Thanks so much for the fab reviews and for those that are still reading this. Just the interlude to go and then RoS 2 will be starting.

Two things:

1 This is mainly Sherlock and John talking things through. Lots of dialogue! Lots of angst and then setiment!

2 If anyone is curious about whay will happen with the Moriarty/Mycroft/Sherlock then have a look at "Tea and Coffee" which has some pretty big hints of what is going to happen and how the adults get to the situation in July.

Enjoy!

12th March

Ava did every single thing he asked of her that morning without complaint or fuss, as if she were worried that the slightest misstep would result in him not taking her to the hospital.

It wouldn't happen of course, and it was somewhat concerning that she thought that, but god did it make things easier to have an obedient child in the flat for once.

"Are we going by car?" she asked, trying to peer around as he shut the door and held her hand.

"No."

"Taxi?" she asked, still craning her neck.

"Tube." He answered, leading them down the steps and keeping her hand securely in hers.

The look she gave him made Sherlock almost want to smile. "Tube?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "You hate the tube."

But it was public and less of an obvious target than Mycroft's sleek black cars. "It's not far," he said crossing them over the road.

By the time they got to the platform Sherlock had picked her up and into his arms, hating the crowds that threatened to separate them. Ava however was delighted with the change in height and before long took to pointing out bald patches in a voice that wasn't as quiet as she thought it was.

Sherlock let Ava go in to John's room ahead of him as he spoke to the doctor. When he entered he paused at the sight in front of him.

John, in a move that would no doubt irritate his doctor, had clearly encouraged Ava up onto the bed and snuggled her into his uninjured side. The little girl was curled into him, her curly head of hair a stark contrast to the clean , tidy lines of the hospital blankets and gown John wore. She peeked at Sherlock with wide eyes even as her hand clutched at John's gown. A tiny, content smile was flashed at him as if they were sharing a wonderful secret.

John was alive.

But he was still furious. His chin was resting on Ava's head and one arm was protectively curled around her, a position that was rather uncomfortable for a man that had just been shot. His eyes were fixed on Sherlock, narrowed dangerously.

"Do you want me to move her?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Try it," John taunted.

It would be better to leave, to let John calm down and Ava reassure herself, but Sherlock couldn't look away from the sight of the pair of them; both tired and damaged in some way because of him.

Slowly he watched Ava's eyes flutter shut and her breathe even out.

"Is she asleep?" John asked a while later.

Sherlock nodded warily, "Yes."

John ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully, clearly weighing up his words.

"Has she been ok?"

They hadn't been the words that Sherlock had expected to hear, but nonetheless they were unsurprising. "Yes, a little shaken but for the most part fine."

"You've been good with her." John murmured.

He doubted that. Every time he saw Ava he seemed to be tumbling over mistakes with her.

"You have," John insisted. "Everyone's commented on it."

"Everyone being Lestrade and Mycroft?" Sherlock sneered.

"And Mrs Hudson, Mike, Molly."

How had John managed to see that many people? He was like a foghorn, drawing people to him whether they liked it or not.

"Idiots." Sherlock dismissed.

John gazed at him steadily, "She's never been without me, and yet she isn't crying or unhappy. You judge yourself too harshly."

Sherlock waited, "You have far more to say on the matter than this," he replied eventually.

Nodding in agreement John shifted in the bed, tucking Ava against him more securely. "Moran. That's what pissed me off the most; you going after Moran."

"I am aware of the failings of my actions that night," Sherlock begun.

"I don't think you are-"

"I am aware of the assassins that came for you and Ava."

If it was possible for someone to freeze while lying in a bed then John managed it. His face turned whiter than the bed sheets and he stared in horror at Sherlock.

Damn.

"Lestrade was under the impression that you had guess-"

"No," John said hoarsely, "No…I…" he stared off to the side for a moment, clearly trying to process the information.

"Then what was your issue?" Sherlock asked, seeing John lose himself in the thoughts of what might have happened that night and feeling the sudden urge to distract him. John didn't need to be haunted by what might have happened a few nights ago.

