John's POV


John blinked up at the detective, bewildered. "You love me?"

Sherlock seemed at a loss for words, his mouth opening and closing. It would've been a humorous sight had the situation not been serious. There was an awkward pause, the detective's eyes glaring into the ground as though willing it to provide him the words he needed. Frustration rose in John; why was it so hard to confirm?

"Yes," Sherlock finally muttered, his eyes rising to John's.

They bore into the doctor, simultaneously unsettling and comforting. There was no verbal question of John's feelings, but it was obvious to him that the detective was restraining himself from asking, choosing instead to try and deduce the answer. For the first time since he woke, John's confusion was a welcome presence in his mind.

The detective seemed to be proficient in knowing what one was thinking, though these skills were lacking in matters of the heart, but that talent worked best when the knowledge desired was known to the person he was examining.

And what was John supposed to think of the confession? How was he to respond?

How could he know what to make of the situation when he was unsure of his affections?

There was no mistaking the strong bond between the two. Even when he was in the coma, the doctor knew that the voice, Sherlock, cared for his companion, John. The descriptions employed by the detective of their adventures, even of John himself, were affectionate. The actions committed by the detective, however harmful to the doctor, weren't meant to injure John. The confession was affection.

But what was Sherlock to John?

Flat mates though they were, that was not enough to describe their relationship.

Friendship wasn't enough either. Best friends, yes, though their bond ran deeper than that. There was an understanding that they possessed of the other, far greater than anything John had experienced with any of his friends.

Perhaps they were like brothers? That was closer, but still not right.

Lovers? Closer, but still not right. John had never been gay, though the man in front of him stirred feelings in the doctor that certainly resembled love.

John felt like Goldilocks, sampling option after option without success. At least she eventually found what she was looking for.

Only one thing was certain: the arguments the doctor was wrestling with didn't sound new. Each argument had a counter argument, which had another counter argument, and another, until John realized that his confusion truly was old news, escalated by the injury. It was yet another web that needed unraveling.

John was absolutely sick of webs.

Frustration arose in the doctor once more. For a moment, he wished that he had never awoken, that he had stayed in the strange fog of ignorance, protected from the complexities of reality. Why did he have to sort his feelings if they didn't seem to fit any one description?

Maybe they had a relationship that transcended labels. Maybe their relationship was closer than friendship, deeper than brotherhood, and more passionate than lovers.

Something stirred in his chest at the thought, and his headache seemed to dwindle slightly. John was sure that he had finally unraveled the web. Satisfaction swelled in the doctor, unclenching his fists and almost bringing a smile to his haggard face. It was only the remembrance of Sherlock's confession that kept the grin at bay.

Sherlock needed an answer, but John couldn't think of one. Though their relationship no longer unsettled him with its ambiguity, his feelings for the detective were still somewhat fuzzy. There was still a great deal of anger and hurt from the detective's fake suicide and disappearance. There was no question that John loved Sherlock in return, but a great deal of trust was broken in the years of separation and the events that catalyzed them. Try as he might to assure the detective of his mutual affection, the words refused to leave his lips, trapped by the scars of Sherlock's absence.

"I need time," John replied. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly as he nodded slightly and turned, moving towards the door, misunderstanding John's reply. "Please," John requested, "stay?"

Sherlock faced John, a small smile gracing his angular face as understanding dawned. The detective walked slowly up to the doctor and bent down, kissing his forehead. "Always."


One more chapter left: the epilogue. Thank you for continuing to read this story despite the haphazard updates, and thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows! :)