As John sat in the back of the black town car that Mycroft had sent for him, he ran over the past few days' events in his mind. All of this madness; Sherlock's mood changes; his erratic behaviour; the... the drugs; all of it was because of Sherlock's feelings for John.
Sherlock was in love with him.
He let that process for a while. He'd honestly thought about little else since Greg had told him, but he just gave himself a few minutes, in the car on the way to the hospital, to really think about that impact of the news.
The more he thought about it, the more sick he felt. Responsible. He felt responsible. If he'd only noticed something; said something. If he'd just...
Dammit, John, he thought. Pull yourself together.
What ifs wouldn't help anybody now. What was important now was what John decided to do next.
He nodded to himself.
That , he knew.
"What time is John coming?" Sherlock asked the doctor as he gave his patient the final once-over and signed his release papers. Mycroft had said John would be coming to collect him, but it couldn't happen soon enough. He just wanted to get back; get home to 221B; to John.
"Soon, Mr Holmes." the weary doctor replied, glancing at his watch. Not soon enough, he thought to himself, eager to rid himself of the younger Holmes as a patient and the elder as a 'concerned relative'. The Holmes brothers both made him anxious.
No sooner had Doctor Hawkins closed the door behind him, it reopened again and John entered.
He looked at Sherlock who was sat on the bed, legs swinging over the side like a five-year-old and grinning at him with a genuine smile.
"You're looking better." the doctor nodded, noting what colour Sherlock usually had was back in his cheeks. "Ready?"
John crossed to the bed and took Sherlock's arm, steadying him as he stood. "Definitely." the detective acknowledged, letting John support his weight as they walked. "I presume my brother sent a car?"
John nodded, leading his flatmate along the corridors and out into the cool early evening air. They had barely set foot outside the door before the black car pulled alongside.
John guided Sherlock in and rounded to get in the other side, dipping his head in acknowledgement to the driver.
The usually 15 minute drive would be nearer to 30 at this time of day, so John steeled himself for what could be awkward conversation.
Better now, when he can't avoid it , John decided. He cleared his throat and gave a firm smile to his friend, hoping to allay any anxieties that Sherlock might have.
Sherlock knew, of course. He knew this was coming. This talk. He knew.
"John." A single word. It's all he could come up with. It's pretty much all he had left to say. No "sorry", no blame, no excuses. Nothing. There was only one thought in his head. Just "John".
John reached across to the trembling detective and placed a calming hand on his leg. "It's OK, Sherlock," he began, giving the flesh beneath his fingers a slight squeeze and feeling tense muscles relax at the touch.
"It's OK. I know you must be wondering what on earth I'm thinking." A slightly nervous chuckle escaped John as he realised how completely bizarre this whole situation was.
"I know we have a lot to talk about. About what has happened and about..." he hesitated, unsure whether to remind his friend, "...about Jim. We can discuss all that when we get home, OK?"
A single nod from the detective. He was too tired to deal with the trauma of that conversation right now.
John took the nod as a sign to continue. "I can only imagine how it must have felt all those times that I adamantly declared that we weren't a couple to everybody. 'Not his boyfriend', 'not his date'... and then, Sarah..." he felt Sherlock flinch with each echo of their past.
"Not his boyfriend"
"Not his date"
"Sarah..."
"What I'm trying to say, Sherlock," John continued, trying not to let his confidence shake to the point that he couldn't carry on, "is that I was wrong. I was... blind."
Sherlock turned his head to look at John, his head tipped to one side and his eyebrow raised questioningly.
"John?" that word again. That single point in his universe; in his life.
"I can't promise that I know exactly what this is, Sherlock. It's all new to me. What I do know is that I feel it. I feel the thing between us. There is something, and I don't know what it is, but I do know that I want to find out."
A small, hesitant smile slipped across Sherlock tired face, and as he closed his eyes and dropped his head onto his flatmate's shoulder, a single tear slipped down his cheek.