This is where John starts doing research into alternative causes of tears, because he doesn't realize until the day after the film fiasco that he doesn't have anything else planned.

His research comes up with pretty interesting results. There's ample evidence that never crying can be bad for both your physical and mental health. There are a lot of effects on the body when you cry, but there's a simple biochemical one in there that John never knew. It releases stress hormones from the body—and anyone who knows anything knows that too much stored-up stress can be bad for you.

If John's being honest, he stays cooped up in his room all day, partaking in what he's heard called "A Wiki-Walk", because he would read up on one thing, see a link to something else, and then read up on that too. One minute he'd be reading about crying, and then he'd be reading about prolactin, then lactation, then the Dayak fruit bat.

John likes to think he got much smarter that day.

But anyway, his research that was actually about crying came up with results that were not as helpful as he wanted.

Basically, people cry for a ton of reasons. Happiness, pain, sadness, frustration. People cry when they see something beautiful, or when they are anxious.

In conclusion, John's at a loss. There's no point in even trying any of the positive emotions. This is Sherlock. Sadness doesn't do it, or anxiety, or anger—at least not to the extent that John has seen him experience it. And he knows he's not mean enough to put Sherlock through any real emotional turmoil—and even if he were, how would he go about that?

So in the end, he knows there's no way he can finish his experiment.

And right around the time he makes that realization is when fate steps in.

"John, would you hurry up?" Sherlock snaps it from several metres ahead, but doesn't bother to look back.

Sherlock, with all his intelligence, never seemed to figure out that John's shorter legs and more advanced age make it pretty close to impossible for him to keep up. John's in better shape than other men his age, but he's still not as young as he once was. It takes its toll.

And then John trips. Sherlock's already rounded a corner when it happens, so he doesn't notice.

John grumbles in frustration. It didn't hurt very badly, but it's certainly annoying. And admittedly, his ankle is smarting more than his other minor injuries. He gets in a position to make sure it isn't damaged. He'll catch up with Sherlock in a mo'.

"Amazing."

John freezes. He's heard that voice before. But… they're not even chasing Moriarty right now. This crime has nothing at all to do with him. But John knows that's his voice.

John doesn't turn. He doesn't want to look.

"What's amazing?"

Jim laughs heartily, that laugh of his with no humour. John can hear him walking in the other direction. He wishes he had his gun on him. Sherlock did some experiment on it earlier this week and John hadn't gotten it back. Tosser.

"What's funny?" John snaps.

"By pure dumb luck, the both of you missed every single one."

"Miss—what?"

"You weren't supposed to fall either. I suppose that's the opposite of luck."

"What the hell—"

Then there's another sound John knows. The sound of an aluminium can hitting the ground, as if thrown. What, had Moriarty finished a beer and thrown the remnants? That doesn't seem like him.

"My aim really is impressive," Moriarty continues to drawl.

John's still confused, but he's starting to get a bad feeling. He starts to scramble to his feet.

"Oh, John, it's too late now." He's calling it from somewhat far now. "I gave them a delay so dear Sherlock wouldn't be in the blast. But I don't much care if you are."

John's figured it out now.

But Moriarty's right. Too late.

A blast. He's knocked to the ground.

Then nothing.

Everything's bleary in his head. There's beeping. And… people are yelling. His eyes are registering nothing. John isn't even sure if his eyes are open or closed. He hopes they're closed. Otherwise, he's gone blind.

He can't feel his body, not really, but he's pretty sure it's all there.

That's all the stock he can take of himself before he's gone again.

ZzZzZ

"Mr Holmes, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I'm not leaving, you imbecile. Look at him!"

"I am looking at him. That's why I need you to go."

"Not a chance."

ZzZzZ

"Johnny, love. Eat all your supper, or there'll be no pudding."

"Aw, Nan, it's my birthday!"

"And ten year olds have to eat the same as nine year olds."

"But—"

"None of that! Supper!"

ZzZzZ

"Sherlock, get some sleep."

"Don't you have someone else to annoy, Inspector?"

"You can't sit here forever."

"I don't have time or patience for this right now. I plan to be here when he wakes up, and that means staying right here."

A sigh. "Sherlock. They've told you this before. He might not wake up at—"

"Shut up! Get out!"

"Being in denial about it won't—"

"Get OUT!"

A long silence, and then a second, a heavier sigh. "Okay. Okay. Just… Prepare yourself, Sherlock. For the worst."

The door closes quietly.

"John. Don't listen to him. You're… you're fine. You have to be fine. You have to be."

ZzZzZ

"Oh John. This was never a part of my plan, but it really is working out the way I want. Sherlock's a mess. I'm a little ashamed that this wasn't my intention. I just thought it would be poetic for him to be the cause of dozens of deaths by tripping one of the wires. But he wouldn't have felt bad for that. This… it's perfect. No plan to destroy Sherlock is complete without you, John. I should thank you." A cackle. "Ready for your medicine?" A pause. "There you go. This should make things fun tomorrow. Sleep tight." And then the door snapped shut.

ZzZzZ

"Sherlock, I think it's time for you to—"

"Don't you say it. Don't you fucking say it."

There's a pause. "Not sure I've heard you say that word before."

"Fuck you."

"There it is again."

A snarl. "You think this is funny?"

Another moment of silence. "No. It's not funny at all. It's tragic."

"Oh, don't be—"

"Melodramatic? I'm not. John's gone. The doctors are just letting you say your last—" An apparent struggle. "Sherlock, seriously? Quit—"

The door is shut again.

A long silence.

"John, wake up, for god's sake. This is getting ridiculous. Just wake up. Just… please."