Author's Note: IT IS 1 AM THERE IS A RINGING IN MY EARS AND THE EMPTY HEARSE FEELS ARE SO REAL LIKE this is what the train scene should have been. Just, you know… in the kitchen at like… 1 am. As it is now OhmyGod I'm rambling asdfghjkl;' slay

Sherlock stood in the dark hallway outside his bedroom late at night. He heard John moving about in the kitchen and went out to see what he was doing.

John sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and staring groggily at his laptop.

Sherlock bit his lip as he watched John's half closed eyes and his hair that stuck up in odd places. Even now, in his thin pajamas and ripped t-shirt that just showed the edge of the scar on his shoulder, he took Sherlock's breath away.

He inhaled sharply, causing John to look up.

"Sherlock?" he whispered, peering into the darkness.

"John," Sherlock whispered back.

"Hey. Did I wake you?"

Sherlock shook his head as he stepped into the kitchen. John smiled as he admired his friend's languid state. He was usually so proud, collected and alert but with his blue gown hanging off his shoulders and his hair that was even worse than John's was a rare and intriguing thing to see.

"Can't sleep?"

Sherlock shook his head again as he stared at his feet.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"Nothing, it's just that uhmm… I-I was worried about you."

"Worried?"

"Yeah, I thought you might have had a nightmare or… something."

John shook his head. "I haven't had one in a while. I'm alright."

Sherlock nodded and swallowed hard as he shifted on the cold tile.

"Maybe you should go back to bed," John suggested quietly.

"John uhmm… there's something I need to say." Sherlock looked up at him but found that he couldn't say it. He couldn't look John in the eye and pour his heart out to him.

"Sherlock?"

"You uhmm… When I'm around you my stomach… It-it feels strange." He couldn't believe he was actually doing this. "And my tongue sort of trips over itself. I-I can't say what I want to when I'm around you." Sherlock's breathing picked up and he felt like he would be sick. He hadn't even realized what he was saying but now it was too late. He felt his body twitch in small places; He felt himself shaking and sweating.

"I just have this feeling when I'm with you and I know maybe this sounds ridiculous, and it is, but I really do care about you. You know I'm not a sentimental man but I really just-"

He cut himself off and took a deep breath as John continued to stare at him.

"There have been so many nights when I wake up out of breath because of a dream I have or-or because I hear you upstairs waking up from a nightmare and I just… I want to go up there and crawl into bed with you. I want… I want to feel your breaths on my neck and I want to feel like everything is okay. I want to forget everything," Sherlock whispered, his voice breaking the whole time.

"You make me feel so insecure," he said, tears starting to fall down his face because of all the emotions he was feeling and the fact that what he thought and felt wouldn't come out the way he wanted it to. He was always so certain of himself but now he felt vulnerable. He was terrified that John would reject him; that he would just walk out of their flat in the middle of the night and never come back.

"I mean I'm more comfortable with you over anyone else. You always say that I'm brilliant or amazing and you're the only one that I can trust but… I'm afraid to trust you. I just… I want you to be happy and I guess I'm scared of… I'm scared that you'll leave me. That you'll leave just like everyone else. I-I don't want you to think I'm a freak. I try so hard to impress you. I try so hard to make you happy."

John watched him with deep concern. He was slightly terrified of Sherlock's display of emotions and he didn't know how to handle his crying but he was touched.

"Sherlock… How do I make you feel insecure?" John asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Sherlock took a deep breath and sniffed. "Do you know why I never eat with you, John? I say that digestion slows me down but… You have this amazing figure, I mean maybe most people would disagree but you're perfect to me and it makes me feel… I feel like I disgust you. And the long sleeves… I used to cut my wrists when I was a kid. I don't anymore but I don't want it to scare you. I never wanted you to see because I was afraid that you wouldn't understand or that you would think I was a freak. It's not just a few here and there I mean… It's all over my arms. They're covered."

John set his tea on the table and stood up. Sherlock winced at the sound his chair made when it moved on the floor but stood stiff where he was. He kept his eyes down as he gasped for air between his soft cries.

John stood in front of him as Sherlock stared down at their feet. John pushed the gown off Sherlock's shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Any other time, Sherlock would have fought to keep it on but he was paralyzed, glued to the floor and as stiff as a statue.

John took Sherlock's wrist with the utmost care and turned it over so he could see the scars that covered his arms. He gasped a little when he realized how bad it actually was.

"Oh, my God," he whispered.

Sherlock started to shake uncontrollably. He had never been this scared in his whole life.

"Sherlock…" John said. "Why did you do this?"

Everything in Sherlock screamed to run away. He wanted to snatch his hand away and hide under his covers, never to come out again. But John's gentle voice and the feeling of his hand on his arm kept him still. He shook his head, unable to respond coherently.

John sighed and slowly brought Sherlock's wrist to his lips, kissing his scars.

"While I wish you hadn't done this, it's not because of how it looks. I wish you hadn't felt this pain. I wish you never felt like you needed to do this."

Sherlock nodded, tears still streaming down his face. He wanted to tell John that he had helped him stop. He wanted to tell John that he was the reason there were no fresh cuts. He wanted to tell him that he's the reason that he doesn't feel like he needs to anymore.

"This doesn't change how I feel about you," John said, trying to look Sherlock in the eye. He placed his hand on Sherlock's cheek and wiped a tear with his thumb.

Sherlock finally looked down at him. John smiled softly.

"Did you know that I love the color of your eyes?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I do," John whispered, noting the fact that the redness around his eyes from crying made the color even more brilliant.

"I need you, John. I'm lost without you. I know I'm not easy to be around, especially when I'm in a mood but I… You keep me right. John, I know that you must need things from me. Don't be afraid. Just ask and you'll see that I'll be there for you if you ever feel down. I promise I'll always be around. Do you… understand what I'm saying?"

"I do," he repeated as his own eyes began to close while he went up on his toes and closed the space between them.

Sherlock gasped as he felt John's soft lips against his own. He let his eyes close as well until John pulled back.

Their chests were now touching and Sherlock's hand found their way to John's waist. John's eyes were still shut as he mumbled against Sherlock's lips.

John's warm breaths made him shudder.

"I do."