Given the hour, Sherlock didn't feel the need to go back to sleep. Instead he showered quickly and dressed in his usual fashion. Before leaving, he slipped quietly into John's room with a glass of water, two paracetamol, and a brief note. John, Gone out for a few hours. Not on a case. -SH

Sherlock figured that he would be back before the younger man awoke; he appeared to be deeply asleep.

Sherlock headed downstairs and grabbed his coat and scarf. A few moments of searching, and he came up with his confiscated cigarettes (in the skull, really), and with that, he headed out the door. He wasted no time and hailed a cab quickly, and headed to Scotland Yard.

Given the early hour, Sherlock arrived at the Yard before Lestrade. He paced outside, and chain smoked until the silver haired D.I arrived. Sherlock could almost hear him groan in the distance.

"Sherlock, I don't have time for your nonsense this morning."

"Ah, Lestrade. Walk with me."

"Did you not hear me? I don't have time. I have files piled up to here."

Sherlock peered at Lestrade. "Please," he whispered. "I need your help."

"What? Come again?" Lestrade was practically laughing. "Can I get that on tape?"

Sherlock sighed. "Lestrade, would you stop being so infuriating? It's, it's about John."

At that, Lestrade's attitude changed. "John? Is he ok? Did something happen?"

"Well, no, I mean yes, but . . ." Sherlock's voice trailed off. "Could you just walk with me?"

"Fine. Now tell me what this is all about."

Sherlock pulled the cigarettes from his coat pocket, removed one, and lit it. After a deep inhale, he began in a rush of words.

"John woke up hysterically crying this morning. Apparently his mother died a year ago while he was in Afghanistan and he didn't get to say goodbye and he was crying and keening and I have no idea what to do. I listened to him. I let him talk and I didn't interrupt and I left him a glass of water before I left." Sherlock focused on his cigarette and not on Lestrade who was staring at him open mouthed.

Lestrade sighed and ran a hand through his silvery hair. "Ok. I can help you Sherlock, give you some advice, if you promise to listen. But I am not doing this without coffee. Now, give me one of those cigarettes and let's find a Starbucks."

After coffee had been purchased and nearly half of the cigarettes smoked, the two sat on a bench and watched as London woke up around them. After a bit of silence, Lestrade began. "Sherlock, I know this really isn't your area. I'm glad you came to me instead of trying to deal with this on your own. I can only imagine what your idea of being compassionate is. What you have done so far is fine, and is probably more than John expected from you. What I suggest is that you keep the experiments to the bare minimum, don't risk his life for the next two or so weeks running all over London chasing murderers, and just be there for him. If he wants to talk, listen. Make him a cup of tea. If he goes to the cemetery, offer to go with him so he doesn't have to be alone. Be yourself, but with less of the running rude commentary and deductions."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Lestrade, you know I can be perfectly nice when the occasion suits me."

"Well Sherlock, I think this is a time where you need it to be authentic. John will pick up on that a mile away. He doesn't need the aggravation of you on top of dealing with a loss.

Sherlock sighed, but reluctantly nodded. "So tea, listen, don't be an idiot. I think I can handle that Detective Inspector."

Lestrade just shook his head. "Seriously Sherlock, all you can do is just be there for him. Even if you are bored out of your mind. He probably doesn't want to be alone and the last thing he needs is to feel ignored or put out or put upon. Do you understand?"

"I understand in the way I understand that murders are committed in acts of jealousy and rage and love, but I still do not understand what the value is in feeling that way, in having these emotions." He practically spit the words out.

"You can analyse your feelings or lack thereof later. Right now, concentrate on John. He lost someone he cared deeply about and wasn't able to be there to have any closure. He needs you right now Sherlock, as crazy as that may seem."

Sherlock nodded in response.

"Ok, I've got to go back to the Yard. I'll try to make sure the criminal classes take a few days off, all right? Now, go back home and do your best to take care of John."

They parted, and after a longer than he hoped for cab ride, Sherlock was back at 221B Baker Street. He entered the flat quickly and quietly and turned on the kettle. Tea, was one thing that he could handle. While he preferred when John made the tea (mainly because he didn't have to be bothered), he had lived on his own for a long time and was perfectly capable of making a cup of tea.

The flat was still silent after he finished making the tea. He carried the mugs upstairs and lightly knocked on John's door, hoping he was awake. "Come in Sherlock," John said from the other side of the door.

Sherlock entered carefully, not wanting to spill any of the tea. "I made you some tea," he said quietly. John smiled weakly. "I can see that, thanks. And thank you for the water and paracetamol. That was nice of you." Sherlock just nodded, and looked vaguely embarrassed.

John sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "I'm sorry about this morning, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at John in puzzlement. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You were upset and it is normal under the circumstances that you described to be upset from what I understand. I only have theoretical data to back this up of course." Sherlock paused, knowing that sounded wrong. He thought back to his conversation with Lestrade. "I only wish there was something I could do to ease your anguish," he said quietly.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock Holmes?" John asked him, smiling genuinely for the first time that day. At the same time Sherlock's mobile beeped. Sherlock pulled it from his jacket pocket, scowling at the text.