It took at least three minutes for Sherlock to start breathing again, John leaned back as the man began coughing and gasping desperately. John took his hand immediately, "I'm here, it's okay, I'm here." He soothed as Sherlock's coughs lightened. He blinked a few times before looking around the room then back at John,

"John," He rasped trying to sit up. John smiled and helped him to sit up, leaning him against the wall.

Lestrade had called for back-up once Jessica scratched at his eyes; he stood beside John and looked over Sherlock,

"Well you're not dead, that's the main thing." He said with relief. John rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist, lifting him from the ground, Lestrade helped also with a few words of encouragement.

Sherlock's eyes were glazed over and he looked slightly dazed, John shot him a questionable look when he leaned all his weight onto John.

"She injected me with...something." He slurred lazily pointing to the syringe on the table. John looked over at it, it was small and John could see now how easy it must have been to hide it from officers. Lestrade should have searched her before interviewing her, this wouldn't have happened otherwise.

Lestrade had told John it would be wise to take Sherlock home and John couldn't have agreed more, he'd also said to go to the hospital but Sherlock had outright complained and then said something about 'the truth behind the Mona Lisa', which John failed to hear properly due to Sherlock's slurred sentences. In the end, after minutes of complaining and arguing, John had decided to just take Sherlock home.

"You're an idiot," John said as they sat in the cab, "a bloody idiot. You could have died-no, wait, you did die." He ranted, "My God Sherlock do you know what was going through my head when I couldn't find a pulse? I-" John paused when he felt a weight on his shoulder. He turned to a mop of curly hair leaning on him; Sherlock had fallen asleep. John sighed, smiled and looked out of the window,

"This isn't over," He smiled to himself.

John dragged the half-asleep Sherlock into the flat and gently laid him on the sofa, admiring the calmed face of the other man. Memories hit him of when he drugged Sherlock and he felt the guilt strike him again; Sherlock may have forgiven him but it doesn't mean he's forgiven himself.

Slowly and carefully, John began to take off Sherlock's scarf and coat, not wanting to startle him or think he's taking advantage – God John would never do that and he felt rage even thinking about anyone doing something like that to Sherlock, he was about to dismiss the anger when he saw the light bruises on Sherlock's neck, still developing. He sighed and shook his head,

"You idiot." He smirked and rolled his eyes. He leaned down and kissed the detective's head lightly, "let's get you to bed."

John was in the kitchen in the morning when he heard Sherlock meander out of his bedroom still in his clothes that were ruffled and creased, "morning," John said from behind the news paper. He got a grunt in reply and smirked, "headache? You were drugged. Because you were an idiot."

"I know," Sherlock grumbled and sat opposite John at the kitchen table, John put the paper down and regarded the messy curls on the detective's head. The panic had drained from his system so he wasn't that angry at Sherlock for almost dying. Well, he did die.

I could kill him for being so stupid.

"God, you look like a mess."

"I know," Sherlock said again and rubbed at the curls on his head in frustration, "feels like I've been...dragged through a minefield."

"You need to eat something," John stood up and popped bread into the toaster. He smiled when Sherlock went to protest but decided against it and silently observed John.

"John," He began, "I think I should visit Henry today."

John was a bit surprised, "Ok, I think you should too. He needs a friend."

"He does." Sherlock agreed and they sat in silence, eating breakfast. Well, until Sherlock took four bites of a slice of toast and refused to eat any more.

"Fine, don't eat it." John sighed finally, "But don't think that's all you're eating today."

"Yes, Doctor." Sherlock rolled his eyes and headed to the bathroom.

"Don't forget to scrub behind your ears!" John called from the sink with a smile on his face. He practically heard the eye roll from the detective.

Whilst Sherlock was showering, John heard his phone ringtone. He was confused to see Lestrade's caller ID on his screen,

"Hello?"

"John, right, Jessica Barlott has been charged with six counts of murder and two counts of attempted murder."

John's eye went wide, "really? That quick?"

"She confessed. Eli Chard, well, he hasn't necessarily done anything wrong, so we can't arrest him."

