Disclaimer: Why can't I have Sherlock and John all to myself? I wish they were mine :(

A/N: For all of you who have been asking for more hurt/comfort, here it is!

Chapter 10

John was quickly moving from 'restless' to 'worried', and he knew he would soon be in a full panic-mode. He had already tried calling his flat about two dozen times, but had received no answer so far. Why wasn't Sherlock answering? Had something happened? Had they gone out? Why wouldn't Sherlock have told him? What if something happened to Cathy? Surely Sherlock would have called him. John cursed himself for the tenth or eleventh time in as many minutes. He hadn't asked Sherlock for his new mobile number; he simply hadn't thought he might need it given that neither Sherlock nor Cathy would leave the flat. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! He should have known better, he kept repeating over and over.

John looked at his watch again, pacing back and forward, his breathing becoming more frantic with each step. Why wouldn't Sherlock answer the damned phone?

John tried breathing in and out, he knew he was probably overreacting, it was probably nothing; it had to be nothing, please, let it be nothing. Please, please, please, his mind kept repeating like a mantra, and his thoughts were fixed on Cathy, willing her to be alright. Not since Mary's illness and death had he felt so afraid, and John knew if he didn't calm down he would probably go into hysterics, which wouldn't help anyone.

Let's think about this rationally. 'Rationally?' a voice in his mind shouted, 'this is your child you're talking about.' Maybe Sherlock took her to the park. 'Why wouldn't he call you?' Sherlock is incredibly absentminded when he wants to be, maybe he just forgot. 'Maybe he didn't have time? Maybe he had been wrong in thinking he got everyone from Moriarty's organization?' Maybe they are at home, but they haven't been able to answer the phone. 'For the past fifteen minutes?'

John's thoughts kept going back and forth as he continued his pacing in the small doctor's lounge he had been in when he took his lunch break. He had tried calling over twenty times already, but the line simply kept ringing with no one answering. Each time he dialed the number and received no answer felt like a hand was tightening around his heart, and robbing him of breath. He knew Sherlock sometimes ignored his phone, but Cathy -his heart clenched painfully as he thought of her- Cathy would answer it. Why wouldn't they answer?

Suddenly, like a lightning bolt jolting through his brain, John realized who he should call, and he cursing at himself even more for not realizing it sooner. Quickly hitting speed dial, he waited for the British Government to pick up his private phone.

"Come on, come on, come on, pick up, pick up, pick up." John mumbled frantically as the line rang.

"John! What is it? Is something wrong?" was the immediate response he got. John seldom called Mycroft's private number, and much less during work hours.

"Where are they?"

"Where are… who?"

"Cathy and Sherlock? Where are they, Mycroft?"

"Hold on a moment John, I'm finding out right now. John, listen to me, breathe, alright, just breathe. Whatever it is will be alright."

"Mycroft, don't bloody tell me to breathe. Just find out where the hell my daughter is."

"I'm doing just that, John. Could you tell me what happened in the meantime."

John took a breath then, trying to keep his voice even. He came to a stop in front of the large windows in the lounge, closing his eyes as he explained.

"After yesterday, Sherlock offered to take care of Cathy for the day, while I went to work. I accepted given that they seemed to get along splendidly well yesterday, and that Sherlock revealed Anna worked for you. We'll discuss that particular detail later.

"I'm at work, in my lunch break, and I decided to call home, to see how they were doing, but they're- John's voice cracked slightly, and he breathed deeply again to control it, "they're not answering. I've been trying to reach them for almost twenty minutes now, Mycroft. They aren't there. I know they aren't there, so where are they? Where's my girl?"

John could hear Mycroft typing away at his computer on the other side of the line, and he closed his eyes as though he could will the elder Holmes' computer to work faster.

"Please, Mycroft, where is she?"

Suddenly he heard Mycroft sigh in relief, and realized fleetingly that he had succeeded in scaring the older man as well. John didn't care though, he just wanted, needed, to know Cathy was safe.

"Calm down John, they're alright."

