John looked up and, catching Anderson's eye, made his way over to where he was now rooted to the spot. Why had his pulse just increased? What was it about John that made him nervous? He avoided eye contact as John walked over and instead looked past him to see Lestrade also approaching. His pulse increased again and he felt his mouth go dry. Why was he nervous?!

John greeted him and Anderson mumbled 'hi' back. Anderson struggled to work out whether John looked upset or not. He discreetly eyed him up and down but couldn't tell anything from his appearance. If he had been alone he would have laughed at the irony of needing Sherlock to deduce. 'Liar', he thought to himself; 'You know that thought hurt you; you wouldn't have laughed, you'd have cried. Again'. Anderson had no time to process the thought further as Lestrade had now joined them and just broken the several seconds of what Anderson presumed to have been an uncomfortable silence.

Lestrade unlocked his office and indicated for them both to join him inside. John followed with ease but Anderson remained outside, brow furrowed by the confusion of the situation.

"In your own time, Anderson!" Lestrade called to him.

He heard John let out a small laugh as he crossed the threshold to join them. Lestrade was sitting behind his desk with John on the other side. They both looked at home. Lestrade indicated for him to shut the door and then take a seat next to John. He did so, still with a confused look on his face.

"He would have had a field day with you pulling that expression"

John said quietly before letting out another small laugh. Lestrade chuckled too as Anderson's confused look mingled with a frown.

"That's definitely the face you pull when you first arrive at a new crime scene" Lestrade said before chuckling again. He quickly stopped when he saw Anderson glaring at him.

"Anyway…" He cleared his throat. "Um, I know that you're wondering why John is here and why I've brought you both into my office and um, well, the thing is…" He trailed off, seemingly struggling how to phrase the next part of his sentence. He looked Anderson straight in the eye.

"I want…I mean we…I mean…" Another throat clear. A deep sigh. His eyes on John. Anderson saw John nod from the corner of his eye. His eyes were back on Anderson. 'Are those tears in his eyes?' Anderson wondered.

"John and I want you to come with us tonight when we go visit the grave" he quickly stated. Anderson opened his mouth to say something but Lestrade held up his hand to stop him.

"I mean, we're all going tonight. Y'know, Mrs Hudson, Molly, several of us from the office, Donovan…" He gave him a look. "Anyway, like I said, we want you to come with us."

"Why do you think I'd want to come?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They sounded harsher than he'd meant them to. Did he see John flinch slightly or was he imagining that? Lestrade looked like he was struggling to phrase his next sentence again. This annoyed Anderson. Why was Lestrade suddenly so conscious of what he was saying around him? It was like he was tip-toeing around him. The way he was looking at John irritated Anderson too. He felt like he was back at school and the two of them were ganging up on him because he didn't know their little secret.

Several moments had passed in silence. It was John who finally broke it.

"We know you visit his grave each year, Anderson" he said softly.

Anderson felt his face flush and decided that his shoes would be extremely interesting to look at. He could feel both John's and Lestrade's eyes on him. He was now concentrating extremely hard on his shoes.

"Anderson?" Lestrade asked quietly.

[12 eyelets on each shoe]

[How did they know I visit his grave?]

[Should probably put new laces in my left shoe soon]

[I was so careful nobody saw me visit]

[Left shoe is really scuffed]

[How /did/ they know?]

[Sherlock says you can deduce a lot about somebody from their shoes]

[Do. Not. Cry. Do. Not. Cry]

"Anderson, it's okay. We're here for you"

This was the final straw. He couldn't take Lestrade pitying him of all people when John was in the room. He leapt out of his chair avoiding eye contact as he went. Lestrade called his name again as he threw the door open but he didn't hear him.

His heart was beating loudly. Banging. Pounding. Crushing. It was all he could hear. He rushed past all his colleagues sat at their desks with their own lives in their own worlds and their problems so small. How he envied them. How he wished he could be them. How he hated them. He passed the toilets on the floor he was on as he knew Lestrade would be straight in there after him. He reached the stairwell.

"We're here for you". "We know you visit his grave". "We're here for you". "We know you visit his grave". The two sentences repeated in his head as he climbed each step.

"We're here for you". "We know you visit his grave". They were now echoing his heart. Up and up he went. Faster. His face was still flushed and he knew the tears were coming. Faster still. Beating harder. Ringing louder.

"We're here for you". "We know you visit his grave".

He reached the top floor. Nobody came up here as it was still under construction and for once Anderson praised NSY for not having enough money. He hurried to the other end of the floor where the toilets were. The tears wouldn't wait long and the constant, steady words and his heart beat were still crushing him.

The toilets were unlocked much to Anderson's relief and he stumbled inside and into a cubicle making sure he locked it behind him. He shut the toilet lid and collapsed down onto it with his head in his hands. Hot, fat tears fell into his hands. He did nothing but let them fall for several minutes until they subsided. Ugly sobbing took their place then.

Minutes passed. The small space and the fact nobody had found him seemed to be calming him. The sobbing slowly stopped. His heart wasn't pounding as hard. The constant ringing of the words were becoming dimming. He lifted his head out of his hands so he could concentrate on regaining his shallow, staggered breathing. More minutes passed. The question burned in his mind again. How had they known he visited Sherlock's grave each year?

Oh.

Oh.

Those two words. He hadn't put those two words together for a long time. The grave. His grave. Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock's grave.

Sherlock's grave.

Sherlock's grave.

Those two words. Oh, those words. 'Sherlock's grave'. The pain. The pain they caused.

The toilet cubicle which felt small and safe was now becoming too small. The heartbeat that had slowed was now starting to race and pound again. The breathing which had returned to normal was reverting back to shallow and staggered breaths.

Smaller. Faster. Harder. Too small. Too fast. Too hard.

Panic attack? Panic attack.

Anderson had had a panic attack once before in his life many years ago. He knew how that had ended and that thought panicked him more. He struggled to rise from his seat and struggled to unlock the cubicle door. He only just managed and burst out like a caged animal being set free for the first time. His heart was still pounding and every breath was becoming more shallow and harder. He made for the sink in the hope that splashing cold water on his face would shock him out of this.

Trembling hands grasped to turn the tap on. A creak of pipes. Nothing. The plumbing hadn't been finished.

Too fast now. Too hard now. Walls closing in again. One trembling hand now clutched the neck in a vain attempt to open it up. Another trembling hand clutched the sink as he knelt on the floor. He managed to get himself into the foetal position. Maybe Lestrade would find him. Did he want him to find him? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything now other than the loud pounding and the shallow breaths.

Pounding. Breathing. Pounding. Breathing. Pounding. Breathing. Darkness.

Nothing.