Hi!

I just wanted to say thank you - firstly for the amazing reaction to this fic so far an secondly because I got a review on RoS that reminded me just how fab you guys have been with sticking with these fics despite my spag being a bit iffy! This chapter is part beta'd and will be replaced when i get the full copy back, but as it had been over a week I thought I should update.

Just to warn you, I don't intend to update for three weeks. It's the last three weeks of my course and I want to concentrate on giving it a last proper push. It will also give proudtobeatheatrekid a chance to catch up on the chapters - both ones coming up and the ones set in the future.

Just to make sure everyone is on the same page - the prologue is set in the future, 6/7 months after this one and will be the setting of the last chapter in this fic. There will then be one more story in this series, I will finish off the Bet and then...technically the story will be finished!

So, hope you enjoy this.


March 29th

"He's an idiot."

"No, he's doing his job."

"That does not mean he isn't an idiot!" John glared at the ceiling, "Sherlock…you are not a doctor. I am. Trust me, he's not an idiot."

Sniffing, Sherlock shifted his feet, which he'd placed on John's bed, as he slumped in the chair. "You are not the best judge of character." He pointed out.

"Luckily for you."

Trying not to let his lips twitch in amusement, Sherlock stole the jelly off of John's tray. "But not for you," he smirked, before taking a deep spoonful.

Then promptly gagged. "What is that meant to be?"

John shrugged, "Hospital food."

Disgusted, Sherlock placed the dessert back on the tray. "Regardless," he said, trying to move on past the incident. "You need a new doctor."

"I'm being released the day after tomorrow," John pointed out. "I do not need a new doctor for two days."

Unconvinced, Sherlock studied the prescription in front of him.

"You never had a thing for pain killers…right?"

Slowly, Sherlock raised an unimpressed glare to John's eyes. "Yes, John, because when I feel numb and bored and want to do drugs, the obvious substance to pick is one that makes you feel more numb and disconnected."

John nodded, "That's a wonderful review of the pills I have to take for the next month." He muttered, finishing his lunch and eyeing the jelly warily. "Was it really that bad?"

"Foul," Sherlock replied absently. "Dig in."

"I was shot! You should be nicer to me."

Amused Sherlock rolled his eyes and reached into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed over the snickers bar he'd picked up and he tossed it at John who chuckled.

"Been years since I had one of these," he tore the wrapping.

"Ava chose Smarties." Sherlock folded up the prescription.

"Only you would alphabetise sweets." John took a bite and groaned. "How many hours until I escape this place?"

"Forty three." Sherlock drummed his fingers on his leg.

"Right. So tomorrow it's a Toblerone, then…" John furrowed his brow, "What sweet begins with a U?"

"I am not continuing this when you are released," Sherlock warned. "You are more than capable of going to the shops."

John stared at him and then exploded into laughter, which made him wince a little. "I swear I've stumbled into a parallel universe."

"I don't see what your problem was with the shops. They are a fascinating source of data. You can tell so much about people from what they buy, what they put back. I solved two cases just by following suspects around the supermarket."

John stared at him in horror. "You are never doing the shopping again."


The minute Sherlock stepped inside the flat, Ava flew towards him.

"Did Daddy like my picture?"

The picture that no-one had dared ask about because no-one had a clue what it was.

"Yes." Sherlock lied, thinking of the face John had pulled as he'd turned the paper around to try and see some helpful pattern.

"I called Japan on Mycroft's phone."

Sherlock picked her up, "Was it someone important?"

Thoughtfully Ava chewed a strand of hair as Sherlock carried her up the stairs. "Maybe. He spent a very long time talking to the man in Japan language."

"Japanese." Sherlock corrected absently, bristling at the reminder of Mycroft's fluency.

Ava nodded without any interest. "Yeah," she wriggled as they walked into the kitchen and Sherlock let her slide to the floor, noting how lazy Ava was getting when it came to climbing the stairs. "I made you something."

Sherlock nodded and turned to his brother who was stood on the phone to someone. "Productive day?"

"Deeply." Mycroft muttered in his direction.

Smirking Sherlock dumped the chemist bag on the chair and felt a tug at his coat.

"Here," Ava held up a huge mug of tea. "I made it!" She announced with glee.

Slowly Sherlock turned to Mycroft who shot him a nasty smile.

