This missing scene contains references to the physical, emotional, and drug abuse present in TLD, but the story is about two men getting their friendship and love for each other back to a good place.

Wishing us all well going into TFP.

Once his sobs finally subsided, John Watson realized he could hear the steady beating of Sherlock Holmes' heart. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he'd dreamed of this sound, the rhythmic susurrus communicating proof of life. John could feel Sherlock's cheek resting upon the top of his head and imagined that his eyes were closed. He did not know how long Sherlock had been tenderly holding him close and found he did not care. Warmth and peace spread through him in the arms of his best friend, and John felt more like himself than he had in months.

John took a step back and looked up at Sherlock's face, bearing wounds John had put there. A hint of embarrassment or, perhaps, fear of rejection flickered in Sherlock's eyes, and John raised a hand to grab his shoulder, keeping Sherlock close. "Thank you."

Sherlock granted him a gentle smile. "You're welcome, John."

"I don't usually lose control." The sobbing or the beating, John left unsaid.

The hand still clasping John's nape squeezed reassuringly, and Sherlock's face showed only acceptance and understanding. "I think you were about due, don't you?"

Both men laughed at that, and they finally separated. "You're right, Sherlock, as always." John made sure to smile to soften what he so often used as a derogatory phrase.

John remained standing as Sherlock sat down in his chair. John could see the pain of Sherlock's injuries in his gait. No amount of gratitude could fix that. And if John had arrived at the hospital only a minute later, Sherlock might not be back here at Baker Street. Thinking about this led John to another deduction.

"Sherlock, I do have one question."

"Only one?" Sherlock shook his head with an exaggerated put-upon sigh.

"I reserve the right for follow-ups, you wanker." John looked affectionately down at him. "How did you know I'd bring the cane?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "Obvious."

"You hate it when I repeat myself, and I will ask that repeatedly till you answer."

Sherlock gnawed at his lower lip and looked down at his lap. John could tell that he was battling between lying and telling the truth. Truth won out. "Because you were angry at me. So angry. You wanted nothing to do with me, and the cane would only be a reminder of me. You had kept it as a memento of what meeting me had done for you, and you would want to be well rid of it. You'd give it to me as a symbol that you were well rid of me."

Sherlock kept his gaze cast down and only looked up when John began to giggle. "How can you be so right and so wrong at the same time?"

Sherlock crinkled his nose in bewilderment. "How can I be right and wrong?"

John collapsed in his old chair. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Oh, please, I couldn't have been that wrong."

John ran his hands through his hair and then looked over at Sherlock, whose face still betrayed his confusion. "I never wanted to become a father. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No, but I don't see what that has to do with…"

"Look, I've already bared my heart more than I'm comfortable with today, so just let me tell this my way."

Sherlock inclined his head and gestured for John to proceed.

"Mary and I never discussed having children. An oversight, I know. If she'd asked, I'd have told her no."

John's voice broke a bit at the end, and Sherlock silently waited for him to continue.

John sniffed. "And I wouldn't have Rosie. I'm shit at making decisions, aren't I?"

"We all have room for improvement." Sherlock kept his tone light, but John could tell he meant it.

"I never wanted children because I didn't want to be like my father, and when I was hurting you, I… I became him, Sherlock. I became that horrible man, and I'm so sorry."

Sherlock leaned towards John and held out his hand. John grabbed it.

"John, I'm sorry, too. You've dealt with your sister's addiction for years, and I'm guessing your father's, too, from what you've just said. And then to have me put you through this…" Sherlock's voice quivered with emotion. "I knew you would rescue me from hell, but I'm sorry you had to go through hell to reach me."

"But you didn't deserve me to hit you. You said I was entitled, but I wasn't. You shouldn't think that. I beat you. I put you in that hospital bed."

"John, the drugs had me more than halfway there. Molly wasn't lying when she described my condition. I must confess, I allowed myself to indulge more freely than I should have to draw your attention."

"Of course, you were hurting. Mary was your friend, and you were hurting and blaming yourself, and I shut you out."

"I was hurting, but not just for Mary. I wanted to be there for you, John. You were alone when you thought I'd killed myself, and I didn't want you to be alone again. I wanted to help you."

"God, we're a couple of idiots."

"Yes, but you're my idiot, so I forgive you."

Sherlock's words mirrored Mary's in his head so closely that John released Sherlock's hand, leaned back in his chair, and smiled in response.

