A/N: So we're now closing in on the last 2-3 chapters of this story (haven't quite decided yet!). There are many other johnlock fics to write and so little time. I apologize to those who were hoping for a longer story but I thank those who have been loyal reviewers.

You people are wonderful.

Chapter Sixteen: Better

.o.o.

.o.

Little darling

The smiles returning to the faces

Little darling

It seems like years since it's been clear

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right

Beatles - Here Comes The Sun

.o.o.

.o.

"No!"

Sherlock shot up quickly in bed, his chest heaving and sweat matting his curls to his head. He glanced around in the dark before he let himself fall onto his back again, covering his face with his hands. He ran his long fingers through his damp hair just as the door opened.

"Sherlock? Are you all right?"

"Y-Yes, John," the young man murmured in the darkened room. "I'm fine, it was just a dream… didn't mean to disturb you."

John hesitated at the doorway, watching his best friend and lover suffering from nightmares he couldn't control. Maybe bringing them to light wasn't the smartest thing. Now he was being tortured every time he closed his eyes.

"Is there… anything I can do to help you at all, Sherlock?"

The young man was about to tell his doctor that he'd be better off doing something productive but he needed John. He couldn't allow himself to push him away as he'd done in the past. He turned his head and looked at him with solemn eyes. "Come here, John… please. Come and lay with me. That's how you can help."

John gave him a loving smile before he walked over and got under the covers where Sherlock was. He let the younger man position him so he could lay his head on John's chest and then gently ran his fingers through Sherlock's dark hair.

"They can't hurt you, your nightmares. That's all they are," John whispered reassuringly.

"I know," Sherlock spoke, matter-of-factly. "I know what they are. It's ridiculous they can affect me so much, though. What happened, the sexual abuse… it happened ages ago. None of it should matter to me now, so why does it, John? Why does it matter?"

John held Sherlock close to him, feeling his heart breaking. "It matters because it hurt you. You blocked it from your memory because it hurt you so much; you couldn't begin to fathom why someone who took care of you could hurt you so badly without thinking twice. It matters to you because it destroyed you inside. It ripped you apart and now you feel used and violated, which is normal to feel in your position, Sherlock."

The younger man gripped John's shirt with his hands and took a deep breath to stop himself from crying. He swallowed hard and then nodded against the doctor's chest, listening to him. "Having my brother tell me what happened was the worst idea I've ever had."

"Really? I can think of worst ideas you've had, Sherlock…" John teased lightly.

Sherlock let out a deep-throated chuckle that seemed to reverberate off the walls of the bedroom. "I'm sure I can too, but… maybe if he hadn't told me what had happened, I'd still be okay."

"Sherlock," John sighed now, biting his lower lip in thought. "How many blackouts have you had in the past two weeks since he told you? How many times can you count where you've forgotten a chunk of time?"

The young man tried to think but he could count on one hand the number. "Maybe, one or two, I suppose."

"One or two," John repeated. "In two weeks. You were blacking out at least three times that number before he told you, do you remember? I'd say that's progress. You're becoming aware of yourself and you're managing to stay in the present more than before. I think he's helped you by telling you about it, Sherlock. You may not want to admit it but he did help you."

"Maybe," Sherlock admitted. "I'll just be glad when I stop blacking out altogether."

John kissed his curls before letting his hand slide down to his back. "Me too. How are you feeling depression-wise since we started the new antidepressants? Any better?"

"A bit," the detective confessed in a whisper. "I haven't felt suicidal in at least a week."

"More progress," John smiled in the dark.

Sherlock lifted his head up now to look John in the eye. "I don't want to hear about progress, John…"

John's smile faded slightly. "What do you want to hear, then?"

Sherlock thought for a moment before he sighed. "I don't know. I suppose I just want to forget about it, about what happened. I want you to forget about it too so we can move on with our lives."

"What happened to you was traumatic, Sherlock – "

" – Which is why I want to forget about it," the young man cut across him in a patient voice. "I'll continue to take my medication but I just don't want us to talk about it anymore. I understand you want to help me but I really don't think you can help me with this. I don't want to talk about it with Mycroft or Lestrade or anyone. I just want everyone to leave it alone so we can be together properly. I'm tired of being selfish."

