to both him and myself. Nevertheless, it was noticeable that he would only passively participate in the service. It was only recently that I had discovered that there was also a plan for the liturgical ministry, which assigned certain tasks to each brother, such as the recitation of psalms or the service on the altar, and which was valid for one week. Brother William should have assisted the priest who led the Eucharistic celebration this week, as he had done on the preceding days - but now he stayed in his place, gazing into space, and seemed to hardly notice his surroundings. Was it worry about his protege Jonah, or was there something else? But now - now. Now Sherlock is angles and planes and firm and hard, arms and legs fuzzed with wiry hair, jaw rough with five o'clock stubble, fingers bony, limbs ropy. And it’s glorious, the brand-new sensations under his palms, against his limbs, his belly. Deep-voiced sighs to match his own. Large hands on him, large mouth around him - god, everything about Sherlock is so big. “I followed you this morning because Mycroft shared with me that he has information on Mary. Nothing solid, just hints and rumors of very dark things. I thought it best to monitor your interaction with her.” Sherlock held John’s gaze. One corner of his mouth crooked up. “Good thing, isn’t it?” As much as I tried, I could not combine these two pictures in my mind. It was not the famous two sides of a coin that the curly head revealed to me. I had the feeling of having met two completely different people: a serious, profound man whose spirituality was more important to him than all other things and who apparently had gained great respect within the convent within a very short time - and someone who was quite a scoundrel, with his inner child on display, and testing his limits by pushing his fellow men to their own. Or past, as in my case. I had fallen hopelessly for him - and at the same time I was absolutely certain that he could not have missed that. Heaving a sigh, Sherlock sat forward. “Give me a chance. You can call my brother, he’ll verify my identity.” “John’s home. We can’t be disturbed.” Sherlock grabbed John’s wrist and pulled him up the stairs. “If a client comes, tell them to go away,” he threw over his shoulder. And she looked good. Very different from the last time John had seen her. Along with clear eyes and steady hands, Harry sported a smart jacket and nicely tailored skirt in soft grey and a beautiful yellow cashmere scarf that flattered her golden brown hair and deep blue eyes. Sherlock looked toward the ceiling for a few moments, a bashful expression lighting his features. “I

<|output|> <|example|> last to take his place in the choir loft, but settled on the edge, while all the other men went to their usual places. I decided not to let myself be irritated; my interest in the young man had brought too much trouble to both him and myself. Nevertheless, it was noticeable that he would only passively participate in the service. It was only recently that I had discovered that there was also a plan for the liturgical ministry, which assigned certain tasks to each brother, such as the recitation of psalms or the service on the altar, and which was valid for one week. Brother William should have assisted the priest who led the Eucharistic celebration this week, as he had done on the preceding days - but now he stayed in his place, gazing into space, and seemed to hardly notice his surroundings. Was it worry about his protege Jonah, or was there something else? <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Was it worry about his protege Jonah, or was there something else? But now - now <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> painted the downstairs powder room for my mother this morning. Obviously some paint dripped onto my hair.” Sherlock brought it up just after John lit the logs in the fireplace and settled into his armchair with a book. “What do you think about getting married again?” Sherlock’s voice was neutral and partially muffled by the sofa arm he’d draped himself over. I stopped and felt my whole body stiffen. Just the mention of the sweet fluid brought the memory of Sherlock back to life; my heart squeezed painfully. If only I had never come to this cursed market! I cleared my throat as I stood before his table, but this did not help much; still my voice sounded hoarse and rough as if after a long cold. But what does that mean? Was he simply relieved that my brain devoted itself to other things than planning a murder attack on his confreres, or … The past two days had showed John that Sherlock’s feelings wore more complex than he’d ever imagined. The days had also forced John to think deeply about his own feelings. He felt clear-headed for the first time in two years. He realized now that he had not been fair to Mary – had never been, since the day they’d met. Mary had pursued him with clear intent and he’d just gone along because it was easy and accessible. He didn’t have strong feelings for her. He’d talked himself into feeling love, but it was a pale ghost of what he felt for Sherlock – and he’d known it at the time, but refused to admit it to himself. He could not look me in the eye. Instead, he changed his sitting position, stretched out his legs and pushed the hem of his habit upwards. A broad strip of adhesive plaster appeared to cover the injury on his leg - though I had repeatedly offered to treat his wound, he had repeatedly put me off to 'later', almost as if he wanted to delay it as long as possible. Now, however, he began plucking at one corner of the bandage, but was unable to grasp it with his strikingly short fingernails. "Alright, I realize that I'm putting you in a difficult situation. That was not my intention, please forgive me. " I hesitantly walked up and down the hall thinking about my conversation with him. Could it really be that he had pushed Brother Francis and caused his fall through the glass? It just did not fit in with the image of the peaceful young monk who grew so much in his faith that nothing else counted for him. I couldn’t imagine him committing such an act of violence. On the other hand, that also applied to all other friars. But it was clear that someone had poisoned the chocolates that William had eaten with a strong neurotoxin and there was a high likelihood that this person was living here in the monastery. The last part of John’s rational mind still functioning cautioned him to slow down but the animal inside shoved the concern aside. Grasping Sherlock’s nape,

<|output|> <|example|> painted the downstairs powder room for my mother this morning. Obviously some paint dripped onto my hair.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I couldn’t imagine him committing such an act of violence <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> A broad strip of adhesive plaster appeared to cover the injury on his leg - though I had repeatedly offered to treat his wound, he had repeatedly put me off to 'later', almost as if he wanted to delay it as long as possible <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> But what does that mean? Was he simply relieved that my brain devoted itself to other things than planning a murder attack on his confreres, or … The past two days had showed John that Sherlock’s feelings wore more complex than he’d ever imagined <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> John forced Sherlock’s chest and shoulders to the mattress, making his long back arch. Sherlock submitted without resistance, turning his head to the side and to watch John over his shoulder. The cheek presented for John’s gaze was flushed, sweat-slick curls clinging to forehead, mouth slack while John’s brutal thrusts elicited an endless stream of involuntary sounds from the arched white throat. Thrusting brutally, John ground out between clenched teeth, “Feel Sherlock heard a voice a short distance away but couldn’t make out the words. He was hauled along, stumbling and cursing, across the paved lot, through a door, through a carpeted room, another doorway and finally into a large air conditioned office. A large man, square head and no-neck, sat sweating behind the desk in a polyester blazer and white dress shirt, tie loosened and top button unbuttoned. Sherlock’s eyes widened when he recognized the man from the nightclub, the middle aged owner who’d held court at the bar the night before. "You don’t have to decide immediately. Above all, I do not want to push you in a certain direction. This is a decision that only you can make, all alone. I personally think that you can only benefit if you stay a little longer and you open your mind to these thoughts. Perhaps you could talk to one of the older brothers or with the novice master, for this is nothing new to them." He looked up at Brother William and thrust his last remaining bishop from the board with his knight. Still, I had the impression that he was strangely quiet for the rest of the evening. I had to distract myself. I looked around my room and was almost relieved when I discovered a leather-bound folder, the type also found in many hotels. It contained all kinds of useful information about life in the monastery; information concerning the Rule, the prayer and meal times, a floor plan of the monastery as well as a list of contacts I could turn to in case I had questions or needed emotional support. It was no surprise that a part of me already knew that a certain brother was not on that list. But, I kept telling myself, I did not come here to become acquainted with someone, but to finally find myself. Well, at least regarding my sexual orientation my stay already seemed to raise more questions than answers… John let out an annoyed laugh. “Yeah. I remembered the liquor, candy and cocoa but forgot that ingredient.” "And ... you don’t care?" I asked skeptically, although I was aware that I indirectly admitted that I felt something for the dark-haired monk. A cab was waiting outside the door - Sherlock had called for one while John changed. They slid in side by side and were silent for several minutes. John finally took Sherlock’s hand. “Did you look up the requirements?”he asked. “Is there any kind of waiting period?” “My good man, did you just say…” Watson’s declaration was interrupted by another bout of coughing. “Twiddle diddles?” Sherlock, confused at the kind lady’s abrupt change of demeanor, followed. She

