Author's Note: This was written a long time ago. Season four was just one big angsty mess, wasn't it? I wrote this to help me heal after S4 and to imagine how our boys start to heal. They need each other so they can and will rise above all pain and grief to stay together. Okay. Rant done. I own nothing.

The flat on Baker Street had been rebuilt. The restoration was so expertly done, it was as if the beloved apartment had never been destroyed.

John had helped to set the damage right, obviously. Sherlock had expected him to. But he hadn't moved back into their rebuilt flat yet.

During the rebuilding, Sherlock had stayed at John and Mary's old place. Weeks of tentative conversation and excessive politeness there had gone a long way toward mending John and Sherlock's frayed bonds. Nothing would ever be the same, but they were working on it. They were working on it because the weeks that they were separated and not talking had been unbearable. Sherlock knew that there was hurt. A lot of hurt. But they could heal. They have always healed.

Baker Street was rebuilt, Sherlock was getting to know his sister, Mycroft was smoothing things over with their parents, and now, Sherlock intended to live with John and Rosie at their flat and continue that life that he had made.

It was with this goal in mind that Sherlock tread the familiar path to the flat John had shared with Mary and that he now lived in with his growing daughter. It was early morning; Sherlock hoped Rosie hadn't kept John up all night with her shrill cries, as he needed John to be in a good mood for this meeting.

John opened the door after Sherlock rang the doorbell; he looked tired. Being a single father was clearly taking its toll on Sherlock's resilient friend. He was balancing his bright-eyed baby on his hip and holding a bowl of oatmeal in his unoccupied hand.

"How's the flat look, then?" John asked Sherlock without preamble. Rosie babbled in greeting.

"Fine, Fine. Good as new." Sherlock said with some bravado. Awkward and to the point. Sherlock hated small talk.

John nodded as Rosie continued to babble. Sherlock smiled softly at his goddaughter.

"Can I come in?" Tentative. Unsure.

John's eyes were sad. "Yes. Rosie's missed you ambling around the place." John stepped back and allowed Sherlock to come in.

Together, they walked to the sitting area in silence. John had spread out a blanket on the floor and he set Rosie down gently on it as they entered the room, setting the bowl on a side table as well as he sat down. Rosie crawled to a doll lying a few feet away and proceeded to play without a care in the world.

Sherlock watched his goddaughter: he had lost time to make up as a godfather. He intended to be a part of Rosie's life for as long as he could.

"How's the Work going?"

Sherlock recognized and appreciated the unsaid capitalization of his profession. John's respect for him truly astounded Sherlock.

"Boring. No cases worth my time."

"Ah, shame." John's eyes glinted with a mirth that had been absent for a long time.

Sherlock felt a wave of relief. That was the John he knew revealing himself under the shadow that had clothed him for so long.

"An essential part is missing from my Work, however."

Both had resumed contemplation of Rosie. Watching the happy ten-month old was easier than seeing the expression in the other's eyes, an expression that spoke of how far they needed to go. Sherlock never imagined that caring about someone could be this hard.

"What essential part is that?" John knew. He asked so Sherlock would have to say it. So, he would have to plead to his best friend to come home. "I need my blogger. My fans demand more romanticized cases." Sherlock said, trying for some humor. He didn't say the rest. That he didn't know what he would do without John. That his life without John wasn't a life at all and he needed to preserve the life they had... could still have.

John didn't crack a smile. "My value to you lies in my blogging capabilities?"

John was just making him suffer now. Sherlock supposed he deserved it.

Sherlock abandoned all pretense, "Why do you insist on determining your value to me? Shall I be candid? I came here today, John, because I can't stand my life alone. I don't care about the blog, I don't care about my fans." Sherlock said with distaste. "I care about you."

John put his head in his hands.

"You, John. It's always you. I need you in my life. I need your daughter in my life. I can't..." Sherlock's voice broke. His frankness amazed him. But after all this time, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to be anything less than completely honest with John.

"I can't be alone anymore, John. It was hard enough after Mary."

John looked up again but didn't meet Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock felt exhausted, and all he was doing was talking about emotion. Emotion. Sherlock never talked about emotion and yet, here he was pouring his soul out to the first person that mattered.

"You helped me in ways I will never understand, Sherlock." John finally looked at Sherlock and Sherlock saw the utter devastation written over John's face. "I want that life back too. More than anything. But so much has... and Rosie." John laughed without humor. "Rosie has a haunted past and she doesn't even know it."

Hearing her name, John's blond-haired and blue-eyed daughter smiled toothlessly at them.

"I want to help you, John." Truer words had never been spoken. "Please, John. Come back to Baker Street. Don't continue to torture yourself with the ghosts of this place." Sherlock said, with a gesture that encapsulated the apartment.

John took a deep breath and when he exhaled he was trembling. He put his hand over his eyes.

Sherlock looked at Rosie again and said what he knew would be John's breaking point. The statement that would make this immensely stubborn man give in and come home.

"John." Sherlock waited until John looked at him. John's eyes were wet. "Your daughter will want for nothing."

John half-sobbed and put his head in his hands. "Okay."

Sherlock let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Okay. Of course, Sherlock. Of course, I'll come home."

Sherlock got up from the armchair he had sat in and moved to John's side on the sofa as John started shaking with suppressed grief. He placed a hand on John's back and watched John as he gained control of himself again.

Sherlock remembered holding John close a couple months ago while he cried. He was content to do the same thing now. John leaned in to Sherlock and Sherlock put his arm around him.

Rosie gurgled in concern as she stared at them.

"She hasn't finished her breakfast yet." John said quietly, a cue for Sherlock to let him stand up.

As John got up and settled Rosie in her high chair, Sherlock leaned back and closed his eyes. A proper family they would be, Sherlock reflected. He was the lucky one. Moving on would be hard. But if anyone could heal, it was John and Sherlock.