A/N: Hello Lovelies! I don't even know what this is, but here you go. This beast of a chapter gave me fits! Trigger warning for description of suicidal thoughts and actions though I think it's pretty tame. Please let me know what you think and any ideas or questions you have. Until next time, gentle viewers enjoy!
John roused easily when his phone alarm went off. He knew that was a good sign for his head injury. He made his way back into the sitting room to find Sherlock still in the same position as when he had exited the room earlier, though he immediately sat up and gave John his attention. John walked over and settled into his chair. He had a vague thought that he should probably have made tea for this discussion, but knew if he tried to do it now, Sherlock wouldn't be willing to wait.
"You were right." Sherlock started. "You did scare me today and we both know that is not something that is easy for me to admit."
John sighed. "Look, Sherlock, I know that you don't do feelings, I get that, but you have to understand that you can't just lash out every time you don't know what to do with a feeling."
"I..John...I..." For the first time, Sherlock looked unsure, vulnerable even.
"Everything I did John, from the moment I sent you out of the lab to Baker Street, was to keep you safe. I did what I thought was necessary, even though I knew you would be hurt by my actions."
John let out a harsh laugh. "Hurt by your actions? I wasn't hurt Sherlock, I was devastated! I had built almost my entire life around you, around us. The first month, I didn't leave the flat. The only person I could stand was Mrs. Hudson. I completely cut off Lestrade, Molly, anyone that had anything to do with you. Mycroft kept me under survelliance, did you know? Then I had to deal with the fallout, even though I didn't have any of the answers they wanted. I never have the answers, because I never really know what's going on, not completely."
John took a moment to calm himself down a bit and Sherlock didn't speak. "There was one night, in the middle of the investigation of all your cases. I'd spent all day at the Yard going over and over the details, what I could piece together of your thought processes, the evidence that you had left in your journals and papers. I was sitting in the middle of the floor, going through the papers, trying to sort them for each case that you had done. I was drinking, I'd had half a bottle of the good scotch Mycroft gave me for Christmas, and I thought, why? Why should I keep feeling like this, dealing with all the crap, when no one else was around to care. So I got up and went to the medicine cabinent and pulled out every bottle of pills we had in the flat. Went to my room and had them in my hand, I was ready, so ready to end it all. Because what did I have left? I sat there for an hour and I remembered. Every stupid row that we'd ever had, and the mad chases across rooftops, and the giggling at crime scenes. You wearing a sheet in Buckingham Palace and stealing that ashtray. I remembered it all, because that's how it was supposed to be. I was so very close to taking those pills too, seconds away, and then I remembered that last conversation, you standing on that bloody roof, telling me it was a magic trick. A magic trick...don't look away, keep your eyes on me. Why else would you have made me watch? That's what pulled me back, you know, the possibility of a magic trick, that things weren't what I thought they were. I didn't think you were alive, but God, I hoped."
John's voice was a bit shaky now, so he cleared his throat before continuing. "I hoped and I moved on. I went to the cemetary and said goodbye. Then Harry came along and I had another reason to get on with things. He saved me as much as you did after Afghanistan. I've been alone Sherlock, and I've been lonely and at my wit's end, but I also figured out that you hold onto those things precious to you with both hands and you fight for them, because once they're gone, you may not get them back. Not everyone gets a second chance, not everyone lives twice. So I'm going to fight for you and I'm going to hold on tight, but I need you to do the same. I need you to fight with me, not against me, and to hold on tight and to never let go again."
After he was done, John looked at Sherlock. The look on his face was similar to what John imagined his face reflected during that first month after the fall. There was absolute loss there. Sherlock's breathing was rapid and ragged.
"I...today, when you shot Reilly and stood there, I thought that everything I had worked so hard for, left behind, given up would be gone in a matter of seconds. I was an idiot for not anticipating that something would happen. I underestimated her once, how could I do it again? I failed you, John. When everything was supposed to be okay, at the first opportunity, I failed you! Twenty months worth of work and doing everything I did and already I failed you! I can't...I can't let you down again. Don't you see? You told me friends protect each other but I couldn't protect you. What can I possibly do that will be enough? You...John, you nearly weren't anymore. You wouldn't have been here when I came home and then what would I have done? It was for you and I don't know how to explain that any better!"
