John couldn't help but stare, as if the man in front of him would turn back into a near stranger if he looked away for an instant. At some point Sherlock had dropped the act—or had it happened gradually? There was still more concern than he was used to, but the face unmistakably belonged to his best friend. Sherlock's face looked thinner and his cheekbones sharper, but that was probably because the curly hair that used to soften his features was gone. And now that he wasn't pretending to have normal intelligence, Sherlock's eyes once more reflected what he was thinking. There was something about him that looked older and maybe a bit more worn than before, but it was certainly his friend.

"Jesus, Sherlock…" John let out a laugh. He wasn't quite sure why. "You really are Sherlock, aren't you?" He shut his eyes. "You're alive." When he opened them, Sherlock hadn't disappeared. He couldn't decide if he was surprised or not.

"You would have figured it out a while ago, but you didn't want to," his friend said, frustratingly correct as usual. If the word "usual" could even be applied to this situation. John felt like punching him. As usual.

Even so, John couldn't help but grin. "Probably." Almost certainly. "I was afraid of being wrong, I guess."

"Well, I would have mentioned it earlier but I was afraid you might be killed," Sherlock explained, his tone too casual for the words. John had almost forgotten how he did that.

He frowned, "What do you mean, killed? By that man?" They both knew to whom he was referring.

"Yes. But I didn't think he would kidnap you. He had no motive, besides sadism..." Sherlock trailed off.

"It's fine," John said, truthfully. There was no way they could have known something like that was going to happen.

"Not really, but there's no fixing that now." Was that bitterness in his voice? He couldn't see Sherlock's expression; his friend had turned to stare out of the window at something or someone.

He tried to reassure his friend, "No, really. It is."

"I had to fake my death in the first place so something like this wouldn't happen!" Sherlock's deep voice was strangely harsh. John had never seen him angry, at least not often. He had been mad or frustrated regularly, yes, but this was different. I would hate to be on the receiving end of that, he thought. Now that he was thinking about it, what happened to his kidnapper? Sherlock said that he had been arrested, but what if that wasn't true? The thought made him shudder. This was the man who had thrown someone out of a window for striking Mrs. Hudson, after all. He wouldn't do anything worse than that, John told himself. He's a good man.

All the same… "Calm down. No one died, did they? Sure, there was a bit of a mess, but it's all cleared up now." Right?

Sherlock still didn't meet his eyes. "If I had gotten to you a bit later, you would have died." His voice was still rough, but more subdued than it had been a moment ago.

John couldn't help but flinch at that. And he should've guessed that it wasn't the police that rescued him. Which meant that his best friend had seen everything. John wished that he hadn't. "But you didn't get there too late. So it's okay," he stated as though the subject was closed.

Sherlock sighed, unwilling to let it end there. "That's not how it works, John."

"Yes, it is," he said firmly. "It's okay, Sherlock."

At the sound of his name, Sherlock couldn't help but look around. It's been three years since anyone else called him by his real name… John realized with a start that his friend's eyes were filled with tears. So THAT was why he wouldn't look at me. "John…" he began, but didn't seem to be able to finish.

Even the great Sherlock Holmes is human. Despite what he may think. And now he looked so very human, and so vulnerable. More vulnerable than John ever though he could be, and likely more than anyone had ever seen him before. It wasn't only me who was hurt when he left. I wasn't the only one who was alone.

Even the great Sherlock Holmes sometimes needs a hug. John was glad that Sherlock leaned into him instead of pulling away, as he had almost expected. In that moment, John felt more alive than he had felt in three years, or maybe ever. "Just do one thing for me, Sherlock. Please. Just...just don't do that again. Don't be dead again," he said. It didn't come out quite as coherently as he had hoped, but his friend understood.

"I promise."