This time it was practically impossible for me to not get too excited. John knew my name. Not only did he recognize me, but he knew my name! Unfortunately, John's progress seemed to hit a bit of a snag at that point. In fact, he seemed to be getting worse.

I learned within a few days that my name could be said in a startling variety of ways. Panicked, calm, eager, careful, absentminded, bashful, irritable, fond, warm, weary, wild, worried, vacant, vicious, urgent, useless, grateful, tense, triumphant, grieving, terrified, sheepish, shy, solemn, suspicious, reluctant, restless, rough, rude, queasy, questioning, confused, pained, polite, obedient, needy, nervous, angry, miserable, longing, jealous, intent, helpless, hungry, frantic, fervent, curious, cautious, brave, bleak, bitter, awkward, anxious...

It wasn't long before I could recognize each inflection for what emotion John was going for. My name started to mean different things. It wasn't just my name anymore. It was a method for John to try to convey what he wanted to say. There were many times I caught him moving his mouth experimentally as if he were trying to find different words, but he always opted to simply use my name. It was frustrating, but I suppose it worked.

The most common meaning of my name was also my least favorite. It seemed that along with the power of speech, John regained quite a bit of his strength. His nightmares got worse, soon worse than when he'd first moved into Baker Street. And he became increasingly more violent.

It was a nightly occurrence now for him to wake up for a nightmare and turn dangerous. I soon had bruises covering my body, but a great part of me didn't even notice. Every time he woke, screaming my name and thrashing about, I would be there instantly, doing my best to hold him tight to my chest. Eventually he'd come back to me, or he'd lose steam and stop struggling.

I stopped sleeping all together. I couldn't risk it. If one his attacks happened during a nap, I wouldn't be aware enough to be there for him. I stopped eating much as well. My main source of sustenance was coffee. A lot of it. Every now and again, I'd order take out, but John was eating more and more every day and most of the food I ordered would end up going to him.

I had to keep reminding myself that we'd made progress. He was eating solid foods, he was using the toilet on his own, he was mobile and responsive, he knew me. He wasn't just an empty shell, a body all but in a coma. John was here, with me. It was just a broken and scarred version of him. Something I intended to fix.

The one thing that was improving that I could see was John seemed to be able to understand more of what I said. He'd watch my lips carefully, sometimes mimicking the movements in an effort to understand. It was slowly getting to the point where I didn't have to slow down for him to understand. I did dumb down my vocabulary quite a bit, however, and tried to steer away from any larger words, words that would be harder to interpret.

Once I caught John reading my lips, his own lips moving along with mine, just barely behind me. I stopped talking quite suddenly and he looked up at me, blinking in confusion.

"Sherlock?"

"Do you want to try to learn BSL?" I asked. "Sign language?"

John's brow furrowed, trying to understand. I dug through my memory and signed the first few letters of the alphabet to him. His eyes flicked down to my hand and then widened.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed excitedly. I grinned.

"I take that as a yes."

Angry. I am angry. I am always angry. Which makes me angry.

Sherlock is always helping. He's patient. He shouldn't be. It makes me angry.

I'm trying. Trying to understand. Trying to know what he's saying. He's so patient. I'm still not understanding.

He stops. Looks at me.

"Sherlock?" I ask, hiding my anger.

He says something. Slow. It's a question. But what? I watch his mouth, trying. His hand moves.

He's signing! A... B... C... D...

Sign language!

I look up, understanding. "Sherlock!"

He smiles. He's happy. I've made him happy. I've made him happy and it makes me happy. It's nice. I'm not angry.

A/N: I know I keep saying this, but I'm still blown away by the reception of this story. You all are amazing and I'm going to keep saying that. :) Thank you all.

I love reviewers and live for constructive criticism!