John had been home for nearly a week. The bullet hadn't hit anything major - that was the point - but John had still had to spend several days in hospital under "surveillance". Sherlock assumed this meant Mycroft was mad at him and meant to keep John out of harm's way until Sherlock got the message. Interfering twit. Lestrade had let him have it with both barrels and a reload anyways. Sherlock had never been more certain of everyone's opinions in his life. Not that he needed them - his experiment was almost over.

Cautiously sipping tea, since he no longer believed the cupboard could be entirely trusted, John had been watching Sherlock tinker in the kitchen for most of the morning. Sherlock had wondered before if John was aware of this habit. It seemed to be strongest when John was tired or sick. Almost as though there were something reassuring in watching his flatmate dissect fingers and set small, us identified compounds on fire.

Sherlock finished the mixture he'd been working with, securing a lid on the container and double-checking that he'd labelled it. Then he sat next to John.

"John." The doctor looked up. Pupils normal, hands steady, attention focused. "I need to tell you something."

"Unless it's an announcement that you're dating Anderson, you don't need to look so worried."

"No, it's - what? Never mind. No I'm not dating Anderson. John, we've discussed -" Sherlock stopped at John's grin. The man could be just awful somedays. "Why would you say such a thing? Anderson."

"So what's wrong then?"

"I..." This was harder then he'd thought it'd be. "I've been...testing you."

"Testing me."

"Yes. Specifically your trust in me."

"I see." Clearly he didn't. Eyebrows neutral, lips relaxed, still drinking the tea.

"I went through your stuff and called your sister, without permission."

"Took your life into your hands with that one." John laughed. "That was step one, was it? Cause I told you I already assumed you go through my stuff, and it would have been far more surprising if you said you didn't."

"I was actually messing with your tea. I tried a variety of spices, trying to determine when you'd notice."

"I asked you not to do that." John eyed his tea again. "You owe me a good six months worth."

"I know." Sherlock exhaled, fighting back nerves he refused to admit having. "The day you fell into traffic. At the crime scene with -"

"I remember that day, Sherlock."

"Yes well," deep breath, "I didn't trip. Donovan was right."

John was quiet for a moment. Then he laughed softly. "Must be serious. You'd never admit Donovan was right about anything." He looked up at Sherlock. "I told her it was an accident. I told everyone, over and over, for weeks."

"I know."

"I could have died."

Sherlock swallowed. "I didn't think that one through. It was a terrible option. But I needed to know." When John nodded, Sherlock swallowed again. "But uh...the last one. Two weeks ago. I did think that one through."

"When you shot me."