There was no doubt in Sherlock's mind that John felt better the next morning. He woke up to John jumping up and down on his bed. Sleeping almost all day yesterday apparently gave him a lot of pent up energy.

Sherlock glanced at his clock to see that it was 11:00 am. John was probably hungry. As if he could read Sherlock's mind, John shouted out "Hungwy!" He then proceeded to jump off the bed, grab Sherlock's hand and pull him out into the kitchen. Sherlock couldn't help but notice that the crib had been moved across the room. John toddled into the kitchen with Sherlock in tow, but tripped a few feet in front of the kitchen. Sherlock picked him up and set him on his feet again, and let John continue to lead him.

Sherlock took the can of soup he was going to make the night prior. Put it in a pan, heat it up, make sure the temperature is okay, easy. Or so he thought. Sherlock may not have cooked a lot in his life, but he was pretty sure that soup wasn't supposed to explode all over the place.

He and John had been standing by the stove, John sitting on Sherlock's hip, when the soup started to boil. Sherlock hadn't noticed this however, because he had been texting Lestrade about a possible case, and John didn't know anything was wrong with it. Then it started to make small, bubbling eruptions, landing soup around the burner on the stove. This is when it caught Sherlock's attention. Before he could do anything, the soup blew up, covering himself, John, the walls, counter, more places than Sherlock thought the single can of soup could cover. Sherlock and John just stood silent for a moment.

"Uh oh," John said. Sherlock and John glanced at each other, and the toddler burst out into a fit of giggles. Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless.

"Seems like a great time to give you your bath." There was that scowl again. Sherlock chuckled and walked over to the bathroom. He began to run the water when John spoke up.

"Bubbles pwease."

"Bubbles?"

"Lestwade bwought them."

"Alright. I'll go get them." He walked out and looked in the bags, locating the bubbles and heading back to the bathroom. He was half expecting the bathroom door to be locked, but it was wide open, and John was even undressing himself. Sherlock walked over to the tub and poured in some bubbles, then placed John inside.

The toddler instantly began to play with the bubbles that surrounded him, and Sherlock had no idea how anyone could find so much entertainment in bath bubbles, but as long as John wasn't splashing him, he didn't question it. He held the flannel over John's eyes and dumped water on his head, wetting his hair before squirting some of the shampoo onto his hand and working it into John's hair. He put the flannel back over John's eyes and rinsed his hair, then started with the conditioner. Both products smelled strongly of berries. He glanced down at John, whom had bubbled all over his face. Sherlock smiled a little bit at his best friend and shook his head as he washed the conditioner out of John's hair.

Lestrade had texted him earlier that morning, saying that they had started working on a cure for John's condition. Sherlock was happy to be getting his best friend back, but he had to admit he would miss this a bit, the way John needed him and the way he could hold him close without John questioning it, but instead enjoying it. Or the way he could kiss John's head and it would make him feel better instead of even more upset.

Where had all that come from? He knew John always made it hard for him to keep emotions blocked, but he had never caused so much sentiment to come spilling out like that. He was pulled out when a small hand clutched his own.

"Sherwock, am I done pwease?"

"Almost." He took the soap and began to wash John's small body with it, and it must've tickled because the toddler burst into laughter. He laughed for quite a while, but the laughter stopped abruptly and John looked at his arm.

"Owie," he said, as he looked at one of his bruises.

"Did I hurt you, John?"

"No." John shook his head and for a minute, he looked like he was going to cry; but he didn't.

Sherlock gently lifted John's head so he was looking at him. "I'm not going to let them hurt you, not again, John." He didn't get a response. John just looked down at his lap.

The bath was finished in silence as Sherlock rinsed the soap off John's skin. He drained the water and wrapped John in his towel, then helped him get dressed. Once that was done, Sherlock took his own shower while John sat on his crib, which had been moved into the living room once more, with the toys Lestrade had bought for him. Once Sherlock finished he went into his room and got dressed, then went out to sit in his chair and run over a few facts in his mind palace, after taking John out of his crib. About ten minutes later he started to get up to go to the kitchen, but was stopped when John sat on his lap. He looked up at Sherlock with big eyes, and quite frankly, it was adorable.

"Sherwock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Can we get ice cweam pwease?

Aha. "Maybe later," he said with a small chuckle.

Sherlock walked over to the kitchen with John on his back, arms wrapped around his neck. He took out another can of soup and put it in the pan, making sure not to take his eyes off it. After a while, but before it started bubbling, Sherlock turned the stove off and put the soup in a bowl with an ice cube so it wouldn't be too hot. John ate it happily at the coffee table while Sherlock checked his website for any good cases.

The one from Lestrade was dreadfully dull. He could hear John's annoyed grunts from noodles falling off the spoon, and could see him hold the noodles on said spoon with his fingers until he got it to his mouth, to which he would then shove the spoon in his mouth proudly. This continued for about five minutes until John finished the soup, to which he took his dishes and tried to put them in the sink, but Sherlock had to help him with that part.

