When he went back into the sitting room, some twenty minutes later, Sherlock had stopped pacing and was curled up in his armchair, dressing gown wrapped tightly around him, long arms clasped around the knees that were folded into his lap.

John was ignored as he sat down across from him, Sherlock looking blankly off at something, or perhaps nothing.

"Sherlock?" John asked hesitantly.

"Mm," Sherlock responded. It was a promising sign.

"Are you alright?"

"Mm," he said again.

John nodded. "Right... D'you want to talk about it?"

"Mrr."

John frowned. "Too bad. I'll be waiting. Whenever you're ready."

Sherlock sat for another minute before heaving a dramatic sigh.

"Really John?" he huffed.

"Really," he confirmed. "So what was that? Bad day? Something I should know about? Panic attack?" He waited for the signature Sherlock look, a scoff that said as if, but it never came.

Sherlock stretched his long legs out, bending his knees tentatively before placing his feet on the ground.

"Asperger's Syndrome. A type of high functioning autism. Features include impaired social interactions, sensory processing issues, difficulty discerning sarcasm and the like, and an inability to understand nonverbal communication. Much like the symptoms of autism, but milder with no delayed speech. People with the disorder often have average or above average intelligence."

This whole thing was spoken in a monotone, something from a government website or a textbook. Which, John realized, was probably word for word.

"What you witnessed was a... meltdown of sorts. I suppose you could call it that."

John nodded slowly.

"I suppose this is it then," he sighed. "Now that you've found out."

John only looked at him blankly.

"What?"

Sherlock blinked at him. "What do you mean, what? Aren't you going to leave?"

John rolled his eyes. "No," he said slowly. "I would have done that the first night after you nearly got yourself killed. Or maybe after you nearly got me killed. And Sarah." He paused, looking thoughtful.

"There were so many times I should have left..." he murmured, smiling.

"So... you're not going to leave now that you've found out?" Sherlock said slowly.

John laughed. "Sherlock, I figured it out in the first couple of days. I just figured you'd want to talk about it when you were ready."

Sherlock sagged with relief.

"You're not leaving?" he asked again.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," John told him, smiling.

"Huh," Sherlock noted, collapsing into his chair.

"Did you expect me to leave?" John asked, still smiling.

"Yes," he replied honestly.

John's smile faded.

"Have other people left when they found out?"

"Of course." Sherlock frowned. Wasn't John understanding this?

John made a face.

Sherlock recognized that look. It was the 'John is not amused' look. Generally, it meant look out. Sherlock couldn't recall doing anything that would prompt John to have this look, so assumed it was meant for someone else other than him.

"You seem displeased," Sherlock noted. "I don't think it's something I've done..."

"God no," John said, shaking his head. "I'm just thinking about those other people. To make it through the body parts and violin playing, only to be run off by something so inconsequential..." he trailed off, not wanting to say it.

"You are allowed to say it you know," Sherlock told him. "It's not a bad word."

"I know that," John sighed.

"Although I've never liked it," Sherlock interjected. "I mean, it could be better."

John tilted his head thoughtfully. "Good point."

"You were saying?"

"I find the idea that people could put up with some of your strange habits, but not once they had a name to go with them, a bit offensive."

"Why would it offend you?"

John's face furrowed. "Because you're my friend. And I don't like when people think you're stupid or a psychopath, or whatever, simply because you're different."

Sherlock only looking skeptical at his sentimentality.

"Whatever," John said, dismissing his thoughts with a wave of his hand. "But now that you've admitted to what I've suspected for months, I want details."

Sherlock scowled at him, but John only stared right back.

Eventually, Sherlock gave in, sighing and rolling his eyes.

"I'm going to need tea for this," Sherlock said pointedly.

John sighed, but got up and headed to the kitchen.