A/N – Ok, this is it. Thank you for everyone who has read, reviewed etc., I'm starting to discover why people love writing fanfiction! In the meantime, I think I just need to find a corner to cry in somewhere! I read (perhaps foolishly) the Baker St Babes spoiler-free review of Sign of Three and I am in tears already….

That night, Sherlock and John stayed up late watching rubbish TV – John knew that his nightmares would probably interrupt his sleep anyway, so he might as well stay awake as long as possible. Soon though, the stress of the day caught up with him and he couldn't help but feel his eyelids growing heavy. He started to get up to drag himself upstairs to his room, but Sherlock appeared by his side.

'By my observations, you have a 78% chance of experiencing nightmares tonight. Whenever you have a nightmare upstairs in your own room, it lasts on average 33 minutes more and it takes you 1 hour 12 minutes longer to fall back asleep compared to when you fall asleep down here and have a nightmare. Possibly because upstairs you feel more alone and isolated, but more probably because when you are down here you not only feel the presence of another person in the room, but also you can hear my violin more easily. The music helps you calm down, and so based on this evidence it would be more beneficial for you to sleep down here on the sofa tonight. It is big enough that it will not be too uncomfortable. I will go and get your duvet and pillow from upstairs.' Sherlock swirled out.

John just stared after him. Thinking about it, he was right. When John was upstairs with his bedroom door closed it was hard to hear Sherlock's violin – but it was surprising that Sherlock seemed to play for John's benefit. Tonight had showed John that Sherlock really did care. Even if the tea he had made was a bit too strong for his liking.

John woke up the next morning, having had a surprisingly restful night. Sherlock piped up from the kitchen, answering John's question before he'd even asked it.

'No, you did not have a full-on nightmare. At two separate points during the night you appeared restless and agitated, but you calmed once I began playing the violin. I was thinking – it would make a good experiment. Perhaps I could see what type of music has the most calming effect on nightmares of different kinds, and even dreams of-'

'No, Sherlock!' There was affection in John's voice, despite the reprimand. 'You are not experimenting on me, is that clear?!'

Sherlock pouted, but was soon distracted by his phone vibrating. He read the text quickly, then typed out a reply just as fast.

'Was it Lestrade?' John asked, reaching up to the cupboard to get two mugs down for tea.

'Yes.'

'Does he want you for the case?'

'He did, but I told him I wasn't coming.'

'Are you sure? I don't mind.' John sounded concerned.

'No, honestly, it's fine. I told you yesterday I had some rather urgent experiments to be getting on with, and the statement still holds. I can keep myself busy for this one.'

What Sherlock didn't tell John was that he had texted Lestrade a detailed explanation of why he and John would not be returning to the crime scene. When he had first arrived, it had been immediately obvious why John had been triggered. John's shoulder was playing up, and the way John had been holding it made it obvious someone had touched it – probably Lestrade. The burnt out shell of the van was in fact an old British army truck, which was why it held up so well against the bomb. There was still the faint smell of explosives inside, and the proximity to the railway line meant that the trains were loud enough to cover the sound of a small but powerful explosion, in addition to being a loud noise which was enough to trigger John's flashback. Couple that with the fact that John was still stressed from their argument, and that the remains of the bodies were no doubt reminiscent of those John had seen in Afghanistan… well, it wasn't a huge intellectual leap.

Lestrade had texted back and apologised for what he'd done, both for shouting at Sherlock and taking John to the crime scene. Sherlock, feeling that he ought to be civil for John's sake, had replied and apologised for his role in the argument too, but still maintained they would not be returning to the crime scene.

John placed a mug down by Sherlock's elbow and sat down with a grunt. Sherlock looked up.

'Thank you.' In his eyes he tried to convey that this was for everything, not just for last night.

Sherlock inclined his head in acknowledgement. 'It is my pleasure, John.' His eyes expressed a similar sentiment. He coughed. 'Would you like to come out for a walk with me? I need to go and collect samples from some more parks, and I'd be grateful for your help.'

John smiled. 'Only if we can stop for lunch in the middle.'

Sherlock grinned. Business as usual.