"Ice cweam now please," John said as he held his arms out, as if Sherlock was holding it just out of reach.

"After your nap."

"Not seepy," the toddler lisped.

"Ah, but your ice cream depends on it." John pouted, but walked over to his crib. He really wanted ice cream. Sherlock lifted him up and placed him inside. He draped the blanket over John and handed him his bear, then rubbed his back slowly, trying to calm him into sleep. It took a while, but the toddler eventually drifted into sleep. Sherlock glanced at the clock; 12:30, only a half hour late.

Not really having anything else to do, Sherlock picked up his violin and began to compose. He hadn't done this in a while, so it was nice to be able to release his musical ideas. The song started off calm, gaining speed and suspense until it was like a raging storm, only to slow down again and regain its tranquility. He was so involved in composing he hadn't heard the whimpers coming from the crib. He didn't notice until the child cried out.

"Sherwock no!"

Sherlock's bow screeched to a halt at what he heard. John had had nightmares before, but Sherlock had only heard him say those words with a certain type of nightmare. John was dreaming about the fall. Sherlock placed the instrument down and picked the child up and held him close, over his heart, so that he knew it was a dream and that Sherlock was still alive. He shushed him and rocked him back and forth. He had been anxious about this for a while; he was the person that John had the most trust in right now, and he hadn't wanted to lose that. Now he just might.

John gripped his shirt and sobbed heart-breaking sobs, sobs more scared and damaged than Sherlock had heard from him. John's small body was shaking as Sherlock held him tighter, kissing his forehead and rocking him gently.

"John, it's me, Sherlock. I'm not dead, it was all a magic trick, remember? I'm here, John. Wake up, it's just a bad dream," he said, his voice breaking a few times as he listened to what he did to his best friend. "John, I'm so sorry. Please, wake up."

John must have heard him because his eyes snapped open and he looked up at Sherlock, looking more heartbroken than he ever had. Sherlock looked down at him, ignoring the fact that his own eyes were prickling with tears. He leaned his forehead against the one of the crying toddler. "I am so sorry, John," he said before planting a soft kiss on John's forehead, "it was just a dream." John shook his head furiously, his sobs never dying down.

"No, iss not," he sobbed out, "I saw you Sherwock." Damn. He was remembering. Sherlock was about to ask John if he remembered anything else, but when he looked down in the sad eyes of the child, he knew it was still toddler John, not adult John, so Sherlock knew he wouldn't remember.

"I'm so sorry, John. I promise I'll never leave you again. Ssh," Sherlock hushed as he leaned his forehead to John's once more, reassuring the toddler that he was really there. He repositioned John so that his ear was over his heart once again. Between the heartbeat, the slow rocking and Sherlock's forehead against his own, John's sobbs slowed down, but he still clung to Sherlock like a lifeline. Sherlock got up and got John's blanket from his crib and draped it over him, then proceeded to walk and sway while resting a hand on John's head fondly as he cried into Sherlock's neck. His tears stopped as he put a small hand on Sherlock's chest, the tears resting on his plump, pink cheeks. He nuzzled his forehead further into Sherlock's neck and rested there as Sherlock's body swayed in a relaxing motion. Sherlock thought that John had fallen asleep after a while, but when he looked down, he saw John starting off in the distance. Sherlock had seen adult John look like this after he returned, the look that said he was hurt and confused; that he didn't really believe that Sherlock was alive.

"I'm here, John. I won't leave you again, I swear." In response, John just gripped the lapel of his silky shirt. Sherlock leaned his head down and kissed John's temple gently a few times.

After a while, Sherlock tried to put John down for a moment so he could try soothing the small boy with his violin, but John gripped his shirt tighter. It went on like this for over an hour, anytime John thought Sherlock was trying to separate from him, he grabbed his shirt tighter, afraid that if he lost contact with Sherlock, he would disappear; much like the adult John did the first week or so if Sherlock left his sight for too long.

Eventually, John's eyes shut and he fell back to sleep. Noticing this, Sherlock sat in his chair and called, yes called, Lestrade.

"Sherlock?"

"He's remembering."

"Remembering what, exactly?"

"The fall."

"Christ. Does he remember anything else, does he remember that he's actually an adult?"

"No, I don't believe so, but every time I move he clings to me. I'm afraid he'll remember the war soon."

"Well, we've been working on the cure. Not sure when it will be finished but we're hoping for a week, maybe a little more. This describes his fever though, it was probably his body trying to work off the chemical."

"Right. I'll keep you informed on what happens."

"Good."

Sherlock hung up and stood. He walked to his bed and laid down, nesting John in his arms. He watched the boy sleep, stroking his cheek with his thumb and held him close, so that John would still know he was there. He leaned in and pressed one final kiss to the toddlers head before falling asleep himself.

"I won't leave you again, John. I promise."