"He abused her, isn't there-"

"There's no evidence, besides Barlott said she didn't want to press charges."

John went silent. He did feel bad for her, he had to be honest. The poor woman was destroyed by abuse, it probably went on for years and nobody was there to help her. God, John thought, I've never felt sorry for a bloody murderer before. First time for everything I suppose.

"John?" Lestrade's voice travelled through the speaker,

"Uh, yes, all right, thanks for letting me know."

"Another thing, I'm going to need you to come to the Yard to-"

Suddenly the phone was plucked from John's grasp, "I'm very sorry Lestrade but John happens to be extremely busy and unable to give any sort of statement, as am I." Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder as he spoke, one arm linking with John's.

John could hear the protests from Lestrade before Sherlock said goodbye and hung up the call. The detective smiled at John, his hair damp from his shower and wetting the fabric of John's clothes.

"Extremely busy?" John laughed,

"Yes," Sherlock kissed John on the cheek, "I think our time watching dull television with tea and biscuits is overdue, don't you think?"

"Thought you were going to visit Henry?" John smiled contently at the feeling of the other man against him.

"Later," Sherlock linked his fingers with John's, "the kettle isn't going to boil itself."

John chuckled, "then go boil it."

Sherlock had finally gone to see Henry and he was glad he did. Although it was difficult to explain it through words per se, he made it clear that he had missed Henry. They had shared a lot together when he was homeless; of course he had others to help him, but Henry seemed to make it real that Sherlock was human too, that he needed others too.

As he strolled back to Baker Street, he remembered feeling the cold hands of death, how terrifying it all was – he was never the one for fear, but just feeling your lungs become incapable was beyond painful and unforgettable. He shivered and just wanted to get home so he could sit with John, watching dull television; he hated it with a passion but John made it bearable.

John made everything bearable: eating, sleeping, even Mycroft. He could possibly say he loved John but he understood that that could make the relationship uncomfortable if said at the wrong time, and Sherlock needed to be careful with his words, the last thing he wanted was to upset John, let alone make him uncomfortable.

Maybe a little bit uncomfortable with innuendos and inappropriate sentences, but that was amusing, Sherlock was entitled to a little bit of fun now and again, was he not?

Sherlock unlocked the door to 221B, careful to be quiet as it was fairly late. He removed his coat and listened out for any sign that John was awake; he could hear angry shouting and panicked, quickly he ran up the stairs to John's bedroom and peered in, seeing that John was obviously having a nightmare again.

He thought to wake the doctor but decided against it, he didn't want another bleeding nose, so instead he removed his shoes quietly and climbed in beside John, wrapping his arms around the other man and breathing in his scent; His John's scent.

He smiled when John quietened and stopped trying to punch at invisible attackers. Slowly, Sherlock drifted into a deep sleep.

When John awoke in the morning, he was surprised to feel a pair of warm arms wrapped around him and even more surprised to see a mop of curly hair on the pillow next to him. He looked at the detective's relaxed body beside him and felt rather amused, the man was still in his suit, why did Sherlock even own pyjamas when he spent more time in his day clothes?

John chuckled quietly and dropped his head back onto the pillow, feeling Sherlock wrap his arms around him tighter. "Idiot," He muttered and leaned in, pecking Sherlock on the lips and feeling the detective smile against his lips.

The pair of them were perfect for each other, John knew it.

-End-

-sobs- well guys, it has been a wonderful journey and I'm so glad I could spend it with you lovely people. All of your kudos/favourites/follows/reviews and comments are appreciated! I love you all and I'm so happy you like my writing (somebody has to!) ~

Thank you all and goodbye! ~

P.s I know I said this fanfiction would have two cases, but I decided against it because it just didn't go well for me.

P.s. If you haven't already and want to read more of my works, you could always check out my profile where I've written two more fanfictions and I'm working on a new one!

Oh and WOO I DIDN'T KILL SHERLOCK OFF! my Moffat-Gatiss syndrome has been cured. (WL Chastain, your review made me chuckle!)