Over the next month, Sherlock got John scheduled for regular appointments with a highly recommended therapist, completely financed by Sebastian despite Sherlock's protestations. Through the sessions, John slowly began working through his guilt issues and his PTSD.

Meanwhile, with little help from a good lawyer and a lot of help from Mycroft, Sebastian's trial was expedited and he was released. The first thing he did when they let him go free was hail a cab to Baker Street.

"How is he?" he asked Sherlock as soon as he arrived inside.

Sherlock nodded stiffly. "Better. He's getting better. He's still not quite himself, he still sleeps in his closet some nights, but he's getting better." Hiseyes flicked towards the stairs, debating whether he should let Sebastian see him. After a moment, he said, "He's in his room if you'd like to go up."

Sebastian nodded, his heart pounding as he walked slowly up the stairs and knocked on the door.

John had been sitting on his bed, reading a book when he the knock. He assumed it was Sherlock, and said, "Come in," setting his book down.

Sebastian slowly opened the door, heart in his throat. "Hello, John..."

John blinked in surprise. He hadn't spoken to Sebastian since Jim's death, and he hadn't conversed with him in even longer. He opened and closed his mouth, but couldn't find words—not that he would know what to say if he had them.

Sebastian wordlessly stepped over to John and sat next to him on the bed, searching his face, not wanting to touch him lest he scare him. "I missed you," he said finally.

John blinked at him again, still silent for a moment, before he managed quietly, "No one told me you were out."

"I got out about twenty minutes ago," Sebastian said, giving a weak chuckle. "I haven't even moved into my new flat yet."

"Oh..." John said. He stayed where he was for a minute, his eyes scanning over Sebastian's face. He had been forgetting what it looked like. He saw concern etched into his features. John's hands twitched into fists for a moment, then suddenly, before his brain really knew what his arms were doing, they were wrapped tightly around Sebastian, his face buried in the other man's neck.

Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise and it only took a moment for him to wrap his arms around the other man, holding the back of John's head. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears unsuccessfully, then finally said fuck it and let himself cry. John was here, John was safe, and he wasn't going to let anyone hurt him again. He clung to John like a life buoy, his heart swelling.

As John felt Sebastian's tears and his breath catch in his throat, his own eyes welled over and his arms tightened even farther around him. It felt so good, so right, to finally be able to touch him, to hold him. Everything was in the past, he tried to tell himself. "Don't leave, tonight—" he blurted out as his tears spilled onto Sebastian's shirt.

"I won't..." Sebastian whispered, holding onto John to the point where he wished he could just melt into his body. "I love you," he murmured in John's ear.

John choked out some semblance of "I love you, too", knotting Sebastian's shirt in his hands. He didn't ever want to let go. As he clung to Sebastian, he felt like the weight of the past horrific months was slowly being lifted. Even though Jim was dead and gone, he'd still felt like he was drowning. He couldn't do anything for himself anymore, and felt lost without Sherlock giving him a "Suggestive List of Things to Potentially Do, If You Feel So Inclined To Do Them."

Sebastian finally pulled away, wiping his eyes, looking John over. "Have you been eating? You look healthier..." John wasn't a wan skeleton anymore. He didn't look like his old robust self by any means, but he no longer resembled those haunting Holocaust photographs anymore either.

John gave a small nod, sniffling as he pulled back. He hiccupped and gave a small, watery-eyed laugh. "Sherlock's actually attempted cooking a few times."

Sebastian laughed. "Oh dear. I thought I smelled something strange when I came in. Although maybe that was the bag of severed ears sitting on the counter..."

"I tried likening it to chemistry, but he gets impatient and tosses the recipe in favor of experimentation."

Sebastian brushed away some tears from John's face with his thumb. "Would you like to go out for dinner tonight? Or is that...too..." He didn't know how often John got out. He hoped Sherlock was sending him on errands outside like he'd suggested, so that John could get used to being independent again, being out in the city by himself.

