New update :)

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It could have been minutes later, it could have been hours later, but eventually, John felt Mary's hand curl around his shoulder. He looked over to see her lowering herself down to sit with him, glancing at Sherlock's unconscious form.

"Is he going to be okay?", she asked John, worry shining in her eyes. Even she could see how terrible Sherlock looked, how truly worn down he was. It surprised John how genuinely worried she seemed, she'd never even met him before.

"I think so. I'll need to get him some antibiotics in the morning, maybe have someone from the practice drop them off but after that...I'm not sure. I just...I don't know, I've never seen him so...", he trailed off, letting out a deep breath.

"Are you okay John?"

John just nodded, mentally collecting himself. He wasn't ready to talk about how he felt right now. Mary took the message, giving him a quick kiss before heading off to bed. He nearly broke down when she left the room. Truth was, John wasn't okay, not by a long shot. He felt hot tears prickle at the back of his eye's, and awful emotions flood back to him. Elation. Sadness. Betrayal. Confusion. Anger, even. He'd spent so long mourning Sherlock, had come so close to death himself, and it was insane to think that Sherlock had been alive all that time. Probably barely, John reminded himself. He couldn't be angry at Sherlock, not now, not when he was like this. He couldn't imagine what Sherlock had gone through in the past three years, he'd seen the layers of scars and the terrifying thinness that make his stomach clench. It was horrible to think that, maybe, Sherlock had done this for him. It sure sounded that way, Sherlock had babbled something about snipers ready to kill him, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade before collapsing. He'd just imagined this moment so many times in his mind, he hoped that one day Sherlock would just turn up out of the blue and be back to his old self, that they would both continue with their life. They would be so happy. He had never imagined it like this though. Sherlock looked so broken, more damaged and beaten down that John had ever seen him. This wasn't going to be easy, he knew it. Getting Sherlock back to his old self would be hard, probably impossible, but John knew that he had to do his best to help him through this. On top of all the physical health issues, there would be PTSD, something John understood. Nightmares. Anxiety. Probably worse in combination with his already difficult personality. He squeezed Sherlock's hand a little tighter, just trying to make sure all of this was real, and eventually fell into a fretful sleep.

He woke up early the next morning slightly confused at why he was sleeping on the floor, backed up against the sofa. Suddenly remembering the events of the previous night, John whipped his head around, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw Sherlock still curled up on the couch, deep in sleep. Running his fingers through his hair, he checked his watch. A little before six. Mary should be down any minute for breakfast before going to work. A got up slowly, already aching from his awkward sleeping position, and made his way to the kitchen.

He heard Mary coming down the steps as he was pouring tea into her favorite travel mug, and turned around to see her tiptoeing into the kitchen, not wanting to disturb the sleeping man on their couch.

"You sure you'll be okay today?", she questioned, voice barely a whisper, while pulling him into a big hug.

"I'll be fine, really," he muttered.

"He perfectly welcome to stay here. You know that, right? I know how much he meant...means...to you, and I don't mind at all,"

"You don't know him yet, but thanks," John chuckled, smile forming on his lips.

Mary grabbed her breakfast and they shared a quick kiss before she rushed off to work, and John settled down in his favorite chair and waited patiently for Sherlock to wake up.

Hours later, he was roused from his book by Sherlock's stirring, and quickly made his way to his friend's side. Kneeling down, he saw Sherlock's bleary eyes open.

"Good morning, erm, afternoon actually," John chuckled, "Here, I'll help you up..."

After finally, and rather painfully, getting Sherlock into a sitting position, John went to the kitchen for a glass of water and one of the antibiotics he'd had an intern drop off on their way home. He'd lied and said they were for Mary, who'd supposedly cut herself on one of the metal garbage bins outside, and that he didn't want to have to bother with the hospital. The intern had had no reason to think he was lying, so at least John was able to avoid that trouble. Sherlock took the pills without protest (thankfully) and drained the glass.

"Feeling any better", John questioned before sitting down next to Sherlock on the couch.

Sherlock only shrugged, drawing his knees up to his chest and hanging his head down.

Sighing, John placed a comforting hand on Sherlock's knee, "If you want to talk about...anything, you know I'll always be here for you, right?"

He lifted his head, still not making eye contact with John. "I suppose I owe you the truth..."

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock finally began in a whisper, "It was all a part of Moriarty's plan, me ending up dead. But I was a few steps ahead, so I managed to work it all out. I knew going up to the roof what was going to happen, I'd planned the whole thing out. Molly helped a lot, and so did a few of my homeless network that I trust the most. They're the only ones that know I'm alive, not even Mycroft knows. So I planned the whole thing, and I was right about Moriarty's intentions. He had snipers ready to kill you, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, and he would only call them off if I killed myself. He killed himself as well, so I had to jump to get rid of the snipers. I'm so so sorry you had to see that, and that I couldn't tell you it wasn't real, but it had to seem real to you. The snipers would have noticed if you'd acted wrong, and would have found out if I contacted you. And honestly...the jump wasn't foolproof, I could've died then, and there was no guarantee I'd make it back home anyways, so I probably wouldn't have told you. You had to be kept in the dark, and I'm really sorry. So after I jumped, I left England and haven't been back since. I've just be traveling since then...getting rid of Moriarty's network, one by one. Sometimes things...ended badly, and other times they went relatively well. Life was...difficult to say the least. When I made the last and final hit a few weeks ago, I came straight here. Nobody else know I'm alive yet...I felt like you should be the first to know. I'm so sorry for everything I put you through...I'm just so sorry, and if you going to start hating me now or yelling or something...please, please just get it over with," he finished, dropping his head to his knees and twining his bony fingers in his hair.

John sat there, totally dumbfounded. Sherlock had been willing to give his life for John. He'd endured horrible pain and suffering to keep John safe. He pulled the once great consulting detective into a hug, feeling the man's arms wrap around him tightly, and feeling him bury his face in John's shoulder. He ran his hand down the Sherlock's back, feeling his protruding shoulder blades and the startling knobs of his spine, in an attempt to comfort the close to hysterical man.

"I could never be mad, not after everything you did, everything you gave up, to keep us all safe," John whispered in the man's ear, pulling him into a tighter hug still.

Hope all you readers enjoyed! Please review and feel free to make suggestions and give me any criticisms you can think of!