Okay, so it's been way too long since I last updated. Sorry about that, but I was not having much luck with writing and I've been busy with other school/college-related stuff.

This chapter is incredibly long, but I just couldn’t figure out how to break it up/change it so that it's shorter, but hopefully you guys don't mind. :)

Thanks to everyone who's been reading/commenting/voting! You guys are awesome. :)

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"Would you hurry up John?" Sherlock shouted from downstairs. "We're going to be late!"

"Don't rush me Sherlock!" John shouted back. He felt bad for yelling, and for being the cause of their tardiness, but it had taken him a while to get dressed. He wasn't quite used to the cast yet, and he had refused to let Sherlock help dress him. "I'm almost ready anyway." He turned away from the door and looked over his appearance in the mirror hanging on Sherlock's bedroom wall. Moments later he heard angry footsteps coming down the hall, and Sherlock soon burst into his room.

"I told you John I-" he stopped suddenly, so John turned around to see what had caught the detectives attention. Surprisingly enough, Sherlock was staring at John himself, mouth slightly agape, his eyes scanning his attire. John felt self conscious under his penetrating stare, and stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do.

"Um, Sherlock? You alright?" John's question was paired with nervous laughter as the doctor shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Sherlock blinked his eyes a few times, then cleared his throat and met John's gaze.

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just…I've never seen you in a suit before." He reached up to straighten his already straight collar and brushed some invisible lint from his jacket. "You look very nice." John's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Sherlock rarely gave compliments, so he had no idea how to respond to this. He cleared his throat and shot the detective a warm smile.

"Thanks. So do you." He gestured to Sherlock's outfit: black trousers and jacket, paired with a white shirt and black tie. Aside from the tie, his outfit wasn’t very different from the clothing he wore on a usual basis, but John felt the need to compliment his attire as a response to the compliment that had been bestowed upon himself. Sherlock gave John a charming smile as he played with the buttons on his suit.

"Do you think so?" John nodded his head, unable to take his eyes off of Sherlock's eyes. The two men stood there staring at each other with grins on their faces for quite some time before they both simultaneously remembered that they had a party to get to. There was a lot of throat clearing and feet shuffling as the two made their way downstairs and out of the flat.

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By the time they'd made it to Lestrade's flat, the party had already been in full swing. Some kind of "easy listening" music was playing softly in the background, and the main room was filled with people, many of whom John remembered seeing around Scotland Yard.

John decided to set up camp in the kitchen near the snack table while Sherlock searched for a place to put their coats. After five minutes of munching on finger foods and waiting for Sherlock to appear, John began to consider going looking for him. The flat wasn't very sizeable, but they'd never been here before, and John hadn't told Sherlock where he would be. Perhaps he was looking for him that very moment. John bent down to grab his crutches and was about to get up from the chair he'd been sitting in and go searching for Sherlock when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"John? What are you doing here?" John looked up with his brow furrowed, but soon found himself smiling when he saw who was standing in front of him.

"Ollie! I could ask you the same thing!" Ollie grabbed a cup from off of the snack table, then pulled up a chair and sat down beside John.

"I came here with a girl who works at Scotland Yard," he said after taking a sip of his drink. When Ollie said this, John's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

"Really? Have you got yourself a girlfriend?"

"God, no," Ollie said, taking another sip. "I just met her a week ago. She called me two days ago and asked if I'd be her plus one, and of course I agreed." He laughed. "I couldn't turn down an opportunity to party at the Detective Inspector's flat! You know, friends in high places and all that." He lowered his voice and began looking around suspiciously. "By the way, do you see him anywhere? I feel a bit bad being inside his house when I've never even met the guy. Kind of makes me feel like Nick Carroway or something."John chuckled, then popped a biscuit in his mouth.

"Well I just got here not too long ago, but I haven't seen him yet."

"How do you know him?"

"Well, ah, I guess you could say Sherlock and I are sort of…friends of his." Suddenly Ollie placed a hand on John's knee, luckily not on his injured leg, and his eyes grew slightly in size.

"Sherlock Holmes? Is he here?" John nodded his head and looked around.

"Yeah, he's around here somewhere."

"Oh, I'd love to meet him! I checked out his website not too long ago… He's got some pretty neat stuff on there."

"I'm sure he'd love to hear you say so, but that would only make his already inflated ego grow larger." They both laughed and Ollie gave John's knee a firm squeeze.

"Well, still, I'd like to meet him. You think you can introduce us?"

"Of course…as soon as I find him."

Almost as if on cue, Sherlock then appeared in front of them, his face gravely serious. He was staring at Ollie with his eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering down ever so often to where his hand was resting on John's knee.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice emotionless.