Blinking John stared at him, the expression on his face showing that he was already veering back to the point at hand and away from the dark nightmare that could have been that night, "I…you went after Moran."

"I am aware of that," Sherlock eyed the chair in the room suspiciously, wondering whether John would allow him to sit while they did this.

"Well…he did call it," John raised his spare hand as if to rub at his eyes but gasped at the pain that caused in his side.

It took everything Sherlock had to prevent himself from darting forward. "Call what?" he asked, to distract himself from the sight of John struggling.

"Moran told me you'd either self-destruct or stop."

"Moran was an idiot."

"No he wasn't," John argued, "You went after him, on your own without a care for what might happen-"

"Spare me this lecture; I've already had it from Lestrade."

"I'm not talking about legal consequences you git," John glared, "I'm talking about dying consequences! You had no way of knowing you would walk out of that building alive."

"He shot you," Sherlock snarled, trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake Ava. "You were dying-"

"And what if I had woken up and discovered you were dead?" John replied. "Or what if we had both died that night? What would have happened to Ava?"

"You would have managed. And so would she."

John's jaw dropped in fury. "I barely survived the last time you "died". I told you, I sat with you in the flat and told you how I felt when you left me last time and you chose to ignore all of that and risk everything-"

"Everything I had was lying dying in a hospital bed," Sherlock snapped.

Then his eyes dropped to Ava's sleeping head. John was as necessary as air now but Ava…there was a horrible, uncomfortable image of the five year old adrift and alone in the world that made him reconsider the idea that there would be nothing left to lose if John were stolen from him.

"Yeah," John said quietly seeing where Sherlock's gaze lay, "I thought…I hoped that we were becoming…but we weren't were we? For a while I thought we'd settle into some domestic bliss and…" John's jaw tightened. "I don't know which you were planning Sherlock, but I'm not an idiot. This past month…you were either trying to get shot or you were about to leave me."

Sherlock stared at the floor, unsure and hating it, knowing that John could see the confirmation on his face as clearly as Sherlock could read a crime scene.

"You bastard," John said with such quiet anguish that Sherlock shut his eyes as if that could lessen the blow. "Which was it?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the sheets on the bed. "I was too selfish to ever seriously consider leaving."

"So dying was better?" John asked, his voice sounding full with tears.

"I…Mycroft pointed out the flaws in that plan," Sherlock muttered.

"But you considered it?"

"Your safety is paramount-"

"Not at that cost," John said thickly, "Not like that."

"John-"

"You can't…I can't have you make those decisions over my head Sherlock." John's eyes were terribly bright. "God…I can't keep having this conversation with you," he ducked his head to Ava's hair, as if drawing strength.

"And I will not pretend that you are not targeted and need to be protected because your ego has an issue with it." Sherlock hissed, that itching, nauseating worry making him lash out.

It was utterly the wrong thing to say. That was apparent the moment the words hit John's ears.

But Sherlock had no idea how to call them back.

"My ego?" John said, his voice suddenly losing the wavering quality it had previously had. "MY ego? If it wasn't for your flaming ego seven years ago, then none of this would be happening!"

"John-"

"How can you stand there and even have the gall to say that to me? I didn't show off to the point that Moriarty had an opening to destroy us, I didn't swan back into the life I'd left behind and drag everyone back in with me because my ego needed to be soothed. I didn't force this relationship because I was too impatient to think it through, I didn't think I could play two powerful, deadly men against each other and make them dance to my tune. I didn't then become so bloody self- obsessed that I brought drugs back into the flat rather than check that Ava was alright-"

"I wasn't-"

"Did you want to finish Moran's work? How would it have been helpful to get high? Tell me exactly how that was more useful than visiting me in the hospital or making sure that Ava wasn't scared?"

"I thought you were dead!" Sherlock snapped, "I couldn't feel anything I couldn't…" he trailed off swallowing back what he wanted to say. "I needed to feel something, anything."

