The breakfast they'd had was completely silent as was to be expected. John held the promise in his heart of an apology from Sherlock, but there was none to had. He shouldn't be surprised. Oh, how he wished things were different. He wished Sherlock were the kind of man to feel remorse for his wrong doings but he just... wasn't. John remembers growing up dreaming of getting married, raising a family... you know... making a proper life for himself but all of that seemed to be just out of his reach now. He would never get that opportunity simply because of one Sherlock Holmes.

Was he lucky to have met the man? He didn't know. He knew he certainly could never look at another person, man or woman, because of the detective. No one could compare. He was 100% completely in love and no one would ever be able to take the place of the man in his life.

He was just so bloody tired of it all.

John sighed as he made his way up the staircase to their living room. Sherlock was walking briskly ahead of him. He seemed to be in a mood of sorts although the doctor wasn't aware of just which mood that was. Forgive him, the two had been apart for 3 years now so they weren't exactly synchronized any longer. He had found himself caring less and less about what was troubling the man all throughout breakfast and now, now he just wanted to get as far away from him as possible.

He reached the living room quarters and watched idly as Sherlock moved towards their kitchen. He was clearly intending to make tea for the both of them. He'd tried to gently goad Sherlock into letting him know what was troubling him all morning but the man was stubborn and wouldn't give in. Because breakfast had been rather silent John suspected a rather lengthy conversation looming on the horizon thus, the tea making.

Great. More medicine to choke down at the least opportune time. John sat down in his chair resigned to let the man pour out his heart once more and told himself he'd keep his mouth shut as best he could. Perhaps later he would phone his sister and go and visit her. He desperately needed a drink.

He noted with idle curiosity that lately he had been labeling everything as "theirs" once again rather than simply "his". It was a habit he had forcefully made himself break after the first painful months of Sherlock's... departure.

It didn't take long for the detective to join him breaking him away from any further thoughts the doctor may have had. He set down a cup of tea next to the doctor and moved to set his own next to his chair.

"John... " Sherlock began seeming to shift between glancing out their flat window and staring intently at the doctor.

John sat up a little straighter in anticipation of the no doubt hours long conversation about to take place. He ignored the cup of tea on the table.

"I am sorry, you know. That may be of little comfort to you but it is the truth. I did what I did for your sake." he paused staring intently into the doctor's eyes. "I care for you... greatly."

The blonde man shifted in his seat and eyed the cup of tea next to him, feeling a sense of rage build within him. He could see the tears dancing lightly in his friend's eyes but he was still so angry. He didn't want to forget the feeling of betrayal held deep within his heart. He ignored the way Sherlock was gazing at him.

"Sherlock, I... " he trailed off uncertainly and began to stare at the vacant fireplace next to them.

The man was making him quite uncomfortable. It was just like old times although right at this precise moment John was simply uncomfortable due to the immense pain in his heart. Sherlock was quite obviously in pain as well he supposed and he took some comfort in that thought. Only slightly.

"John, I just want you to know... I never stopped loving you."

There was a deafening silence between the two of them. It seemed awkward but it wasn't. No, it was more like it was heavy with a seriousness to it he had never quite experienced before. John felt that the air that floated between the two of them was almost tangible. He felt the levity of the air. Sighing quietly, he shifted his eyes down towards their coffee table. He put his head in his hands trying to make sense of the events of the last 24 hours.

Had it really only been 24 hours? It seemed like so much longer to him.

Sherlock Holmes was dead. And then... he suddenly wasn't. He was alive and in the flesh and here, now. His greatest wish had come true. The one thing he had asked the Universe for repeatedly. Sherlock was alive after all. So why didn't he feel happy? Grateful, at least?

Instead, he felt betrayed and angry... even forsaken. He felt so very alone at the moment despite the proximity of his once best friend.

He considered going out for a walk, a bit of fresh air. He considered maybe talking to Lestrade and meeting at a pub for a drink later on in the evening. No... the man wouldn't understand. He'd judge Sherlock harshly and possibly storm his way over to the flat succeeding in punching the man square in the jaw.

No, he couldn't have that.

John needed to be alone, truly alone for a while. It struck him that solitude was all he'd had for the longest time and now it was the one thing he craved most. He stood and nodded at the taller man curtly. "I need to be alone."

The dark haired detective glanced at him quite bemused. Surely, they weren't done discussing this? "But... ?" he trailed off.

"Sherlock, just leave me alone! Okay? I need to be... alone." John shouted at him stomping off towards the stairs and upwards to his bed chambers.

Sherlock heard the finality of the bedroom door close. He was left alone with his thoughts. He wasn't sure how to take this exactly. John was still angry, that much was certain. He could read the man, of course, and he knew it would be quite a while before he'd be ready to forgive him.

He chewed on the bottom of his lip nervously. Perhaps he could go and speak to Mrs. Hudson about the matter? She'd certainly be willing to help him out. Maybe she could convince John of the seriousness of this matter and get him to hurry and forgive him.

No... no, he'd let the doctor stew and use the solitude to think. He'd have the rest of the day and night to himself and there was much he still needed to try to work out for himself anyway. Feelings and sentiment were not easy things to cope with. Not being used to such things he was feeling more than a little wary about where to go from here.

Tomorrow he'd try again. He'd try to convince John just what he'd done and why he'd done it. He'd done the right thing, he knew he had. Of course, he had. What was more important than keeping John safe? Nothing. Nothing was. He'd explain it again if he had to, and again and again until the man got it, until he finally understood.

Rating: He loved him, the brilliant doctor. There was nothing Sherlock Holmes wouldn't do to save John Watson's life.

He loved him. And he didn't couldn't foresee any future in which he didn't.