Sherlock lay on the ground by the fireplace of 221B Baker Street, unmoving and soundlessly breathing. His eyes, though open, were vacant and they stared off into the depths of his own grief. The room was filled with heaps of chaos. Books and papers lined the floor, amongst crumpled clothes and the shattered glass of conical flasks and microscope slides. His treasured violin lay discarded in the middle of the room, with its neck severed.

He was so enveloped by anguish that he didn't even notice the door as it swung quietly open to reveal a shorter man's figure looking cautiously into the flat.

John Watson took in the scene with shock, but his gaze didn't linger upon the surroundings for long. It came to rest upon Sherlock's body, which was tucked up in a foetal position with the fingers of his left hand lightly touching John's chair as though trying to hold on to his friend by keeping hold of his chair.

Compassion surged through John, and his eyes itched like there were tears behind them. His once glorious companion lay like a broken, abandoned doll. A doll that was wrapped in a jumper that was not its own.

Driven by one thought, John attempted to cross the room to his friend, to his Sherlock. His feet were clumsy in their haste and guilt, and John stumbled through the rubbish like a blind man. Large pieces of glass stuck into the thick rubber of his shoes.

Sherlock stirred. He raised his head, only to see John there, with his arms flailing as he tripped on a dictionary.

He sat up like a resurrected corpse, slowly and disbelievingly. Sherlock did not blink until he was firmly upright, with his eyes fixed on his one friend.

"John?"

John stopped. "Sherlock," he choked.

"You came back, John." Sherlock's eyes shimmered as he stood.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry," began John. "I didn't know what to do. I -"

"Why did you leave me, John?" interrupted Sherlock.

John swallowed. "I... Couldn't... Accept it."

Sherlock's face hardened. "I begged, John! I begged! And you still walked away. Do you know... How hard it was to lose you, John? Have you any idea what my life has been like without you?"

John looked despairingly at him. "Sherlock..."

"No, John!" Sherlock screamed. "Not "Sherlock!" You don't know what you did to me! How could you break my heart and ruin my life all in the same two minutes? How could anyone be that cruel? I've been living in Hell, John, for the past three months. And then you turn up and all you can say is "Sherlock"!"

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I didn't know what else to do!" John's voice was pleading.

"Sorry! Sorry means nothing from you, John," snarled Sherlock.

They stared at each other for ten simple seconds, saying nothing, until Sherlock slumped backwards and landed in his armchair, defeated. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as John settled into his own chair opposite him. Finally where he should be.

"Mrs Hudson said you hadn't done a case since I'd left," stated John in a soft voice.

Sherlock snapped his head up and scrutinized John. "You spoke to Mrs Hudson?"

"I called her a couple of days ago," John nodded carefully.

"Of course you did," said Sherlock with a sigh.

"So, why haven't you done a case?" probed John.

"You know why I do my work, John," said Sherlock. "Because I enjoy it. But, when you were gone, I didn't. I missed having you at my side to tell me what was obvious. I couldn't enjoy work without you because it always reminded me of you, and that hurt."

John looked away, ashamed. "You must have be so bored."

"Not really, John," replied Sherlock. "I was too busy mourning my losses."

There was a profound pause. "Will you forgive me, Sherlock?" asked John.

"That depends," Sherlock answered. "I'll forgive you as soon as you tell me why you came back. And I want the truth, John. The whole truth."

John took a deep breath, wetted his lips, then swallowed. "I missed you, Sherlock. I couldn't bear to be without you. You're my best friend, and I am so sorry that I let you go."

"There's more, John. I know there is."

"Yes," said John slowly. "There is. But I can't say it."

"Then I won't forgive you."

"I can't..."

"Then leave, John. If there's nothing stopping you."

Pause.

"I've kept it hidden for so long, Sherlock. Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't." John's next breath was shaky. "After I'd gone, I began to think about... Us. Together. And... I realised that it had always been like that. I've put you over every girlfriend I've had since we met. And now, I have to tell you that..."

A tear welled at the corner of John's right eye as his voice broke down.

"I think I might love you too, Sherlock."

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