John sat quietly for a few minutes, noticing that Sherlock's crying had now subsided to a few sniffles. "So will you tell me what happened?" he asked quietly. "Is there anything I can do?" When John received no answer, he remembered that Mycroft said the last time Sherlock had cried was when he was a boy. That explained how uncharacteristic Sherlock had been acting. It was like he reverted back to being a boy. He put a hand on Sherlock's arm. John's voice was soft when he next spoke, his tone like he used when speaking to a young child who came to see him in the surgery. "Come now, Sherlock, you can tell me." He removed his hand when Sherlock quickly glanced at it before hiding his face again.

Sherlock couldn't remember ever having been spoken to like that and he couldn't ignore the request, no matter how humiliating it made him feel. "Are you really my friend, John?" Sherlock finally asked quietly, face still buried in his knees.

John was disappointed when Sherlock finally spoke. He had hoped Sherlock would have actually told him what was bothering him, though he knew that was asking too much of the detective. "Of course. You couldn't deduce that?"

"Then why did you say that I first had to have friends in order to keep them?" he spat out in anger, though the effect was ruined by his sniffling.

John ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Sherlock, if you're not going to…"

Sherlock looked up and interrupted John. "Why did you say that I first had to have friends in order to keep them?" he repeated.

"If you really want to know, I was angry. Angry with you."

"Why?"

"We can talk about that later. That's not important right now. I want to know what's bothering you. If you're not going to tell me, just say so, though I'd rather you did tell me. I don't like seeing you like this."

Sherlock's mind was screaming at him to keep quiet, to not confess anything. He'd already expressed too much for one day, maybe even for one lifetime, but for some reason he couldn't obey his mind. "I am telling you," Sherlock said quietly, raising his head slightly to look at John.

"You're already telling…but we've…you think I'm…" John sighed, trying to piece together everything they'd been discussing. Slowly everything started to make sense. "You thought we were friends, your only friend, I know, but when I corrected you earlier today, you thought that wasn't the case. Am I close?" John watched Sherlock nod. "That is what got you in this state?" Sherlock continued nodding and ducked his head when John chuckled. "Oh Sherlock, you complete and utter idiot."

Sherlock jumped up from the sofa. "I am not an idiot, John."

"For a genius, you are; at least in this case." At the still slightly distressed look in Sherlock's eyes, John stood up, closed the short distance between them, and gave Sherlock a hug. A few seconds later he pulled back, a blush slowly creeping up on his face. He'd never hugged Sherlock before, but for some reason, seeing Sherlock in the state he was in, he couldn't help it. "Sorry about that. Don't know what came over me."

Not having any type of physical contact with anyone in decades, Sherlock froze the minute John hugged him, but once released, he slowly began to relax, his eyes fixed on John. "It's…it's okay. It's fine."