John decides to stay.

Seeing Sherlock in such a state rips at him horribly, and a deep well of guilt currently sits inside him as he watches Sherlocks chest slowly rise and fall. The heart monitor beside him is beeping quietly, but to John, it's the loudest sound in the room. He puts a hand on his cane - a would've-been parting gift had he not changed his mind right as he'd gotten to the door - and looks at his flatmates sleeping form, his eyes taking in the mark on his cheek, the heavy bags under his eyes, and how he looks just so utterly worn to the bone. He had gotten some information on his condition from the nurse earlier; malnourished, double kidney failure, and a few bruised ribs (which he knows is his fault from before) and being told that alone had the guilt multiply tenfold. With the overdose and the beating, there's no doubt that Sherlock's going to have to stay in here for weeks while he recovers.

He shouldn't have left.

John releases a heavy sigh and lets his gaze drift from Sherlocks face, to his blanket, before resting on Mary, who's standing on the other side of the bed, silently watching him with her arms folded,

"He will forgive you, you know."

John snorts, "I doubt it."

No sooner are the words out of his mouth, then Sherlock slowly blinks awake and he looks over at John. Mary gives him one final smile, then leaves.

"John? What -"

John forces a smile and leans forward in his chair, "I'm...staying here tonight."

He frowns, "What about Rosie, don't you need to -"

"Mrs. Hudson's looking after her. I organised it while you were out." John swallows when he sees one of Sherlocks eyes're bloodshot and he feels a wave of guilt wash over him.

You did that, too.

He glances at the floor as Sherlock takes this in, till finally he nods and links his hands together on his stomach. There's a beat of silence, momentarily cut by the heart monitor, till Sherlock speaks again,

"John, I…I want to apologise for my behaviour these last few weeks. I've been reckless and irresponsible and as always, I've left you to clean up my mess…."

"That's our dynamic, isn't it?" Sherlock looks over at him, his brows knitting together as John shrugs, "It's been like that for years."

"It shouldn't be, John," Sherlock says firmly. "You heard Molly - I had weeks if I had kept taking what I had." He pauses, "I'm sorry you have to put up with me."

Johns stares at him, "...What?"

"Mycroft, he - he had to live with this when we were growing up. I would get high all the time." He winces as the morphine kicks in, "He'd find me in a back alley somewhere, far from home, or a secret drug den I'd managed to find with some help from a few...dealers."

Johns face falls, "Sherlock, I don't put up with you."

Sherlock looks at him, confused, "...Really?"

John smiles in disbelief, "No - Sherlock - Jesus, I knew about your drug problem from day one, remember? Obviously I wasn't aware of how bad it could get, but I've stuck around this long, haven't I?"

Sherlock eyes drop to the blanket, "And who's not to say you'll leave now?"

John frowns but doesn't say anything and Sherlock continues, waving a hand as his voice grows suddenly stronger despite the pain, "Well, you saw me in the morgue. you even...snapped and beat me up, which I know I deserve -"

John shakes his head before Sherlock can carry on, "No...No, you didn't deserve that. That was way out of line, Sherlock, I never should have laid a hand on you like that." He stops, voice low. "You have no idea how guilty I felt after what I'd done. I regretted it as soon as I saw you on the floor."

Sherlock goes quiet as he takes this in, his eyes searching Johns. John runs a hand through his hair and breathes slowly out through his nose, almost bracing himself for what he's about to say next, "Sherlock, I'm - I'm sorry for what...what happened. Back there, I…." He swallows. "I was just so….with - Mary and - and now having to raise Rosie on my own, I…." He stops when he feels tears well in his eyes.

"John, look at me."

John purses his lips, but does so and he's not surprised to see Sherlock sitting up in bed. He hadn't even heard him move.

"We can help with Rosie. Mrs. Hudson already has her tonight. I'm here. Molly's -"

"It's not just Rosie, Sherlock." Sherlock watches him carefully. John takes a shaky breath. "It's everything. Mary's dead, I'm still in the flat, you're in recovery…" His voice trails off when he can feel himself choking up, and instead of continuing, he sighs and falls silent.

He almost scoffs when Mary appears at the foot of Sherlocks bed. She nods to him, her tone gentle, "You have to say it, John."

He waits a moment, but she doesn't say anything more, and he clenches his fists, forcing himself to look up at Sherlock again. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, then speaks in a clear voice, "I cheated on her, Sherlock."

Sherlocks eyes widen but he stays silent as John continues, "I'm not the perfect husband, I never was." He pauses when he sees Mary smile from the corner of his eye. "But that's just it. She taught me to be that person, and I let her down in the end." He breaks Sherlocks gaze as it slowly crashes around him, "I could never be enough for her."

Mary has tears in her eyes as she watches them both and as John glances at her, he feels a weight taken from his chest. Looks at Sherlock again, "And I think I always knew that." He tries a smile, but it only makes fresh tears form.

"But I just...settled. I thought that would be the best thing for me, to fall in love and get married, but." He shakes his head, smiling sadly, "I didn't know how wrong I was, Sherlock."

Something plummets through him when he sees Sherlock's blinking back tears, and he smiles half-heartedly, "I loved Mary. I loved her so much, but she's gone and...and now I...move on." He hesitates, "That's...what I did when I thought you'd died. I got on with it."