Sherlock had stood up and started to pace, arms gesticulating wildly, hands tugging at his hair. He was frustrated with his inability to communicate. Nothing was coming out the way he wanted. This continued for a few minutes, until John rose and blocked his path, pulling his hands out of his hair.
"I get it, you don't have to explain anymore. You didn't fail me today Sherlock, it was just my turn to do the protecting. I had the opportunity, the best chance of a favorable outcome as you would say, so I took it. Sometimes it will be your turn and you'll do what needs to be done." Sherlock had begun to match his breathing to John's, letting the quiet words wash over him and as they did, he let them begin to calm him down.
"I'm sorry, John." John looked into those sea glass colored eyes. "I know."
"So what now? How do I fix this?" Sherlock was completely out of his depth and he knew it. Feelings were John's area.
"You don't, we do. Together. Come on." John pulled him over to the couch and they sat side by side. John thought about how to approach the rest of the conversation before he started talking.
"Alright, how about this? We'll take turns, you have to be completely honest, do the best you can to explain, yeah?" Sherlock nodded.
"Okay, right. My biggest problem is that you don't tell me what's going on in that massive brain of yours. You keep secrets and you lie to me. I hate that. I want full honesty from you from now on. You're going to have to earn back my trust and that's going to take a while, but you'll have to deal with it."
Sherlock's brow furrowed. "You don't trust me John?"
John frowned, then sighed. "Yes and no. I trust you with my life and with Harry. I don't trust you to always tell me the truth or to make decisions that affect us without consulting me first."
"Understood. My biggest problem is that I don't know how to do this part? I don't know what to do with all these feelings and sentiment. I'm going to need you to help me with that. It's not my area."
They both chuckled a bit at that. "Okay. I know I've said this before, but Harry comes first, always. That means I may not be available to run off with you on the spur of the moment, or fetch you things when you're too lazy to get them yourself. No more three a.m. violin screeching or body parts in the fridge. No shooting the walls. Experiments and chemicals stay in the basement and Harry is absolutely off limits to experiment on. No testing his magic and whatnot."
"Agreed. I'll need to get a fridge for the basement then. I can do more of the dangerous experiments at Bart's lab. But I want to teach him science and deduction. I don't want him to grow up to be like all the other idiots in the world. You have to let me." Sherlock practically demanded it, but John smiled.
"Science experiements approved by me ahead of time only. And only if he's interested. He's already learned some deduction from Mycroft and his own experience." Sherlock nodded.
"When you go back to work, I'll help out as much as I can, but I need you to be more aware of the danger you put yourself in. You refused to listen when we told you not to get involved with Moriarty. It was a game to you. I need you to listen to us when we tell you to pull back. Be more cautious, please. I don't think any of us can stand to go through that again." John stated this quietly, expecting Sherlock to balk.
Sherlock stiffened, but after analyzing what John was saying, he relaxed again. "I will not promise anything, but I will try to be more cautious."
That was better than John was expecting. "One other thing. Could you try to work a little harder at not offending people, especially the yarders? I won't ask you to go so far as to get along with them, just keep personal deductions to yourself. Don't attack unless provoked. Quite a few of them went to bat for you when everything hit the fan, so they are obviously not all idiots, but just try, yeah?"
That was an interesting piece of information that he hadn't known. He wondered who had backed him, besides the obvious of Lestrade and John. "If I must. But not Anderson. He's fair game. His stupidity knows no bounds after all."
John just shook his head and chuckled. "Fair enough. Now what do you want for dinner?"
They called for takeaway from the Sherlock's favorite thai place, then watched crap telly, all the while Sherlock's comments and sidenotes about the programs kept John in stitches. He finally retired to bed after reminding Sherlock to wake him every two hours. (He set his phone alarm anyway). He went to bed alone for the first time since Sherlock returned, but he honestly didn't mind. Sherlock had pulled out his violin, inspecting it carefully, before tuning it and beginning to play calming lullaby-like songs well into the night.