"Did I hear this correctly? Sherlock Holmes is tired of being a self-centered prat?" John joked softly, smiling. "You're not being selfish by talking about something that hurt you when you were a child, Sherlock. If you don't want to talk about it, that's perfectly okay, but I don't want you to be afraid to talk about it if you feel the need to. I won't think you're being selfish in the least. Talking can be quite healing…"

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement but then let the conversation hang in the air for several minutes as he started to caress John's chest. The two men were quiet for a long time before John finally turned to Sherlock.

"Are you hungry? I can make us some lunch..."

The detective didn't feel very hungry but he wanted to make John happy and the doctor hadn't seen him eat anything in the past few days. Sherlock simply nodded and John carefully got up and walked into the kitchen. The former man followed him and sat at the table and watched John begin to make them sandwiches and tea.

"I… I just want to thank you, John…"

John Watson glanced back at Sherlock in awe and surprise. "Thank me? For what?"

"Well, I believe you know… for being here for me, for… taking care of me. Actually, for all the things you do for me. John, I'm grateful for you being here, loving me like you do, being my doctor and friend above all else. I'm positive that I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," Sherlock admitted in a soft voice.

John placed the plate of cucumber sandwiches on the middle of the table before he turned the burner on under the kettle and finally faced Sherlock. "It's my pleasure. You know I'd do anything for you, Sherlock, right? I mean, you've done so much for me that I can't imagine not returning the favor. I love you and that's what two people who love each other do, isn't it? They go to the ends of the earth for each other."

Sherlock gave a warm smile and nodded once before he cleared his throat. "Indeed, John. I believe that's how human behavior works."

John nodded as well and then handed Sherlock two of his antidepressant pills before pouring him a small glass of water and placing it in front of him. Sherlock obediently swallowed both pills, as per his daily routine for the past three weeks now, and then sat back in his chair as he began to nibble on the sandwich John had made.

Once the tea was done, both men sat in a comfortable silence as they ate lunch together, all the while exchanging loving glances and knowing smiles at each other. It had to be the most pleasant lunch Sherlock had ever had with him where his depression wasn't completely debilitating and his mind wasn't distracted with other things. It felt like a part of humanity he belonged to, a part where he could sit with the man he loved and cared for and sit in a non-awkward silence.

After they were finished, there was a knock at the door. John looked at Sherlock with curious, questioning eyes.

"Lestrade," Sherlock answered for him.

John nodded and stood up before walking over and opened the door for the DI who eagerly made his way inside.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your lunch but there's a case that just came in for you, Sherlock. You're – "

"Not interested," Sherlock replied immediately as he sipped his tea.

Lestrade raised his eyebrows with his mouth agape and looked at him. "Not interested? Sherlock, we need you for this one!"

"Obviously, or else you wouldn't be here… fine, then. What is it?"

Lestrade threw the file on the table for Sherlock to look at and crossed his arms. "We just took a gentleman in after a kid reported… err… inappropriate conduct."

Sherlock dropped the folder as if Lestrade had just told him there was anthrax on it. He looked from John to the DI. "The child was molested then by this said 'gentleman'? You want me to take this particular case… why, Lestrade? Because I have experience in it? Is that why you came to me? Please tell me this is some sick joke."

Greg Lestrade shifted uncomfortably now and looked at John for some type of backup support but received only a confused and hurt look in return. He sighed and looked at Sherlock. "That's not why I came here to you. You bloody know why I came here, Sherlock! You're the best in London and I can't do this without you. Scotland Yard can't do it without you."

Sherlock kicked the file back over to the DI in disgust before he stood up. "What did you expect me to do for this case, Lestrade? I can't talk to children! I'm not the voice of reason in the darkness! You found the perpetrator so what else is there to do?"

Lestrade reluctantly picked up the folder and ran a hand through his peppered hair. "You've been through this, Sherlock. You know what the child's feeling. None of us have any idea. We don't know what to say to this kid! You do. You can somehow give this kid some words of comfort…"

Sherlock looked at Lestrade in disbelief. "Words of comfort? I'm not a damn crisis worker, Lestrade! What the hell do you expect me to say to them? That it gets better? That their fears are unfounded and that they'll feel better about this whole situation in a few years' time? Normally I'm okay with lying to someone but I do have certain lines I don't cross! This is one of them!"