<|output|> <|example|> John forced Sherlock’s chest and shoulders to the mattress, making his long back arch. Sherlock submitted without resistance, turning his head to the side and to watch John over his shoulder. The cheek presented for John’s gaze was flushed, sweat-slick curls clinging to forehead, mouth slack while John’s brutal thrusts elicited an endless stream of involuntary sounds from the arched white throat. Thrusting brutally, John ground out between clenched teeth, “Feel <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> It contained all kinds of useful information about life in the monastery; information concerning the Rule, the prayer and meal times, a floor plan of the monastery as well as a list of contacts I could turn to in case I had questions or needed emotional support <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> “Yeah <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> ” "And <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> A large man, square head and no-neck, sat sweating behind the desk in a polyester blazer and white dress shirt, tie loosened and top button unbuttoned <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> I looked around my room and was almost relieved when I discovered a leather-bound folder, the type also found in many hotels <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> was halfway up the staircase by the time Sherlock entered the foyer. Her frightened face turned toward him as she hissed, “Hurry!” "If Brother Jonah needs help, then I want to help him get it - so why not let it be me who helps him? I know I'm just a stranger who has nothing to do with the whole thing, but maybe that could be what’s needed? Perhaps I can look at it more objectively than you or Brother Jonah can?" Without hesitation - and above all, without letting me out of his sight - he pushed the sleeve of his habit a little way up, and stretched out his pale, sinewy arm. I already felt the trembling of my hands, but I tried not to show it as I put my fingers around his narrow wrist and held my thumb on the artery and stared at my watch. John looked down his body at Sherlock’s upturned face. Sherlock’s eyes flashed playfully as he stroked over John’s bollocks and down his thigh, trailing his slick fingers through the wiry hair, drawing slick designs into the shiver-sensitive skin, then stoked his palm back up to firmly massage the root of John’s cock. The knuckles of his other hand brushed the back of John’s sac before his tongue finally replaced his fingers, laving John’s bollocks and perineum and trailing kisses over his thighs, drawing a full body shiver from John. John watched a tiny pearl of translucent fluid appeared at the tip of his cock as Sherlock kissed up his thigh, lingering at the place thigh became hip and ending with a wet swipe up his cock to gather the drop of fluid. Sherlock sat back between John’s thighs and licked his lips as he poured more slick into his hand then rubbed his palm together. “Well, I have all these messages. You wrote them, and they’re. Well, they’re wonderful. The best thing you could have ever done for me. And, you know. I just … I’m not good with words. With talking, I mean. I’m better at writing things out.” John felt a blush rising. Really, it was ridiculous to be embarrassed in front of Sherlock. He’d had his tongue up Sherlock’s anus, for god’s sake. How could he be embarrassed at Sherlock catching him writing a love note! "You're not like him," I said quietly, "You've proved that people can change. You have managed to defeat your addiction. Now look at what has become of you! " "Exactly. And I'm not the type to run away from something. And you aren’t, either, I believe. Therefore, I now ask you the same question: do you want to try to face the challenge and fight the demons of your past or do you want to draw the line at this point?" "I do this based on free will. And you should know by now that I do not need any kind of support whatsoever. " Sherlock moaned and buried his face in John’s neck, panting hot against John’s sweat-damp skin. “Give me your hand,” he gasped. John licked his palm

<|output|> <|example|> was halfway up the staircase by the time Sherlock entered the foyer. Her frightened face turned toward him as she hissed, “Hurry!” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> The knuckles of his other hand brushed the back of John’s sac before his tongue finally replaced his fingers, laving John’s bollocks and perineum and trailing kisses over his thighs, drawing a full body shiver from John <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> You have managed to defeat your addiction <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> Sherlock sat back between John’s thighs and licked his lips as he poured more slick into his hand then rubbed his palm together <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> and threaded it between their bodies to capture Sherlock’s rock-hard cock. Sherlock’s skin felt hot and dry, distended over the thick vein that ran the length of his cock, and he shuddered violently when John stroked down the hot length. Taking a moment to readjust his hips to line up his own aching erection with Sherlock’s, John stretched his fist to accommodate the girth of the two of them together. Sherlock jerked like he’d touched a live wire then snapped his hips into John’s fist faster and faster, making little ‘aha’ sounds with each exhale until he shuddered and came, scorching John’s belly with his release. "Yes, he is ..." I murmured reverently, staring at the curly head with my mouth open. He had closed his eyes and let the bow glide over the strings of the violin with a gentleness as if he caressed a loved one. Maybe that was indeed the case, perhaps to him the music was some kind of substitute for the relationship he could never have. In my opinion, the music ended much too quickly, but the audience showed their appreciation with loud applause. The dark-haired monk nodded in thanks and then retired to the newspapers. What Sherlock didn’t see as he flailed was John, hit by an unobservant cyclist who knocked him to the ground head-first. John got up from the pavement quickly and, since all attention was on Sherlock’s ‘suicide,’ no one thought to insist that John have a CT scan to check for concussion. Thus, said concussion went undiagnosed. John never noticed his mild memory problems because – well, he couldn’t remember, so he didn’t know he had a problem. Others around him attributed his memory lapses to the horror and grief of watching his best friend and flatmate commit suicide right in front of his eyes. "I see how he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice - and I also see how sad he is. If you had met earlier ... " He’d exchanged texts with Mycroft and before he’d even unlocked the door at Baker Street, he’d been granted access to post messages to the secure website. Pawing at each other’s clothing, kissing and groping, they ended up in the kitchen. Sherlock’s coat and jacket had been shed on the way, along with his shoes. Continuing to murmur filthy phrases without paying much attention to the words that left his mouth, John found his shirt hanging from the waistband of his jeans, flapping behind him. He didn’t remember shucking his jacket - Sherlock must have worked it off at some point. Frustrated at his constraining clothing, John quickly unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down roughly. His pants went the same path and he kicked his shoes off impatiently then the offending clothing. It turns out that the chapter is much longer than I'd planned so I'm splitting it into two chapters. In this new arrangement, this chapter turns out to be mostly smut. I hope that makes up for the long wait. - his notes would not start with apologies. He and Sherlock had both

<|output|> <|example|> and threaded it between their bodies to capture Sherlock’s rock-hard cock. Sherlock’s skin felt hot and dry, distended over the thick vein that ran the length of his cock, and he shuddered violently when John stroked down the hot length. Taking a moment to readjust his hips to line up his own aching erection with Sherlock’s, John stretched his fist to accommodate the girth of the two of them together. Sherlock jerked like he’d touched a live wire then snapped his hips into John’s fist faster and faster, making little ‘aha’ sounds with each exhale until he shuddered and came, scorching John’s belly with his release. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> "I see how he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice - and I also see how sad he is <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> " He’d exchanged texts with Mycroft and before he’d even unlocked the door at Baker Street, he’d been granted access to post messages to the secure website <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Frustrated at his constraining clothing, John quickly unbuttoned his jeans and shoved them down roughly <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Sherlock’s coat and jacket had been shed on the way, along with his shoes <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> said their apologies and agreed that none further were needed. John wanted his first note to echo Sherlock’s tender words, not apologize for injuring him further. He opened a new document and began: John hung his head. “Yeah, about that. Mary asked me out. It was easier to just go along. I thought my best friend and partner was dead. I just didn’t care anymore, it was easier to go along with her than to be alone.” But loving him didn’t erase the daily tension between them. It didn’t excuse the distaste that Sherlock displayed when John did make an effort to be affectionate. John bit his lip, irritated at his own conflicted feelings. In the end, John knew without doubt that he could never follow through on his threat. Even if their feelings were waning, even if the flame was guttering - John would hold out until the last gasp, and he’d be there to lock the door behind them if Sherlock ever walked away. The bed was a mess, they were both a mess, they’d have to strip it and wash the sheets before bedtime. But for now, John was content to hold Sherlock’s hand, to feel Sherlock’s arm around him and to place a kiss on Sherlock’s sweaty forehead. “Sam,” Sherlock said loudly over the dance music. “I think you should get me a drink, Carlos, before we dance.” Sherlock stuck out one hip and crossed his arms across his chest, the picture of a young man on the prowl. I stared at him as if I could make him open his eyes, but the reaction was the same as before: nothing. I was almost ready to give up, but then the miracle I had been hoping for so long happened. Gently, almost tenderly, his index finger and middle finger closed on my hand. The touch was barely noticeable, he was so weak, but he was clearly there. I noticed a slight trembling of his eyelashes, as gentle as the wingbeat of a butterfly - a blink, and you would have missed that wonderful moment. As long as I could, I enjoyed the indescribable feeling that flowed through my entire body as I witnessed his slow awakening. But Sherlock was too good. Within a few short minutes, John pushed at Sherlock’s shoulder and gasped, “Sherlock.” "We do. In fact, I know it. I’ve researched. And my research makes me sure that you did not tell me the whole truth. " Just when I worked up the courage to ring the doorbell, the door before me opened and a gray-haired man in a black habit with inconspicuous wire-rimmed glasses on his nose stood before me. . These words, too, went through my head again and again, but the question now arose as to what kind of interest it was. I could not imagine that he - a man who voluntarily committed himself to a life of silence and chastity - had made tender advances toward me. And then, of course, there was that still, breathed Ella still looked at me as if waiting for me to bring up the

