As they stepped out of the hospital and moved to the park, Sherlock took a deep breath of the slightly warm breeze of March. It was a liberating breath, like he had been held in prison for a long time and he could finally enjoy the smell of freedom. Because, John had to admit, it tasted like freedom for him too. It was a release from all the anxiousness that those narrow and aseptic corridors had made him feel. It was the same feeling he had felt when he had been finally released from the hospital after he had been shot too. He could sympathise with Sherlock more than every other human being, since they had both been shot in the same shoulder. John's wound had been caused by a rifle and had been a thousand times harder, but he didn't care too much anymore. The pain had soothed long time before. The young man's one was recent and John knew it was making him suffer, despite Sherlock's apparent indifference to it. He hesitantly laid his hand on Sherlock's shoulder as to protect it from further harm. Sherlock didn't say anything.

The night had already completely fallen on London and the sky was amazingly crystal clear. The park they walked in had few lamps here and there, but was mostly unlit. In that lightless environment, John found himself looking up at the sky vault above. It was of a pitch black colour and the white stars trembled on it like they were alive and dancing. London rarely gave such a sight and John lost himself into it.

"It's…magnificent.", he exhaled.

Sherlock slightly raised up his head, much as his shoulder could allow him and looked up too.

"It's utterly stunning.", he murmured in a whisper.

"I barely know anything about the stars here.", John said "I can quote every single one above Afghanistan's desert, but here it's…different. It's like being on the same planet and on a complete new one at the same time."

"What stars were there in Afghanistan?", Sherlock asked.

"During summer, which, in my opinion, was the best time to watch that flawless sky, you could spot Orion, Monoceros, Canis Major, Lepus and the broad Eridanus…and, sometimes, you could also see the milky light of our galaxy…", John remembered, the thought giving him shivers.

"You can spot Orion and Canis Major from London too.", said Sherlock "Turn to south."

John gladly complied and turned himself and Sherlock towards south.

"There.", he tried to point, lifting his left arm up and groaning at the effort.

John gulped, holding back a whine of worry.

"Wrong arm.", Sherlock smiled "I still have to get used to it."

Then he raised his right one and pointed to the sky.

"Orion's belt is there."

John immediately recognised it.

"It's not as luminous as it was in Afghanistan, but it's beautiful nevertheless."

Sherlock nodded.

"And if we follow the line of Orion's belt downward…", went on the young man.

"…we can spot Sirius and Canis Major.", concluded John. "Sirius has always fascinated me."

"How?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's the sound of the name, maybe it's because it's the brightest star. Even when you can't quite see the other ones, Sirius is always there. A beam of light in the obscurity of the world."

"The name says it." Sherlock remarked "Seirios in ancient Greek means 'glowing'."

John smiled, one more time fascinated by the knowledge that that young man was showing.

"I like Rigel the most.", he continued "The seventh brightest star in our sky. It's actually a three stars system of which the brightest one is a blue supergiant. I like it for its colour, so soft and relaxing. Its actual name comes from the Arabic riǧl al-ǧabbār, which means 'the foot of the conqueror'."

"…the conqueror.", smiled John "I could understand why you like it."

Sherlock slightly turned his head to John and replied with a smirk.

"Then there's the northern section…"

And John turned Sherlock towards north.

"The first constellation you may notice is the well-known Plough.", he said, pointing at it "Which is actually part of a biggest constellation known as Ursa Major, the big bear, in Latin. If you use the Plough's pointer stars and draw a line between them, then extend it on the left, you can find Polaris, the North Star."

John followed the path Sherlock was tracing with fingers with his eyes. Among all the other stars he could clearly see the ones indicated by Sherlock. He had never lingered too much in stargazing in London, because he had never really been interested. He admired the starlight as it was, he didn't need to know their names. But Sherlock's baritone, warm voice was able to make every subject interesting and he could have listened to star names for hours and hours. It was such an intimate conversation that John also began to think whether it was time to confess his unconfessed feelings. He struggled a bit with himself while Sherlock continued his guided tour of London's constellations.

"Then there's the Draco just below Ursa Minor. It's not easy to spot. It's made by fourteen main stars, the brightest of which is called Gamma Draconis or Eltanin, its more common name. The name comes from Latin, obviously, and it means 'dragon'. And it slightly has the shape of a dragon.", and he traced it with his index "See?"

