John sat on the couch watching telly through his legs propped up in front of him. He somberly toyed with the arm rest keeping his eyes glued to the screen as Sherlock plopped down beside him.
He looked over at the smaller man, and then turned back to the telly.
"What are you watching."
"I don't know."
"How long have you been sitting like this?"
"You can't deduce that?"
"John-"
"Just drop it."
"No, John. You're obviously upset."
John sat perfectly still, never moving his eyes or head.
"John, I take back what I said. I...I."
Plopping his feet on the floor, sternly John said, "Don't."
Staring at his feet, John left a heavy silence amongst them.
Then for the first time that evening John stared back into the taller man's eyes which allowed Sherlock a full view of the other's face. He could see the clear soft expression and sincerity with traces of overwhelming sadness all laid out in the one person in front of him.
Looking right into his eyes, John whispered,"You meant it. It's okay. I get it."
Those eight words nearly broke all of Sherlock. The grief and anger he summoned out of this man was unforgivable.
John sniffed, looked back at the telly, turned it off, then stood up leaving the room.
Sherlock gazed at John until he couldn't anymore. A few seconds later he heard the thump of a bedroom door.
Slamming his head into his hands Sherlock tried to figure out how he let this happen.
How could I be so idiotic? Yes I am not the best with human emotions but...
Throwing the coffee table across the room in frustration he growled. Leaving 221b in a fury he threw on his trench coat, slammed the door, and began to pace around London to figure himself out.
Alright let's think this over...
He let his body keep a steady walking rhythm as he re-entered the day's events.

Sliding around the another street light, Sherlock sprinted in fury. He had been running after a mass murderer and his goonies for almost 30 minutes. At some point he split apart from John and was now trekking the dark corner of London by himself. Edging into an alleyway Sherlock slowed down. It was gloomy and freezing and everything smelled like piss. He was so close and he knew it. He just needed a few minutes to catch the perp off guard. The psycho didn't even know Sherlock was still after him. Slowly and softly Sherlock edged a corner. A smiled played across his cupid-bow lips. The man was in sight and he was so close.
Then there was a scream. A heart-aching hair-pulling scream.
Eyes wide and panicked he followed the voice and zoomed towards it.
He voiced raced in his head as fast as his body repeating, "Oh, G-d, that's John. I'm coming. Please be okay. Please."
Skidding his feet, Sherlock rounded a corner and was face to face with a handful or the perp's goons.
At the sight of him, one of the blood-thirsty men gripped John by the hair pulling his neck back. Then promptly he snatched a switchblade from his pocket and held it to the open neck.
Sherlock stood completely still. John's face was already bleeding from punches and it looked like they had already kicked in his ribs.
"Let him go."

Sherlock blinked his watery eyes and put a pale hand to his head. He felt a lady hit his side yelling back, "Watch it!"
But he just adjusted his coat and kept walking.
He let out a single breath and kept trying to remember. But for some reason things get a bit blurry at this point.

John was lying on the sidewalk, blood soaking the pavement around him. Three guys also unconscious lay not too far from him. The other two got away. There had been gunshots fired and punches thrown. But all Sherlock could think about was a possibly dead doctor.

His flat-mate, his blogger, his best friend, his everything.

He slide across the ground and placed a hand on John's shoulder.
"John? John, wake up. Stay with me. Talk to me!"
Shaking unconscious shoulders Sherlock's panic spread further. John's eyes barely opened and his head lolled to the side.
"John!"
Barely loud enough to understand, he heard his name being whispered breathlessly.

"Sherlock..."
Bending closer to huddle the other man, Sherlock searched his mind for comforting words,"That's right. I'm here and I got you. Help is on the way, but for now I'm here. And I've always got you, no one is ever going to get you okay? I'm here."
He wound John tightly into his arms and rocked him back and forth. He held the smaller man's head into his chest and whispered soft enough so no one-not even himself- could hear, "I love you. Please stay with me."
When Sherlock snapped back into the present he found himself crying softly. He was a lonely soul in the middle of a desolate street. His whole body shook as he let his tears continue to roll down his face. He walked and cried all the way to the nearest park and sat down on a bench. There he let his tears and torture continue.

Somehow they made it into a hospital. Sherlock held John's hand in the ambulance he whole way there and had to be forced into the waiting room. It took three doctors and a security guard to unlatch Sherlock from John's side. In the end he was left to pace and pace in the waiting room until he was finally allowed in.
He pushed, shoved, and ran past all the doctors and visitors in his way until he made it into John's room.
When he saw the blond hair, sea blue eyes, and flashing smile, his whole face lit up.
He felt so relieved.

"John."
The doctor, ironically now a patient, smiled, "Hi."
Sherlock edged closer to the bed and felt a pang of sadness. He scanned the man's head and body. There were cuts and sores everywhere, besides the broken ribs...
"What were you thinking John?"
How could I let him get hurt?
Sherlock felt all his fear be replaced with anger and he started screaming.
"I gave you one job and you muck it up! All you had to do was find the perp and get me. And yet you find yourself man handled? Were you even thinking. Were you even being careful? You just had to get in my way. Honestly why did I even let you come?"
Why did I say that? That's not what I meant at all.
John blue eyes widened and he sat still. Sherlock on the other hand, was still panting as instant regret hit him.
That wasn't meant for him. I was never mad at him.
He made a move to set his hand on the other's arm, but John just flinched. A single blue tear streamed from his left eye as he etched back farther away from Sherlock.
"Get out."
Breathing hard and trying to find words, Sherlock remained by his side.
"I said GET OUT."
"John. I'm-I didn't mean to..."
"NOW."

John blinked through his tears as everything he remembered went by in his head.
He found himself stuck to the inside of his bedroom door since he stormed off away from Sherlock. He hadn't been able to move since he slammed the door. If he did he was afraid he'd fall.
Now with Sherlock gone and the memories fresh in his head, his tears came crashing down and he sunk to the floor.
His sobs filled the room and shook the whole flat. Mrs. Hudson could probably feel the walls shake from his turmoil.
Why did I let myself get so attached?
John knew he shouldn't be so upset. Besides, friends get mad at each other all the time. They fight and sometimes terrible things are said. But then either people never talk to each other again, or they take a breather from each other and then talk it out. Rarely are there so many tears involved, and if there is, it is never in this amount of sobbing.
Why am I acting like this?
Forcing himself to get up John faced himself in the mirror.
His blue bloodshot eyes were swollen and his face was almost the color a fire engine.
He wanted to break the glass and destroy his visage, but for now he settled for angrily throwing himself onto the bed.

Just when I thought he said I love you.

With a heavy heart and a few sad hiccups, John Watson drifted off into a slow slumber.