After Lestrade had taken him home, Sherlock laid on his couch and simply tried not to think. He wished that he could lose himself in a drug induced stupor, however, he knew that he couldn't. Not only would he lose his consulting position, it would take away the one thing that John had ever asked of him, and he could not allow that.

For a week he simply was, he hardly ate or drank, hardly moved at all. Lestrade came around to check on him, as did his landlady, and his brother. None of them ever stayed long, he was never in the mood for conversation, but they brought food with them, sometimes a sandwich, other times a soup.

By the next week, he was forcing himself back out on cases. He threw himself into investigations, and while he could see that Lestrade was concerned, the man let him.

"Suicide," Sherlock concluded.

"Can't be," Anderson objected, "she had ten stab wounds."

Sherlock didn't even bristle at him, didn't call him names, just simply explained, and walked away. Suddenly, he stopped moving. "Not possible." he gasped. Even as he denied it he was running, his eyes didn't believe nor did his mind, but his heart had to.

"Hi," John whispered.

"How?" Sherlock asked even as he cataloged everything about him. Just out of the hospital, injured shoulder, limp is psychosomatic, tired. It was an information overload, but one that he welcomed.

"Your brother picked me up from the airport," John said, misunderstand Sherlock's question. "Terribly nice of him I suppose given how he normally treats people." John mused.

"I thought you were dead," Sherlock whispered, still not quite believing he wasn't hallucinating. Before John could answer Sherlock kissed him.

When they finally pulled apart, John was blushing. "Well I guess that answers where our relationship is heading," he said. Then, he realized what Sherlock had said. "You thought... Oh god- I'm so sorry Sherlock. I didn't- After my unit fell under attack, I got shot- I should've called or something."

"No it's-"

"It's not fine. I worried you. I was so happy to see you that I missed so many signs I should have noticed as a doctor."

Sherlock knew the signs he was speaking of. "You can nurse me back to health, if you want. I've moved into a little flat on Baker Street, two bedrooms, tea in the cupboard."

John pretended to think about it. "Well I suppose that tea is a nice perk."

It was only when Lestrade cleared his throat, that John remembered they were surrounded by police, he blushed again, and closed his eyes in embarrassment.