<|output|> <|example|> said their apologies and agreed that none further were needed. John wanted his first note to echo Sherlock’s tender words, not apologize for injuring him further. He opened a new document and began: <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Within a few short minutes, John pushed at Sherlock’s shoulder and gasped, “Sherlock <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> These words, too, went through my head again and again, but the question now arose as to what kind of interest it was <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> As long as I could, I enjoyed the indescribable feeling that flowed through my entire body as I witnessed his slow awakening <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> crucial detail for her. The trigger for my gloom. When I did not respond, she tried again. The next morning was uneventful. Brother William, as usual, had appeared at early mass, and for the last time had taken his place at the extreme end of the choir stalls. I was secretly happy that his banishment would end with this evening, since he seemed extremely lost when he was not between the other brothers, but among those novices, who had only been part of the convent for a few months. He was also sitting in my direct range of vision, so I could not miss how absently he was behaving this morning. Tired, on the one hand, but also absent-minded; several times he did not respond to the psalms until after a short delay, and he seemed to be very ponderous when he fell to his knees for the silent prayer. But Mummy had prevailed, and now not only were her sons coming home for Christmas, but Sherlock had invited three friends. Violet had always envisioned a house full of merry guests for the Holidays when her boys were little - handsome grown sons, wives and of course grandchildren. Life had turned out quite different than she’d imagined. She had the handsome grown sons, but no wives were in the plan - or husbands. It bothered Violet not one whit that her sons were gay, but she was concerned that they both had shut themselves off from any chance at love, or partners, or family. It seemed the Unfortunate Event with the other one had scarred them both for life. "Don’t you want join us?" I was approached by an elderly clergyman whose thinning, graying hair stood in a heavy contrast to his bushy, jet-black eyebrows. My eyes fell on the church clock - it was only a quarter past one. Rarely have I made a decision in less time than now. I ran down the steps, walking the corridors with certainty, as if this was my home, and rushed to the front gate. The brother on duty at the gate looked at me with a frown but did not ask any further questions when I called him a hurried "I have to leave for a while, an emergency". A few minutes later I raced down the street in my old Volvo, steadfastly heading for my destination - St Mary's Hospital in Aldershot. It was obligatory for him to show up. I was, on the other hand, only a guest, who would probably not really offend my hosts if I just overslept after a busy day and by doing so missed the nighttime prayer despite the bell-ringing. Once again, I glanced to the window on the other side of the building - everything was still dark. Once more I rose, pushed the curtains aside, and opened the window to remove the reflection of the light on my night stand in it. The night was cool and the air smelt of modern foliage, of dampness, of smoke - autumn had begun. The wind blew softly through the branches with

<|output|> <|example|> crucial detail for her. The trigger for my gloom. When I did not respond, she tried again. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I was secretly happy that his banishment would end with this evening, since he seemed extremely lost when he was not between the other brothers, but among those novices, who had only been part of the convent for a few months <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> The brother on duty at the gate looked at me with a frown but did not ask any further questions when I called him a hurried "I have to leave for a while, an emergency" <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> I ran down the steps, walking the corridors with certainty, as if this was my home, and rushed to the front gate <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> a soft creaking; somewhere in the distance I could hear the faint roar of a brook. In the sky, millions of stars and between them the full moon shone with all its might and bathed the garden beneath me in a ghostly white light. But on the other side of the building there was still impenetrable darkness. I sighed, closed the window, and stood in the middle of the room. One officer pulled Mary to her feet and another cuffed her hands behind her back. Lestrade directed them to take her to the police cars that waited in the back alley. “Go on, book her. I’ll be along in a bit.” Whereas before, they’d indulged Mrs. Hudson and hosted Christmas Eve gatherings, and visited Sherlock’s parents for a Christmas family gathering, now they preferred to spend both the eve and the day on Christmas alone. Just the two of them at home, all of 221 Baker Street to themselves since Mrs. Hudson visited her sister for Christmas. "I will not speak to him," I promised, pausing until the priest found the key and opened Jonah's door. I nodded, even though I didn’t believe that "educational" measures were necessary or even appropriate for an adult man. Sorry for the long delay. Family life has been hectic plus the 4th Quarter is the busiest time for my IRL job - that's why this took so long. The good news is, I have the next chapter half done and the final chapter completely done, so it won't be such a long interval until the next chapter is up. The lines around John’s mouth softened. His lips appeared minutely fuller because tension in his facial muscles eased. The whites of Sherlock’s eyes were brighter, because he was getting more sleep (more sleep meant more time touching John so Sherlock was wholeheartedly in favor of it). Both men held their shoulders in a more relaxed pose. I looked around, in search of the British Government, aka Mycroft Holmes, whom I discovered in conversation with the Prior. I glanced questioningly at Sherlock and Jonah. With a final shake of Sherlock’s neck, John stepped back. His demeanor instantly changed into one of concern. “Here, c’mere,” he murmured as he drew Sherlock into his arms. Sherlock propped his chin on John’s shoulder and shut his eyes tightly, enjoying the closeness of John’s embrace in spite of the pain throbbing through his arm and everything that had transpired. you? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Sherlock does not need anyone, the only person important to him is himself. " Frank went around his desk and dropped into his chair. He rubbed his temples with one blunt hand, thumb and forefinger working the flesh of his face in small circles. With a sigh, he looked up at Sherlock. “How the hell did a British kid end up breaking into my yard and sleeping in my truck? I want to believe you, kid. I do. But it’s just too much of a coincidence.” "The chocolates! I did not even realize that you've been here before, must have slept pretty well ...

<|output|> <|example|> a soft creaking; somewhere in the distance I could hear the faint roar of a brook. In the sky, millions of stars and between them the full moon shone with all its might and bathed the garden beneath me in a ghostly white light. But on the other side of the building there was still impenetrable darkness. I sighed, closed the window, and stood in the middle of the room. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> " Frank went around his desk and dropped into his chair <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> ” Whereas before, they’d indulged Mrs <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> And most importantly, I did not realize you knew that it’s my birthday. " "... Your vocation, I know. But if you do not recover completely right now, you might meet your Creator sooner than you are fond of. So - off to bed. Shall I leave for a minute? " It gave Sherlock comfort to think of John sitting in his chair at Baker Street, checking the secure site before bed a few times a week. The longer Sherlock was away, the more he missed John and the more his posts revealed his feelings. As months stretched to years and his longing for John - and home - grew stronger, Sherlock poured his heart out to John frequently, until just before he was captured by the Serbians, he was posting several messages a day, telling John how he loved him, how he longed for him. I gazed at the Bible, which lay on the pile of information material. Had this not been one of the reasons why I had come here? The search for the faith that had enriched my life so much when I was young? And now I sat here admiring the faith of so many other people as they drew strength from it and evidently led a fulfilled life, and I was still occupied chiefly with the things that were not part of the monastic life: the life stories of the brethren, their motivation to turn their backs on their daily lives and to join this convent, my misguided feelings for Brother William, or the meaning of the letter that Jonah had thrown away. “No!” Sherlock nearly screamed. “No, I don't want to go home.” He sprang from the chair, staring around wildly for a method of egress. The locked door was the only exit from the windowless office. “Frank, don’t send me home. I can help you in your business. I can, I can help you with this Jim who’s after you. Just don’t send me home.” John felt more decadent than he’d ever felt, dripping with silicone lube from hip to knee, Sherlock’s hand stroking his bollocks in just the right places while stroking Sherlock’s frenulum at the same time, Sherlock making tiny “ah” sounds behind him on each exhale, the heat of Sherlock's chest, the Sherlock’s bony knees behind his own. John felt hedonistic and wanton and suspended in time, fully given over to Sherlock’s attention. He pushed his arse back against Sherlock as far as he could go, not wanting a single millimeter of space between them, then he rocked forward against Sherlock’s hand, moaning and panting. As he watched, another bead of precome pumped from his cock and dripped onto his belly, then another. "I can not punish you for Brother William making a mistake. However, I would be very concerned that such a thing is not repeated in the future. If you can assure me of this, then there is nothing more I will expect. " , then John would go along - happily. John would follow Sherlock to the ends of the earth and over the edge

