Chapter 6:

"That was absolutely ridiculous. A complete outrage!" John had always waited until they were home to explode. His angry tirade around the flat rose and lowered in volume over the tea kettle whistles. Sherlock sat curled at the table, face wan from bleeding, mouth hanging open in pain. He bristled every time John's voice rose. The angry young doctor failed to see it.

"Can you believe it? I mean, can you really believe the nerve that-that absolute-"John slammed the tea kettle down on the table, failing to come up with the right explicit word for the Chief Superintendent.

Sherlock's body didn't just flinch, it convulsed. He snapped to attention as if his spine was a bullwhip. His fists went up defensively, guarding his body in a martial arts stance. John looked up just then and saw the split second reaction.

"Sherlock? What, what is it?" John thought for a moment bringing up the Chief was upsetting his friend. Then he realized with gut-dropping horror.

"What? No...God, no. Hey…"John held up his hands. Sherlock was panting, eyes wide. For the first time in John's life, he saw raw terror in Sherlock's eyes. He was afraid. What was more, he was afraid of John.

"Easy...The kettle? I'm sorry I set it down so hard. I wasn't thinking. I was just really that hot about it all. Are you alright?" John stepped closer. Sherlock growled. John realized then what this was.

"Shh...Sherlock. Hey...It's...It's alright. Did you think I was going to hurt you?" John made his voice quiet like he was talking to a newborn baby. Sherlock's face fell and he looked around perplexed, hands lowering from their defensive posture. John reached out to him.

"Stand up, if you can." John beckoned. Sherlock looked up, eyes fluttering now, dizzy.

"Mm?" Sherlock's head tilted to the side.

"Stand up." John beckoned to his friend again. Sherlock was reluctant yet but cleared his throat. With a wince, he rose to stand on ginger feet. He sucked his teeth, eyes trained to his hands which tapped the table now.

John came closer, arms out.

"Please...I want you to look at me." John's voice took on a much greater depth now. Like they were old, old men and had comforted each other from war scars so many times before now. Sherlock looked up, confounded. John saw that he was near tears.

"I...I am so sorry I scared you. I didn't even think when I sat that down like that. Shh, come here, please...Please, don't think that... God, Sherlock. Do not think that I would ever intentionally harm you. Okay? I've been rough...Listen, I've been rough with you before-" John's face fell when Sherlock's face crumpled in a ridiculous expression that was the stoic in him trying to control a revelation of sadness. Sherlock gasped and fell into John's arms heavily, exhausted. John drew him as close as he could without further hurting him.

"But I swear to God, knowing what you did for me...I would never hurt you now. Never." John laid his face against Sherlock's shoulder. The famously stoic detective was weeping. John had seen Sherlock cry before, but that was either an act to manipulate an investigation or a physical reaction from pain. This was purely generated by sadness and fear.

This was a historic moment. Most people would be gloating now to see Sherlock, who they thought so little of, finally reduced to tears. Not John. John's heart was torn clean in two to see the human finally emerging from the beautiful broken mind. He was crying softly too and pressed his palm to Sherlock's neck.

"I-I ...This is really stupid of me. I know. It's just that. Well, I was caught off guard. Why did I let myself be caught off guard? Stupid! See, I was too familiar with…I never was in danger in that place so I never worried about it. I should have thought of it though. Should always be prepared to...to get away, you know?" Sherlock's fragile attempt at reverting to the calculating man he was known to be was almost worse than a confession from his heart. John shook his head.

"This isn't stupid...It's amazing that you can keep so much of yourself composed given your circumstances. Really, the way you break down is beautiful. It's not like shattering, it's more like a crack in the ice." John ran his hand over Sherlock's back, noticing that his shoulders shivered upon touch. He simply couldn't register human contact without debating ulterior motives. John swallowed the urge to swear again.

"I...I am...I certainly am cracking up, though, aren't I? My body is like that ridiculous living puppet from the old story, right? I feel...I don't know, John, I physically feel like I'm made out of wood or something." Sherlock sucked his teeth and collapsed into the comfort that was John's strength.

"I can only imagine what it feels like."John drew a sharp breath at Sherlock's immediate response.

"Good, that's why I did it, wasn't it? Didn't want you to ever know how perfectly dreadful this actually is." Sherlock sort of laughed, sort of sobbed. It was the first human sound elicited from him since all this happened. Leave it to John Watson to draw out the human response.

"God!" John shook his head and took Sherlock's face, thumbing the streams of tears off his cheeks. Sherlock chuckled and clung to John's wrists, as John left his palms cupped over Sherlock's cheekbones. They looked up at each, laughing at how hard they were both crying. It was absolutely ridiculous.

"Do you want some blasted tea or not? I mean, for all that trouble, we might as well drink a few gallons each." John nodded to the kettle. Sherlock sniffed as John let him go. He took John by his collar before he could pull away and wiped his tears with the cuff of his sleeve. John spluttered as tears were swatted in his mouth and nose. Then they both laughed. All of this was becoming a new and ridiculous normal. Something to laugh about now and then.

"Definitely. Thanks." Sherlock looked over his shoulder thinking he heard something on the stairs. John took his arm as he poured his tea.

"Come back to earth for me, will you? Why don't we watch crap telly? Maybe it will help us both pretend we are somewhat stable for a few minutes, yeah?" John put Sherlock's teacup in his hand. Then he took his tea in one hand and Sherlock's wrist in the other. Thus, he led him to the settee.

They both had just begun to settle and watch Doctor Who when Mrs. Hudson led a flustered and mortified Lestrade into the living room.