John decided it really was time to wake up. This whole situation had to be dealt with. He was done dozing off on the couch, so he opened his eyes and sat up, looking for Sherlock.

Sherlock was pleased to see John finally wake up, as he'd been sleeping for a few hours already. He stood up from where he sat at the table, glancing into a microscope. Stretching his long legs he walked over to his friend. He starts to smile to himself until he see's the look on John's face as he stands up.

Sherlock remembered what had transpired before John passed out in the alley way, and frowned. 'You lied. You killed me.' The words flash through his mind and he scowls. He takes a step back from the angry blogger, and starts to speak.

"John, you have to let me expla-" he's hit so hard tears flood from his eyes. He for once, looks up at John, feeling pain shoot through his cheek and nose. Oh, yes. His nose was definitely broken, and he for sure had a black eye. John was fuming, and again, terrible phrases popped into his valuable mind, making everything more painful. 'Somebody loves you. If I had to punch that face I'd avoid your nose and your teeth too.'

He swooped to his feet, and John started towards him again. 'This is going to be a long, long, night.' He thought.

John ignores the throbbing of his knuckles and the pounding of his head. Sherlock stands up, watching John with those damn eyes of his. He goes to him and shoves him against the wall, fiercely. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?" He screams, not caring who hears. He has Sherlock up by the collar and against the wall, getting right in his face. "Do you know how close I have come to just...just...ending my life? I've become nothing." His words are laced with venom, and he spits them into the detective's face.

"John-!" Sherlock attempts to speak, his voice quivering.

"NO! For once, something good had turned up. I started helping Lestrade, started to end this new case. And then you come along."

"John he would've killed you!" He pleads, wanting John to let him reveal how much danger John had really been in.

"I guess I would've welcomed it, Sherlock." He pulls Sherlock a bit off of the wall, and smashes him against it once more.

"John stop this! This is not necessary!" He states, seeing John ready to pummel him to a pulp. He shoves the army doctor way, seeing him stumble over the furinture. If he wanted to fight, then they'd just fight it out then.

John stumbles and stares at Sherlock. He runs at him, full speed. He is sweating, bleeding, pouring out anger, all at the world's only consulting detective. Sherlock charges at him too, and they collide. Two tsunamis crossing paths, leaving only destruction in their wake.

They wrestle, kick, and shout to each other after so much fury, sadness, and hysteria all escape from their prisons at the same time.

"John! You would've been shot! You and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade!" Sherlock grunts, trying to pin John down on the floor. He was strong, but he had sure as hell underestimated John's abilities due to the lack of seeing him fight.

"Why didn't you tell me!" John rolls quickly, pinning Sherlock to the ground now, his arm at the tall man's throat.

"I couldn't risk your safety you moron!" It was true. He had been busy demolishing his enemies, and if any of them had realized John knew he was alive, they would've used him against Sherlock. Just like before. He couldn't let that happen, to either of them, and so he did not tell John. "I've been keeping my eye on you John, I saw you at my grave. I did it because I care!" He wonders how many neighbors they have wakened by this time.

John grabbed Sherlock, trying to slide him into the couch, wanting him to feel pain. He wanted this man to feel what he had felt, and if he had to do it physically then so be it. In his attempt to toss Sherlock, the taller man grabbed John by his jumper, slamming them both against the small coffee table.

Sherlock put all of his weight against his flatmate, making sure his eyes bore into John's.

"Stop it. Stop this." His voice was still laced with frusturation, but he saw the defeat in John's eyes.

"I hate you." John whispered.

"John." He struggled against Sherlock's grasp, but the detective did not loosen his grip, or move his postion.

"I hate you." John felt his eyes start to burn again, and hated it. He wanted to hate Sherlock. He wanted him to go back and drop dead.

"John." It hurt. He had never cared if people called him 'freak' or 'psychopath'. He hadn't minded what people thought. He cared now though, and to hear his best friend say 'I hate you' with more emphasis each time, tore through him. His gut twisted, his head throbbed, and his heart ached. His cheeks were wet with tears, and he could not stop it.

"I HATE YOU." He screamed, and pushed against Sherlock's chest with all of his might, trying to be free from the tight hold he was in. He opened his eyes and saw Sherlock crying. Sherlock Holmes, crying. That's when he broke down. Sobs racked his body, and he clutched at his best friend's shirt.

Sherlock slid off of John, and pulled him close. "I'm so sorry. I didn't want to, John. John, I am so sorry." He choked along with John, both of them a heaping, tearful mess on the sitting room floor.

John cried into Sherlock, letting everything go. His flatmate was alive, and he was glad. He felt Sherlock's hands dig into his back, making them impossibly closer. "I missed you, Sherlock."

"I missed you, John." he whispered through the flood overcoming his eyes. "I missed you, so much." It felt good to be with his blogger again. As they got their feelings - ugh - out, Sherlock figured that everything, would finally be okay.

Yay! So, there's the big fight! I really appreciate all of the favoritng and following of this story, and I'd love more comments! Hope you like it! It's not the last chapter, but I'm stil brainstorming! Ooooh, mabye something with Lestrade will pop up! - C