There's a piercing silence.

John knows that if he says another word, he won't be able to stop himself from sobbing into his hands, and he avoids Sherlocks eyes to gather himself. His mind is racing with thoughts, and he closes his eyes when he notices that every one of them is of Sherlock and Rosies. He steals a glance at Mary, who's smiling gently at him from the other side of the bed.

"John." Sherlocks face is impossibly soft, and his eyes are brighter, his voice gentle, "You have to know something."

"You're not a bad person."

Oh.

Johns mouth falls open, "...Sherlock…."

He looks right at John as he says all this, as if hoping he'll get the full impact of his words, "You're a human being, and you're allowed to make mistakes. You couldn't help having feelings for someone else. You settled because you felt it was the right thing to do at the time. You were enough. For Mary, I mean. And you're a good father. No one's perfect, John. Not even you. And I'm sure Mary knew that deep down."

John sniffs, and smiles in disbelief when he feels tears streaming down his cheeks. He attempts to wipe his face, but he's so moved by Sherlocks words that he can't stop them from coming.

When he finally manages to get a hold on himself, he swallows thickly and threads his fingers together, "What about you?"

Sherlock looks at him, "Me?"

"Am I enough for you?"

Sherlock smiles, "You've never had to prove yourself to me, John. I should think we had established this a long time ago."

…..Oh…..

John nods, "Right, of course."

"Are you alright?"

He glances to where Mary is, but she's vanished, and he has a strong feeling that he's seen her for the final time, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

There's a knock at the door, and Johns head turns as a nurse comes through with a tray, "Dinner, Mr. Holmes."

She smiles at the both of them and sets the tray above Sherlocks stomach, her brows raised when she sees he's already sitting upright. She lays down a knife and fork, then nods to them both and leaves - Sherlock waits for the click before lowering the morphine dosage and he grimaces as he pushes the tray away. "Hospital food. A curse if there ever was one."

John grins. With everything being said in the open, the atmosphere's suddenly shifted into a more relaxed one, and he reaches over to lift the lid, "If you won't have it, I will."

It's a stew of some kind, poured over a serving of rice with peas in the corner, and a small pudding cup off to the side. Though it looks anything but appetizing, John hasn't eaten in hours, and it shows as he begins to dig in. Sherlock leans back on the pillow and stares out the window, hands on his lap, and he doesn't speak until John makes a move for the pudding, his eyes lingering on the tray when he sees it's almost cleared.

He lets out a grateful sigh, "You said...you were still in the flat."

It's not a question. John frowns as he places the lid back on the tray, "Yes?"

"The um….well, the offer still stands, if...if you would like to, of course, um...to move back in to Baker Street."

Johns hand goes to his side. He blinks up at Sherlock, who's fiddling with the napkin and refusing to look his way, "Um...Sherlock, I….that's, um….thank you, but…."

Sherlock glances at him from the corner of his eye. It takes only seconds to deduce his thought process, "Sorry, John, I didn't - "

" - No, no, it's fine, it's just...I'm still...going through losing Mary, you know? And...well, moving back in with you would be….a lot to...adjust to."

Sherlock looks up then, and there's a flicker of hurt on his face, "...Oh…" He takes a breath, "It's alright, I understand."

John sighs, "Please don't take that the wrong way, Sherlock. I meant that well...Rosie's just lost a mother, you know? And…" A sadness creeps in his chest. He hadn't let himself sit on that thought for too long. "And it would be...too much if we were to move to a different place in a short time…" He pauses, "Do you understand?"

"I think so, yes."

"Good." He smiles, "We could still stay over for a few nights, if that's okay." Sherlock stops playing with the napkin, "But she couldn't sleep in Mrs. Hudsons flat…"

"Don't worry, John. I purchased another cot...if the situation were to arise."

"Really?"

"Really. I've also baby-proofed the flat."

John looks at him for a long time, and when he senses his gaze isn't wavering, Sherlock meets his eyes, "How long have you been waiting for me to move back in?"

Sherlock begins shredding the napkin, clearly a nervous habit, "Since your wedding."

John puts a hand on his to stop him, "Look, I accept the offer, alright? I just need time to get through this, however long that takes."

He doesn't let go until Sherlock drops his hands, "Alright."

"And promise this…" He gestures to the tray then to the medicine bag, "Won't happen again."

Sherlock nods, "You have my word, John." He pushes the paper away to change the subject, "Are you...going to sleep in that chair tonight?"

John smiles, "Where else would I sleep?"

Sherlock looks away, grabbing the pieces again, "Well, I could get the nurse to bring in another bed if that would suit you better."

"I thought that was only for family."

"Oh, they're bound to make an exception, John."

In minutes, John finds himself asleep in a bed next to Sherlock, who's lying on his side despite the pain in his ribs. Thanks to the morphine, he's soon drifting off and John sighs into his pillow, facing the window - he's both mentally and emotionally exhausted from these last few hours and he soon feels himself begin to be taken in...until…

"John, are you awake?"

"...Now I am. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I um...I wanted to thank you. For coming back."

John relaxes into the mattress, "Of course I'd come back. I'll always be here, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiles, "I know."