Ava pressed it into his hands, "My first cup of tea. Mycroft said I should practice for Daddy when he comes home." She flickered her gaze expectantly between the cup and Sherlock's face.

Steeling himself, Sherlock raised the cup to his lips.

It was lukewarm, weak, and had so much sugar in it he could taste the granules.

Ava stared at him hopefully.

"Your father doesn't like sugar."

"But it tastes better with sugar." Ava told him seriously. "Is it ok?" she asked with big worried eyes.

Sherlock nodded and Ava's entire face lit up.

"I despise you," he said to Mycroft as Ava dashed upstairs for something.

"I know."


30th March

Mornings were decidedly the worst part of doing this without John. The evenings were something he would miss once John returned but the mornings…

Hideous.

Ava dragged her feet on everything. Breakfast, dressing, doing her teeth…

And the hair. God the hair. John could have that back the second he returned.

They made their way to school, Ava biting into the sausage roll he'd picked up at Speedy's on their way out.

"What time are we getting Daddy tomorrow?"

"Early," Sherlock replied as they crossed the street, holding her hand tightly and tugging her slightly when she appeared to decide stopping in the middle of the road was a good idea.

"We have an assembly today," Ava announced, moving to the next topic at break neck speed. "About Easter and how well we did this term."

"Wonderful."

"They give out certificates."

Fantastic. More paper to find a place for. Ava had become remarkably adept at rooting through bins recently.

Not that he disapproved of that skill; it was just unusually frustrating to have it turned upon himself. She'd been inconsolable when she'd seen one of her pieces of "artwork" in there a few days ago.

Sherlock hadn't dared throw anything away since. Let John deal with that.

"Great."

Ava looked worried suddenly and slowed.

Staring at the sky in frustration (he would be late for his meeting with Lestrade, which was annoying when he didn't do it on purpose) Sherlock let out an irritated breath and turned.

"We will be late," he warned.

But the usual threat (the one that usually made Ava widen her eyes in horror and practically drag him along the pavement) didn't work.

"I won't get one," she confessed miserably.

"Then you should have tried harder." Sherlock snapped.

Her eyes welled up.

Glancing at his watch, Sherlock sighed and glared at a woman who threw him a filthy look as she walked by.

Crouching, he raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"I…I stayed at home when daddy was hurt 'cause we were up all night. And when I got upset about people being mean about you and daddy kissing. "

Unable to follow the logic Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. "How does this equate to you not getting a certificate?"

"What does equate mean?"

"Equal." Sherlock replied. "Add up to. Result in."

Ava looked at him as if he was stupid. "because you have to be in school all the time to get an attendance certificate. Poppy Coleman has three already." She added with a pout.

"They award attendance?" Sherlock asked baffled.

Ava nodded.

And he'd been under the impression the headteacher wasn't a complete idiot. How on earth was attendance a rewardable achievement?

"It's a stupid certificate. Don't worry."

"No it isn't." Ava glared furiously. "It's gold."

There was no point even trying to understand that one. It would just make his head ache,

"Are there no other certificates?" Sherlock asked hoping to distract her.

Ava thought for a moment. "There's one for singing."

That…seemed unlikely.

"I'm sure they will give you something." Sherlock replied.


Something turned out to be a small white rabbit that sniffed at him suspiciously.

The feeling was entirely mutual.

"No," Sherlock said, looking back down at his microscope.

"Because?" Ava asked plaintively and he could practically hear the head tilt.

Pets were not acceptable; he'd be the one expected to feed it and then he'd be the one blamed when the idiotic thing ended up dead.

At least small children adequately reminded one when they need to be fed and watered.

Thankfully there was a more acceptable reason as well.

"Your father is coming home tomorrow and..." he glanced up for a second and stared at the twitching rabbit that looked frankly terrified, "rodents are not facilitators to healing."

Ava seemed to deflate momentarily, and then looked at him eagerly. "Can I have ice-cream instead?"

"No." There wasn't any and he was in the middle of something.

"Can I have the rabbit then?"

Barely restraining a sigh Sherlock continued on with what he was doing. She was spending far too much time with him. In fact, he was starting to develop a vague grudging respect for his mother.

The thought was worrying.

Slowly and with an attempt at calm, Sherlock put his hand on the table and straightened up to look at her with a deep breath, "It is not either or," he said firmly. "There will no rabbit and no ice-cream." He explained clearly.