John sighed in relief as well, his forehead resting against the window pane. If Mycroft was certain, that somehow made it true. Briefly John wondered when he had begun trusting the man so completely.

"Where?"

"From the information I've gathered, Lestrade contacted my brother sometime this morning-

"You mean to tell me Sherlock took my daughter to a crime scene?" John's voice had gone from panic to relief, but now it took a quick and sudden turn into rage.

"Yes, it would seem that way. John? John?

The doctor still had the phone pressed against his ear, but he was now on the move. Having bolted out of the doctor's lounge, he was now rushing down toward the hospital entrance.

"Tell me where they are."

"Now, John, they are safe, it's a simple enough case, she's in no danger whatsoever." Mycroft tried to sound appeasing.

"Tell me where they are now." On the other hand, John's tone of voice was dangerous, and Mycroft, half-way across London, suddenly felt a twinge of empathy for his reckless younger brother.

With a sigh, he relayed the address to the doctor, hearing as the man hailed a cab and all but shouted the directions at the driver. That was the last thing Mycroft heard; it seemed John had decided he wasn't necessary anymore now that he had somewhere to go, and he hoped the doctor would be able to calm down enough during the ride so that he wouldn't pummel Sherlock too badly.

With that thought, he picked up his phone again and dialed his brother.

Sherlock vaguely acknowledged that his phone was ringing, but the case was far too intriguing to be talking calls. Besides, no one except Lestrade and his brother had his current mobile number, so it had to be Mycroft calling, which could easily wait. Sherlock was having too much fun showing off for Cathy, who applauded, laughed and giggled merrily each time he made Anderson and the rest of Scotland Yard look like idiots.

He was just about to explain something particularly important about the robber's identity and how he was able to take the jewel that had been locked away safely when Lestrade interrupted him by shoving his own mobile in Sherlock's face.

"It's for you."

"What? Lestrade, can't you see I'm busy? You did want me to solve this pretty little case for you, did you not?"

"It's your brother."

"Tell Mycroft I'm busy."

"He says it's important, something about John."

"Daddy?" Cathy's eyes perked up at the mention of her father. She had been engrossed with looking around the room for some clue her uncle had mentioned, but now she watched the consulting detective attentively.

Frowning, Sherlock finally took Lestrade's phone.

"What is it?" he spoke into the mobile.

"Sherlock, you are an idiot."

"Mycroft, did you just interrupt my case to insult me?"

"Brother dear, you are in trouble, so I advise you listen close and well. For reasons that escape me, you decided to respond to Lestrade's call and drag Miss Watson to a crime scene."

"I did not drag anyone-

"Shut up and listen, because you don't have much time to prepare. And please keep in mind that I believe that everything you get from this you very well deserve; the only reason I am warning you is out of family duty. John had been trying to call home for the last ten minutes"

"Oh… oh." Sherlock's eyes widened fractionally as he realized what Mycroft meant.

"Exactly. Sherlock, can you even begin to realize the panic attack you practically sent him into? When he called me, for a moment I thought I was back to a year ago after Mary, that's how bad he sounded. And what's worse, I didn't know where you were either. Can you imagine what he must have felt? It's his child, Sherlock!"

"I expected we'd be back by the time John returned home; I didn't consider he might call-

"He's on his way over." Mycroft interrupted his brother's pointless explanations.

"What?"

"I had to give him the address to the crime scene, the man was out of his mind with worry. He'll be there in a few minutes."

John knew his cab had arrived at the right address from the police cars he recognized parked along the street. He practically flew out, barely noticing as he overpaid the cabbie, and dashing through the front door of the residence, completely ignoring the protests of the officers standing there. As he burst into the main room he saw Sherlock approaching leading Cathy toward him.

As she saw him she broke into a huge smile, let go of Sherlock's hand, and ran straight into his arms, which he wrapped around her small body in an instant. He lifted her up to his chest, closing his eyes as he held her close. John tried to appear calm and collected, but inside he just wanted to hold his little girl and cry in relief, even though he knew he was overreacting. But he had been so worried; in one solitary instant, fear had taken root in his brain and even after he knew she was safe and sound, the panic wouldn't leave him until he saw her and held her close.

