Sherlock was fiddling with the miscellaneous instruments and tools that were laid out on the table in front of him. He turned his head to look at John who was approaching him and watched as the other man bent down to be at Sherlock's level since he was seated. They both made eye contact, and again John felt himself physically unable to look away. Or was it more of a mental thing? Sherlock had those smoldering grey eyes, that were now mixed with icy blue and little specks of gold. John's never seen another person with the same condition as Sherlock, but it suit him so well, like everything else did on Sherlock. The detective's smooth lips spread into a small smile as he felt the doctor's hand rest on the small of his back. Sherlock's face was so tender, so sincere as he gazed upon the hardened ex-solider's face, John couldn't help but smile back. He doesn't know what brought about this sudden change in Sherlock, but he was starting to like it.

'Focus John, this isn't about you, it's about your friend who can't remember you. Focus on him.'

Just like that John suddenly broke their gaze and turned to the glass tubes Sherlock had in his hand.

"Find anything interesting?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Just glass and chemicals."

"Think this can help you scrounge up any memories? Maybe of you working here?"

Another head shake.

"I don't think this is going to do anything for me."

John rubbed his back in slow circles to comfort him and let him know that they would get through this somehow, whether it was together or not at all. He's not about to abandon his best friend because of an accident that he couldn't prevent. Because he was trying to save his friends. John rested his other hand on the cold, metallic table, and found that it was soon warmed by the heat of Sherlock's hand. John could never get over how soft his hand was, it wasn't coarse and calloused and worn like John's was. It belonged to the man who spent his years playing violin, who was always cautious whilst conducting experiments (careful as he could be) and who took good care of his body overall. John was grateful for the fact that Sherlock wasn't in the army, he wouldn't survive in there. He would find some way to survive, but it would be living with the trauma that comes with being in active duty. He would have to live with the images and nightmares of other soldiers dying right before his very eyes, he would have to struggle with learning what is there and what isn't. It would ruin that beautiful, yet fragile brain that resided in Sherlock's skull.

Sherlock's eyes tore into John's and there was a certain tension there, it wasn't the type where they were seconds away from punching each other, even though he knew that some part of him wanted to do it, Sherlock probably did too. He wanted to scream at everybody, he wanted to pommel Mycroft, and shout. Demand answers that he knew he wouldn't get, he would try to force somebody to give Sherlock's memories back, so he can give him new ones. So he can fall in love all over again...

'I swear it seems like I can't shut you off. How does Sherlock handle this?'

It seems that John was going to have to repeat himself to his stubborn head.

'You are NOT gay!'

Hopefully this will halt any new thoughts forming in his head. He returned his attention to Sherlock, who was still staring down at him. It really seems like somebody switched a fuse in his head. John wished that he switched that off again so he wouldn't constantly have to fight with his thoughts every second.

'You can't do this, John. You'll be taking advantage of him, don't do this.'

He turned around and saw Molly staring at the both of them and smirking to herself. She was the perfect distraction. John gave Sherlock a little pat on the back and slowly rose up, leaving Sherlock looking a bit disappointed. John gave him a reassuring smile and said, "Hang on, I've got to talk to Molly for a moment, and then I'll be back, okay?"

Sherlock seemed to accept the answer and let John go. Molly saw the doctor approaching and quickly started working again as if that was what she was doing this whole time. John rolled his eyes as soon as he was in front of her.

"What?"

She gave a coy smile.

"Nothing. I'm just...happy for you."

"Really?"

She nodded.

"You just looked sad without him here..."

They didn't know that Sherlock was listening to them, because when Molly spoke, something in Sherlock just triggered. Almost immediately, Sherlock felt a seering headache shoot through his cranium and as a reflex, Sherlock's hand flew to his head and he slouched in pain. The bright lights in the morgue was making his ailment that much worse and he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from screaming and causing another scene. The pain was proving to be too much though, as he heard the female's voice in his head.

"You look sad when you think he can't see you."

What was this? Was he remembering something? He can see flashes of light brown and the familiar lighting of the morgue. There was a grieving atmosphere then and it was fuzzy, very fuzzy. Not knowing what to do, he did what he thought was best.

"JOHN!"

Just like that, John spun around and saw Sherlock experiencing the most painful headache yet, and he rushed over to him.

"SHERLOCK!"

He heard the pain the younger man's voice and the fear, the fear of something he probably remembered, of what he was feeling at the moment. Molly, scared as she was, just stood there and figured it was best that somebody that Sherlock was used to seeing handled the situation. John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders, careful not to agitate him further and then his doctor kicked in as he tried to look into Sherlock's eyes, but to no avail as they were closed and looked like they weren't opening anytime soon.

"Sherlock what's wrong?"

Sherlock let out a sob.

"My head...I looked sad..."

John frantically moved his hands to the detective's wrists and started rubbing them gently as he tried to calm down his scared friend. Sherlock's moans were very close to turning into screams and so John ditched the wrists and then pulled Sherlock into an embrace and started rocking back and forth, as they weren't around any Advil at the moment and Sherlock was in the midst of a breakdown.

"Shhh...it's okay...I'm here Sherlock..."

He clutched at John's shirt.

"John..."

John knew they couldn't stay anymore and then looked back at Molly and whispered, "Call a cab. Now."

She sheepishly smiled and ran out of the room, leaving the two men in the company of each other.