There. Done with.

"But can I have the rabbit?" Ava's voice drifted over to him again, seemingly unconcerned by what he'd just said.

"No." What was wrong with the child? She usually understood concepts.

"Then can I have the ice-cream?"

This was not amusing. Turning to glare at her, Sherlock tried to use his sternest, "Johnlike" voice.

"No."

"Then can I have the rabbit?"

"N..." Wait.

Mycroft and Lestrade had collected her from school after having their meeting. And, while he sincerely doubted Mycroft was actually immature enough to do something like this in retaliation he couldn't rule it out. "Which one was it?"

Ava's face twitched and her eyes flickered in the direction of the stairs. "Rabbit or the ice-cream?" she offered stubbornly.

It wouldn't be hard to open the door and see who was listening behind, but it would be fascinating to see if he could work out who had decided to use Ava against him. Abandoning the experiment he strode towards her, stopping exactly three of his steps away. "Lestrade or Mycroft?"

Ava narrowed her eyes, and raised her chin. "I don't know what you're talking about." She replied in a very snooty and dramatic way that she clearly thought was convincing.

Torn between amusement at her clear delight at the ploy and utter jealousy that someone had dared to usurp his usual role, Sherlock bent over until he was eye-level with Ava and searched her eyes.

Ava beamed at him sweetly.

Mycroft.

Annoyed he roared for his brother and stepped back, allowing his brother to stroll into the room.

"Well done," Mycroft said swinging his umbrella as he walked in. "Here." he added, handing over a pound coin to Ava who eagerly accepted it.

The jealousy fled. He never had to pay Ava, and at least she was smarter than John was at making a profit from his brother's interfering ways.

Then she smiled up at Mycroft who, seemingly surprised, flashed a rather rare smile back at her and the jealousy soared again.

"Traitor," Sherlock muttered watching as Ava made her way over to the sofa with a rather terrified looking rabbit.

"I need to find amusement somewhere," Mycroft said in a deceptively mild tone and looking rather confused with himself. "Setting up more protection is tedious."

The Watson DNA struck again apparently, but they were his. Not Mycroft's.

"It appears I'm not the only "pandering" to her." Sherlock sneered glaring back down his microscope, barely seeing the cells.

"If it makes you feel better to believe that, then do," Mycroft replied, closer to Sherlock. "Have you given any more thought to allowing a security camera in here?" he asked in a much lower tone that Ava wouldn't pick up.

"The hallway watching the stairs and the kitchen" Sherlock replied.

"The landing upstairs as well?"

"If you wish to waste the money," Sherlock muttered. "They'd have to be supremely gifted and stupid to use the hallway, avoid the first set of cameras only to be found by the second."

"I'm merely trying to indulge your new found protective side," Mycroft mocked, "Are you sure you don't want the added precaution for the precious child."

"I do not require your help if you will be impertinent about it." Sherlock hissed.

"Can I have a sister?" Ava cheeped from nowhere as she sat with the rabbit on the sofa.

What?

Panicked Sherlock turned to look at her and knocked a beaker over in the process.

Ava was looking at him in a rather frank manner as if waiting for an actual response.

What the hell was he meant to say to that? Was it appropriate to remind her that babies did not grow in trees or, thankfully, in men! Or point out that no adoption agency in a million miles would give him and John a child.

Though they could steal one he supposed. But if they did that then it would probably be to indulge John's vague desire for a boy as well…

God almighty what was he thinking?

Horrified at his own train of thought, Sherlock looked at Mycroft, beseechingly for the first time since he was nine.

He could barely function with one child. He did not require more.

"You don't need my help," Mycroft replied pettily with one of his patented fake smiles.

"N…no" Sherlock replied, hating how unsteady his voice sounded.

Ava huffed in disappointment, but with no more emotion than she showed when he refused her a sweet.

Thankfully.

Then she turned, as if struck with something; a devilish, cheeky grin on her face.

"Can I have the bunny then?"

Picking up the beaker carefully Sherlock glared at Mycroft, "I despise you," he muttered putting things down onto the table with more force than was needed.

Surprisingly Mycroft merely flashed another rare genuine smile.

"Shut up," Sherlock said, giving up on the experiment and turning with a huff. "When will you install them?"

"What's install mean?" Ava asked.

"It means go and ask Mrs Hudson if you can install the rabbit in her oven." Sherlock replied.

