And one time it was the other way around;

I had originally thought about adding this chapter, having already written it, but I wasn't sure. So I'd like to thank 'sneakysnakes' for suggesting I do so.

I enjoyed writing this one-shot - I quite like caring Sherlock.

I tried to keep Sherlock as much in character as I could.

Sorry about any mistakes.

1. Harry is drinking again and John can't deal with the pressure

Sherlock knew. Of course he did. He knew John. He knew when he was happy; he knew when he was sad. He also knew when he was angry, having been on the receiving end of that emotion enough times. And he could typically deduce what the cause of the emotion was. He also knew that he had never anticipated his soldier returning from visiting his sister with puffy, red and blood shot eyes.

The moment the ex-army medic entered the apartment, slightly favouring his left leg, his quick, almost shy, glance at Sherlock was all it took for the man to stand from his chair and follow the doctor into the kitchen where he dropped at the table, his finger tips resting on the sides of his face, near his temple. He hadn't even bothered to remove the coat he'd been wearing.

Wordlessly, the consulting detective perched on the chair opposite the man, steepling his fingers over his lips and waiting patiently for John to speak. The doctor, though, remained silent, his eyes closed as he focused solely on regulating his breathing.

"John," As soon as the word had left Sherlock's lips, his voice uncharacteristically soft with a supportive undertone, the doctor cracked. His breathing pattern shattered at the sound of Sherlock smooth voice and his hands slipped over his face, hiding his features from the detective. His new, shuddering breath and the sniffles that escaped him alerted Sherlock to the fact that his friend was, once again, in tears.

Sherlock stood, walking around the wooden table and dropping easily into a crouch beside his friend, his right hand holding onto the back of the chair for support, his left resting on the table.

"John," He repeated, "look at me." When John failed to respond to him, Sherlock tried a different tactic. "John," he paused, "please?"

Sherlock didn't know whether it was the plea, or his tone, but somehow the tactic worked and John slowly slid his hands down so that they were only covering his mouth as oppose to his entire face, his blue eyes flickered down to the detective momentarily before landing on the tabletop in front of him.

"Talk to me," Sherlock's voice held a similar tone one would use when trying to coax a shy child to open up; it wasn't an order, more of an offer. It told John that Sherlock was there to listen to him.

"Sherlock," Was the only word that John managed to choke out before he dissolved into a fresh round of weeping, his body shaking as the pained sobs wracked his frame, his hands returning to cover his face.

"Shh, John," The detective soothed, removing his left hand from the table and placing it gently on John's thigh, "what is it, John?" Sherlock's voice was soft and the tone had a calming effect on the doctor.

"She's," John gasped out the word, "she's d-drinking again, Sherlock!" John almost wailed; Sherlock reached under the table for John's knees and carefully turned him around so that his body was facing him. "She promised she'd stop!" John sobbed, his gaze falling to his friend as he remained crouched in front of him, listening intently, "she promised, Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock began, but paused. He didn't know what he was supposed to say. He had no idea how to make John feel any better, or how to stop the aching in his broken heart. Instead, he rose from his crouched position, leaning forward slightly and embracing his friend, arching his back as he placed a hand on the side of his head, holding it to his chest. "I'm here." He promised finally, remaining stood, hunched over slightly with his arms wrapped around his doctor until the older man had calmed down.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John paused, his eyes falling on the damp spot on Sherlock's chest from the waterfall of tears he had shed, "I'm sorry." He added, gesturing to the dampness.

"Oh, that," Sherlock pointed to his chest and shrugged, "I've endured worse." The detective chuckled, the action apparently contagious as John followed his lead, wiping at what was left of his tears, a smile now on his cheeks.

Edit: This is the last chapter of this series. Thank you all again for the reviews, views and favourites, please let me know what you think.