<|output|> <|example|> And most importantly, I did not realize you knew that it’s my birthday. " <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> If you can assure me of this, then there is nothing more I will expect <|indexes|> 0 0 |

<|text|> if only Sherlock asked. And he’d offer up his body for Sherlock’s enjoyment if that was what Sherlock needed. Starting at Sherlock’s waist, John ran his hands slowly up Sherlock’s sides as they kissed. He broke the kiss when he encountered a ropy scar on Sherlock’s right side, between his lowest and next higher ribs. Thumbing the scar lightly, John asked, “What’s this?” I needed to stop my thoughts from wandering. And, as read in the strict gaze of the novice, I also needed to stop apologizing over and over again. Again I stared out the window. A question remained that left me no rest. According to what Jonah had told me, the separation of the two had been the result of his decision to enter the monastery - Brother William had at that time been anything but enthusiastic about his decision - he had ended the contact and had not restored it ever since. And then, little more than a year later, he had appeared again on the scene - as a fully ordained monk. Even assuming that he had gone to France immediately after their separation, had joined a convent, successfully completed the novitiate and took his vows for a few years, this did not explain his motives, nor the astonishing speed at which he had completed his monastic education - and certainly not the fact that he had returned directly to England afterwards and had joined the community which his former partner also belonged to. On the third day, John began to feel a swelling in his bollocks. By night the pain was unbearable and John’s doctors stood by helpless while John’s body fought the rare complication of adult Chickenpox: testicular infection. Eyebrow raised, he looked at me as if waiting for another explanation, but without urging me to give it. The date was months before he’d met Mary. What had he been doing? Most of that first year was a fog. A fog of sleeping long hours, dragging to work and slogging through the day like swimming through wet concrete then going home and drinking his dinner to fall into bed and start the cycle all over again. It was less than a half-life - it had been a mostly-dead-life. John was so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t Sherlock arrive home until Sherlock strode through the bedroom door, bringing the scent of wood smoke and cold still clinging to his hair. Sherlock leaned over John’s shoulder and peered at the laptop. "What did you do to him?" he hissed, slamming me against the wall again when I did not answer immediately. “Sherlock, I can tell you know that I was never impressed with your John. He did appear to be a gentling influence on you but as a man, I felt he lacked basic respect. He was rude at times, has a hair-trigger temper, and continued to fail to impress me with his behavior. Isn’t it true that he insisted you were not a couple, nearly shouting from the rooftops that he was not gay, until well after you were together?” Mycroft didn’t want to be

<|output|> <|example|> if only Sherlock asked. And he’d offer up his body for Sherlock’s enjoyment if that was what Sherlock needed. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> On the third day, John began to feel a swelling in his bollocks <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> And, as read in the strict gaze of the novice, I also needed to stop apologizing over and over again <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> unkind to his brother, but he did want to paint a realistic picture of John Watson in the hopes Sherlock would be objective. No television, no radio, no newspaper, his phone deactivated - John felt very disconnected from the world. He decided to just think for a while. He needed a break from Sherlock’s messages so he sat down on the sofa and placed his meal on the coffee table. He ate mechanically while lost in thought. He thought about the juxtaposition of Sherlock, rounding the globe and risking his life while John had been living a routine existence with Mary. Of Sherlock alone, in ever stranger places with ever stranger disguises, while John muddled about suburban London mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, cycling to work to keep his weight check since he no longer had criminals to chase. After the end of the service the brothers left the church in two rows and gathered for dinner in the refectory - Brother William, however, was missing. At first I thought he had left for Brother Jonah to bring him his food, but then I saw one of the novices with a wooden tray that contained a soup bowl and a glass of water; he set out in the direction of the sick-room. In the dining room I looked around again and could not find the slightest trace of the man, who was almost painfully missing. Slowly I began to worry and longed for the evening gathering in the recreation room; I wanted to inquire after the whereabouts of Brother William and hoped that my questions would not excite too much attention. “Dull!” Sherlock drew out the word to almost a moan. “I have plenty of money. You don’t need to work. Just call them and tell them you won’t be back.” And the flicker of irritation that flared at the thought of the money he’d spent and the time he’d invested? John tried to stifle that, too. Slowly, as if in slow motion, William lifted his hand to the spot where both Jonah and I stared, wide-eyed, dipping the tip of his finger into the dark red liquid, then looking at it as if he did not understand what was going on. I could not watch it anymore. "'The one with the short cut hair'. I'm glad he does not honor his name, would be a shame about these locks ... " "Evidence is of no use if nobody knows who is behind it. Jonah sent me to look for clues in your room, but I didn’t find anything." Mycroft nodded, two quick snaps of his head. “John, there are things you don’t know about Miss Morstan. Things I need you to know before you make any hasty decisions.” Leaning back in his chair, he put his fingertips together and rested them his chin on it, brooding silently. "Brother Jonah," he explained, drawing air quotes in his claw-like fingers as he rolled his eyes, as if he considered the custom of choosing a religious name at the beginning of the novitiate one of the stupidest things he had ever

<|output|> <|example|> unkind to his brother, but he did want to paint a realistic picture of John Watson in the hopes Sherlock would be objective. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> In the dining room I looked around again and could not find the slightest trace of the man, who was almost painfully missing <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> You don’t need to work <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> I could not watch it anymore <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> "Brother Jonah," he explained, drawing air quotes in his claw-like fingers as he rolled his eyes, as if he considered the custom of choosing a religious name at the beginning of the novitiate one of the stupidest things he had ever <|indexes|> 3 3 |

<|text|> encountered. "Don’t you think that would be unfair to the other brothers? Brother Jonah is not the only one here who likes Brother William and may wish to bid him farewell - even though, of course, we all hope and pray that the Lord will not call him just yet. Doctor, what’s wrong with you ...? " My faith had often helped me, especially in Afghanistan ... if shots cracked around you and bombs detonated in close proximity, it could be immensely comforting to hope that somewhere, someone was holding a protective hand over you and over your squadron. As I lay there in the glowing desert sand and felt my life fading with every drop of blood dripping from my body, I had prayed for the first time in years. I begged the God whom I had ignored for so long to let me live and not to let me die in the middle of nowhere without a soul at my side. And He had heard me. My comrades had found me in time and had brought me to the relative safety of the hospital, where surgery was performed on me and I was drugged up to the eyeballs with antibiotics to counteract the onset of sepsis and, after two weeks, flown back home. The wound itself was not fatal, but the massive blood loss was hard on my body. The two weeks immediately after my injury are dim in my memory to this day; my knowledge about this period came mainly from the other soldiers’ stories and the treating physicians’ reports. I knew that my life would never be the same again; yet I was grateful to have escaped without lasting damage. When I stopped my car in the gravel parking lot in front of the hospital, I thought for the first time of how I would proceed. Of course, I couldn't just walk in the door, ask about Brother William, and expect to be sent to him so easily - but I did not have any other promising plan. Perhaps the clinic staff would be persuaded by my argument that I had treated him during the emergency and now wanted to check on his condition? I had to try it - there was no other way. "Brother William repents for a fault he has committed. He is excluded from active participation in worship and from the common meals until the end of the week. He seems to be fasting at the moment, for I have not seen him in the kitchen tonight," an elderly monk with thin, blond hair, who suddenly looked at me very attentively answered. "Is everything alright with you? You are so pale suddenly... " Back at work for just a few weeks, John was finding his new position with the team as assistant coach to be part nanny and part drill sergeant to the players. The strategy sessions with the other coaches, watching films of their opponents’ recent matches and planning their own offense and defence strategies wore on for hours. But what really surprised him was just