John hesitated a moment. He had only gone out to eat twice since he'd come back to Baker Street, and it still made him nervous. John felt a bit foolish asking, but he felt uncomfortable not being at least a little closed in, so he asked, "Can we sit right next to each other?" He blushed a bit, looking away.

"Yeah. Yeah, John, whatever you want. Where do you want to go? That Thai restaurant? Remember? Our second date?"

John gave a small smile. "Of course I remember...I haven't forgotten anything...anything," he mumbled, trailing off. He wished he didn't remember everything. He wanted to delete Jim entirely from his memory so that all he was left with was Sebastian, those joyful, uncontaminated moments. "I'd love to go there."

Sebastian nodded and went downstairs to fetch his coat, explaining to Sherlock that he was taking John out to dinner and that John wanted him to stay the night. "Sherlock, I never thanked you properly for helping me get out of prison. Thanks. I really do appreciate it."

Sherlock pursed his lips and gave a curt nod. It wasn't like he wouldn't have been able to eventually free John by himself, but Sebastian had increased the speed phenomenally. It was also obvious that they cared for each other tremendously. "It was nothing. Mycroft owed me a favor anyway." He hesitated before adding, "I'm glad you could watch over him. You're welcome here."

"Hey, as long as it doesn't bother you, having someone who used to work for your enemy hanging around your flat," Sebastian said. He looked around. "Actually, this place is starting to feel a bit like home. Mind if I smoke in here?"

Sherlock frowned as he mentioned it feeling like home, then brightened a bit as he mentioned smoking. He was still going strong on the patch, but John seemed to have no qualms with Sebastian continuing his habit, and Sherlock certainly had no qualms about breathing in the intoxicating scent of cigarette smoke.

"By all means." He watched hungrily as Sebastian lit up, then stepped toward him as a plume of smoke rose from the cigarette. Sebastian frowned as the man craned his neck closer to the smoke, breathing in heavily. Just then, John softly made his way down the stairs, buttoning one of his new jumpers. When he'd learned that Jim had tossed all of his things away, he'd been upset, but not as upset as the fact that his picture of him and Sherlock had been chucked.

"Ready?" John asked.

"Yeah," Sebastian said, and he and John headed out, Sebastian finishing off his cigarette as they walked down the road together. "Sherlock…really enjoys the smell of smoke," he commented.

John gave a small chuckle. "One of his many eccentricities." John bit his bottom lip and tentatively slid his hand into Sebastian's. Sebastian squeezed his hand back.

It was a short walk to the restaurant. John felt uncomfortable at first, in a public place with Sebastian. He had to shake the illogical feeling that he was going to get in trouble, that he was going to suffer, for enjoying himself with Sebastian. But as the night progressed, he became more and more relaxed, the fragrant, delicate coconut curry awakening his appetite, and Sebastian's conversation awakening his feeling of connection with the man. He had missed him and he hadn't really even realized how much. By the end of the meal, he was glad that Sebastian had agreed to spend the night—if only to be able to spend more time with him. Also, he didn't want to admit it to himself, but a sick part of him still missed sleeping in the same room as Jim, and he wanted Sebastian to fill the gap.

When they'd returned upstairs, Sebastian looked around the small space. "Where do you want me? On the floor?"

John looked at him and took a deep breath. He'd been thinking about this the whole time at the restaurant. He hadn't wanted to move too quickly, but he knew what he wanted. "No, you can share my bed."

Sebastian swallowed. "Are you sure? Don't feel obligated. I'll only sleep with you if you want me too." But God, he wanted to. He could think of nothing he wanted more than to fall asleep with John in his arms.

John pursed his lips and nodded. "I'm sure...I mean...if you don't want to—that's fine, I can take the closet. In fact y-you don't even have to stay if you don't want, I mean...you...you can leave too...that's okay..." John trailed off, feeling stupid and embarrassed. Sebastian hadn't even gone to his own home yet, he'd come directly here after being freed. He probably hadn't even wanted to see John for this long. Was John being selfish?

