"Of all the places. Of all the times." John's exasperated voice went on as he paced around in the living room of 221 B. "Why did you have to pull that stunt in the middle of the bloody packed Hall?"

This time he threw an accusatory look over to his companion. Who sat rather contrite looking in his chair by the fire, his mouth pulled down in a pout.

"Don't you even try that on me right now, Sherlock. It doesn't take someone telling you for you to know that what you pulled was more than a little not good."

The tall man drew in a deep breath and readjusted his features in a way to make himself seem unfazed by John's statements.

"To be fair, you were supposed to stay through the whole concert. I had no intention of revealing myself like that. You forced my hand when you stood up and started walking out."

John turned on that hotly, "YOU wrote the whole damned concert about the worst day of my life! How the hell did you think I would be able to sit through something like that? Every note tore me apart, Sherlock."

Sherlock purses his lips together and made a "sshh" sound, telling John to keep it down.

"Mrs. Hudson is away tonight. And a bloody good thing she is too. We need to get some things strait. Right now."

John remained pacing around the room, clenching and releasing his fists. Trying to keep them from flying through the air at his companion. His jaw worked itself in a similar manner as he tried to collect a thought from the midst of the raging inferno in his mind.

"Ah," Sherlock uncrossed his legs and adjusted his black suit into place, sitting up smarter in his over-plush chair.

"You want to know how it was all done. Well, you see, as the events had culminated into place the way they did, I knew I had to pick the place before he forced my hand. It was inevitable. So, Bart's it was-"

"Shut up."

Sherlock looked up immediately at his blogger. He had never heard such venom in that voice. He had never seen such darkness in those eyes. His John was barely recognizable, and it caused a clenching in his stomach.

"Sherlock. It doesn't matter. I don't care."

Sherlock's giant brain stopped a moment, before whirring in a panic.

He doesn't care. This is it. This is the time I've pushed him too far. He's gone. He's leaving me.

Outward Sherlock swallowed thickly and lowered his eyes to the floor, not wanting John to detect the level of stress he felt at that statement. He must remain in control of his transport.

All was quiet except the slight wheeze of John's heavy breathing.

It seemed to stretch too long.

This is the end. The though terrorized Sherlock as he waited for something, anything, to happen.

When he heard John sit in his chair across from him, he held his breath.

Here it comes.

"I don't need to know how. I need to know why."

Sherlock looked up at his partner. John's face was set. He wasn't giving anything away now.

"Why?"

"Yes, Sherlock, why. Why did have to go off on your own."

"The snipers. There were three snipers, all set to-"

"Yes, yes, I know that." John cut him off again. Startling Sherlock with all he already knew about what had happened that day.

"I want to know why you didn't come back to me sooner. Why you didn't try to tell me you were alive. Why you didn't want my help."

Sherlock felt like a load of bricks had been dumped on his body. The breath he had left him. He hadn't known. He hadn't thought through how much this would affect his John. His soldier. He should have realized. John is a soldier. This had to affect him differently.

"I, John, I" Sherlock hated the way his words were failing him. He tried to get his hard drive to get back on line and help him. But he felt stalled.

"I had to."

Sherlock looked into the stony set face of the soldier.

"I was able to track down the mercenaries that had been set on Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and remove them fairly easily. But the one that had been set on you- I couldn't find him, I couldn't get to him. He eluded me, and I couldn't come back to you knowing that he had the upper hand. I couldn't put you in that position again. I just couldn't."

Sherlock shook his head, " As long as Sebastian Moran was out there, I wouldn't risk anything that would put his bullet in your head."

John sat back in recognition of the name.

"Course you couldn't. Sebastian is one of the best out there. I should know. We were in training together."

Sherlock looked up in confusion at his companion.

"Oh yes, I know a lot about Moran. I know where he hides, how he hunts, how he stages himself."

Sherlock blinked rapidly a few times, trying to clear the surge of information and place it in a spot to be recorded later in his mind palace.

John leaned forward in his seat towards the detective.

"Sherlock, I could have helped. I wouldn't have minded the risk. I was in the bloody army. Risks don't faze me. Why else would I have subjected myself to you all those months? Running, hiding, fighting, it's what I need.

Sitting here idly in a flat. Thinking my best friend is dead, or worse, has decided I'm not good enough and left. That. That was my nightmare."

Sherlock tried to wrap his head around this. How incredibly he had failed. He, who saw and knew everything. Yet he had so spectacularly misjudged the man he had lived with every day. The man he should have known best.

"John, I'm.." his voice broke against his will and he tried to start again. "Please forgive me. For all the pain that I've caused you."

He risked flicking his eyes upward to his friend. Agony he didn't need to deduce to see was etched across John's face. Sherlock couldn't stand it. He lowered his gaze back to the floor.

"I should have realized and I didn't. I am sorry for the way I have failed you."

Silence stretched on for eternity.

Then he heard something most misplaced.

He heard a chuckle.

Eyebrows knitted in confusion, he looked up only to see his soldier giggling in his seat.

"Of course I forgive you, you pompous git."

Suddenly Sherlock was pulled up from his seat by strong arms and enveloped in a crushing hug.

"Yes, I forgive you."

John pulled back after a moment and pointed a finger at him in a visual promise. "But don't think for one second that I'm going to let this go. I'm going to hold that apology over you for the rest of your days."

Sherlock had to chuckle. He deserved that.

"You and me then."

"Against the rest of the word."

And just like the high from that first night on a case together running through London, they giggled just as freely.

The world didn't know what was coming.

Fin