Mrs Hudson greeted John with a huge grin and a warm hug before ushering him in from the rain and up the stairs to 221b. Sherlock was standing in the kitchen in his dressing gown and lab glasses with a beaker in one hand and a blow torch in the other. Upon seeing John, he abruptly switched off the torch, slammed the beaker down with a thud and yanked the glasses off his face. His face was flushed red & covered in a damp sheen, his curls sticking to his forehead. He hastily wiped his forehead on his sleeve and moved to the kettle, avoiding John's gaze.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson," John said firmly in a kind dismissal. She gave him a knowing smile.

"Not a problem, dear. I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

When she had closed the door behind her, John turned to Sherlock who was rummaging in the kitchen cupboards frantically looking for something. John slowly, carefully walked across the kitchen and ghosted a hand across Sherlock's shoulder and down his left arm from behind, oh-so-careful not to put any pressure on his arm. His hand came to rest low on Sherlock's bicep where it remained as Sherlock stilled, frozen for a moment, a sharp intake of breath passing his lips before turning his head and shoulders to glance at John. John held his gaze, firm but kind, as he nodded at the cupboard above Sherlock's head.

"Whatever you have to hand is fine." John tilted his head and creased his brow, eyes glistening, his hand still placed on Sherlock's arm. "Thank you." He wasn't thanking him for the tea, Sherlock realised belatedly as John withdrew his arm. Sherlock almost reached out grabbed his wrist before second-guessing that thought. The kettle clicked itself off, the sound breaking Sherlock's thoughts. He poured the boiling water into two mugs, added a couple of teabags and carefully poured milk into each before handing one to John. John's fingers brushed Sherlock's as he took the cup from his hand, John's rapid glance at Sherlock's reaction underscoring that it hadn't entirely been accidental.

Sherlock glanced down, the intensity in John's studying gaze too much for him to compute while his brain was still trying to comprehend the buzz he'd received from John's light caress. He wrapped both hands around his steaming mug &hugged it to his chest protectively.

"How are you today, John? How's Rosie?"

John smiled sadly at Sherlock's thoughtfulness. Six months ago he'd have pointed John toward the kettle & told him to help himself while he dissected an eyeball next to the plate of , to be honest, John missed that. Sherlock was still being so cautious with him and he hated it. He wanted the old Sherlock back, the one who flung himself into his endeavours with ruthless abandon, not this version who second-guessed every step in case he got burned.

John leant back against the table and placed his mug to one side.

"We're both fine, thanks for asking. But that's not what I came here to talk about."

Sherlock's face betrayed the sudden drop in the pit of his stomach. John straightened as he realised he'd just scared the hell out him for the second time that week.

"It's all fine, Sherlock. I just wanted to apologise. Properly. For what I did to you."

Sherlock's eyes widened in fear as he rushed to assure John that no apology was necessary but John held up a placating hand. Sherlock paused mid-panic.

"What I did to you that day was unforgivable and yet you almost died to save my sorry arse. Again. Quite why you even let me in here I still don't really understand, I'd have tossed me out without so much as a 'don't let the door hit you on the way out'. But, by some miracle from a deity I stopped believing in a long time ago, you haven't. So the least I owe you is an apology and a bloody lot more besides. I don't know what I did to deserve Mary and her deception, probably something to do with me being an utter cock to the people who love me most, eh" He quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock in a half-hearted joke but he struggled to hold his head to meet Sherlock's gaze. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. The way you flinched the other day...", John paused, glancing up at the ceiling & crossing his arms across his chest defensively, biting his lower lip as his eyes filled with tears, "I''m so, so, sorry. I can never fix what I did to you. And I made that your reaction to me."

Sherlock hugged his tea tighter to his chest as he looked up through long eyelashes at John's lined and weary face. He knew that John's words had stung; his fists had left more than just physical scars. And his physical wounds healed faster than his emotional ones. Part of him wanted to just forget it had ever happened but he knew that, for both their sakes, it had to be properly acknowledged for what it had been before they could ever hope to move past it. What Sherlock wanted from John he could never have, despite Irene's protests, but he just wanted his John back. The John who hadn't been broken by his death and Mary's betrayal.

And that John was staring at him, eyes full of tears, underneath the eye bags and the lines he'd acquired these past few years. Sherlock didn't know what to say so he said nothing.

John, taking his silence for rejection, stiffened and took a deep breath before gripping the edge of the table to lower himself down onto one knee and then both in front of Sherlock.

"I once remember a man getting on his knees in an underground train car to beg his best friend for forgiveness for a betrayal for which he thought he would never be forgiven," he said, clasping his hands in front of him in a prayer position, "even though I know now that he had nothing to be forgiven for." John stared up at Sherlock. "You can ask me to leave and I'll respect your choice. But, if you ever need me, I'm yours." Sherlock slowly smiled at his words. John breathed a sigh and let out a nervous laugh. "But, you know, use a phone or something next time. DVDs from my dead wife are a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Sherlock placed his tea down on the counter, his dressing gown flapping around them both as he leaned down to grab John by the shoulders and pull him to his feet.

"Get up, you daft git," Sherlock admonished, hands still gripping John's shoulders as he raised an eyebrow at him. John looked at him questioningly one final time and Sherlock smiled sheepishly before enveloping John in a gentle embrace. John took no time in overcoming his surprise as he wrapped both arms underneath Sherlock's shoulders & around his back. Sherlock surprised him by stooping his long frame & burying his face in John's neck. John breathed in the smell of laundry detergent, Prada aftershave & that uniquely Sherlock smell that he'd forgotten at some point in the last few years. It was a heady mix. God, he loved this man.

Suddenly the door swung open & Sherlock abruptly pulled back from John, his face beaming with heat.

"Hello, gentlemen. I'm sorry, did I come at a bad time?"

John scowled at both the sudden loss of heat and the reason for it. Irene sodding Adler. He looked from Irene to Sherlock, nodded curtly, cleared his throat and started for the door

"Oh, John dear, don't leave on my account!", she drawled with a smirk & a wink towards Sherlock. Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John waved him away.

"Look, I need to go and collect Rosie from nursery. Text me if you're free tomorrow, I have a few days off. Or if you're otherwise occupied," he added gruffly, "it's fine. Just another time."

And with a withering look at Irene as he passed, he was down the stairs & gone before Sherlock could find the words to stop him. At the loud slam of the front door, Sherlock turned to glare angrily at Irene.

"What the HELL did you think you were doing?"

Irene picked up John's now lukewarm tea and took a swig.

"Helping you?"

Sherlock raised his hands in a frustrated gesture.

"By what, exactly? Making John think that I'll be spending the next three days being whipped by you with reckless abandon?"

Irene waved his protests away nonchalantly.

"You should be thanking me. You wanted proof I was right? That man is greener than Kermit the frog right now. There's your proof. You're welcome, by the way."

Sherlock just turned back to his forgotten blowtorch.

"Get out!"