Ava tilted her head curiously at that and then skipped off. Moments later he could hear her thudding down the stairs and calling for Mrs Hudson.

"Children can be rather literal." Mycroft pointed out silkily.

Gathering up the equipment Sherlock tossed it all in the sink. "Are you claiming to be an expert of child rearing now?"

"No. I will leave that to you."

"Anything else?" Sherlock bit out, annoyed.

"No," Mycroft said, after a moment's pause.


Since John had been shot Sherlock had been forced to deal with many things. Mycroft's staff asking ridiculous questions that even John would scoff at; Mycroft suddenly deciding that his presence was required in the flat every other day; solving mundane crimes from the comfort of his living room and the irritating need to roughly be home at 3.30 every week day.

It seemed slowly but surely the privacy that he had once so deeply clung to was being utterly stripped away.

Ava had gone to bed early after attempting to watch a soap opera and asking questions about the Easter bunny.

It had taken Sherlock a moment to realise, as he frantically googled to find some wisdom on how to deal with five year olds asking questions about a fake rabbit that delivered chocolate, that John would be back and in charge of Ava tomorrow.

He assumed it was relief he felt.

"Must this take so long?" Sherlock muttered as he checked the weather reports in Croydon where a body had been found.

"This is state of the art equipment," Mycroft replied with a sigh. "Ignore him." He added to the installation crew.

"Why are you always here?" Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Because you cannot be trusted to play nicely with others."

Sulking Sherlock switched on the television and turned it up as loud as he dared cringing inwardly as a romantic comedy started blaring out.

The only joy he took from it was that Mycroft looked even more pained than Sherlock felt.


"Here," Mycroft inclined his head as he headed towards the bedroom.

Glaring in fury at the television, Sherlock stood and followed his brother, resisting the urge to snap at Mycroft and tell him to get out of Sherlock's room.

They had built a cabinet on one of his walls with a thin television inside that showed a live feed on the kitchen and hallway.

"The instructions," Mycroft handed the leaflet to him but Sherlock ignored it so Mycroft placed it on the bed.

"You understand why this is necessary-"

"Yes" Sherlock snapped staring ahead at the television screen.

"There are motion detectors" Mycroft added, "You can turn them on and off as you wish." He handed Sherlock back his phone.

Sherlock ignored that too, but instead of tossing it on the bed, Mycroft continued to hold it out to Sherlock.

"Did you ever look at the message John received on this?"

No, it had hardly been a point of priority…

It should have been. Stupid, stupid!

Sherlock took the phone and scrolled down.

M and M left. Mn hid gun from Mty.

Sherlock stared at it for a long time.

"That wasn't the code." He said hoarsely. "We used SM and JM"

"It's unclear as to whether Moriarty knew what Moran planned to do or not." Mycroft replied evenly. "But Moran wasn't alone."

Sherlock's hands clenched around the phone, knuckles turning white.

"This is necessary," Mycroft said again firmly.

"I know." Sherlock hissed

"As long as you do."

"Do you think I would allow all this if it wasn't?" Sherlock snapped. "Do you think I would allow you in here constantly?"

Mycroft's jaw clenched fractionally tighter. "Indulge your tantrum if you must," he replied loftily. "I have things to do."

He walked out without another word and Sherlock glanced down at the instructions on the bed.

John could read them, he decided as he closed the cabinet, restraining the urge to slam the doors.


That night he didn't sleep. It was impossible to do so.

He should have asked John to forward the text, should have known that his network were better than such stupid mistake. They were used to using a range of different numbers and never before had a message gone astray.

John should have been with him; there should have been no opportunity for Moriarty to seize that opening.

There never would be again.


31st March

It was a relief to see John in normal clothes again. It felt like an age since he'd seen John in something other than hospital gowns and tracksuits designed for ease at physiotherapy.

He had a jumper on.

Ava, heeding his warnings, was very gentle with John. He could see it in the careful way she studied him and picked his good side to hug and tug on when she wanted to talk to John.

He'd sneak her some chocolate later.

It was hard not to fuss, but one look from John warned against it. Sherlock remained at a discrete distance, even when John tipped and swayed a little as they got out into the fresh air. He was ready to dart forward though, should it get to that stage.

But it didn't. John even managed bending into the taxi, though he paled a little as he settled.