"How…" John looked away as if suddenly hurt by something. "I've accepted many things about this relationship Sherlock. If you felt like that then can you imagine how much worse I would have felt if…"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, sensing something…erroneous in the way that John was thinking but unable to work out exactly what it was.

"You can't just leave again Sherlock. Not this time. You have ties, responsibilities-"

"I know-"

"You don't! Otherwise you wouldn't have gone after Moran or bought cocaine or-"

Sherlock growled in frustration and scraped at his face with cold hands. "This is going nowhere," he hissed.

"-Or planned to leave."

Shaking his head Sherlock looked at the wall.

"How would I have explained that to Ava? She adores you. How am I meant to explain to her that you and all the characters that go with you are suddenly gone from our lives? She's five and she's had enough people John's voice cracked at the memory of Harry, "Did you even think about her?"

"You've coped before-"

"Coped! Sherlock, not thrived or managed but coped, endured. I told you, I damn well told you what it was like and you still were happy with leaving-"

"I told you, I could not leave."

"Dying then"

"I updated my will."

John's jaw dropped.

"And that makes your plan alright?" he asked with quiet seething rage. "You couldn't manage just the idea of me dying, how the hell do you think I was meant to cope with living through your death twice? Especially after all we had?"

Had?

HAD?

Terror clutched at Sherlock's heart as he focussed on that single dreadful word.

"How could you do that to us, to her, to me?"

The fear clutched at him and made him slow, "I…I wasn't thinking

"You? Not thinking? You never not think Sherlock."

But he hadn't. He'd never considered how John might fail to cope, fail to forgive again. John always managed. "I didn't think_" what? That it would hurt John this much?

"That was made abundantly clear." John snarled.

He had no idea how to fix this. He had no idea how to breathe.

So he fled the room instead.

Outside was cool, there was air and he could almost dull the picture of John lying in a hospital bed, staring at him with disappointment.

Sherlock was so far out of his comfort zone now.

In his pocket his phone vibrated.

Sending someone over for the web. MH

Sherlock stared at the text for a moment, then turned around suddenly.

"Go away John started when Sherlock strode back into the room.

"Enough," Sherlock cut across him, standing his ground. "I have had enough."

John's jaw twitched and he paled slightly.

Good.

"I am not letting you shout and rail at me just because you are hospitalised."

It was hard to tell whether John relaxed or tensed up even further at that statement.

"I will not stand here and listen to you spout nonsense Sherlock continued.

John opened his mouth.

"I have ended the game with Moriarty."

John gaped at him, "This isn't like clicking off of an online game of poker,"

"No. It is however strangely akin to giving everything I have worked on for almost six years to Mycroft."

John stared for a moment and then shook his head, "Do you really think I'm going to fall for that?" he snarled after a pause.

There was a gut reaction to push back, to start another row to which there seemed no end to, but, for the first time in what felt like weeks, Sherlock thought.

Properly thought. And observed.

The conclusion was staggeringly painful, but unequivocally accurate.

John had no idea just how deeply Sherlock…felt. He was still under the impression that he was the more committed in this relationship.

How could he be so stupid? How could he really not know? Sherlock hadn't said it exactly but he had to know?

Didn't he?

Something must have shown in his face because John looked taken aback, concerned almost.

Slowly Sherlock reached over for Ava, "Let me put her on the chair," he murmured softly.

John relaxed his grip and tracked Sherlock's movements with careful eyes as Sherlock picked the little girl up off the bed, marvelling at the warmth she'd found with John. With upmost care, he placed her on the chair and then took off his coat, gently placing it over her, wanting her to keep that heat.

"I owe you an apology," he said slowly, not looking at John.

Silence.

"What for?" John asked sounding very uncertain.

"You…" Sherlock closed his eyes and then turned to John, opening them again. "You have been labouring under a misapprehension for a while now."

Staring at his blanket covered feet John seemed to press his lips together.

