[It's getting harder to hold down the emotion, and John closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath and shoves it away hard. He will not break. He lost the right and the luxury of breaking down and looking for sympathy the moment he kept the woman on the bus's number.

That's still something unsaid. Not a soul knows, except him. Not a soul knows what a disloyal bastard he is. But this is atonement. Bucky's right. It's atonement for Mary and Sherlock and even Rosie. He's the man who cheated on her mother, who can't take care of her like he should.

John's managed to rein things in when he speaks again, his affect flattened.]

I understand. It needs to be him and me. I'd ask you to come help, otherwise. But this isn't something I can do with someone else.