<|output|> <|example|> encountered. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> But what really surprised him was just <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> how much he enjoyed his new job. Being told he’d never play again had seemed like the end of his dreams. But he now had a new lease on life in coaching the team he loved. "Maybe" I replied, "Or someone poisoned you. And that's why I'll call for an ambulance now and have you taken to the nearest hospital. " Skipping from navel to hipbone to hip crease, Sherlock littered kisses on John’s body as he settled between John’s legs. John watched and made a sympathetic sound at Sherlock’s languid movements - he was obviously moving carefully to avoid pulling the tape holding the bandages crossing his back in place. John heard a click, then Sherlock’s lube-slicked hand circled his cock and the other gently slicked his bollocks. Sherlock kept his mouth in motion, kissing the inside of John’s thigh, the soft skin just beside his sac, his kneecap - everywhere but the place John most wanted his mouth to be. "I do not believe that. I would rather point out that he just forgot that he is on kitchen duty today. There's been something up there lately with the boy, God knows what it is ... No matter. Please do me a favor, Doctor Watson. I need some fresh herbs for the food. Would you go into the garden and get them? I've already made a list for you ... " I cleared my throat and glanced uncertainly around the room. "Honestly ... I'm not very good at cooking ..." To John, every shared breakfast is a celebration of all those dates. Every time they brush their teeth side-by-side at the bathroom sink. Every time Sherlock shyly takes his hand in the backseat of a cab and hides their handclasp under a fold of his coat. (They’re both still reticent about public displays of affection.) "I'm sorry I can not offer you anything better but my money was only enough for this," she said tersely, as she could only provide a small pot of vegetable soup for Harry and me. "I'll get my wages tomorrow, then I'll make up for this." "Prior Lambert did that immediately after he was informed about the events. The investigation is already underway. " John looked simultaneously hopeful and broken, and it made Sherlock’s lungs feel to small. He finally took a breath and said softly, “I didn’t see any heavy cream in the bags.” More and more pressing was the question whether the two men had known each other before. Could I dare to listen to Brother Jonah a little, without being suspicious? The idea that I could be jealous of Brother Jonah was completely absurd. Why should I? That's why I really didn’t have to worry ... I looked up at him and realized only by my blurred vision that my eyes had filled with tears. I shook my head indecisively and was about to respond when I was cut off by the loud opening of the door. "’ If a man lies with another man as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put

<|output|> <|example|> how much he enjoyed his new job. Being told he’d never play again had seemed like the end of his dreams. But he now had a new lease on life in coaching the team he loved. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> " I cleared my throat and glanced uncertainly around the room <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> I shook my head indecisively and was about to respond when I was cut off by the loud opening of the door <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> (They’re both still reticent about public displays of affection <|indexes|> 2 2 2 <|example|> But he now had a new lease on life in coaching the team he loved <|indexes|> 3 <|example|> <|indexes|> 4 4 <|example|> <|indexes|> 5 5 |

<|text|> to death. Their blood guilt shall be upon them.’ That’s Leviticus 20:13-15.” There was a slight commotion in the church for a moment when the friars got up in order and went into the sanctuary to receive Communion. I briefly thought about joining them but then decided against it. I was conscious of too many guilty memories that kept me from joining in. Brother William went forward last and knelt on the lowest altar step. Prior Lambert put the Host on the tip of his tongue. I went both hot and cold at the sight; I was aware that I could not stare at him like this, certainly not at such an intimate moment for a true believer - and yet I could not look away from his sensual, slender shape, the dark curls that played tenderly around his pale face and his lips. Absolutely inappropriate things raced through my head and I turned away embarrassed, hands frantically pressed to my lap. Pull yourself together, John Watson! This is neither the right time nor the place for such thoughts - quite apart from the fact that the man of my daydreams was committed to life as a monk and would never return my feelings. About an hour later there was a timid knock on the door of my room. For a brief moment I waited to see if my guest would just open it, but when that didn’t happen, I called a half-loud 'Come in!' at the direction the knock came from. The door opened a crack and a young monk with short blond hair and fashionable black-framed eyeglasses on the top of his snub nose shoved his head into the room. Sherlock grinned wickedly while he rose, took John by the underarms and hauled him onto the bed. He crawled over John, caging him in with hands and knees and staring intently into John’s eyes. John shivered. He had never forgotten what it felt like to be the sole focus of Sherlock’s overwhelming attention. To feel so open and so cherished, knowing that Sherlock could read every thought and desire. With a soft sigh, John relaxed into Sherlock and opened his lips to caress Sherlock’s tongue with his own. Before - before Sherlock jumped, before John died inside, before things got so complicated - they’d been lovers, but not loving. They’d vied for control inside the bedroom and fucked rough and dirty. Kisses, when they indulged, were more tongues battling for domination than a way to convey feelings. I wandered through the ancient hallways of the monastery, took a look at the kitchen, looked out from the cloister into the spacious garden with its sea of flowers, rich fruit-bearing apple trees, and a small fountain in the middle. At the opposite end of the garden I even saw some beehives. My search finally led me to the library, where I found Brother William as I’d suspected, sitting at a long wooden table in the far corner of the room, inconspicuous nickel eyeglasses on the tip of his nose and fully absorbed in a thick,

<|output|> <|example|> to death. Their blood guilt shall be upon them.’ That’s Leviticus 20:13-15.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Pull yourself together, John Watson! This is neither the right time nor the place for such thoughts - quite apart from the fact that the man of my daydreams was committed to life as a monk and would never return my feelings <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> ” There was a slight commotion in the church for a moment when the friars got up in order and went into the sanctuary to receive Communion <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> For a brief moment I waited to see if my guest would just open it, but when that didn’t happen, I called a half-loud 'Come in!' at the direction the knock came from <|indexes|> 2 |

<|text|> leather-bound book. I did not want to interrupt him in his studies, but I felt such an urgent need to apologize to him that I could not miss this chance. He’d finished breakfast, stuffed his own clothes in a plastic bag he found under the kitchen sink, and retrieved the laptop when the doorbell rang. He opened it to bright sunlight and Mycroft Holmes, immaculately turned out in a charcoal grey suit. "And how do we proceed now?" I asked carefully. One “we” did not exist between me and the Father, after all, I was only a guest here and did not have the right to interfere in the matter of the convention. My interlocutor, however, seemed quite taken by my concern for the young monk. "No," I replied, both convinced and embittered, "All this ... was as false as the story of the deeply religious monk. He probably just wanted to talk to me to find out if I was a threat to you. " A long-groaned moan that could mean anything or nothing escaped his throat, but he clung to me now instead of letting himself sink to the ground again, although he wavered threateningly. I tightened my grip and took a cautious step forward. Sherlock responded with a smile again, then shrugged apologetically and turned to Jonah, who translated Sherlock’s signs: , and John leaned back on his elbows to watch Sherlock’s gorgeous pink lips circle his rock-hard cock. , John’s nerves stretched a little thinner. Whoever was texting just wouldn’t let up. John’s hands itched to snatch the phone from where it lay beside Sherlock's plate and chuck it in the bin. He tried to stifle his irritation but when Sherlock’s fidgeting reached fever pitch, he could no longer hide his ire. After a time Sherlock kissed John’s shoulder and said, “I’ll get a towel.” John made a soft “mmm” sound in reply while Sherlock pushed up from the bed and kicked off his pants. He went into the ensuite, still wearing his crumpled dress shirt. John listened to the sound of water running and Sherlock splashing, cleaning up before he dampened a flannel for John. He returned and handed the flannel to John, which John employed while Sherlock rounded the bed and climbed back in. Instead of laying down beside John, he sat near John’s waist and inspected John’s face gravely. John sighed and slumped into the seat. He was already exhausted by this conversation and it hadn’t truly begun. “Different how?” After the initial newness of their relationship wore off, things returned to much the same as they’d been before Sherlock jumped and John got his concussion. There were a few marked differences. Sherlock no longer forgot and left John behind at crime scenes. In fact, John was usually so much at the front of his thoughts, he had to learn to think around his John-thoughts. And John gave up his full-time position at the surgery, He stayed on the locum list and worked a few shifts a week to give them an income they could rely on to pay the bills but as The Work