"Daddy! I thought you were at work."

John took a breath to keep his voice steady, he couldn't scare her. "Yeah, I was, but I just wanted to see you too much. So I thought I'd come find you."

"Uncle Sherlock's on a 'venture', we're helping Greg- I mean, the de-tec-ti-ve 'spector" At any other time he would have found her words amusing. As it was, John spared a glance in Sherlock's direction, who was watching the whole thing with mounting apprehension.

"Yes, so I heard." Cathy didn't notice her father's dangerous tone of voice, but Sherlock did.

"John-" he started to whisper, only to be cut off by a dark look from the doctor. Sherlock was startled not only at the pain and anger, but at the fear still reflected in John's eyes. He truly had not considered for a moment that John might call the flat, that he might wonder where they were. And even in that event, he had not anticipated in the least how that could make John feel. Of course he'd be scared, Sherlock cursed himself, how could he not? It was a grave error on his part, but the worst part was he didn't know how he could fix it.

Catherine, oblivious to the mounting tension in the room, continued her narrative of her exciting adventures.

"Daddy, uncle Sh'rlock's so cool! Someone took something that they couldn't 'ave tooked, and he's 'elping to find who was it, and I'm 'elping uncle Sh'rlock! I'm looking for a clue! Like in the stories!" The child's exuberant energy and buoyant joy calmed John down marginally, the fear he had had at the possibility of never hearing this again was eclipsed by her excited chatter, and he found himself unconsciously smiling at her. John wanted nothing more than to kiss her face and hug her close, and bask in her contagious laugher, but he settled for laughing hesitantly at her antics. The lump in his throat loosened, even if it did not entirely disappear.

"That's nice Cathy." He hoped his voice didn't betray his barely controlled emotions. Briefly he considered the possibility that he was going slightly mad. Otherwise, how was it possible to feel immeasurable happiness, utter fear, and blinding anger in such a short period of time so close together? For a moment this felt like it was a year ago, his thoughts echoing Mycroft's earlier ones, or even three years ago. God! How can a person live like this? This brief question flew unhindered through his mind before he could contain it, and if it hadn't been for Cathy's sweet giggles, he wondered whether his face would have crumbled there and then.

Sherlock, watching indecisively from afar caught these emotions as they danced unhindered across the doctor's face. How much pain must he continue to cause his friend?

Finally crossing the room, the tall detective approached the two Watsons. He was aware that Lestrade and his officers had stopped their proceedings in order to watch what would happen between them, clearly sensing the tension between the two parties. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock called John's attention back to himself.

"John, why don't you let Lestrade take Catherine for a couple of minutes, I think we need to talk." He knew that if he wasn't the one to ask, John wouldn't do it. At the level of stress and distress the doctor was in, he was more than likely to take Cathy away without another word or second glance at Sherlock. If he did, it might destroy what remained of their unstable friendship.

Predictably, John's arms tightened around Catherine's small form, and his eyes flashed with a protective fierceness that would have sent a lesser man running for his life. Sherlock, through bravery or foolishness he wasn't sure, stayed his ground. He did, however, lower his gaze, making himself as small and nonthreatening as possible. Cathy's eager recounting slowly trickled down to silence as her perceptive mind became aware that something was going on.

"Please John." Sherlock whispered so only the three of them could hear. His words conveyed more than just a plea, or so he hoped; they also said I'm sorry, please give me a chance to apologize.

John gazed at his friend. He was still his friend; he couldn't distance himself from that; this man, who was really more than a friend. Part of his brain told him to leave, to take his child and rush back to his flat and never let her out of his sight again. The other part told him to listen to Sherlock. Three years ago he might have listened to the first voice, but now, after all they had been through, after having thought he had lost Sherlock forever only to have him returned to him safe and, more importantly, alive, could he truly throw it away?