He'd lost weight. Too much weight and looked older than Sherlock had ever seen him.

He hated it.

The London streets crawled past as the taxi moved through the traffic. Was it ordinary to be returning from hospital like this? He could spot five as they drove past streets, though none were gunshot victims.

Victim. That was not a word he associated with John. Ever. John was the furthest thing from a victim that Sherlock could imagine. But he was a target. A walking, breathing precious target that Moriarty had managed to-

It was annoying how much the text message was bothering him. It was done now, John was alive and recovering; to dwell on it was foolish, not least because it was no longer his problem.

Moriarty should be pleased with his new opponent. Mycroft was everything that Sherlock was not at the moment.

"Are you still sad?"

Startled out of his thoughts Sherlock turned to Ava and then raised his gaze to John's.

"Thinking," he said.

"Sad thoughts?" Ava asked suspiciously and Sherlock saw the hint of a smile pull at John's lips. "Because Daddy's all better now,"

John brushed a hand over Ava's back. "Sometime people just like to have a think about things." He explained to Ava, his eyes soft as he continued to look at Sherlock.

Ava scrunched up her nose, "I never think like that."

John snorted. "I know." He said teasingly, which went right over Ava's head. The five year old glanced between them before she seemed to dismiss the entire conversation as boring adult talk and launched into a description of her final assembly before the Easter holidays.

"Ok?" John mouthed as Ava babbled on.

Sherlock nodded once and went back to staring out the window.


Something relaxed at the sight of John back in the flat, even just inside the front door.

Home.

Ava dashed into Mrs Hudson's flat, without bothering to knock or wait, calling for the woman as eagerly as she could manage.

John hesitated at the sight of the stairs.

"I'd forgotten how many there are." He sighed. "I'm never getting back down them."

Rolling his eyes at the dramatic nature of the statement, Sherlock herded him to the stairs, staying close behind. It would have been easier had they been the same height and he could have put John's arm around his shoulders but their height difference would pull far too much on John's wound, good side or no.

"Sherlock-"

"I'm behind you." He said, quietly, pressing a kiss to the nape of John's neck.

John's shoulders squared and the military stance straightened his back in a way that was clearly unconscious.

It was painfully slow and Sherlock stared at the way John's hand gripped the banister, reading his effort in every pant.

As they got to the kitchen Ava bounded in behind them.

"You're really old if it takes that long to climb the stairs," she announced with a haughty air.

John pulled a face but said nothing.

Sherlock helped John to the chair, kneeling in front of him as John started to get comfortable. Behind him, Sherlock could see Ava hesitate, looking uncomfortable. Then she turned and flicked the switch on the kettle.

Hearing the noise, John raised an eyebrow.

"I knew having a child would be useful," he muttered.


It took precisely an hour and fourteen minutes for the novelty of having John back to wear off. The flat felt too small, too claustrophobic for the three of them to comfortably stay.

Within twenty minutes of Sherlock realising that, John had thrown him out and was sitting at the table with Ava, working on her spellings.

Still, he hesitated at the door, drinking in the sight of the pair of them, just sitting, continuing with their ordinary lives.

As he walked out the door he texted Mycroft.

I want the camera feed on my phone. SH

See my PA tonight. MH


"John-"

Sherlock cut himself off as he entered the room.

There, lying on the sofa were John and Ava, huddled up under the spare blanket with the blue TV screen denoting the DVD they'd been watching had long since timed out.

John was being an idiot. He wasn't meant to be cuddling up to Ava on the sofa or risking his side even being on the sofa in that position.

Sherlock pulled a chair over and crouched on it, examining the two people in front of him.

It was illogical. It was normal and mundane and everything that he despised. A father and daughter, asleep on the sofa after watching a film.

Ordinary.

How could so much of him be wrapped up in them? Why did his breath slow to match theirs just to check they were getting enough air? Why on earth was he sitting, staring at them when he had things to do? When he needed to wake them both up because sleeping on the sofa wasn't good for either of them,

What was it about the calm faces in front of him that made his stomach squeeze?

A sleepy blue eye cracked open and Ava stared at Sherlock for a moment, clearly half asleep, before she tried to snuggle closer into John, who winced in his sleep.

He needed to move them.

He moved, standing then bending to pick Ava out of John's arms. She responded instantly, soft arms linking around his neck and body leaning into his with utter ease.

