The next morning John and Sherlock sat across from each other in the living room. John was in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt because his right arm was in a sling which made belts difficult for him. Sherlock was wearing a dressing gown over his clothes as he read the morning paper.

"Here you are again," Sherlock said, "Bank Hero apprehends African General's Assassins. Good God! It rhymes! As if the alliteration wasn't bad enough. Reading this article, you'd think that you caught them all single-handedly."

John chucked, "Jealous?" he said.

"Hardly," Sherlock replied folding the paper and tossing it carelessly onto the floor. John was pecking at the keys of his laptop with one hand. "Are you writing this in your blog?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course," he said, "It's a fantastic story. I've already had a dozen posts requesting it."

"Are you able to type that...I mean, with one hand?"

"Are you volunteering to type it for me?"

"No," Sherlock said leaning forward in his chair, "I just wanted to know ... are you sure that you're not hurt?"

"Don't worry. I told you that the wound was superficial. It'll be mostly healed in a week."

"John," Sherlock said rising from his chair.

"Yes?" John said stopping his typing to look up at Sherlock who was biting his lip nervously. John put aside his laptop and sat back to give him his full attention, "Yes, what do you want to talk about?"

"Do you remember when we were on the roof, what you said about Icarus?" Sherlock asked, "About how you can't be detached about me. About how when I am hurt you get so emotional that you don't know if you can survive it?"

John pushed himself up to his feet and ran his hand through his hair, "Yeah, well, it's kind of embarrassing when you say it like that, but it reminds me. I've been thinking about things, and I think that I might have been a bit rash deciding to move out so suddenly. I mean, there's the Work, and with this arm in a sling, it would really help to have you around, so I was wondering if it would be alright for me to... not move yet. I'd like to stay for a while. See how things go, if that's okay with you. It is okay with you isn't it, Sherlock?"

"What? Yes, it's okay. Definitely it is okay to stay, yes, Of course," Sherlock answered.

"But I interrupted you," John apologized. "What were you going to say?"

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it standing stiffly as John looked questioningly into his eyes. John laughed, "I rarely see you at a loss for words. I guess you forgot. Oh well," John said and began to turn back to his chair, but Sherlock reached out and touched his shoulder.

"John," he said, "I just wanted to tell you that ... when it comes to your safety, I'm like Icarus too."

John turned to face him, "What was that?" he asked.

"When you were shot, I realized that... If something were to happen to you..." Sherlock's face contorted into an expression of distress. John reached out with his good arm, and Sherlock clasped it with his. Then John pulled Sherlock close to his chest, his sling pressed between them and Sherlock lowered his head until their foreheads touched. Sherlock closed his eyes.

They stayed this way for several breaths, and then Sherlock opened his eyes to see John smiling at him. He smiled back, and then John pulled his hand out of Sherlock's grasp and gave him a rough pat on the shoulder before lowering himself back into his chair and resuming his typing.

Sherlock grinned widely and then dropped down into his chair as the door opened downstairs. He steepled his hands listening to the sounds below. "Mrs Hudson has been at the bakery again," he said, "I wonder if she bought those pastries that I like."

"You could go down and ask her," John said without looking up.

"Too tired," Sherlock said stretching out his legs and slouching down in his chair, "You do it."

John looked up from the keyboard, "I'm the invalid here, remember?" he said.

"I'm so bored!" Sherlock groaned.

"Now things really are back to normal," John said chuckling as Mrs Hudson slowly walked up the stairs.