"I am not…" Sherlock searched for the right word, "Certain of how these things work," he confessed haltingly. "I dislike explaining the obvious but…you need to know that if it came to it, if I had to choose…I would willingly leave puzzles behind. I would confess every error I had ever made, destroy every experiment presently running and claim ignorance in every court room. If I had to choose it would be you. Every single time, it would be you."

John stared at him.

"And…if I seem…if there appears to be a lack of faith in your abilities or a lack of trust in your council it is because I have never had anything…anyone….that I have…loved as much as I love you. And I don't know how to keep you safe."

John still stared, stricken.

"And…you should have known that. I didn't tell you properly and…" he stopped himself, feeling that deep thick emotion threaten to shake him apart again.

A hand tucked into his and tugged him close.

Sherlock let it pull him but didn't dare open his eyes or risk relaxing against the tidal wave building inside of him.

"Sherlock," John whispered, his thumb stroking circles on the back of Sherlock's hand. "I…I'm here," he offered. "I'm fine. It's fine. I promise."

"You..." Opening his mouth almost let it loose. It took a moment for him to work out how to speak without releasing everything. "You wouldn't have known…I'd have never been able to tell you-"

His voice wavered.

"Come here," John said gently, tugging at his hand. "Please.

It was the last word that undid him. Blinded by the wetness that was almost spilling down his cheeks he ducked down close to John, wanting to feel the pulse, the warmth, the breath that showed John was alive.

But the moment he smelled the familiar scent, felt the warm skin and heard the thundering beat, Sherlock clenched his hands around whatever he could reach of John's that wouldn't cause pain and held on as tight as possible.

"I'm sorry," John whispered in his ear, "God…I hate that you had to see-"

Sherlock shook his head fiercely into the crook of John's neck, the awkward angle already killing his back. "Don't," he hissed pathetically. "I intentionally did far worse to you."

"You didn't know I was in love with you," John shushed gently.

"Neither did you," Sherlock whispered.

Sherlock could feel John's forehead crease with sorrow and a gentle brush of lips passed over his skin. "I didn't want to leave you." John confessed. "All I could hear…all I could think of was you saying goodbye to me and how much I hated you for leaving me. I didn't want that for you."

"Moran died within an hour." Sherlock whispered back. "He had the same injuries as you and…I thought…"

John turned to him and Sherlock lifted his head, pushing their foreheads together. Tears flowed unbidden.

"I don't know how to do this," Sherlock gasped quietly. "The more I try to protect you the more…I almost lost you."

"But you didn't" John soothed.

It had been far too close though. Shaking his head he let his lips brush John's cheeks, jaw, neck. Anything to feel the signs of life within John.

John talked in soft, quiet tones and used words that probably made no sense but quietened Sherlock's racing heart somehow. A hand slid into Sherlock's hair gently, brushing it comfortingly.

They stayed like that for what felt like far too short a time, and until Sherlock started to feel as if he could breathe again.

Then John started wriggling.

Then squirming.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock murmured into the crook of his neck.

"Trying to give you more room," John replied shifting again.

Rolling his eyes Sherlock sat up and on the edge of the bed. John bizarrely took this as a sign to shift even more. With a growled huff, Sherlock reached out and carefully placed his hands on either side of the bed so John couldn't move.

John gave him a questioning glance.

"Doctors are useless patients," Sherlock declared. "Stop moving; you've been shot!"

"You're going to get a back ache-"

Unimpressed Sherlock glared and strangely John smiled at him. The fond, sad smile faded away and John let out a sigh.

"I hate being shot." He muttered. "I hate hospital beds."

"You're a doctor."

John's hand reached to stroke Sherlock's again. "You know it will be weeks before they let me out?"

"It's not prison John."

John chuckled and then winced. "Will you be ok with Ava?"

Sherlock turned slightly to glance at the little girl mostly hidden by his coat.

The answer was surprisingly, or perhaps not that surprisingly, easy.

There you are!