<|output|> <|example|> leather-bound book. I did not want to interrupt him in his studies, but I felt such an urgent need to apologize to him that I could not miss this chance. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> I tightened my grip and took a cautious step forward <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> , John’s nerves stretched a little thinner <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> ” John made a soft “mmm” sound in reply while Sherlock pushed up from the bed and kicked off his pants <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> picked up with the spread of news of Sherlock’s return, he took on fewer and fewer surgery shifts in favor of wild chases and all night stakeouts with Sherlock. “I never thanked you,” he finally said. His voice was low but he was sure Sherlock was listening. “You said you did for Mary. But I know. You did it for me.” John paused, and when Sherlock didn’t respond, he concluded, “So thank you.” Stumbling naked down the hallway, John pulled Sherlock into the bedroom. One there, he pushed Sherlock into a sitting position on the edge of the bed then took Sherlock’s chin in his hand, positioning Sherlock’s mouth just so. Dimly aware of Sherlock’s hand moving to shed his own shirt and unbutton his own trousers, John continued the rough kisses that had started on the stair, holding Sherlock firmly by the chin and hair. He was achingly turned on, filled with the paradox of of his own mortality and the pulse of his own John continues calmly putting away the groceries he’d stopped for after work. Sherlock rifles through bags, commenting on nearly everything. “You could go to the supermarket yourself, you know. Liquor store, too. Nothing holding you back.” The last word was nothing more than a breath of air and as weak as its sound was its effect. Sherlock's chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator, and it was not until I rested my hand on his chest that I could feel his heart beating. Weak, but even. If I had hesitated the previous visit, it now seemed as if my body wanted to make up for what it had been denied the last time; I wanted to touch him, stroke his skin, run my fingers through his dark curls and feel his lips on mine. But instead of continuing to indulge in dreams that would never come true, I thought better of it and began to talk. I told Sherlock about everything that had happened since his involuntary departure from the monastery, about Jonah's 'excursion.' "I was fine until now ...", he murmured and looked at me, startled, as if only now realizing how bad off he was, "What happens now?" With his back to me stood a tall man with a strikingly straight posture and short blond hair, parted deeply on the side. In front of him, on the blanket next to Sherlock's legs, lay an open book. Beside the book was a small golden vessel. Most striking, however, was the fact that the man wore the habit of the friars, supplemented only by a violet stole that was placed around his shoulders. My worst fears seemed to be confirmed. Now, I had no doubt as to what was happening here. I felt like rushing for the man but since he did not seem to notice me yet, I decided to wait. I did not like him being so close to Sherlock, yet who knew what he would do if I attacked him. He stared down at his unconscious brother with folded hands, then, with a slow, deliberate movement,

<|output|> <|example|> picked up with the spread of news of Sherlock’s return, he took on fewer and fewer surgery shifts in favor of wild chases and all night stakeouts with Sherlock. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Nothing holding you back <|indexes|> 1 1 |

<|text|> picked up the jar, unscrewed the lid, laid it on the nightstand, and drew closer to the bed. Slowly he dipped his thumb in the oily liquid and marked the young man's forehead and palms with the sign of the cross. Hands still clasped tightly, they followed Lestrade to the kerb where a cab waited behind Lestrade’s car. They exchanged a few more words with the DI then settled into the cab for the ride back to Baker Street - back He gave me a look I could not interpret, at once imploring and demanding. I sank back down into my chair and allowed him to pull me toward him, his movements still a bit slow. He brought my hand to his lips and placed a whisper-light kiss on my knuckle. With a sigh, John withdrew his hand and stood. He looked down at Sherlock, still on his knees on the lino. This man who had held his heart since they were teens, with whom he’d built a life and a home, this proud, arrogant man was willing to plead on his knees for their marriage. John winced, knowing how much it must hurt Sherlock’s bad knee to kneel on the hard floor. "Sherlock," I murmured, reaching for his hand again, interlacing my fingers with his and looking into his pale face, his closed eyes, and tangled hair, "You must not die. Please wake up!" My gaze wandered along the opposite wall while I counted the windows, soundless, with slightly open lips. Did I just imagine I could see a dark curly head in the window frame over there, about 50 meters away? I leaned forward a little, narrowed my eyes to be able to see past the sun glare, but now the dark silhouette I had just imagined seemed to have disappeared. Before I could answer, completely taken by surprise, she went on with a wink: "There's another bedroom on the second floor - but I think you won’t need a second bedroom, will you?" After the Prior put his glasses back on his nose and thanked the attendees for their attention, everyone stood up and went back to their usual routine as I retreated to the kitchen where Brother Elijah had already begun to prepare a small pot of herbal tea and cup on a tray for Brother Jonah. A bowl of porridge followed and was finally garnished with three fanned apple slices; it was clear that the cook wanted to make the novice happy with the lovingly prepared breakfast. The conversation became more and more of a battle between me and the young clergyman, but I was sure that I could emerge victorious. "I'm sorry," the priest replied, "I did not mean to blame you for inciting him to break the rules ..." "No objection, for today you are laid off, sleep it out, and if tomorrow is better for you, I'll see you tomorrow morning. John, may I take advantage of the fact that you are a doctor just this one time and ask you to accompany Brother Jonah to his room? " ) for the past two years,

<|output|> <|example|> picked up the jar, unscrewed the lid, laid it on the nightstand, and drew closer to the bed. Slowly he dipped his thumb in the oily liquid and marked the young man's forehead and palms with the sign of the cross. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> With a sigh, John withdrew his hand and stood <|indexes|> 1 <|example|> I sank back down into my chair and allowed him to pull me toward him, his movements still a bit slow <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> Please wake up!" My gaze wandered along the opposite wall while I counted the windows, soundless, with slightly open lips <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> I sank back down into my chair and allowed him to pull me toward him, his movements still a bit slow <|indexes|> 4 <|example|> He looked down at Sherlock, still on his knees on the lino <|indexes|> 5 |

<|text|> struggling to put on the appearance of mourning his friend. If he’d only known! But now, each brush of lips felt charged with emotion. When Sherlock’s tongue brushed John’s, it was as if a circuit closed in John’s body, flooding him with electricity. And from the sound Sherlock made in his throat, John didn’t have to be a genius to know that Sherlock felt the same. Sherlock shifted his weight, pulling John even closer, stroking John’s hair with the palm of his hand. He contrasted that night with Sherlock’s description of his night. They’d both been cold and miserable and uncomfortable but at least Sherlock had known that John was still alive. Sherlock gestured that he understood with a vague wave of his hand, half asleep. John bent and kissed his cheek. “Wash those sheets while I’m out,” he said over his shoulder as he headed into the loo. He denied in a weak voice, but I didn’t have to be a trained medical practitioner to realize that he was lying. He coughed and I had trouble understanding him. His breathing was heavy and every word seemed to take an incredible effort, as if with every drop of blood a small piece of his vitality had left his body. What if he died in my arms before the ambulance arrived? I bit my lower lip to suppress my tears and dug my hand even harder into his upper arm. John dropped his head and let his shoulders sag. Sherlock, asking him to pray. Sherlock Holmes, High Priest of the Church of Atheism, His goal achieved, Sherlock leaned in to speak into Carlos’ ear. “I need the men’s room.” Carlos turned toward him and Sherlock winked and spun away. He wove through the crowded dance floor and headed straight to a door set in the back wall with a red Emergency Exit sign over it. He slipped out and sprinted down the alley, turned toward the ocean at the cross street, then ran block after block, high on adrenaline, dodging traffic at intersections, not stopping until he’d put at least half a mile between himself and the bar. He ducked behind a parked pickup truck and opened the wallet. He riffled through the credit cards and driver's license but left them in place - he was after cash, $288 that he found folded in the back compartment, removed and slid into the front pocket of his jeans. He passed a US Mail box in the following block and dropped the wallet into the letter slot, counting that a kind postal worker would find Carlos from the information on his driver's license and return the wallet. Sherlock might be a pickpocket, but he wasn’t a dickhead. Deeply moved by his words, I did not know how to answer, and just nodded silently to his shoulder. A hurdle was crossed - but now it was necessary to clarify what exactly Sherlock wanted. But while he was in such poor health, I did not need to worry about it. “No, John! I told you! The phone call! From the roof – remember? I told