Lestrade stepped out of the circle of police officers that had formed around the pair. He might not be the world's only consulting detective genius, but he had been able to easily deduce what must have happened between the two men. He also knew they needed to talk about it as soon as possible. Sherlock's resurrection had undoubtedly sent John into a brand new state of confusion, making Greg wander briefly whether the man would ever catch a break. It meant that their relationship was likely to be rocky at best, and Greg didn't know if Sherlock was capable of understanding at all. He hoped the man had developed a bit of empathy in the intervening years, even if he hadn't learned that you didn't take other people's children on 'outings' without telling them first.

The DI walked over to the doctor, and he wasn't sure, but for a moment he thought he heard Sherlock actually whisper 'please'.

Standing next to the man who had become a close friend during these past three years, Greg kept his voice light and unthreatening.

"Sherlock's right. Why don't you leave this little lady with me and you two catch up?" He knew they had 'caught up' already, but it was the only indirect way he could think of saying it.

"But daddy just got 'ere." Cathy tightened her hold around John's neck, making John's heart flutter painfully in his chest.

"I know honey, and he's not going anywhere. It's only, he and your 'uncle' Sherlock need to talk about some things. Don't you want to stay with me? We'll go back to searching for that clue Sherlock said we had to find."

"Do you really?" Cathy looked at her daddy intently.

John felt he was being cornered, not only by Sherlock and Greg, but by his own mind. He had to give Sherlock a chance, and then punch his lights out. That sounded like a good plan, but it implied letting go of his daughter, which somehow felt about as easy a thing to do as chopping off his own arm. Reluctantly he answered her.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

Cathy looked straight at him with her bright blue eyes, so like his own, and a small frown on her forehead. Her gaze seemed to pierce straight through him. Leaning against him, Catherine whispered something in his ear, which made John's eyes close involuntarily. When he opened them again she was still gazing at him with that worried look on her open face. Softly he answered her question.

"Yes, a bit."

Cathy looked between her father and Sherlock, who was watching the exchange with intrigue and no small degree of confusion.

Leaning again, Cathy whispered something else that only John could hear. He then also looked briefly at Sherlock, and tried to suppress the sad smile that rose to his lips.

"Maybe." He whispered back.

Cathy seemed to consider this for a moment, before nodding and disentangling her arms from her father's grip. John almost faltered, but Lestrade swiftly came in and took Catherine before he could voice any protest.

With a glance, the DI signaled all the remaining officers and forensic experts leave the room, exiting himself with Miss Watson in his arms, and leaving the two friends alone in the empty room.

"John, I'm sorry-" he began, but John cut him off.

"What were you thinking?" he kept his voice low, but he might as well have been yelling at Sherlock, who flinched at the doctor's words.

"Lestrade called and I thought it might be a good distraction-"

"Distraction? From what? You got bored that easily, did you? You had to drag my child to a crime scene? What is wrong with you?"

John's bitter words hit Sherlock more sharply than he thought they would.

"She wasn't in any danger. I would never have put her in in danger, John."

John ran his hands through his hair in desperation.

"Sherlock, can you even imagine what it felt like? To call my own home where I expected to find my little girl and get no answer? I-" John lifted his eyes upwards, trying to get his breathing under control again. Too much, too much. I can't handle this, he thought.

Sherlock took a step closer, but John took an equal step backwards.

"Stop. Please just stop. Just stay there." John's voice was shaky, with anger and desperation.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm sorry you're hurting, and I'm sorry I've hurt you. I can only apologize, and you know that's not easy for me."

John's huffed chuckle was something halfway between a hysterical laugh and a sob, and he hid his face in his hands as he tried to regain his composure. He dug his fingers into his eyes, trying to stop feeling altogether.

Sherlock took advantage and drew in closer, gently placing his hands around John's forearms, lowering them slowly so John would look at him.

"Please, I, .. I didn't mean any harm by it. I was getting bored, it's true. But I thought it was the perfect distraction for us both. I didn't think it through. Please, John."

Even though Sherlock held his arms, John only stared at the floor.