"The closet, John?" Sebastian stepped toward him, disturbed. "You really still sleep in the closet?"

John's cheeks reddened and he kept his eyes on the floor. "Sometimes..." he mumbled.

"Fuck, John..." Sebastian murmured, not mad at John, but at his circumstances. He ran his hand down John's face. "If you're sure, I want nothing more than to sleep with you tonight. All right?" He tilted John's face up toward him and pressed his forehead to John's.

John smiled, relieved, and Sebastian pushed back the covers and crawled to the far end of the narrow bed, moving to his side to make room for John.

John gave a small nod, still a bit hesitant, before he moved to crawl in next to him. He stayed on the far end for a moment, before he tentatively moved closer, until he was right next to Sebastian. Sebastian wrapped his arm around him, holding him protectively. He loved how John's body fit right against his. "Goodnight, John," he murmured, brushing his lips against John's ear and closing his eyes.

"Goodnight...' John murmured, and to his surprise, he felt safer and more secure than he had in ages. He curled even closer to Sebastian. Feeling Sebastian here, next to him, brought back memories; memories he hadn't forgotten, but memories that had seemed flat—two dimensional. Now, though, things rushed back; Sebastian's smell, his warmth, his lips on John's, his rough hands, the brush of his hair. As everything rushed back, John couldn't help but let out a choked sob into Sebastian's chest.

"John...you all right?" Sebastian asked, stroking John's hair, wishing he could make this all stop, make John's tears and sadness vanish instantly. Of course, it was never that simple.

John nodded, holding him tighter. He was better now than he had been in months—but he couldn't find the words to say it.

"All right..." Sebastian whispered. "I love you." He held John close and rested his chin on John's head, letting John rest on his chest and shoulder. He could feel John's heartbeat against his chest, and relaxed as John's heartbeat slowed to a steady tempo.

After a while, John's tears ceased, and he lay silently, curled against Sebastian. He pulled the blanket up over them and snuggled against Sebastian farther against him. "...I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't. Be. Sorry," Sebastian said. "You've nothing to be sorry for. He did this to you, and you're working your arse off to try to be normal again. You have no reason to be sorry, understand?"

John's therapist kept telling him more or less the same thing. It was different, though, hearing Sebastian say it. He nodded against Sebastian's shoulder, then looked up at him, his eyes still wet. "I understand. But it's not so simple."

"I know, John. But things are going to get better. They will."

John gave a little smile and leaned up to give Sebastian a light, lingering kiss, before he laid back against him, and closed his eyes. For the first time in what felt like ages, he truly believed Sebastian. He listened to Sebastian's heartbeat until he drifted asleep.

In the morning, Sebastian woke with his arms around John. Not wanting to rouse him, he lay, watching John sleep, thinking he could spend every morning like this.

It took John a while to wake up. He wasn't used to the lingering warmth of another body in his bed. He hadn't, for the first time in months, had a nightmare. The entire night, he had slept like a rock, unmoving, in a deep sleep. When he finally woke, his cheeks were flushed from sleep, his hair rumpled, and his eyes bleary. "…morning..." he mumbled.

Sebastian restrained himself from leaning over and kissing John. He'd vowed he wouldn't initiate anything until he was certain John wanted it. "Morning," he said softly. "I should get going. I haven't even moved into my flat yet. It's not far, it's in Bloomsbury." He rolled past John, kissing his shoulder on the way, and got dressed. He and John made arrangements to see each other later in the day.

Over the next few months, Sebastian slowly acclimated to normal life. It was strange, not killing people on a daily basis. He missed that thrill of the chase, the constant adrenaline that came from living with Jim. However, Sherlock had explained Sebastian's impressive skill sets to Mycroft, and Mycroft had found a position in the MI6 for Sebastian that allowed him to make a handsome wage and use his gun upon occasion.