"The name's Oliver, but my friends call me Ollie."

"Very well then, Oliver. How do you know John?"

John reached up and put his arm around Ollie's shoulders.

"We went to university together, many years ago," John said, smiling at Sherlock.

"Hey, not that many!" Ollie said, patting John's knee lightly. "You're making me sound old." They both laughed, but when John glanced up and saw the stern look on Sherlock's face his laughter ceased. He removed his arm from around Ollie and felt him remove his hand from his knee. Ollie chugged the remainder of his drink and stood up. He held his hand out towards Sherlock and offered him a friendly smile. Sherlock took his hand gingerly and shook it, with a smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you Mister Holmes."

"Same to you Oliver." Sherlock let go of Ollie's hand and placed his hands in his pockets. Ollie grabbed two cups and held one up with a smile on his face.

"Please, call me Ollie." He turned and smiled at John. "Now, I should probably get back to Victoria. I'll talk to you soon John. Maybe you can tell me what happened with that leg of yours." John smiled and waved him off, then looked to Sherlock, who was watching Ollie leave with a frown on his face.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock sat down in the seat recently vacated by Ollie and turned his entire body towards John, leaning in until their faces were mere inches apart.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, his voice slightly tense and irritated.

"What do you mean? I didn't leave."

"Yes you did. I went to go put our coats up and when I return to the front door you're nowhere to be found." John was fighting hard to pay attention to the words Sherlock was saying, but all he could think about was how close their lips were. All he would have had to do was lean forward just a little bit more and-

"John, are you even listening to me?" John then realized he'd been staring at Sherlock's mouth, and that he had completely zoned out.

"I'm sorry to have upset you," he said. Sherlock sighed and scratched the back of his neck.

"I’m not upset John. I just…was a bit concerned that you'd disappeared. But I see now that you're fine and everything's fine."

"Good," John said, patting Sherlock's leg. "Now, relax for a bit why don't you? We are at a party, after all. Here," he said, reaching towards the table and grabbing a plastic cup, "have a drink." He handed it to Sherlock, who sniffed it once and pretended to gag. John rolled his eyes, but when he saw the smile on Sherlock's face he chuckled.

"Oh come on Sherlock. You're at a party. It's a social custom to consume alcohol when at a social gathering like this one."

"You're not drinking."

"Because I don't want to be limping around on these crutches drunk." There was a look of hurt that briefly flashed through Sherlock's eyes, and John almost regretted saying what he did. After a while of Sherlock staring intently at the cup, he sighed and dropped his head.

"Very well then, if it would please you."

"And it would, very much so." Sherlock continued to hold the cup at eye level and squinted at it.

"Perhaps the alcohol will make the night slightly more bearable." Sherlock brought the cup to his lips and slowly turned it upwards, and as he was doing so John noticed Detective Inspector Lestrade walking up to them with a smile on his face.

"Hey, glad you could make it!" He held out his hand, which John shook, and nodded towards Sherlock, who had just emptied his cup of its contents.

"Are you enjoying yourselves so far?"

"Yes," John said, "very much so." Lestrade crossed his arms and gave him a strange look. "What?"

"If you two are having so much fun, then why are you huddled together at the snack table?" John opened his mouth, but Lestrade continued speaking. "Come with me, there are a few people I'd like you to meet. They're helping me with a case…" he sent a sideways glance in Sherlock's direction. "Since my usual helper has apparently been too busy playing board games with his flat mate to assist with any cases." Sherlock glared at Lestrade, but he only smiled in return. "Come on Sherlock, I'm sure you'll find it interesting. It's a serial killer. Four victims so far, no cause of death can be found for any of them. No sort of wounds or poison found anywhere, no internal damage either."

John glanced over at Sherlock and could tell by his face that he was intrigued, but trying not to show it. John nudged him with his elbow, and he glanced over at him.

"Come on Sherlock. I know you're dying to get back to work." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, but stood up and helped John to stand while Lestrade held his crutches.

"By the way," Lestrade began as he was handing John his crutches, "Anderson's over there. Just a heads up for Sherlock." John laughed while he got himself settled, then looked over at Sherlock, who looked like he should have had smoke coming out of his ears. He looked down at John, then to Lestrade, and grabbed another cup from the snack table before they headed into the living room.