"Can you understand how afraid I am of losing her?" he confessed in a whisper. He had lost so many things in his life; his parents, his comrades, Sherlock and his dear wife. The thought that something could happen to his Cathy was more than he could bear.

"She was always safe. I disappeared for three years to protect you; don't you think I'd keep your daughter safe as well?"

John responded with a slow nod and suddenly leaned in and rested his head against Sherlock's chest, stunning the young detective who still held John's arms.

Taking another shaky breath, John whispered, "I really should punch you for scaring me like this. Punch you to a bloody pulp, and tell you to leave me alone and never come back. God help me, I can't. I can't."

John sounded so lost and tired that Sherlock had the sudden impulse to wrap his arms around his friend, his brother, and tell him that everything would be alright. He refrained from it, these awkward emotions confusing him as well.

"You can still punch me. Though I confess I am eternally grateful you haven't pushed me away. I.. I don't know what I'd do if you did." Sherlock swallowed thickly, trying to find the words that would let John know.

John nodded again against Sherlock's chest. They had never been this close before, the closest they'd gotten to each other had been running for their lives through dirty London alleyways while handcuffed together. Sherlock knew then that if John was showing this much emotion, physically voicing a need for comfort, then he must be hiding so much more under the surface.

He wanted to ask the doctor whether this meant he was forgiven for his lapse in judgment, but he didn't dare. Instead he let go of John's arms, making the shorter man take a step backwards from him.

John took a deep breath, and Sherlock noticed his eyes were somewhat red, although he hadn't cried at all.

"Has..uhm, Cathy had her lunch?"

"Yes. I brought it along; she ate it while I inspected the crime scene."

"Lestrade let her in?"

"It's only a robbery, very cleverly done robbery, almost artistic, but that's all it is. I wouldn't have come if it was something more serious."

Well, at least he thought that far ahead, John concluded. He would have been beyond angry if he had let Cathy see a dead body. But deep down John had known Lestrade wouldn't have allowed it, so he hadn't been that worried regarding that front. Angry, but not as livid as he would have been otherwise.

"I'll take Cathy home now." John's voice sounded tired, his raging emotions leaving him exhausted.

"I'll tell Lestrade we're leaving."

"You don't have to leave, wouldn't you rather solve this case."

"I think this case might be detrimental to my health." Sherlock replied with a subtle smirk.

Sherlock was making an effort, John knew, even though he was driving him mad in the process. His nerves were still frayed and on edge, but he couldn't let go of Sherlock, even if he knew the detective might actually succeed in driving him insane. Like Cathy, Sherlock was a lifeline, a sudden saving lifeline to happiness, which he couldn't deny any more than he could deny his child.

Sighing more easily now, John walked in the direction Lestrade had left. "Cathy love, it's time to go" he called.

Lestrade returned, Catherine practically pulling on his arm. Letting her go, the girl laughed herself at her father once more. He picked her up easily, propping her up on his hip and quickly kissing her forehead. "Daddy, do we have to go?"

"You're leaving then?" Lestrade interjected, looking at John.

John opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"Yes, we are."

Bafflement written on his face, Lestrade turned to the consulting detective.

"You too? But what about the case?"

"Oh, that's easy enough. I'm sure you can solve it in no time. I will tell you that the jewel was not taken last night. It probably hasn't been in the safe for a whole week, at least."

"But Mr. Wilkinson swears he saw it last night, it was there. His maid saw it as well, as did his wife."

"I would inspect the safe a bit closer if I was you. Also, question Mr. Wilkinson about it. Wonderful piece of craftsmanship, that safe." Sherlock smirked smugly again, before turning around and leaving a gaping Detective Inspector behind.

John shook his head, and thanked Greg for his patience.

"I've a feeling you're going to need it much more than me, mate." The inspector replied.

As John followed the retreating form of Sherlock Holmes, he found himself agreeing with that sentiment.

TBC

A/N: Oh John, I'm always hurting him so! Don't you just want to hug him? I do. This story is approaching it's end, only two or three more chapters I think. Thanks for r&ring, 'Cathy'-smiles and hugs for everyone ^_^.