For a moment he paused, breathing John in, revealing in the closeness to the pair of them.

He'd never get enough of this. Of the perfectly normal sensation of holding them close.

Doomed, he stood, Ava still in his arms and stirring just enough to make herself comfortable and put her to bed.


Back at John's side he crouched, studying the man in front of him. It was ludicrous to hesitate to wake him; the man was an idiot for even lying on the sofa.

"John."

John stirred slowly, blinking in thick drowsy confusion up at Sherlock. "'llo" he said.

"You should be in bed."

John nodded, as if Sherlock had imparted deep wisdom. "No TV in there," he muttered into the cushion.

"You have a lap top," Sherlock muttered, sitting back.

John opened his eyes and stared up at him thoughtfully, "Oh…didn't think of that."

"Philistine," Sherlock sighed.

John flashed a smile. "Where's Ava?"

"I put her to bed."

John's smile grew and deepened.

"Shut up."

The smile stayed.


Sherlock couldn't sleep.

He's struggled with sleep since John had been shot; even when he'd actually wanted to sleep it had rarely come. Now, the idea of sleeping while John lay in the bed with him was terrifying.

He didn't want to examine why.

So he sat, watching John.

Who woke with a gasp at five past four in the morning.

"What is it?"

John curled in on himself, looking pale. "Hurts," he muttered.

"What do you need?" Sherlock asked, leaning close. He looked over to the bedside table where the pills lay and started to reach over John for them.

"No," John shook his head, "Muscle spasm. It's fine; it'll fade."

Sherlock glanced at the laptop he'd put to one side earlier. "How do you make it fade quicker?"

John huffed out a laugh that was between a groan and a chuckle. "I need to relax,"

Sherlock watched him as John closed his eyes and started to take deep, rhythmic breaths, his hands clenching and unclenching in five second gaps.

Unsure, he slid down next to John and buried his lips in the slightly damp hair. He dug his fingers into John's good shoulder, circling with his finger pads.

Johns breathing started to become less forced.

"Can I see?"

There was a moment when Sherlock thought John would refuse, but then there was a sharp nod.

"You can see the dressing," he said, "I'm not awake enough to show you how to redo it."

Sherlock shifted down the bed and gently pushed up John's t-shirt. There, on John's right side, was a neat square of cloth, taped and surrounded by bruising that still hadn't faded.

It hid the wound he'd received in December.

Carefully, he touched his lips as close as he dared to the wound.

Above him John sighed and touched a hand to Sherlock's hair. His fingers twisted around the strands gently.

"Moriarty sent the text."

The words surprised him. He'd never meant to tell John that; he never, ever wanted to discuss that day again.

Yet the words had still, somehow, tripped out.

"I know." John said eventually.

Surprised Sherlock raised his head. "What?"

"Moran said that Moriarty had set it up." John still ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair gently. "He also said that it was meant to be another warning."

Sherlock looked back down at the dressing and skimmed a touch around the edges. "Moriarty knew what Moran would do."

"Yeah," John croaked out, "Yeah. I guess if I could figure Moran's motives out…"

"I never…if you'd have died I'd never have looked. He'd have gotten away with it-"

John shifted, "Don't," he warned. "Don't torture yourself."

Sherlock let his finger trace a thin scar on John's ribs. "I hate you for making me feel like this," he announced suddenly.

"Thank God." John muttered, "I was getting worried you'd been abducted and replaced with a doppelganger." He teased.

Sherlock smiled against his skin. "It's debilitating," he complained.

"If it helps, I think you're doing very well with it."

"You're biased."

"True." John's hand was slowing and Sherlock shifted back up letting John's hand rest as tiredness started to set back in.

"Go to sleep," he said quietly, pulling back to watch John again.

"You watching?" John slurred sleepily.

"Yes."

"Mmm. My nutter."

Sherlock waited until John's eyes closed.

"Mine," he whispered back.


To be nice, and because there won't be an update for a while I can tell you:

Chapter Two: When Sherlock gets a case in Eastbourne John has a strange reaction, which of course means Sherlock has to come up with a plan to convince John to go to Eastbourne

Chapter Three: Sherlock digs deeper into what John is hiding which sparks off his own memories of the five years spent apart.

I would also point out that reading "When his hour will come" may give you some hints about what's going to come, especially if you think about what John and Sherlock haven't discussed.