<|output|> <|example|> struggling to put on the appearance of mourning his friend. If he’d only known! <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” Carlos turned toward him and Sherlock winked and spun away <|indexes|> 0 0 0 <|example|> Sherlock Holmes, High Priest of the Church of Atheism, His goal achieved, Sherlock leaned in to speak into Carlos’ ear <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> But while he was in such poor health, I did not need to worry about it <|indexes|> 2 2 |

<|text|> you about the secure site, how to access it and the password? John! I sent you 400 messages! Please tell me you read them!” Sherlock’s composure cracked. He clutched at John’s arms, trying to will him to understand. He reached for the top shelf, nodded - and immediately vomited. If he had not been so drunk, I would have considered the diagnosis of 'concussion' positive. So, on the other hand, it was necessary to wait and, if necessary, to see a neurologist - but first I had to get Jonah out of this cellar! I leaned forward, reached for his glasses, pressed them to his nose, and grasped him with a strong grip. The young man belonged in bed as soon as possible. Just as I walked towards the direction of the cloister, he reached for my arm and forced me to stand still. I looked at him questioningly, until I realized that his gaze was fixed on my left upper arm, on which one little bee was crawling. Slowly, he pushed a finger over the fabric of my woolen sweater, waited until the little animal climbed over, and then carefully set it down at the entrance hole of the beehive. He came back with a bright smile, patted me on the shoulder, and accompanied me back inside the convent. I could only hope that it had escaped his notice, how tense I had been by his short touches. The conversation we had afterwards slightly reminded me of my therapy sessions with Ella - whereat the serious difference was that Father Andrew listened attentively, instead of taking notes. Besides, he did not look at the clock again and again, also in clear contrast to Ella, but always let me talk. When I asked questions, he did not counter with other questions, but gave me a simple answer. Perhaps that was what I had ever been lacking in the doctor's office: Father Andrew treated me as a human being, not a source of irritation which could only be borne because he ensured the livelihood. John winced at the confident tone of the message. Sherlock had been so sure he’d take out Moriarty’s network in a matter of weeks and return home quickly. John wondered what other countries had Sherlock had visited. He’d take out a map once he got home, and a Sharpie, and draw out Sherlock’s travels. He’d open every message and plot them with pins on the map. He wondered if Sherlock could even recall his wanderings. But of course he could – he was "Where else would you have made the acquaintance of my brother when he has been hiding behind monastery walls for almost a year?" Meanwhile, Jonah had not moved from the spot, thunderstruck. When I saw the telltale glint in his eyes, I realized they were tears of joy. "Why would I have done that, even though both you and Brother Jonah made it clear to me that it wasn’t possible?" John reached a hand to Sherlock’s nape and pulled him down gently. He paused when their faces were level and searched Sherlock’s eyes, waiting

<|output|> <|example|> you about the secure site, how to access it and the password? John! I sent you 400 messages! Please tell me you read them!” Sherlock’s composure cracked. He clutched at John’s arms, trying to will him to understand. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock had been so sure he’d take out Moriarty’s network in a matter of weeks and return home quickly <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 <|example|> The young man belonged in bed as soon as possible <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Just as I walked towards the direction of the cloister, he reached for my arm and forced me to stand still <|indexes|> 2 2 <|example|> He reached for the top shelf, nodded - and immediately vomited <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> Just as I walked towards the direction of the cloister, he reached for my arm and forced me to stand still <|indexes|> 4 |

<|text|> for permission to reinitiate a physical relationship with the man he now realized he’d loved for so long. Sherlock smiled and John saw the same realization reflected in those pale eyes that he hoped his eyes displayed. Moving his hands to cup Sherlock’s face, John placed his lips gently against Sherlock’s. He tried to convey all the tenderness he felt through the chaste brush of lips. He moved his lips to Sherlock’s cheekbone and planted the softest of kisses there, then on to the soft spot just in front of his ear. “I’m sorry,” John murmured softly. “Can you ever forgive me?” Straightening his spine, Sherlock stood with confidence he didn’t feel. He smoothed the front of his shirt and pushed up the sleeves of the jacket he still wore, the one he’d lifted at the nightclub the night before - the jacket that belonged to the intimidating man before him. He faced the boss - Frank - as if he owned the place. For a moment, John thought that Sherlock might actually smile. A real smile, a smile full of warmth, like he used to reserve for John. It had been weeks since John had seen that smile and he realized how much he missed it. Then the ghost-of-a-smile was gone. It was only when he started to turn a bit to the side that I realized that I had unconsciously placed my hand on his thigh, where it still rested. Sherlock was in a funk and John tried to cheer him up by leaning over his curled-up form on the sofa to kiss his forehead and gaily exclaim, “Cheer up, Sherlock! It’s almost Christmas!” Sherlock glanced down. Frank was, indeed, wearing steel-toed workboots. He drew a shaky breath and tried to summon the bravado he’d felt earlier. “My name is Bill. I’m here in Miami at a drug and alcohol clinic. My parents sent me here to get clean.” The waver in his voice embarrassed Sherlock but he couldn't seem to damp it down. Suddenly he felt very alone and very frightened. No one knew where he was - not his parents, not his meddling older brother, no friends; no one. “I signed myself out yesterday. My birthday, when I turned 18, they couldn't hold me any more. I wasn’t going to steal any of your equipment. I just wanted a place to sleep.” Lost in sensation, John didn’t notice the blocks passing by until Mycroft leaned forward and spoke to the driver, “Pull over here.” "Oh - I think I got him. Sherlock Holmes. Is apparently in the intensive care unit, that is, you would have to register there first in the nurses room. Fifth floor, left corridor. " Again, I snapped out of my thoughts, so unusual it was for me to hear this man speak. He noticed it and began quietly giggling, a noise that sounded more like a soothing hum with him. When the laptop finished booting up, he double clicked the audio file and closed his eyes. Sherlock’s voice, strained and wavery, filled the room, followed by his own voice that sounded strangely flat

<|output|> <|example|> for permission to reinitiate a physical relationship with the man he now realized he’d loved for so long. Sherlock smiled and John saw the same realization reflected in those pale eyes that he hoped his eyes displayed. Moving his hands to cup Sherlock’s face, John placed his lips gently against Sherlock’s. He tried to convey all the tenderness he felt through the chaste brush of lips. He moved his lips to Sherlock’s cheekbone and planted the softest of kisses there, then on to the soft spot just in front of his ear. “I’m sorry,” John murmured softly. “Can you ever forgive me?” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> He faced the boss - Frank - as if he owned the place <|indexes|> 0 <|example|> Sherlock smiled and John saw the same realization reflected in those pale eyes that he hoped his eyes displayed <|indexes|> 1 |