John nodded, depicting it mentally.

"And up there", continued the young man "there's Cassiopeia. This is even harder to spot. It's opposite to the Plough and takes its name from a mythological Greek queen, so vain and beautiful that Poseidon eternally punished her by placing her in the heavens tied to a chair in such a position that, as she circles the celestial pole in her throne, she is upside-down half the time. That's why the constellation resembles a chair, which was an instrument of torture."

"It's a rather sad story for such a beautiful constellation.", John stated, feeling little wrecked all of a sudden as Sherlock pronounced the word 'torture'.

"Yes, it is.", replied Sherlock "But rarely Greek mythology is happy."

"Did it hurt?", the question slipped out of John's mouth and he bit his tongue as he realised what he had just asked.

Sherlock immediately knew what was John talking about.

"Bearable.", he replied "She never went much deep. She said that she wanted me to suffer and suffer, so she took it slow. Very slow."

John's heart filled with sorrow and pain. He wanted to hug Sherlock and tell him that it was alright, that from now on he would have protected him from whatever it may have come. Because that was the role he was more than willing to take on.

"I heard you provoking her…", said John, trying to fight back the tears "…why?"

"Survival instinct. The more I provoked her, the more she wanted to keep me alive to make me suffer. I learnt it during the first day. She was quite predictable in her behaviour. She let the anger overrule her and…it sort of saved my life."

John frowned in the darkness and, unconsciously, slightly squeezed his hand which was still resting on Sherlock's shoulder. The young man let a soft gasp escape.

"Oh, damn.", John promptly replied "I'm so sorry."

Sherlock shook his head to forgive John's involuntary gesture.

Eventually John noticed that Sherlock was slightly shaking. The air was quite warm indeed, but he had only a gown on him. John immediately took off his jacket and placed it on Sherlock's shoulders.

"You…silly, silly man. You are freezing and you didn't say a word!", he scolded teasingly.

"I didn't notice it.", the young man replied "I am too busy looking at the stars."

Then silence fell for a while, both of them still gazing at the sky above their heads.

Some minutes later, John heard the distinct sound of something that was being unwrapped coming from Sherlock's lap. As he glanced down, Sherlock had already placed a cigarette between his lips and was about to light it up. John couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"What the hell, Sherlock!"

And he stretched his right arm to take the cigarette away from Sherlock's mouth with his fingers. He slightly brushed his skin against Sherlock's damp lips and his heart almost failed to keep on beating at the sensation. Yet he managed to throw the thing on the ground and subsequently catch the full packet Sherlock was still holding in his hands and throw it into the nearest bin. The fast movements of John's hands were immediately followed by Sherlock's annoyed huff.

"Cigarettes! Two days after an operation!", said John out loud.

"Three days, actually.", remarked Sherlock "And you are, as always, so boring."

"Yes, yes. I'm a boring doctor that doesn't want his patient to kill himself with cigarettes after a shot in the shoulder and a surgery!", John admonished "How did you even have a packet with you?"

"Mycroft.", the young man mischievously replied "It was in the bag he gave to me. I managed to hide it without you noticing."

John shook his head.

"I'll have to scold him too and check whatever he brings to you…"

Silence fell again. Sherlock resumed his star gazing and John found himself thinking all over again about his feelings for the young man. They were so close in that precise moment, John's hand resting on Sherlock's shoulder, his waist almost touching the black curls, which, despite everything, still scented sweetly, his right fingers still holding the warm dampness of Sherlock's lips. Those lips he had once kissed, those lips which belonged to the most important person in the universe for him. He should say that now. He had risked to lose him and god knows if that would have happened again in a short time. No, he needed to tell him. Now. He took a deep breath, feeling immediately light-headed like he was going to faint. He plucked all his courage up.

"Listen, Sherlock…", his voice came out lower and rougher than he thought.

Sherlock dropped his head and slightly turned to John.

"There's something I…"

He felt the words escaping his tongue, slipping away from his brain.

"…have to tell you."

The young man answered with an inquisitive look.

"I…", he continued, blushing "…like you, Sherlock. I like you very much."

Sherlock furrowed, then glanced down.

"I know.", he answered in a melancholic tone "The kiss had rather made it clear."