Sebastian would invite John over to his flat and they would muddle about trying to cook together, they'd play cards and laugh, and often they would sleep together in Sebastian's large bed, but Sebastian would never push things any further.

One night John admitted that one of his recurring nightmares involved him kissing and making love to Sebastian, then Sebastian would start choking him and Sebastian would morph into Jim, grinning sadistically down at John, and he'd hurt John in thousands of different ways. It made Sebastian's skin crawl to think of it, and he was glad he hadn't pushed John into anything yet.

"I'm sorry," John said in response to Sebastian's shocked face. "I shouldn't have told you that...it hasn't been coming as frequent anyway. I just...gah. Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed as he lay next to Sebastian, cocooned in the duvet.

"No, I should know this sort of thing. It's okay, John…" Sebastian ran his hand down John's face. "Cards tonight? Some work guys are coming over for poker. Aren't you proud of me? I'm making actual friends. Trying to, anyway. Being normal is fucking hard."

John grinned and leaned in to give him a kiss. "You're doing well, Seb...cards will be fine." John sat up and looked at him for a moment. He pursed his lips. There was a question he had been wanting to ask Sebastian for quite some time now, but he'd been nervous as to what the answer would be. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, anything."

John chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, hesitating before he finally asked, "Why don't you kiss me, anymore?" Sebastian hadn't initiated anything since Jim's death. At first John didn't mind, or even notice, but now he was starting to wonder if it was because Sebastian didn't want to. Maybe he wanted out. If that was it, John couldn't really blame him. John had been extremely reserved and nervous and withdrawn for several months, but he had liked to think that he had come out of his shell again. Maybe he wasn't quite how he was before, but he was on his way, wasn't he? John flexed his jaw and looked at him intently, trying not to psych himself out too much.

"I—I don't kiss you anymore because...well, because of fucking nightmares like you just described to me, John! I don't want to scare you off. I don't want to rush into anything or force you to do anything you don't want to do. Why, do you want to be kissed? Because for fuck's sake, I'll kiss you any day every day...I just want to be sure you're okay with it."

John flinched at Sebastian's reply, and he couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt wash over him again. His cheeks reddened and he looked away. Of course Sebastian was just doing it to protect him—because he cared. John felt foolish for not having seen that. "Oh...sorry," he mumbled, looking down at the bedding.

"Well, do you? Come on, John, you're driving me mad, here," Sebastian said, nudging his face next to John's. "Yes...or no?" he murmured, his lips close to John's temple.

John looked up, his cheeks still red. "Of course I do."

Sebastian looked him over for a minute, his breath catching, then he leaned in and softly held John's chin and pressed his lips to John's.

John felt a weight lift from his chest. He hadn't realized how worried he had been that Sebastian didn't want him anymore. His lips tingled lightly and it seemed to spread throughout his body, warming him. His eye slid shut as he tenderly returned the kiss.

Sebastian burrowed closer to John, cupping his face and kissing him a bit more fervently. John let the duvet fall and moved one hand to Sebastian's face, the other between his shoulder blades, melting against him.

They lay together for a while, slowly twining together, making out for a good half hour. "We should go on a holiday," Sebastian said as they finally drew apart for long enough for him to speak. "Just you and me."

John's smile was slow-spreading and genuine. "I'd like that," he said, lightly brushing his fingertips over Sebastian's bristly jaw.

"Good. See if you can get a week off work in May. I'll do the same." Over the next few months, they both kept working, John filling shifts at the clinic and helping Sherlock with cases, Sebastian reporting to the MI6 for assignments, planning their trip to the Alps and spending time with John in his free time. He got rather addicted to working out at the gym, and he even asked to help out on one of the cases when Sherlock needed a gunman on the lookout and a partner next to him, but all the while counting down the days to their holiday.