I feel as if I've been beaten for a full two hours with large metal pipes and other assorted blunt instruments. Mostly because I have. The assassins are dead, but I can tell something is wrong with me. They did real damage. I realize I'm bleeding very profusely as I look at the three dead assassins and think about what they represent. John is safe now, but I'm going to die right here in this alley. And that's okay. It was okay because nothing is ever going to hurt them again. That's the last of the assassins dead, and the better part of two years gone.

I just wish I'd had the chance to say goodbye to him. My vision is mostly black and I can't hear much, but I vaguely catch a muffled yell and hear footsteps. I groan to draw his attention to me. Maybe I will live to see John again. And then I hear him speak, and oh.

"Jesus Sherlock."

I opened my eyes and took in John's horrified face. And with that last image, I lost consciousness, knowing I was safe.

I woke up two days later in the hospital. I felt a bit of pressure on one of my arms and opened my eyes to John sleeping on my arm, obvious tear tracks making their way down his face. I smiled, knowing I would finally be going home soon.

I focused on the obvious numbing effects of some sort of painkiller, pleased that I couldn't feel any of the many broken things in my body. I closed my eyes just as I heard John wake up with a light snort and felt the pressure vanish.

I opened my eyes and just looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since the fall. He looked tired and sick and angry, and I knew that was all my fault. I knew I had hurt him, and I needed him to know I was sorry, he needed to know why I fell.

"John-"

"Don't."

I looked away, not wanting him to see the pain in my eyes, but he quickly corrected my thoughts.

"You'll have time to explain later, once you're better. And i swear to God, Sherlock if you can't explain why you faked suicide and then murdered three people I am going to be very angry."

I watched him for a moment longer.

"I do have a reason. It wasn't just some sick experiment. You should know me better by now than to think that."

"Well, I'm the only person that still doesn't know why you jumped. Mycroft told Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, and it spread from them to Molly. Now even Anderson and Donovan know. Lestrade is really pissed at Mycroft for keeping this from us, by the way. It might help if you impressed upon him how important it was that this was a secret."

"How do they know why? I didn't tell Mycroft. And since when did Mycroft care what Lestrade thinks?"

"I'm assuming he deduced it."

I was beginning to feel tired again, but I decided I would ask my second question again since he had ignored it the first time.

"John."

"Yes?"

"You deliberately ignored my second question. Is there something I should know?"

John didn't meet my gaze, and my vision started blacking out. Belatedly I realized that some sort of tranquilizer was now being fed into my IV.

"It's not my place to tell."

That wasn't an answer!

"That's not an answer." I responded irritably.

The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was John's small teasing smile.

The first thing I noticed when I woke was Mycroft staring at me from the chair John had occupied a few hours prior. We just looked at each other a few moments before we spoke simultaneously.

"Why do you care what Lestrade thinks about you?"

"Was I right?"

There was silence as we took in what the other had said, but I gave him the look. The one that said "My question is more important, so I will ignore yours until you answer".

My brother avoided my eyes. His mouth twisted into a grimace as he considered his options and all the possible lies he had ready.

"Don't bother lying. Why do you care what he thinks of you?"

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Yes, of course you would keep tabs on all the comings and goings of Doctor Watson and none on your own brother."

"Stop avoiding the question."

"Lestrade is my partner."

I paused to stare a little harder. How in the name of science had I missed that? I blame the tranquilizer for making my mind blank.

"Now answer my question. Was I right about the assassins?"

"Of course you were right. I'm just glad he hadn't the frame of mind to send them after you, else I wouldn't have been able to tell you I was alive."

"Yes, how odd that Moriarty didn't take me into account."

"He did, he simply dismissed you. After all, we aren't exactly the closest of siblings." And I had never regretted holding a grudge against him more than I did in that moment.

He watched me for a few moments, and I knew my regret was written all over my face. I wasn't going to hide it or be ashamed of it anymore. I just didn't have the energy. After a minute he nodded, apparently satisfied with this turn of events.

"Well, I'll let John back in. You'll be discharged just after I have a word with your doctor."

I nodded my thanks and he left, holding the door open for John. We sat in comfortable silence until Mycroft was sent back in for us. The doctor detached me from all the machines and wires and then we were in one of Mycroft's cars on our way home. We were silent for a while and then he had to speak.

"I opened the box."

"I know. I watched you open it."

He was quiet again for a few minutes before asking "Why didn't you get Mycroft to hide it? He told me you texted him, just the once to tell him you weren't dead. Why didn't you tell him to get rid of it then?"

I wasn't planning on answering, but at that moment I looked over at him and had the misfortune of meeting his eyes. He looked so damn tired and confused. And I owed him explanations. I could start with this. i looked away and spent another moment choosing my words carefully.

"I wasn't sure I was going to survive this time. I couldn't guarantee I would come back. Even then, if your life was better without me I wasn't going to return. Either way, I wanted you to know without me having to actually tell you, and I wanted there to be no way that I would need to hear you dismiss my feelings so it seemed best to leave it to you after I died."

John shook his head and I wondered if that was a bit not good.

"When are you going to tell me why you..." he paused to consider his next word. "Left?"

"When we're home and I've had a proper sleep that didn't require me almost dying or being drugged. I'm not pleased about that, by the way. Whose idea was that, by the way?"

He smirked. "Mycroft's obviously."

"Mmm. I should have guessed that."

"Of course. I'll blame the tranq."

"So will I.

We're silent the rest of the ride, but as we leave the car he helps me out and holds the door to 221b Baker St. open for me, and that speaks louder than all the words he could ever say.

Sooo...whaddya think? Thanks to those who reveiwed/favorited/followed and please share your thoughts on this. It's almost done, I just have one more chapter to put up. I actually don't like this one, but my opinion doesn't matter. Yours does, so please let me know what you think.