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Two and a half hours later, John and Sherlock were fighting their way up the stairs to their flat. The task was proving to be quite difficult, due to the fact that John wasn't comfortable with using crutches to get up stairs yet, and also because Sherlock could barely hold himself up straight. He'd only had the two drinks at the party, so he wasn't drunk, yet he still couldn't take more than a few steps without having to stop and lean against the wall for support. John had yet to figure out how his balance had been so negatively affected, and why it had been the only thing to be affected.

They eventually made it to the top of the stairs, and John managed to unlock the door and get both him and Sherlock into Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock flopped down onto the mattress, and John sat on the other side of the bed, removing his shoes. He then leaned back against the headboard and stared at Sherlock, who was in the process of trying to sit up and take off his shoes simultaneously. Once he'd managed to get his shoes off he sat up beside John, his back resting against the headboard. He slowly let out a breath and closed his eyes.

"That was absolutely horrendous."

"Oh come on Sherlock, it wasn't that bad." The look of disbelief Sherlock had then given John was incredibly comical, but John fought the urge to laugh while Sherlock began talking.

"John, you can't be serious." John just shrugged and looked away.

"You do understand that you didn't have to go."

"Yes I did."

"Oh?" Sherlock shot a sideways glance in John's direction and nodded his head.

"If I hadn't gone you wouldn't have, am I right?" John started to disagree, but when he thought about it, he realized it was true. If Sherlock had been adamant about staying in, John would have stayed in with him.

"Well…" he said slowly, "why does it matter that I went?"

"Did you enjoy yourself John?"

"Well, yes actually. I did." Sherlock turned and swung his legs off of the bed and stood up, wobbling a bit while he tried to regain his balance. He walked over to his wardrobe and opened it.

"Well, there you go."

"I don't understand." Sherlock pulled out a white t-shirt and a pair of loose trousers, then closed the wardrobe. As he began to undress he spoke.

"I wanted you to have fun." John was trying hard not to stare at Sherlock's bare back, illuminated by the light coming from a bedside table lamp, the only light in the room.

"There are other ways to have fun, you know." Sherlock sighed heavily as he pulled the t-shirt over his head and began to take off his belt.

"Yes, but…" he sighed. "Just think about it, John. Before tonight you hadn't left the flat in days. Since we've returned from the hospital you've done nothing but stay in the living room and watch television, and occasionally play a board game. Surely that gets tiresome after a while." John wanted to say that he was never bored, because Sherlock had always been there with him, and that was what he cared most about, but he kept quiet and let Sherlock keep talking. "I doubt you'd want to be limping around a crime scene, so Lestrade's party was perfect."

"And why do you care so much about whether or not I'm having fun?" Sherlock sighed again and pulled his trousers down. John's felt his eyes widen slightly, and he was glad that Sherlock was too busy trying not to fall over while getting dressed to see his face.

"Because…" he said quietly, pulling the loose pants up to his waist. "Because it's my fault that you haven't been able to go anywhere you want, or even sleep in your own bed." John thought again about telling Sherlock that he had come to like sleeping in his bed, but knew it would be better to keep his mouth shut.

"Sherlock, you make it seem like you've ruined my life or something. It's only a broken leg. It's okay."

"Don’t you try to tell me it's all okay," Sherlock said, his voice suddenly angry. He turned around to face John, and his face was a mix of frustration and guilt. "Every night since the accident I've had to relive seeing you hurt, lying in that stretcher or the hospital bed." He sighed and ran his hands over his face. "Seeing you like that was worse than any nightmare I've ever had…because it was real."

"Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"That accident was a nightmare come to life for me, John. Of course, you say you're fine now… but-"

"But what? What about your nightmares?" John thought back to the first time Sherlock had had a nightmare. He'd called out his name, twice. And if his memory served him right, he'd called out his name a few other times after that. Could it be true that Sherlock's nightmares had all been about him? "Sherlock are you telling me they've all been about-"

"You. Yes." He sat down on the bed and wiggled underneath the covers. John hesitated, then slid underneath as well. He turned on his side to face Sherlock, who was lying on his back with his hands resting on his stomach.

"In each dream… something happens to you, and there's nothing I can do to stop it." His voice was barely a whisper now. "And…and I always end up losing you." His voice broke on the last sentence, and he rolled his eyes. He let out a breath and shook his head. "It's awful, John. Just terrible." John could tell that Sherlock was getting worked up, which wasn't good, so he reached over and placed a hand on Sherlock's. Sherlock turned his head to the side and stared at John, his face completely blank, and John offered him a smile.

"It's okay though. I'm fine, and I'm right here. Nothing's going to change that." Sherlock just stared at him for a moment longer, then freed one hand from underneath John's to turn off the lamp. Just as John was closing his eyes he felt a hand resting on top of his, gently patting it.

"Good."