John was released the following day.

Sherlock had sat by his bedside last night until the nurses kicked him out because John was sleeping, he wasn't allowed to touch or talk to John in fear of interrupting his rest.

He had arrived at precisely eight o'clock the next morning and greeted the receptionist, who made him sign in. Waste of time.

It was exactly 9:02 when John stirred awake, naked from the waist up but for a few bandages around his shoulder, shorts on underneath the white duvet. The nurses rushed in before John could barely look around.

"We just need to run a few tests. The sooner it's over the sooner he can leave," A middle aged woman kindly smiled at him, faint wrinkles crinkling around her eyes.

John moved his hand so he was gripping Sherlock's pointer finger, like a child. His confused eyes blearily swept across the room, surveying the two women and Sherlock.

Sherlock stood there for a moment, debating, then deciding to get out of their way so it would be faster. He covered John's hand with his own and gently squeezed before letting go, a reassurance that he was still there.

He caught John glance at him through tired, confused eyes before turning slipping out quietly.

Sherlock tried not to show his eagerness waiting just outside the door, ears listening for any sign that John might walk out. Exactly twelve minutes and thirty-six seconds later, the door handle turned.

Sherlock heard John say thank you to the doctors one last time before he shut the door behind him and stood in front of Sherlock. He was now wearing a fresh pair of jeans (Sherlock bought and brought to him) and his jumper from home that Sherlock had also brought. Fresh bandages stood out from under his jumper collar.

John stumbled forward a few steps, kind of hunched over from his back. John smiled up at him, an apologetic, sad smile but it was still him. Alive.

Sherlock was lost for words, his throat dry. "I'm so sorry," he scratched and approached John, just inches between them now.

"Don't be sorry" John said, looking right into his eyes, heart, soul. John brushed a curl out of his face and tucked it behind his ear. "Can we go home?" He asked quietly.

"Of course," Sherlock smiled and reached up to gently take John's hand from his hair, kissed it softly and entwined their fingers. "Let's go. Mycroft has the car waiting outside."

Sherlock carefully helped maneuver John into the back seat, so that it wasn't painful in any way. Sherlock slid in the other side of the car and reattached their hands.

John was lying on Sherlock's bed, propped up on a couple pillows. Sherlock sat with his back against the wall, legs entangled with John's.

Sherlock's mum had given him a strong but gentle, careful hug. She also promised him a fresh stack of pancakes and a special dinner tonight. His father had shaken John's hand and patted him on his (good) shoulder, a show of respect and welcoming.

Sherlock was flipping his phone, twisting and tossing it between his hands. John had his eyes closed, a plate with only crumbs left on the side table. His mind was racing. John was thinking about everything from their relationship (what was it now? Did he ruin it? What does Sherlock think about me? Does he think I'm weak?) to the confusing events that had just passed.

Sherlock's phone suddenly chimed.

John quirked an eye open as Sherlock unlocked the device. ''It's my brother. He says the police want a statement from us."

"Oh," John said, not quite excitedly.

"John if you don't want to I'll get you out of it, just say that you're too injured and need rest, which isn't far from the truth. You don't have to go-"

"It's alright. I need to… talk about it, I think it will help knowing that I'm helping the police catch them, maybe it'll put my mind at ease a bit, yeh?" John said.

"Alright, but it you want to leave at any time, I'll get you out." Sherlock said in a protective tone.

John smiled, maybe they were okay. "Thanks," he whispered.

Sherlock helped John stand up, put on a sweater and walk down the stairs.

The rest of the family was out, after John had come back safely they had gone to work, or shopping or whatever. The boys got into a cab and sped off towards NSY.

Lestrade greeted them at the door, Mycroft standing a few steps behind. Greg led them into a small room, not an interrogation room, more of an unused office. "More comfortable, no pressure of one-way glass or security cameras, figured you'd prefer this," the officer said. John nodded in thanks and followed Sherlock into the room. Mycroft stood just inside the door, which was now shut.

Lestrade took a seat on one side of the polished dark wood table on a short office chair. The boys each took a 'waiting room' chair on the other side. A couple small pot lights dimly lit the space.

"I'm just going to ask you some questions, alright?" Greg asked. "If you feel uncomfortable or don't want to answer just say 'pass' and we'll move on. Shouldn't take too long, I'll take some notes but your voice or actions won't be recorded, easy."

John nodded, understanding. Sherlock looked at John for any signs of negativity.

"Can you… explain what happened, in your own words, like how you got there, who and stuff like that?" Greg picked up a pen.

"Well, I had just finished a football game, and Sherlock and I were in a… we weren't really talking and I didn't want to burden anyone with my life," Sherlock looked down in his lap, but John didn't notice because he was looking the other way. He continued, "so I was thinking of where I could spend the night, which is when I thought of my boss, Angelo. He owns the restaurant downtown where I work…ed. Anyway he said I could stay in the back room, it was like a guest room, with a couch, sink, all that. He gave me a meal on the house and I thanked him and went to sleep."

"Who gave you the food?" Greg asked.

"Alonso, the head chef, but it was fine, he's innocent as far as I know. Anyway when I woke up in the morning I felt good, and was getting ready to leave for school when Angelo brought me breakfast- eggs? I think, and some water." He stopped for a second. "That's all I remember before I woke up in the café."

Greg finished up a note and looked up. "And this café, was that the first time you've been?"

"Um, no, Sherlock and I went there before, for a drink, hot chocolate- not liquor, but it was good, I suppose a bit odd with the change of cashier but otherwise it was nice." John said.

"Did she happen to be lean, black and purple hair?" Greg sat forward.

"Yeah, you know her?" John asked.

"Disappearance case, not too long ago. Only her landlord noticed, her bills not being paid, no family or other connections turned up. It was a dead case. I guess now we know what happened." He grimly sat.

"Shame," John said, and he meant it. She seemed nice. "Anyway when I woke up they…..

After John had told his story it had been the better part of an hour. After hearing John's experience recounted firsthand, Sherlock felt guiltier than ever.

On their way out, Lestrade stopped them for a second. "Hey Sherlock, Mycroft's been telling me that you're interested in mystery and crime, and I was thinking, well, if you're interested, I could show you some stuff, introduce you to different areas and… stuff, only if you want." Greg looked a bit sheepish.

"Really!" Sherlock exclaimed, temporarily free of his guilt. "Yes! Please, yes, that would be awesome."

"Great," Greg said. "I'll be in touch." Greg turned to Mycroft, who was smiling at him in awe and amazement.

A wave of guilt returned over Sherlock, he glanced at John, who was smiling at him despite everything that had happened in the past few days.

Sherlock planned to address his guilt and express his apologies as soon as they got home, but for now, he opened the door and led John into a cab.