Author's Note: Thank you, my friend, you know who you are and why you are so special to me.

As always, don't own, just adore.

"Please, I can't lose you again. It will kill me this time. I need you, please, Sherlock, please don't go. If you die, I'm going with you."

John Watson held Sherlock in his arms, rocking him, refusing to relinquish custody of his best friend. He gripped his army pistol in his left hand, pointed it at his own heart.

"Please, don't leave me alone."

"John, John, he's not going to die. Come on, let these men help Sherlock."

"I need to stay with him. I'm not going to stay behind this time."

John resisted when DI Lestrade wrestled the gun from his hand, but refused to release his hold on Sherlock. Pressing his face against the detective's temple, John stared into nothingness, his tears streaking down his cheeks.

"Sherlock, please don't leave me behind again, take me with you."

"John."

John struggled, fought against Sherlock's attempt to hold him.

"No, let me go, I have be with him."

"John."

"No, Greg, I won't let him go alone. Please..."

"John, it's all right. It's time to wake up."

"Sherlock...don't...leave me...alone."

Sherlock framed John's face with his long, slender fingers, caressing his cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.

"Shh, it's okay. You are not alone, I'm here now. It's over. Everything will be all right."

"Don't be dead. Please, no, please, oh, God, I can't lose you again."

John's voice, broken and raw, faded away to a feeble whimper. His chest heaved as he tried to drag in air, his gasps echoing in the bedroom. Still, he did not wake.

Gathering John's naked, sweat drenched body against himself, Sherlock feathered kisses to each eye, his nose, kissed away the tears that stained his doctor's cheeks and finally settled on his mouth to still his fearful cries.

"John."

Small spasms shook John's body and once again Sherlock felt himself adrift in his best friend's emotional maelstrom.

"I'm here, John."

For a moment, Sherlock nuzzled at the sensitive spot just behind the doctor's left ear, returning his gaze at the instant John's eyelids fluttered and slowly opened to focus on him. For long moments John stared as though not recognizing his surroundings or the face barely inches away.

With shaking fingers, John lightly fingered the bandage at Sherlock's hairline. At the sudden intake of breath and the tensing of John's muscles, Sherlock threaded their fingers together, guiding John's hand away from the wound and against his chest. Awareness touched John slowly, widening his eyes and softening his frown.

"We're okay, John."

"Sherlock."

"Just let the dream go, John. It can't hurt you, I won't allow it."

The doctor drew in an unsteady breath.

"Just rest now, John."

"I thought you were dead."

"I know. Greg told me."

"You didn't answer me."

"I'm sorry."

"There was so much blood..."

"Yes."

Sherlock let his heart guide him as he prepared to lead John away from his nightmare.

"I'm a doctor...you were alive, but I was sure you were dead."

John's voice broke then and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"You came back. Again."

"It's all right, John. You were afraid. You can't be a doctor all the time."

"But I am a doctor all the time."

Sherlock smiled at John's small voice.

"No, you are John Watson all the time. You are my John Watson, and you are my heart, and I will always come back to you."

Sherlock dropped a gentle kiss to his doctor's mouth. John sighed, the remnants of the nightmare finally beginning to dissipate.

"You are emotionally fragile right now."

John frowned, tried to level his best glare of disapproval at him, but Sherlock wasn't at all contrite for having pointed out such an obvious fact. He offered John his sweetest smile.

"I am not criticizing you, John. I promised I would never again lie to you and I will keep that promise. I will be at your side to support you, but I will not coddle you."

John simply nodded, resting his forehead against Sherlock's jaw.

"You've grown."

"No, John, I have been at my full growth since the age of seventeen."

John tilted his head, his lips upturned at the corners.

"Nooo?"

"Oh, you mean..."

"Emotionally, yes."

"Thanks to you."

"No, Sherlock."

"Yes, John, I owe you so much."

John's eyes widened, clearly visible even in the dim light.

"Those were my words. At your grave."

"I know, I was there, remember? They are more appropriate for me than for you, therefore, I...borrowed them?"

"Sherlock."

"It's true, John. I am far from being a good man, and I am often overwhelmed by..."

"What?"

Sherlock sighed, tried his best to cover it with false annoyance, but, as always, John saw the truth behind his subtle evasion.

"You."

"You are a good man, Sherlock Holmes."

"Only in your eyes, John. You see the best in everyone, even those you don't know well, and more so in those you do."

"I know you for real."

"A hundred percent?"

Sherlock knew by the expression on his doctor's weary face that the sense of déjà vu was not lost on him.

"No one can be an annoying dick all the time."

The smile twitching at John's lips gave Sherlock pause.

"You know, for a genius, sometimes you can be pretty thick."

Sherlock chuckled in his deepest voice.

"Tea?"

"No, it's the middle of the night, love."

"Point taken."

Sherlock nuzzled the sweet spot again, eliciting from John a delicious shiver and soft laughter.

"No, I...can we just..."

"Cuddle?"

"Yes, is that all right?"

"No, not all right. It's perfect, John, in fact, practically perfect in every way."

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you just utter a cultural reference?"

"I don't think so."

"I think you did."

"Whenever Mummy reprimanded me for behaving badly, my brother would taunt me by saying that Mummy considered him practically perfect in every way."

When John hummed his knowing hum, Sherlock grinned at him and hugged him closer.

"He's a rubbish brother, that one."

John's voice was deeper, softer; slumber was having its way with him. To whisper his response, Sherlock pressed his lips against his doctor's ear.

"Constantly. Mary Poppins, indeed."

"Yeah, love, indeed."

John snuggled closer, pressing his nose to the warmth of Sherlock's neck, and sighed.

"All right now, John?"

"Much better, thank you."

"No, John, thank you."

"No..."

Whatever else John was about to say was lost the moment Sherlock kissed the words right out of his doctor's mouth. And when John finally went limp in his arms, Sherlock gathered him close, whispering endearments against his ear to assure him that he was loved.

Just as dawn peeked through their window, Sherlock, with a tender smile on his lips, and a satisfied hum deep in his throat, curled himself around John, swaddling him with his naked body, loving him and protecting him.

Perfect in every way.