"I messed it up again, didn't I?" Sherlock asked but Mycroft shook his head.

"Not yet. This was bound to happen when he remembers all the things. And I mean, all. You recall Sherlock? He will remember also the time after you came back. The good memories."

"The good memories." Sherlock murmured placing the violin on his shoulder.

"Why don't you tell him?"

"Tell what?"

"That you love him."

Sherlock froze, but then he just lifted the bow and started to play.

#

Again he went through the pictures. There wasn't lot of them. He read his blog and often just stared the text not believing that he had actually experienced anything what he had wrote.

And the writing.

Well, the first ones were just terrible but in the end it was improved.

He stared Sherlock's picture, it had been in his wallet, cut from the news paper but not old, just frayed.

Sherlock was smiling, not at the camera but something on his side. The picture was from backside, revealing only his left side of face when he had turned to look bit lower than his eyelevel.

He opened the whole paper, revealing the other side of the picture.

It was him, looking up, grinning happily, his right hand hovering near Sherlock's.

He couldn't remember what situation it had been, he hadn't saved the article.

His thump went over Sherlock's picture.

He was right, there was something else, but Sherlock had hurt him, hurt him deep. Had he truly forgiven him?

It seemed that they had gone long way together, so, maybe. He knew that Sherlock was his friend.

But it hurt.

It still hurt.

Deep deep inside of him, he had never fully forgiven and the hurt was back. Why?

#

"I need you opinion John, please, look it through."

Sherlock offered the files and John stared the brown carton vaguely knowing what he would see.

The crime scene.

"Why me?" he asked and Sherlock frowned.

"Why not you?"

"I'm not…" John waved his hand, not looking Sherlock who leaned bit more forward.

"I needed you first because this flat. I saw you and knew that you may have more problems that I and it, intrigued me."

John watched him. "Sounds like you."

Sherlock covered his grin.

"Then Lestrade came and you were there and I realized that although you are id… less more intelligent than I, you were a doctor. Army doctor."

"Very good doctor. Overqualified."

"And open minded. And you made me smile."

They stared each other.

"You made me laugh. You saved me. The gun…"

Sherlock withdrew but John's hand snapped the files.

"I look them."

"Thank you."

"And I let you know, I was one of the best." John murmured opening the first file.

Sherlock placed the fingers on his chin whispering, "You still are."

#

Sherlock woke up the feeling that someone was staring him through the darkness of room.

"John?"

"Yes." came quiet reply. Sherlock was fast up.

"Is everything alright?"

"You were sleeping?"

"Yes, case closed. Lestrade send his thanks." Sherlock turned the lights on and noticed that John was only wearing his boxers. The leg was still bandaged but he could now walk with it.

"You should't be up John."

"Couldn't sleep. Tea?"

"Yes, thank you. Nightmares?"

"No. Just… remembering."

Sherlock went still, his eyes following John's every movements around the kitchen, now again familiar to him. He watched in silence how John waited the water to boil, how he made the tea.

Sherlock smelled the tea, closed his eyes, sipped it.

"Perfect." First time after John was started to make the tea again it was perfect.

"I know." John smiled, watching him over his own mug and they drink their tea sitting and just enjoying their time together in peace.

"So, The Elephant in the Room." John said finally, grinning and Sherlock groaned.

There was always some things and cases what he wanted to forget.

#

"So… You two… Is everything going fine?" Lestrade asked over his pint and John looked outside the busy street.

"Yes, yes, everything is fine. Some things are still, missing. Some, details. Just can't figure them out. And sometimes I can't remember some peoples or old cases."

"And… Sherlock?"

"Good, all is good." John frowned, turning his gaze to his own ale and frowned more. Lestrade observed. Smiled and took a swing.

"Do you remember our bet?"

John blinked.

"So you don't remember that. Let's say, it wasn't bet between us, but it was, and still is, bet about you and Sherlock. First it was how long you would tag along with him. Then it came more, personal."

"The Yarders." John murmured, still not clearly remembering.

"Well, yes, and you got mad when you first time heard about it and… Well, then you just resigned and said that the winner would be the one who says never. I don't think it's true. When I look you two, when anyone watches you two they see that it's just matter of time if you survive."

John blinked, repeatedly.

"Me and Sherlock…"

"I assume that that is what you are missing."

Lestrade phone ringed right there and then and he answered and left leaving John behind to mull over the pint. He never drunk it.

When he got home, Sherlock was also gone.

He spend rest of the evening with Mrs Hudson, but it was quiet evening and Mrs Hudson noticed it, but she didn't said anything.

#

He was still awake when Mycroft came.

He got up from the sofa and knew.

"There has been an accident."