John took another deep breath as memories of the kiss filled his head, to the realisation that Sherlock had obviously known his feelings since. And he had also kissed John back and then said that…thing. He had almost forgotten about it, since Sherlock had been kidnapped and shot. He heard the young man mimic him, also taking a deep breath.

"And…", Sherlock continued "…I like you too, John."

John's legs almost gave up at the declaration and he had to force them to hold him upright. Yet he clearly sensed a 'but' in the other man's tone. Something that he couldn't quite understand.

"But…?", he asked hesitantly, fearing the answer already.

"But, as I have already said, this is wrong.", the young man remarked, sadly.

John couldn't understand.

"Why?", it escaped his mouth before he could even think.

Sherlock looked at him for a second with a distant, cold gaze. A gaze that would have probably meant everything important, but that John couldn't recognise. He could just feel his heart being slowly torn apart.

"Because it's me, John.", Sherlock concluded, turning his head away.

John felt tears at the corner of his eyes.

"John…listen, please.", said Sherlock in a pleading tone "Just listen."

The young man took a deeper breath and started to talk and John tried to pay attention, even if he was feeling almost sick at the moment.

"The first time we met, at the university, I was expecting to be scolded for my behaviour like all the other professors did in the past. I…behaved as the usual arrogant, insufferable person I am. And I expected a punishment. But you didn't behave normally. You played along with me, you seemed fascinated, not scared to death. I was intrigued. I could read your past on you, but I couldn't quite catch every glimpse of your character. It became a challenge."

He stopped for a second and took another breath.

"I thought you weren't the ordinary person one could see by looking at you. You had much more layers. I wanted to investigate. So I poked your curiosity to see how far you could go. And you followed me on a crime scene and you seemed fascinated by my work. I was…flattered. Really. But then you changed your mind and I couldn't understand why. It took me two weeks to try to understand what was happening. And it's not a thing that normally occurs to me."

John listened and glimpses of old memories began to appear in his mind as Sherlock spoke of their past together.

"I thought I had misinterpreted your interest. I thought you considered me a freak like everyone else did…and it hurt. And I didn't know why it hurt. I had never felt something like that. But I did. Two weeks and everything went back to normal. And that day at the park you told me that you thought I was a very brilliant and clever man. Nobody had ever told me that like you. You made me feel less weird, less different."

John slightly smiled among the tears that were slowly running down his face.

"Yes, but…", he tried to say.

"Please, John, just let me…"

John shut up.

"Then there was the other case, the burglar's one. I have always worked alone, John. But for some unknown reason I wanted you to come with me. And you came. I was strangely happy when you appeared on that train platform. I couldn't understand what it was. And when I've insulted that woman in the shopping centre, you got angry at me and…for the first time in my life I felt the urge to apologise for my behaviour. And I couldn't understand the reason why."

The young man stopped one more time, and John felt Sherlock's body stiffen under his hand.

"On the same day that burglar cut me with a knife. I didn't want to go to the hospital, you know the reason why, now. And the only person that came to my mind that could help me were you. And you took care of me, you didn't send me away and I felt relieved. It was strange, but, even with a cut through my shoulder, I felt good, knowing there was you with me. And I couldn't still understand what it was."

"So I decided to follow you. It was just a game. I just wanted to know more about you, what did you do, how did you spend your days when not teaching, how was your private life. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stop myself from doing it. I saw you getting drunk to forget the conversation with your ex-wife and I felt the urge to take care of you as you did with me. I brought you home. I tried to distract you, but I knew you would have felt embarrassed the following morning, so I left."

John's head was starting to spin with all the information Sherlock was giving to him. The pieces of the puzzle he had missed for so long were finally appearing before his eyes. He kept on listening to the young man's confession.

"There also was the day when you left…Laura alone in the restaurant to follow me. I understood you were drawn by danger like no one I have ever met before was. But my heart started to flinch at the thought that, maybe, you were interested in me too. I didn't know where the thought came from, but it was there, vivid. I discovered I liked you. Liked. What an odd word for a sociopath. I don't like people, but I liked you. It took me another while to get used to it. And I lived with the idea that you reciprocated the feeling. But I didn't really wanted to discover the truth, so I continued to behave as nothing had happened."