<|text|> to his ears. He held his breath while he listened to the conversation the first time through, not realizing he was doing so. Afterward he let it out in a loud gust, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. "Our lost son has returned home," said the elder monk, who had served at the gate at noon - resting on his shoulder, Brother Jonah stepped into the room, and even though he was limping and his habit was torn at the side, he seemed to be well except for a few minor scratches on his face. Immediately, his brothers scrambled around him, escorted him to a place by the fireplace and pressed a cup of tea into his freezing hands. Sherlock remained silent but squeezed John a little tighter. After a bit John’s breathing evened out. “And I’ve really not liked Christmas ever since.” "Yeah, that's what we all thought ... but then Sherlock got a message. I still don’t know what it was and under what circumstances it reached him, but shortly thereafter Sherlock appeared in the clinic with his brother and two strange guys and they said it was necessary to get me out of the country immediately." , John. I thought it would be okay. And now look at what he did to you, jumping off a building and making you think it was your fault. I don’t care how good looking he is, that’s just unforgivable.” She paused at looked at John, obviously waiting for his agreement. "Alright, without pathological findings. Although it would still be better if you would agree to have a computer tomography ... " One long, white finger stroked the ribbon before hooking it and pulling it free. Sherlock eagerly tore the paper to find "I feel so empty ..." I muttered, regretting it the next moment when I saw Ella wrote something on her pad. I told myself. I tried to suppress the thought of the possibility that his condition might not improve. This was anything but easy, with Sherlock’s fear too clearly written on his face. I looked around, amazed. The Prior had raised his voice but he still sat just as still behind his desk as before. "I'm going to pack my things ..." I muttered, deeply ashamed. "Give Brother Jonah my regrets, will you?" Well, John wasn’t going to expose Mary to Sherlock’s brand of crazy risk again. He’d done what he came for: thanked Sherlock for saving his life and said they could still be friends. Nothing in that mix allowed for Mary to be dragged into further danger. I didn’t want to wake him, but wanted him to know that I was with him. It was not long before he opened his eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight. Then he looked at me with a sincere smile and turned his left forearm slightly so that my hand was now directly in his. His movements were still quite laborious but he managed to close his fingers around mine. Encouraged by this gesture, I did the same and tenderly stroked the back of his hand with my thumb. It

<|output|> <|example|> to his ears. He held his breath while he listened to the conversation the first time through, not realizing he was doing so. Afterward he let it out in a loud gust, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> Sherlock eagerly tore the paper to find "I feel so empty <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> "Our lost son has returned home," said the elder monk, who had served at the gate at noon - resting on his shoulder, Brother Jonah stepped into the room, and even though he was limping and his habit was torn at the side, he seemed to be well except for a few minor scratches on his face <|indexes|> 1 1 <|example|> Sherlock remained silent but squeezed John a little tighter <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> Encouraged by this gesture, I did the same and tenderly stroked the back of his hand with my thumb <|indexes|> 3 |

<|text|> was nice just sit together quietly and communicate only through the touch of our hands. Perhaps we would have stayed like that all afternoon, had Sherlock not suddenly been gripped by a coughing spasm. And Sherlock was bringing friends! That nice Dr. Watson who had taken such good care of him while Sherlock recovered from that ghastly gunshot wound. And Dr. Watson’s estranged wife. That seemed a little odd, but Violet supposed Sherlock had his reasons - and strongly suspected those reasons were to push them toward reconciliation. And a Mr. Wiggins. Violet didn’t recall ever hearing Sherlock talk about a Mr. Wiggins, but she was proud that Sherlock was kind enough to invite a friend who had no family to visit on Christmas. He handed me his book and let me take a look at the pencil drawings he’d done to chase the boredom away. The first page held mainly motifs from nature - sketches of flowers from the monastery garden and an extremely detailed depiction of a hedgehog sitting next to the trunk of a tree and nibbling on pear that had probably fallen from the tree. I flipped the page to a portrait of the Virgin Mary, who looked out kindly with outspread arms. It was obviously an image of the statue that stood on a wooden pedestal between the two large windows in the novices’ classroom. I caught my breath at the next picture; it showed Brother William, who stood with his eyes closed between the fireplace and the bookshelf in the lounge and played his violin. John woke the next morning with a feeling of conviction. He knew the course he needed to take: gently end it with Mary; apologize to Sherlock; move back to Baker Street; spend the rest of his life trying to make it up to Sherlock how he’d acted since Sherlock returned. It was only when the bell rang for morning prayer that I realized I must have fallen asleep after Brother William left. His nocturnal visit seemed strangely surreal in the cold light of dawn - had he even been here, in my room? Or had my mind, plagued by the unusual sleep pattern I’d experienced in the monastery, played a trick on me? I looked around for an indication that I had not imagined his presence, but of course I found nothing. Nevertheless, I was convinced that the encounter had to have actually occurred. After all, I could clearly remember his voice! Well ... at least I "I was told there was something that had strained you - if you would like to talk about it, I would be happy to help you." With a quick glance over my shoulder, I told Jonah to get help while I dealt with William, who insisted on sitting on the edge of the bed. And the sounds - breathless “ahs” and “ohs” mixed with impatient “mnnnn” sounds while Sherlock quickly worked himself open, obviously wanting to get it over with and regain his connection with John. John picked up the bottle and slicked his own fingers and his aching

<|output|> <|example|> was nice just sit together quietly and communicate only through the touch of our hands. Perhaps we would have stayed like that all afternoon, had Sherlock not suddenly been gripped by a coughing spasm. <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> It was obviously an image of the statue that stood on a wooden pedestal between the two large windows in the novices’ classroom <|indexes|> 0 |

<|text|> erection. He was a little alarmed when Sherlock dropped his hand and leaned forward on both elbows, groaning, “John, come on.” Suddenly it struck me that today was also Jonah's birthday - presumably, despite the latent threat, he would never have expected that his special day would take such a tragic course. I felt pity for him. But more than that, I pitied Brother William who was probably in hospital all alone and fighting for his life - I could only hope that he had not lost his battle. John straightened into his Captain Watson pose. “Right, then. I’m off.” He glared at Sherlock for half a minute. Sherlock thought he caught a glimmer of something softer – regret, forgiveness? But it was gone before Sherlock could even identify it. - not anyone else. Finally. After so many years of long glances, innuendo, almost-taken chances, missed opportunities. John wanted him. Reaching for his mug, John answered quietly. “Sure, Mary.” He took a too-hot sip just to fill time while he silently calculated a way to disarm his former girlfriend. Who had now appointed herself his fiancee. I knew exactly what he meant, but I still had to appeal to his reason if I did not want to blame myself for not having done everything to ensure his full recovery. “Oh, god, Mycroft,” Sherlock moaned, “He surely thought…he believed that I’d committed suicide. He thought I was dead.” Sherlock’s stomach roiled at what he would have thought and done if the roles were reversed and he believed John had killed himself. He feared he would be sick. “What do I do now?” "How did that happen?" I asked to the novice, who seemed to be too weak to answer me and only gave a low, painful groan. In his place, Father Andrew speculated that he might have slipped on the floor tiles and fell. When he heard these words, Brother Francis seemed to awaken briefly from his shock, blinking and looking restlessly around the room. He then raised a trembling hand and pointed to Brother Jonah, who was leaning against a wall, chewing nervously on his lower lip. "Sherlock, I ... I don’t know how much you sense right now about what's happening around you, but maybe you've noticed that you're in hospital ... I'm not saying this to scare you but your brothers and I are very worried about you ... of course I understand that your body has to recover now, but ... " Frank straightened and surveyed Sherlock coldly. “If you tell me how you got in, I might let you walk out of here with your balls.” Brother Elijah looked disappointed, but still wished him all the best from his heart, whereupon Sherlock placed a hand over his heart and bowed slightly in gratitude. Suddenly something seemed to occur to him and he pulled at Jonah's sleeve to get his attention. Jonah translated once more. Perhaps it redounded to my advantage that I was granted a certain respect as a doctor and a former soldier; yet I wondered how I would react if I were to be attacked because

<|output|> <|example|> erection. He was a little alarmed when Sherlock dropped his hand and leaned forward on both elbows, groaning, “John, come on.” <|indexes|> 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 |

<|output|> <|example|> ” Sherlock’s stomach roiled at what he would have thought and done if the roles were reversed and he believed John had killed himself <|indexes|> 0 0 <|example|> of course I understand that your body has to recover now, but <|indexes|> 1 1 1 <|example|> Suddenly something seemed to occur to him and he pulled at Jonah's sleeve to get his attention <|indexes|> 2 <|example|> John wanted him <|indexes|> 3 3 <|example|> I don’t know how much you sense right now about what's happening around you, but maybe you've noticed that you're in hospital <|indexes|> 4 |