Hello again! I'm sorry for the long wait, but I'm on holiday and haven't had access to internet until now. A big thanks to my latest follower: mad-minds! :) And just a huge, big, fat thank you to everyone who is reading, commenting and reviewing this, you are my inspiration!

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Chapter 21

Sherlock had been permitted to go home the following day, as long as he promised to rest. He did not approve of this, but John gave him a look that he didn't dare to argue with. John had seated Sherlock on the sofa, more or less forced him to eat and he'd just put a cup of tea in front of him. He sat down in his chair opposite, a cup in his own hands. It was very silent. John had a million questions burning inside his head, just waiting to pop out at the wrong moment. He didn't want to upset Sherlock in any way, but he couldn't trust himself to not spill something, so he just kept quiet. Sherlock noticed of course.

"John? There is something wrong, I can tell. Please tell me what it is." Sherlock's voice was soft. John opened and closed his mouth a few times, debating whether or not to bring up the subject they had so carefully avoided so far. He finally surrendered, they had to deal with this sometime, and they might as well get it over with. Besides, John felt he couldn't keep his emotions in check for much longer. He took a deep breath and said simply "You called him."

"Called who?" Sherlock asked. The drugs had clearly not gotten out of his system; usually he would have known exactly what John meant.

"You called Ryan. YOU called him." John felt nauseated just by saying the name. "I thought you'd been kidnapped, murdered and cut to pieces. I had about forty-five different scenarios in my head when I came home to an empty and completely wrecked apartment, each one worse than the last. I was so angry that someone had taken you…from me…that they had taken you against your will. But that wasn't the case, was it?" John's voice sounded strained, and he could barely keep from shouting. "How the HELL could you voluntarily call a psychopathic, murderous, cold-hearted drug-dealer who, on top of all that wanted to sleep with you? It wasn't even part of the case was it? What the fuck were you thinking Sherlock?" John hadn't even noticed when he had stood up, but now he was hovering over Sherlock on the sofa, boring his eyes into the other man's.

Sherlock tried to rise, but John shoved him down again. Even though he was furious, his inner doctor couldn't help but interfere. Sherlock glared at him, but John was determined not to back down. The silence filled the room once more, but Sherlock eventually broke it.

"You had left me John." He sounded…defeated, John thought. "You had left me, and it hurt and it was all my fault and you were right, because I break things, I always break things and I broke you and I just couldn't live with it and the only thing I could think about was to get out of my mind. I needed a break from myself."

John's anger was still fuming. "You could have called anyone Sherlock!? Are you that bloody self-destructive that you…" John stopped himself as Sherlock looked up, his eyes tear-filled.

"You had left me John. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think." He made a small pause. "And yes I am that 'bloody self-destructive', but I hardly think it is the proper time to question my personality. You know who I am, you've always known John."

"I don't 'question your personality' Sherlock, I would never do that. But it's because of that I'm so furious at you. Look, I'm sorry for everything I said, I didn't mean a thing. You didn't break me Sherlock, you put me together. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. You are my life, and I was so scared of loosing you and just the knowledge that you did this on your own…it hurts, because I wasn't there to stop you, to protect you." John's voice cracked at the end. The emotions he had tried so hard to push aside for the past week, ever since he'd left the flat after seeing the text, were quickly coming to the surface.

Sherlock's facial expressions changed so fast that John didn't even have time to identify them all. Eventually he said "I never meant to hurt you John. I just wanted to hurt myself. It's what I do, and it's what I've always done. I am so sorry."

John wanted to shake the man in front of him, to scream that he was worth more than that. Instead he said "It's…fine. It's all fine now. But call me next time; I don't care if we've had a fight or if I'm at the other side of the country. Call me, Sherlock. We'll work it out together, okay?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Okay then. Good. This does not mean that I'm not still mad at you…and would you please stop staring at my lips?!" John exclaimed as the detective's eyes had been glued to his mouth for the last five minutes. The next second he found himself against the wall, Sherlock towering over him.

"I'm coming down, John." He breathed into John's ear.

"Wh-what?" John found it suddenly difficult to speak, but he still tried to put up some resistance as he was supposed to be mad at Sherlock, though he had a pretty hard time to remember why at the moment.

"The drugs are leaving my system and I'm coming down. I need a distraction, or I'm not sure what I'm going to do." He spoke down John's neck and kissed him on the shoulder. Then he looked up, straight into John's eyes. "Will you distract me John?" It was a question, but it sounded more like pleading. John hesitated for a couple of seconds, and debated whether to give in to his desire or be The Doctor and put Sherlock to rest. Besides, they should talk about things…

He met Sherlock's gaze and decided that words were pretty overrated anyway. He closed the distance between them, and he put all his emotions into the kiss. All the worry he'd felt, the frustration, the guilt, the love…

It was different this time. Their kisses were fiercer and more heated than ever before, and John felt as though his insides were on fire again. They didn't stop this time. They had waited for the perfect moment, and they both knew that it was now. They ended up in Sherlock's bedroom, exploring, feeling, touching, loving each other. It was perfect.

Afterwards, John lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sherlock was half asleep by his side. John didn't want to ruin the moment, but he had to ask.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm..?" He answered sleepily.

"How much do you remember from the hospital?"

"Everything. Why?"

"Everything? Do you remember what you said… I mean, did you mean…" John didn't know how to put it, but Sherlock understood anyway.

"Do I remember telling you that I love you? Yes I have a quite clear memory of that." Sherlock smiled.

John tried to ignore the lump in his throat. He closed his eyes, swallowed and looked up again and smiled back.

"I love you too."