He was hurt. It pained John to see Sherlock sit with Molly, and discuss the bits and pieces that he recalled from their moments together. It felt silly to be upset about it-wasn't this what he had wanted the entire time? All these weeks he'd been praying for Sherlock to heal and begin to come back into his own skin, but why was it with Molly? Why couldn't it be with him?

There was still such unease between them. He saw Sherlock's gaze whenever he tried to encourage him to eat his lunch or take his medications. It wasn't like he wanted to be goading him to do basic self-care, but he was the only one who cared enough to make sure that he did do it. He was the only one that was there no matter what.

"I need to grab something from the flat."

Sherlock fiddled with the hem of his blanket.

John didn't bother to wait to see if he answered. It was hopeless-like attempting to hold a conversation with a brick wall. "Do you need anything?"

"No."

"You sure? Not anything?"

Sherlock looked up through squinted eyes. "No. I'm fine."

"Of course you are," John muttered as he left the room.

It was a particularly sunny day. If he had been so inclined, he'd go for a long walk and have lunch in the park. But that wasn't his life now. His life was shuttling between the flat, work and the hospital in a never-ending carousel of cold stares and awkwardness. As he left the building, he heard a shout in the distance.

"John!"

He wasn't expecting anyone so he kept walking. There were many John's in the world.

"John Watson!"

He flipped his head around to see the person he'd least expected to see.

"Anderson? What are you doing here?"

The two of them spent little to no time together except for the odd comment in the middle of a case. He knew next to nothing about the man and certainly not enough to have a conversation.

"I...was just wondering how he was."

John looked over with surprise. "Really?"

Anderson bowed his head. "I felt...responsible."

"For what?"

"For making him upset. It was out of line."

John moved in a bit closer. He'd never had a problem with Anderson but through Sherlock he'd developed an unwarranted animosity for a man whom he barely knew.

"He's...well...he's fine," John said. He wasn't fine but he was alive.

Anderson rubbed his aching shoulder. "Did he talk about it? Did he tell you anything?"

John shook his head. "Not that I expected it."

Anderson nodded.

"What was it?" John asked.

"What was what?"

"What did you say? I've just never seen him get aggressive. It would be good to know so I don't…"

Anderson looked off into the distance. "John, I really don't-"

"Was it about me?"

There was a pained look on Anderson's face. "I was angry. I shouldn't have-"

John opened his eyes wide and let his mind go blank. He was getting answers. "Was it about me? Tell me."

Anderson sighed. "Yes," he said as his voice cracked. "I'm not proud of it."

John didn't have to say another word. He let his stare speak for itself.

"I told him that you'd leave."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because he has no point," Anderson muttered.

John fought back the rage that built up. "No point?"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"What else?" John snipped.

Anderson started to step back but John grabbed him by the lapel and snapped him back to place. "John, please…"

"What else?"

"He'd be alone…" Anderson whispered.

"What?"

Anderson looked up with tears in his eyes. "That'd he be alone."

John shook his head in shock. "Why would you say that?"

"I don't know," Anderson said. "All those years of abuse and comments...it just came out. I'm sorry, John. I really am."

"Is that why you dropped the charges?" John asked.

Anderson nodded. "I deserved it. I did."

John let the anger simmer just long enough to see Anderson for who he really was, not the man that Sherlock despised. He just a regular man who spent hours of his life being sidelined and insulted by an effective volunteer who was far better at detective work than he'd ever be. "You didn't deserve it," John said with a sigh.

Anderson gulped back the pain. "I did. I'm sorry, John. For all of this."

"There's more to it than you realize," John said. "He's remembering all the wrong things. He's so confused. I just don't know what to do."

As the cab drove off and raced back towards the flat, John pulled out his phone. There was one person that he hadn't tried yet. There was one person that might make a difference. It wouldn't be easy but it was the last trick up his sleeve.

He dialed Mycroft.

"John, what is it? Is Sherlock all right?"

"Yes," John said. "I just need a favor."

"What do you need?"

"I need to talk to your father."