First time writing something along these lines. I like criticism, Be nice but most importantly be constructive. =]

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, I just borrowed them from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

It was half past twelve and ever since they had gotten back from the pool Sherlock Holmes hadn't moved from the couch in the flat he shared with John Watson. He hadn't said a word.

John remembered the heavy silence that had hung in the air on the cab drive home and Sherlock's side glances at him.

He remembered the awkward and unneeded thanks Sherlock gave him for attempting to save his life.

He also remembered the look of panic on Sherlock's face after Moriarty left and he ripped John's bomb laden jacket off him; getting them as far away as they could from the facilities.

John was perfectly calm. Yes, he had been mere seconds from exploding, but now he was drinking tea that Mrs. Hudson had brought them and miles away from that situation. However, it seemed Sherlock was very much in the same place.

He was huddled in a fetal position, his once crisp suit was wrinkled and his coat and scarf lay feet from the door. He hadn't eaten anything, and didn't budge when Mrs. Hudson brought them tea and biscuits. John assumed he had drifted to sleep.

Drinking the last remains of his tea, John stood and headed for the door.

Sherlock's head snapped in such a hurry that John almost heard a crack.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, his face hiding in the shadows of the dark room.

"Sarah's flat."John answered grabbing his coat and turning the door knob. "Need anything?"

"No."

"Well then I'll see you lat-"

"Well yes," Sherlock hesitated.

Sherlock never hesitated, thought John.

"What is it?" John asked concerned, his brow furrowing in puzzlement.

"I just," There was that hesitation again. "I just need you to stay, yes?"

"But why…?"

"Because last time you went out," Sherlock's voice rose dangerously with every word, "the next time I saw you, you were wearing a bomb strapped to your chest. That's why!"

Sherlock slowly turned his head back to the couch, hoping to hear the door close and John sit in the other couch. Slowly, but surely, the flat door closed and the click of the lock made the look of worry on the detectives face disappear.

John dropped his jacket on the coffee table, and sat at the edge of Sherlock's couch. John gently tugged at Sherlock's arm and made him sit up, getting a better seat on the couch. Sherlock was hugging his knees and it was only until a sliver of moonlight hit his face, that he noticed the tear marks going down Sherlock's face and John did the only thing he could, he hugged him with tremendous force and gave him a peck on the cheek. He heard Sherlock's small sobs and felt relieved when the detective hugged him back.

John had never seen him so vulnerable. In his eyes Sherlock was indestructible. He was a hero, with his coat as his cape, scarf as his trademark and John as his sidekick. All of this was true, even if Sherlock scoffed at the thought of it. He wasn't a creature that completely lacked feelings but he was certainly not one to flaunt them so easily. It was until now, and in this light that John saw a frightened child holding on to a teddy bear that he had almost lost hours ago.

"Don't leave." Sherlock whispered into John's ears softly. "Please."

John's heart ached because the words were heavy and sorrowful and meant more than just 'Don't leave tonight'. They meant 'Don't leave me ever'.

"I won't, Sherlock." John whispered softly, cupping the detectives face in his hands. "I won't."

It was 7 in the morning when Mrs. Hudson woke up and decided she should treat the boys to breakfast after such a tiring night. At 8, she made her way to their flat, and after failing to open the door with the tray of food in her hands, she set the tray on the floor boards and used her spare key to unlock the door. Picking the tray and opening the door slowly to not disturb the boys, she made her way inside and sighed.

She left the tray on the coffee table and covered the boys with Sherlock's coat. How they had managed to comfortably fit and sleep on that tiny couch she would never know. It was funny though. When she saw them sleeping, locked in an embrace, she couldn't help but feel that they fit together quite nice. Like a puzzle piece.

John's gentle snores blowing Sherlock's hair to the side woke her from her reverie and tugged a small smile from her lips. Mrs. Hudson left as silently as she had come. She prayed that having John around would mean Sherlock would stop shooting at her wall out of boredom.

Wouldn't that be nice.