John would be lying if he said that the ringing of the phone had woken him up. He had been wide awake already and that wasn't just because at one AM a certain beautiful, loud princess had decided she would rather like being nocturnal. The nightmares were back. John didn't think that dreams could get any more horrifying than those he'd had after leaving the army but he'd been wrong. Now his dreams were a distorted cascade of war time memories mixed with horrifying crime scenes, corpses put there by men so insane and wrong they were hardly recognisable as human.

But he could deal with the nightmares that made no sense, an unfocused mesh of horrible emotions illustrated with scenes he had seen in one way or another. What was the worst was the realistic dreams. Mary dying right in front of his eyes, her face contoured with betrayal at how he had been cheating rather than helping her deal with the problems of her past. His affair with the girl on the bus getting further, them having sex and Mary finding out and killing herself in grief. Rosie getting hurt, dying because he was too caught up in his own self pity to properly take care of his own daughter. Sherlock jumping off Barts roof. Sherlock killing himself because of all of the horrible things John had said to him. Sherlock dying at the hands of Culverton Smith because John had been too stubborn to realise his friend was in danger

This was getting ridiculous. John was hurting, and he had every right to after all that had happened, but nothing gave him the right to lash out at the people who tried to help him. He was bringing everyone down with him, finding ways that they were responsible for his problems to lessen the burdens he had to carry. So he could turn his grief into rage. He was hurting everyone who came close to him and they did not deserve it. In the best of the moment he would attack, defend himself until it became violent and messy and an outlet for his anger rather than self protection.

Everyone had gone through so much, they all looked a good ten years older, the light gone from their eyes. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly; John had wanted to blame Sherlock. He had blamed Sherlock initially telling himself any stress and strain they were under was because of him. But that was wrong, it was him, John Watson, who was hurting them. He would never forget the look in Molly's eyes as he told her what to say if Sherlock came knocking. He could never forget the pure heartbreak in her face as he had told her to stop coming around, that he wanted nothing to do with that life anymore so she couldn't see Rosie anymore.

And then there was Sherlock. Of all the people for him to hurt why Sherlock? His best friend. The man who had saved him, changed his life. No matter what he said Sherlock was not like Major Shalto or Mary, Sherlock was absolutely unique. He had changed John's life more than anyone ever could. There was no one who he enjoyed the company of more, no one who amazed him so much, no one he trusted so much, no one he would rather entrust his entire life to. And John had practically used him as a punching bag, physically and mentally.

He knew what he did was unforgivable. He had kicked Sherlock when he was down, pushed the man who was already incredibly delicate and unstable even further into a raging, burning mess of grief and self loathing and confusion. He had made Sherlock trust him, Sherlock of all people had opened up his entire being to John despite how hard it was for him to trust people and John had destroyed him bit by bit. He just hoped Sherlock was not behind saving, for most people he would be completely lost but Sherlock Holmes was the damn strongest man he had ever met and if anyone could get up from this it was him. John had had his time of self pity 'woe is me', he had sulked and lashed out but there was no more time for that. He had friends who he had hurt and who needed his help to get through things. He had no time for moaning about his problems he needed to try to fix the damage he had made.

Lost in his thoughts John had almost forgotten about the ringing phone. Luckily he was able to grab it just before the ring stopped.

"Hello?" He asked neutrally, wondering who on Earth if was at this hour. Possibly Mycroft?

"Hello, John. Um… did I wake you? If you were sleeping I can call again later." Sounded Sherlock's voice.

John raised his eyebrows in surprise "Sherlock, hi! No I wasn't sleeping and I don't think I will. Parenting, you know how it is. Did you want something?"

There was a pause on the other side of the line, no doubt Sherlock debating over whether to tell him the complete truth. John frowned, normally Sherlock had no qualm talking about anything, no matter how controversial. That meant this was to do with emotions, more particularly Sherlock's own emotions.

There was a shaky breath let out before Sherlock's voice started up "Yeah, I did. Um… remember when you told me I should get a therapist to talk things through with. And I said I'm not ready. I'm still not but I feel like waiting until I am ready would be far too late. I just… tonight wasn't good. A-and I tried to just fall asleep despite it but I just couldn't, my mind would just not stop and I felt like using again. I didn't don't worry but I d-don't think I can make it through the night without doing something stupid. I don't want to be alone right now. I c-can't… could you…" there was a heavy release of breath "Sorry, never mind. It's nothing. I'm sorry for disturbing you, forget everything I said, I'm half asleep. Good night… or morning depends on how you look at it… anyway, bye."

"No, Sherlock, wait! Don't hang up!" John's heart raced with urgency. He had been so shocked by the sudden outburst of honesty and feeling that he had been stunned into silence. Luckily his friend had not hung up yet.

"Yeah?"

"Look, Sherlock. I'm coming over there, yeah? It was really good of you to call me, really great. You have to tell people when you're not feeling okay. I know you probably think it's selfish or something to say you need help, only you would manage to be so self obsessed and lack self esteem at the same time. I'm your friend, Sherlock, your best friend and I care about you so much, even if I haven't been doing a very good job of showing it lately. I want to help you when you need me, no matter what it's for, or just be there when you want me. So I'm coming around I don't think either of us should be alone these days anyway, no matter how appealing isolation seems I've learnt it's not the answer."

There was a silence on the other side of the line "Okay. Thank you, John. You really don't have to though. Rosie-"

"…is sleeping soundly now. I'm taking her with me, she should just continue to sleep or at least fall back to sleep when we get there. She loves you to bits Sherlock, and the whole apartment. And Mrs Hudson. I'm sure she'd love to look after Rosie for a bit if you and I want to go off and do something to clear our minds. However it goes, I'm coming over there. You have been through a lot, Sherlock. Don't even think that you have to deal with this alone."

"Thank you." Sherlock's breathy whisper was so faint John had almost missed it.

"No problem. I'll start heading over, yeah? Okay see you soon, Sherlock."

With that John hung up. He pulled on some clothes and a coat, packing a bag of Rosie supplies (the infant needed a whole bag of belongings even for the tiniest of excursions). He then lifted his daughter gently into his arms. Then baby stirred slightly, making a soft gurgling noise. John kissed her forehead and hushed her gently as he left the house, looking to hail a taxi.