John felt his heart ache at this point. It was the same path John had followed during the last months, when he had tried desperately to live with those hurting feelings, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't reciprocate them in the slightest.

"But one day my well-built walls crumbled down. I was feeling bad. Bad in a way that…you can't imagine. Bad to the point I thought that drugs could help me to ease the pain."

John gulped.

"I went to meet a person that could give me what I wanted for a reasonable price, but as soon as I arrived there, I thought of you and I wanted to see you, I needed to see you. To hear your voice, to feel your warmth, your understanding care. So I came to you. And you stayed beside me that night, and you held my hand, and I felt good. Protected. The morning after I wanted to say 'thank you', but I couldn't manage to. Thus I…kissed you. And you rejected me, obviously, because you didn't like me at all. I felt empty and didn't want to see you anymore. I knew it was wrong, I knew I am a student and you're a professor, but it didn't stop me from wanting that. But knowing that you didn't want it…I just forced myself to lock my feelings away. And it worked. Two weeks later I was ready to face you once more, no more stupid feelings on my way. Do you understand?"

John slightly nodded and Sherlock went on.

"But I was wrong, John. I couldn't face you. So I decided to not follow your lessons. But you found me in that classroom playing the violin and you complimented me. I couldn't understand if you were making a fool of me or what. It was all so blurry. But eventually I managed to set myself back on trails and everything went back to normality. I distanced myself further, shut everything that involved sentiment, felt better for the first time in that period. So better that I could call you for a case and not feel hurt. It worked divinely. We went around like old friends. Everything was perfect. But you got angry at me because I didn't care for that woman. And you were right. I didn't care at all. And I was perfectly fine with that. I didn't care about you getting angry. I didn't care about anything. I had my old self back. Everything was fine."

John felt his whole body shaking at this confession. How could a man just distance himself from everything? How could he just not feel anything at all? Sherlock went on.

"But two days later I felt…remorse. Remorse because I hadn't behaved as you expected. And I wanted to do something. So I bought you a Christmas present to tell you I was sorry."

John faintly smiled at the thought of the present.

"And as you can see, I'm not good at Christmas presents either…yet you thanked me for it. I felt so happy. But I still didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't understand if you thanked me for kindness or what else. Then you…kissed me on my birthday and I realised it. I shouldn't have let you, but I was slightly tipsy and couldn't reason correctly. But as soon as you kissed me I understood the reality: that it's so wrong, John."

"Why?", asked John, pleadingly.

"Because I can't love people. I don't like anyone else except you, but it might change. As I've already done once, I can just train myself to not be involved in sentiments. I'm not empathetic, I don't care, I'm a loner who doesn't need people and people hate me. And even if I like you now, tomorrow I may not. I'm not a good man, John. I've been a druggie, I'm a person whom many people are afraid of. One day I may even kill someone! I can't be the right person for you, John. I just can't. This is all wrong. Can't you see?"

Sherlock had almost shouted the last part. John had to swallow hard. He had never heard Sherlock being so honest with someone. And yet everything hurt so much in John's heart that he started to think his heart couldn't bear any pain anymore. He was crying silently and couldn't manage to regain his composure. He felt empty and sad, and he didn't know what to answer. He sighed.

"But, Sherlock…", he managed to mutter "I like you as you are…"

"And I can't accept it, John.", replied Sherlock immediately "I can't accept the fact that you're sacrificing your life for someone who can't even understand when he's in love, someone who has always treated love as a disadvantage, someone who has spent his whole life training to destroy every feeling he had ever felt. Someone like me. You will get eventually tired of me, of my arrogance, of my inhumane behaviour. And you will suffer for that, because you will have wasted precious years of your life for me. And I can't allow this to happen."

"But…", John tried to say one more time.

"Please, John.", the young man said coldly "Just take me back to my room. Please."

John silently brought Sherlock back into the hospital and helped him place on his bed. Neither of them looked at each other in the eyes, nor said anything anymore. John left the room soon after Sherlock was in bed. He closed the door behind him and leaned on the wall, tears falling down on his neck, defeated.

AN:

A small note about the stargazing part: it was a hell of a challenge to make it right. Every bit of information is correct, or, at least, very very approximate to the truth. Nevertheless, I have to admit that this is my favourite chapter of all.

Thank you for reading it! ;)