"But I still don't know what I got wrong." Sherlock prodded.

"I brought my cane to you because I was angry, because I didn't want reminders of you."

"Yes, exactly and …"

"But I was angry at myself, Sherlock. Not you. Not at that point." John buried his face in his hands.

"If it's about the beating, I think we've agreed we've both been unnecessarily abusive, and…"

John interrupted. "Of course, it was about the beating. And Mary. And me, craving the excitement of the life you and I had together, while playing husband out in the suburbs and pursuing pretty bits on the side to fill the void." John shook his head. "Nobody could tell Mary what to do, ever. She jumped in front of that bullet, and it was easier to be angry with you, to try to hate you, than forgive myself for not loving her the way I should have. The way she thought I did."

"John." Sherlock whispered his name, letting it hang in the air between them.

"Before we got your texts to come to the aquarium, I was just about to tell her about the girl on the bus. I never had a chance to confess. And I loathed myself. Absolutely hated myself, but it was easier to blame you, so I did."

"But I still don't understand your motivation for giving me the cane?"

"To remind you that you'd saved a man, once. You'd given him a new lease on life, had saved him from eating a bullet from his own gun, and that you deserved better than him. Than me."

"You're human, John. And amongst humans, there are none better."

"I don't deserve you."

"No, no, stop that."

"And after what I did to you, I'm so afraid of becoming my own father with Rosie. Promise me, you'll make sure I keep going to therapy, to work on my temper."

"If that's what you need, of course." Sherlock took a deep breath before asking, "And you'll let me see Rosie, even though I'm an addict? I won't go near her if I'm using, I promise. I'll try to stop, but…" Sherlock grimaced. "… I am an addict."

"You'll have my help this time. I'm sorry I've kept you from Rosie. I know Molly let you see her briefly, but I shouldn't have pushed you away from Rosie when she'd already lost her mom and needs all the love she can get."

"I do love her, you know. She's yours, so how could I not?"

"And you still…" To his horror, John felt tears well up in his eyes again. "… Want me around?"

"Always."

John exhaled in relief, but felt compelled to add, "Because it seemed you really didn't need me anymore. I mean, you were asking Mary on cases as much, if not more, than me." John stopped short of confiding his jealousy, that Mary had taken his place at Sherlock's side.

"One of many missteps I've made in the past year." At John's curious glance, Sherlock continued. "All I've wanted is for you to be happy, John, after all of the unhappiness I've brought you. I was worried a woman like Mary would become bored, letting her talents languish, so I encouraged her to go on cases."

"Whereas I'm the one who got restless. I really think a normal life was novel for her, enough to capture her interest. But I hated it. All I really wanted was…" You. The word almost left John's mouth before he stopped it. Well, he thought, that's something I'll have to interrogate a bit more closely.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, begging John to finish. "I want to be the man Mary deserved. Who Rosie deserves. And who you deserve."

In a softer voice than John had ever heard him use, Sherlock said, "If I deserve you, John, it's only because I've tried to become the man I want to be for you."

The softness of Sherlock's voice was accompanied by great love in his eyes, and John allowed his guard to fall and affection to shine through. "How about we go get some cake, birthday boy?"

Sherlock brightened, but prevaricated. "Don't you have to get Rosie?"

"We'll bring her along."

Sherlock grinned as he stood up and let his dressing gown fall to the floor. "Both of my Watsons and cake? This will be the best birthday ever."

John forced himself from his chair, exhausted with emotion, yet all the lighter for the alleviation of its burden. "If this is your best birthday, I really need to talk to your parents about your childhood."

"You really don't." Sherlock paused, while pulling on his coat. "Although I'm sure they would love to meet Rosie, if you're amenable."

"Having a girl around to break up the boys' club? Sure."

As the two men reached the door, Sherlock paused. "Did I do it right?"

"Do what right?"

"The hug. Was that good?"

John heard the unwarranted uncertainty in Sherlock's voice. "Yeah. Very good." He suddenly found himself with arms full of Sherlock. As he squeezed Sherlock close to him, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Sherlock's words were muffled as he spoke them into John's hair. "Having you here is the best birthday gift, more than I could have ever wished for."

"Oh, Sherlock." John reached up and drew Sherlock's head down to place a fierce kiss on his forehead. "There is no place else I would rather be."