A/N: I'm really sorry it took me so long to update this... I got a new and very demanding job back in February so any free time I've had has been spent mostly relaxing. I apologize in advance for how short this chapter is: I had a bit of writer's block for most of it, and where it ends seemed like an appropriate way to end the chapter. There will probably be another chapter after this one and then possibly a short epilogue, so keep an eye out for those. I'll try to update a little more quickly this time, but no promises.

As always, I hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to read and review!

Sherlock and John spent the next several days helping the Yard track down the killer of Jackie Davis and Steven Baxter, and the identity of the killer proved to be a shock to everyone on the case. The murderer was Brian Cummings, a friend of Jackie's. Apparently, the two had gone out for a drink at one of her favorite pubs, as friends who hadn't seen each other in a while. After a couple of drinks, Cummings confessed his long-standing feelings for her and tried making a pass at her. Davis, having a boyfriend, told him that although she was flattered by his interest in her, she was no longer single and therefore could not be with him.

As okay with it as Cummings had seemed on the outside, on the inside he was in turmoil. Two days later, he showed up at her home seemingly for a social call and pulled a gun on her: a gun he had taken from his father without permission, thinking its disappearance would not be noticed. He had been sorely mistaken. Within twenty-four hours of the story of the case getting out in the media, Cummings's father contacted the Yard and suggested they bring his son in for questioning, even though he hoped his son wasn't the killer they were looking for.

Faced with both Lestrade and Sherlock Holmes, the young man's guilt was brought to light almost immediately during the interrogation thanks to Sherlock's nearly inhuman skills of observation, and he was taken into custody. The case was closed.

John should have been happy about the resolution of the case, but other things were getting in the way of that sense of relief.

Since their day at the crime scene, Sherlock had been more distant with him. He barely spoke to him at all and when he did, it was only about various aspects of the case that he was still trying to piece together into a larger picture. Whenever he would lean in for a kiss, Sherlock would let the kiss happen but wouldn't really reciprocate it. The heated intimacy they had shared on the sofa before this latest case was all but gone, and John was at a loss as to why. What had he done to make Sherlock act this way? Was it even something he had done, or was it just Sherlock being, well, Sherlock?

Eventually, he was able to muster up the courage to say something about it.

"Right, let's hear it then," he said out of the blue while Sherlock was in the middle of his newest experiment at the kitchen table, walking up to him and crossing his arms.

Sherlock flicked his gaze toward him, eyebrow arched.

"Hear what?" he questioned evenly.

"You've been shutting me out since that last case began, Sherlock. You've barely said a word to me, you don't kiss me anymore… Hell, I'm lucky if you even look at me!" John's voice got louder as he continued and when he realized that was occurring, he stopped and took a deep breath before continuing at a lower, more neutral volume.

"I just… I just want to know what I did or said to make you act this way. Whatever it was, I… I'm sorry."

Sherlock gazed at John silently for a minute, frowning. John looked so crestfallen at the prospect of Sherlock being angry with him, and the kicked-puppy look in his eyes was enough to make the detective's chest feel tight. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he revealed the reason for his being so distant.

"You almost leapt off the roof of Bart's during my absence… and you didn't think to tell me?"

The color drained from John's face and he pressed his lips into a tight line, swallowing heavily. He looked like he was going to be sick. John remained silent for quite some time, his eyes filling with tears. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he was finally able to find his voice.

"It's not important," he said, a slight tremor in his voice. "That's why I didn't tell you. I am still here, so… why bother bringing it up?"

"That isn't the point," Sherlock explained coolly, his own eyes shiny with moisture as he stared John down. "The point is, I told you everything — everything — about what I was up to over the past three years while I was away from here, but you chose to keep secrets when you should have just been honest with me!" Sherlock clenched his hands into fists, frustrated with John for not understanding why he was so angry about the secret he had kept from him.

"Just answer me this, John: Why?"

"Why didn't I do it?" John sighed and sat down on the sofa, hunching over and scrubbing his hands over his face for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Lestrade and Sally both tried talking to me, but what Lestrade said is what convinced me. H-he said… He said that killing myself wasn't something you would have wanted or condoned because you wouldn't want me to give up so easily; because you would want me to continue living for the both of us."

"Well, he was right about that at least… but that's not what I meant. I meant, why did you want to do it in the first place?"

John was silent for a long time, long enough that Sherlock believed he might not even answer him. Then, just as Sherlock was about to ask him again, John spoke. His voice sounded rough; tired.

"I tried, Sherlock. After the funeral, I tried picking up all the pieces your death scattered me into. I started taking more shifts at the surgery, I went out with friends more, I started going to therapy again to try coping with my grief. In spite of all that, I felt hollow. Without you around, I thought, 'What's the point of going on?' almost every single day. After you jumped that day, Sherlock, all of the color and purpose just seemed to drain out of everything."

John's voice caught for a moment and he took a minute's pause, taking in deep, ragged breaths in an attempt to calm himself. When he was certain he could, he continued.

"After a while, I realized that whatever it was that I was doing, it wasn't living. An important part of me died the day of your funeral when I watched them lower that casket into your grave. The weird state of existence I was in… It couldn't be called life. It isn't life without you in it, Sherlock."

John had begun to weep at some point during his little speech, the tears coming fast and hot and dropping from his cheeks to leave little dark spots on his jeans. He brought his hands up to cover his face, gritting his teeth as his shoulders started shaking with the effort it took to keep his tears under control. Several minutes passed, and Sherlock still had not said a word. He really had not wanted Sherlock to find out just how tough those three years had been on him. Thinking about his almost-suicide now, he felt so very ashamed…

If he felt this way, what must Sherlock think?

John heard the light rustle of clothing from across the room and it was only a few moments more before he felt Sherlock's strong arms around him. He gasped softly, his eyes shimmering as Sherlock held him even tighter. The detective was hiding his face against the doctor's neck, and John could feel the telltale wetness of tears sliding down his nape. He wrapped his arms firmly around Sherlock and his fingers clutched at the back of his shirt, a little whimper shaking its way out of him.

The two remained like that for quite some time, holding onto each other with tears streaming silently down their cheeks. No words were needed: the desperation with which they clung to each other spoke volumes. John didn't know how much time had passed before Sherlock finally loosened his grip on him and pulled back enough to make eye contact. The detective's eyes were red and a bit puffy from crying, presumably just like his own. John smiled a bit at him, and he smiled back.

It seemed to John that they were both being given a second chance at life now that they were together again… and he couldn't wait to see where that long, winding road would take them next.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Keep an eye out for future updates.