The last time John had seen Harry cry was when Clara had first left her. Though, he had only seen her once before this since then. Despite their rocky relationship, she was still his sister, and he would still do his best to help her.

"I can stay… If you want" He offered quietly once they reached her house.

She seemed okay now, but John knew she would head straight for the alcohol. The thought made him cringe, but he knew it was completely out of his control. There was also a nagging in the back of his mind that told him Sherlock wasn't okay. Something had seemed off, but he just couldn't place it.

"Nah. You go. Sherlock probably needs you to text someone for him, or run around London after the real killer." Her tone was underlined with annoyance, but she smiled weakly anyway. "John, really. The things you do for him. Are you sure you two aren't at least shagging?"

John felt his face redden slightly and he adverted his eyes, scratching the back of his neck idly.

Harry's face lit up with its usual glow, a smirk sliding its way onto her face.

"Knew it. Must be a damn good shag, though, for you to keep chasing after him."

"No. No, Harry. It's not like that. Really, it's not. We're just –" he paused. What were they? Friends? Before the kiss and the conversation attached, John hadn't known. Now things seemed even more complicated between them than they had before. "We're just friends, Harry."

"Sure, sure." She said, sounding much more like herself as she waved her hand dismissively. "Go on. You want to be with him. I'm fine."

John smiled appreciatively, hugging her once before jumping back into the taxi.

John raced up the stairs to the apartment, taking them two at a time. There was a growing feeling of unease forming in his stomach, and he knew it was because of Sherlock. He flung the door open, eyeing the empty room. Everything seemed as it should, yet everything also seemed wrong. He couldn't quit work out why he felt that something was wrong. It was just an instinct that came with spending an awful lot of time with someone – you just knew.

"Sherlock?" He called, closing the door behind him with an almost silent click.

There was no reply, but John knew he was here. He slowly made his way across to Sherlock's bedroom, hesitating at the door before knocking. When he got no answer, he slowly opened the door, feeling almost like a child sneaking around places they shouldn't be.

"Sherlock, no." John said, his panic clear in his voice as he rushed to Sherlock's side, dodging boxes and piles of books to grab the syringe from his hand.

Sherlock's eyes were red and his body was shaking, but John couldn't decide if that was from the drugs, or of the always controlled detective had been crying. It almost looked like the latter, but he wouldn't bet on it.

"How do you do it?" Sherlock muttered, allowing his head to slam back against the wall just a little too hard.

"Do what?" He replied, sitting down next to Sherlock.

He took his shaking hand, lacing their fingers together before giving a small squeeze. John didn't know what was wrong, and it was slightly unnerving seeing someone who was always so calm, cold and controlled suddenly so distressed, but he would do his best to help.

"Care. How do you deal with the pain that comes with caring for someone, John? Because that's the only way I can define it. Pain. But there's no wound. How can I feel pain when there's no injury?"

John attempted a reassuring smile, but the desperate, confused, hurt look on Sherlock's face caused it to falter.

"I don't understand emotions much myself, Sherlock. I don't think anyone does." He explained quietly, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of Sherlock's hand. "They just happen. But what brought this on? What's happened?"

John felt Sherlock's grip tighten, as though he was scared John was going to slip away. He sighed and placed his other hand on top of Sherlock's, gripping him tightly in both hands, a small reminder that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Your sister looks like you. I've never seen you cry. I don't ever want to see you cry. I know if you did, I would most likely be the cause. I'm the cause for all your pain, and I don't want to be that."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, both shocked and touched by the fact that Sherlock was actually expressing real emotions.

"Sherlock… I'm fine. Right now, I'm fine. And Harry's fine, too. It's okay. Really, it is."

"John. I can't lose you. What if he kills you?"

John could feel his own heart hammering in his chest. He knew exactly who Sherlock meant, and right then, he felt so much hatred towards Moriarty for the mess he had made of so many people's lives.

"We'll be fine. Both of us. Because we've got each other" He knew it sounded cliché, and he wasn't entirely sure he believed it, but just saying it made him feel better.

Sherlock smiled faintly, and for a minute John thought he was going to mock him, but instead he rested his head against John's shoulder.

"How much did you take?" John whispered, the doctor side of him needing to know.

"None. You stopped me." Sherlock whispered back.

A warm feeling formed in John's stomach and moved up into his chest, filling him with a feeling he couldn't quite explain. He figured this meant that Sherlock had been crying, or close to it, and that small idea completely baffled him.

"Come on" he said quietly, pulling both himself and the consulting detective off the ground. "It's been a long day"

He suddenly felt extremely tired and emotionally drained, yet he had barely done anything that day. He lead Sherlock to his bead and made to leave, but Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist.

"Stay." He said quietly, looking away, as though it didn't really matter.

John smiled slightly, knowing it definitely meant more than he was letting on, and kicked his shoes off before sitting down next to Sherlock. There was an awkward pause in which neither said or did anything, then slowly Sherlock removed his jacket, shirt and shoes and lay down. John smiled slightly and removed his jumper before laying down next to Sherlock. The instant he did, Sherlock curled into him, his long limbs wrapping around him almost protectively. He smiled and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, stroking his hair absently with one hand. It felt nice. Different, but nice.

"John." Sherlock said quietly after a few minutes of silence, breaking through John's sleepy, aimless thoughts

"Mmm?"

"Are we okay?"

The uncertainty in Sherlock's voice threw John off guard a little, but he smiled, nuzzling his head into Sherlock's hair.

"Of course we are."

Sherlock snuggled in closer to him, which made him feel both extremely safe and extremely sleepy, and before he knew it, he was falling asleep with only the feel of Sherlock so close to him on his mind

Authors Note: I'm sorry this chapter is so late. I've been quite ill, and I've also had a lot of homework to catch up on, which I've hardly done any of due to being ill... So the next chapter is probably even further away. I'm looking at wrapping this up soon, but of course, it can't finish without a little bit more drama. Sadly, my mind is not brilliant enough to think up some amazing case and have brilliant deductions from Sherlock, and all that stuff, but I will try to make it interesting.

Thanks for all your support through this, too. Every single review makes me smile, and makes me want to keep writing, rather than seeing it as something I have to get done. So really, thank you everyone.