John climbed out of the cab with a little difficulty, realising how ironic it was that he was leading Sherlock at the moment. Sherlock followed John in silence, watching him carefully, noticing the limp was back. When they walked into the flat Sherlock looked around, seeing all the things he already knew when he had come in the middle of the night. He noticed that John had moved the bottle of antidepressants out of the bathroom, presumably because he didn't want Sherlock to see them. Sherlock turned to watch John who was making some tea. "John..." he said quietly. "I'm sorry," he added when John was quiet. "I had to, you see-"
"It's fine," John cut him off.
"But..."
"Sherlock, it's fine," he said, not looking at the man as he brought over the tea which Sherlock took silently.
"Your stuff should be just as you left it," John said, not mentioning the nights when he slept in Sherlock's room to be closer to him.
Sherlock just nodded, not sure what he could say.
John smiled to himself grimly. What a state they were in, neither of them being able to meet the other's eyes and both pretending things were exactly the same. John turned over the note in his pocket with his fingers. He didn't know if Sherlock knew he had it and oh... It was just too confusing, he reflected.
The evening passed in an uncomfortable silence, when the night came they both retired to their respective rooms. Sherlock knew John had been sleeping in his bed but he said nothing. He didn't know whether it was okay to mention, well. Whether it was okay to mention anything really. Sherlock closed his eyes reluctantly, deciding he needed to sleep.
John lay curled up in his bed silently. He turned the note over in front of him, after a moment he made a decision. He stood up and limped over to find a pen. When he managed to find one, (he didn't even bother trying to hide what he was doing, any noise was heard by Sherlock so there was no point) he wrote on the back of the creased note.
I love you too, Sherlock Holmes. –JW
He clumsily placed it under the skull, wondering how long it would take Sherlock to find it before climbing back into his bed where he'd inevitably wake up screaming like he had every night for the last three years.