John walked over to Sherlock and took his hand into his before looking at the DI with conflicted eyes. "I… believe I'm with Sherlock on this one, Greg. I'm sorry… it seems like you just want to recruit Sherlock to be a poster boy for childhood abuse and… he's obviously not interested so perhaps you should come back when you have a better case for him."

Sherlock looked over at John in utter surprise, not having expected the doctor to be on his side in this. They hadn't had a proper case for nearly a month and he thought for sure John would jump all over this one.

Lestrade pursed his lips and then nodded reluctantly before he nodded a goodbye and left the flat.

"I can't believe he had the nerve to ask you to do that… especially after what Mycroft had told you."

Sherlock felt at a loss for words at first but then found his tongue again. "I-I wouldn't have been able to help that child, John. I… I wouldn't be able to tell him it gets better in time because that would've just been a lie. Nothing gets better in time… it's just a lie others tell to make people feel better about the situation."

"I agree, Sherlock… I mean, you might've been able to just tell the kid something to comfort him but you're right; it wouldn't have been enough after what they just went through."

"Why?" Sherlock asked suddenly, turning to face John.

John looked at him uncomprehendingly. "I'm sorry? You're going to have to be more specific…"

"Why did you take my side? You could've managed to talk me into taking the case and talking to that child, John. I never saw you agree with me before about not taking a case…"

John half-shrugged and shook his head. "You were obviously uncomfortable with doing it. Why would I try to talk you into something you felt uncomfortable doing? This is something that hits too close to home for you and… I believed that Greg was wrong in trying to get you to do this for him. I only want you to take whatever cases you want to take and talk to whomever you feel comfortable talking to, Sherlock."

The detective let John's words soak in before he nodded in satisfaction and then swallowed hard. "Right, okay then. What shall we do today?"

John seemed taken aback by the sudden change of subject but welcomed it. "Park, maybe? We could go for a walk?"

"Yes… we could do that," Sherlock started, his voice signalling otherwise. "Or… we could maybe go to the theatre and see a play?"

"Sherlock, we've been through this at least a dozen times. I am not sitting through four hours of Les Miserablés, so you can just scratch that idea right now…"

Sherlock looked slightly disappointed but chuckled. "Honestly, John. What's the difference between sitting through four hours of Les Miserablés or sitting through three hours of Phantom of the Opera?"

"Well, let me think. Phantom of the Opera is not only shorter in length but it's also about a love story, which I'm more open to…"

Sherlock looked at him with dismayed eyes. "So is Les Miserablés! That's a love story!"

John playfully narrowed his eyes as he walked over to Sherlock and placed his hands on his sides. "Mmm… not so much. It's a very depressing musical about several lives where no one has a happy ending. I thought with your own depression, you might be a bit more inclined to choose hopeful over long and depressing…"

"At least I'm always full of surprises."

"Bad surprises," John rolled his eyes. "What about this, we'll compromise. We'll stay home, watch a crime movie and I'll even let you practice your deduction skills during it."

Sherlock looked about to protest until John finished his suggestion. "Well, if you insist."

"That's the spirit…"

John stood on his tiptoes and planted a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips before he ruffled the detective's curls playfully before he laughed to himself and walked over to pick out a movie.

Sherlock scoffed and tried to fix his hair so it wasn't so unruly but was smirking at the doctor. He brought his tea and John's tea over to the living room and placed them on the coffee table before planting himself on the sofa.

"Hmm… Psycho?"

"Too easy…" Sherlock replied almost instantly.

John flipped through his movies some more. "The Untouchables?"

"As much as I can appreciate that movie, how about something a bit more modern?"

"Okay, then…" John hummed as he searched again. "Oh, Casino Royale?"

Sherlock thought for a bit before he gave a noise of agreement. "That sounds acceptable. Hurry up and put it in."

John smirked as he walked over to the DVD player and placed the disk inside. "That's an order I'm somewhat familiar with…"

"Oh shut up, doctor!" Sherlock chuckled before he threw a pillow at him.

John laughed and then hurried over to the couch before letting himself fall on it beside Sherlock. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John, resting it on the older man's stomach and the two of them sat comfortably as Sherlock softly made deductions about what was going to happen or who was going to kill whom until both men had fallen asleep halfway into the movie.