Chapter Text
Sherlock, he's out of control. You have to stop this immediately. I have never seen him this way before and please, Sherlock, I will not hesitate to tell him. I can't bare to see him that way. Can you? -MH
A text chime was heard informing Sherlock that he has just gotten a message. It was none other than Mycroft Holmes, of course. Mycroft was the only one who knows that Sherlock is alive and that he had faked his own death. Sherlock quickly read through the text and replied a quick message to his dear brother.
No, Mycroft. You can't and we both know we can't. And I can never bare it, Mycroft. Never. But, I am trying to endure it. He'll get over it soon enough. He will, I know he will. It's for the best. " - SH
In less than a minute Mycroft sends out his next reply.
It's for the best? You have to do SOMETHING about this, Sherlock. I don't care how or what. Sort it out. It has to be stopped, Sherlock. This has to stop. - MH
I am in pain, Mycroft. I am hurt. I am missing him every single time of the day. But I can't, I can't do that. You know what'll happen. And I can't let him go. I can never let him go. He's safer without me, Mycroft. He needs to be safe. Away from danger. He has Mrs Hudson, he has You, he has Lestrade and he has Sarah and people love him, Mycroft. He will find a way, someway somehow. - SH
My dearest brother, he needs you. John needs you more than ever, Sherlock. And, I know you've been watching him and trying your best to find out what he's doing every single time of the day, but Sherlock, do you know that he's been harming himself? He's doing drugs, Sherlock. You have to help him. I don't know how but I know you'll find a way. -MH
Sherlock's eyes widen at Mycroft's previous text. How? How is it possible? How is it that he doesn't know about this? And this, this is unlike John at all. He has to find a way, and quickly. But little did Sherlock know that John has been doing drugs because he was extremely depressed.
***Back at Bakerstreet***
A dark silhouette formed up on the wall. The whole apartment was poorly lit and there, by Sherlock's couch, sat a thin man who was hugging himself into a ball looking absolutely lost and vulnerable. The place itself was unorganised and messy and Mrs Hudson tried so very hard to help with their apartment but everything will just turn upside down all over again. So the thin man sat there, with and unshaven face and eyes that were bloodshot and eye bags and dark circles that were forming up below his eyes. Wrinkles formed and he looked strained, stressed and looked very much older than his usual self.
That vulnerable, lost and depressed man was none other than John Watson. And there he sat against the wall, on the floor, beside the very couch that Sherlock would lie on or sometimes sleep on when he is "too bored". He muttered, very quietly but with utter pain in his very heart he spoke Sherlock's name continuously under his breath and cried. He couldn't bare the pain any longer and Mycroft was right, John needed him. John needed Sherlock.
The very fact that John thought that Sherlock, his lover was dead was an utter downfall on him. He was not quite the same man he used to be. A soldier he was but he was a man, not a machine. He had his emotions cooped up in his very solid lion-hearted heart but he couldn't take it. And this is that very night. The night where depression and anger takes control over his being.
John was physically and mentally exhausted. He looked at the surroundings around him. He has caused such a massive destruction. Books were strewn all over the place and papers were everywhere and files were scattered in so many places and tables were turned upside down. Panic soon strike him as he struggles to stand up from his seating position to search for Sherlock's things. If any of his things were being destroyed by his very unwell being, John did not know what he would do. Relief soon surged through his whole body and his previously tensed up body relaxes. None of his things were being harmed. John, exhausted and tired brought a little syringe with him that he took from his box and went into Sherlock's room to the bed that they used to share. The window in the room was wide open and it was breezy. The air smelled of Sherlock somehow. John was about to cry and he couldn't take it any longer and he held the syringe which was filled with a milky substance. Yes, it was a drug and John was planning on stabbing himself with it, letting those poisoned chemicals flow through his body. And just as he was about to insert the needle onto his vein, a familiar voice was heard.
"John." It said. And then a second time and that very voice and man came out from the shadows.
"Sher.. No, it can't be. It's you, but you're..." said John, confused and lost. The very injection that he was just about to inject himself with a few seconds ago came tumbling down his very fingers and dropped onto the floor with a tinkling sound.
Sherlock moved up towards John's form who was utterly confused and exasperated. John is about to break down anytime soon. Sherlock could not trust his eyes at what he was seeing. John looked absolutely vulnerable and thin. John's legs buckled and he fell on his knees and just as he was about to, Sherlock grabbed him by his arms and slowly they eased down onto the floor.
"You.. You are real. You're here. Everything doesn't make sense. You.. You can't be. But everything feels so real. You look so real." John sat there, his hands trembling and his eyes moving.
John was uncertain, thought Sherlock. Of course he was, for almost a year he has been missing out from John's life. Of course this man was uncertain. Sherlock sat up on his knees and held John's face.
"John, I'm here. I'm here with you. Always. " Sherlock was certain but his voice was shaky.
And there John sat, truly not believing and he started to shake, in which Sherlock panically found out that John was actually crying. This man has been probably crying for him since the day he thought that he was dead and it occurred to Sherlock how much hurt and pain he had caused on John. He couldn't bare it. He needed those tears to stop, he needed them to stop because it was his fault, Sherlock's fault that John has even tried to endanger his own life and body. And still, he does not know that Sherlock is truly alive, he needed to be "dead" to save John but from the looks of it, things were getting pretty bad.
"John," Sherlock said, his hands are now on the Doctor's face, he wiped and kissed those tears away like how a mother would treat her crying child and he said his name so many times, savouring that name and keeping it in his heart and he took John into his embrace, resting his chin onto John's unkempt hair and smoothening it out with his palm and he hugged him, never wanting to let go because he truly missed this. He missed everything they did together.
But it was hard for John, Sherlock felt real, this felt real but he couldn't get his mind off the fact that Sherlock was now with him. He stayed like that for awhile, in Sherlock's loving embrace. John wanted to enjoy the feel of him as they sat there, connected in some unexplained way and feeling and every part of him yearns for Sherlock. To feel him, to inhale the smell of him, to just let all those nostalgic memories come back and he wanted Sherlock to take him further and further away from reality.
Sherlock stood up slowly and faced John who now still looked at him in awe and a little something of understanding. John's eyes were tired, Sherlock could see. But, they were both now warm and unlike before, it was all tired, strained, red and puffy. But still, he did not forgive himself for doing this on John. Sherlock held out his palm, hoping that John would take it unhesitatingly. John took it and stood up, never letting go of his hands from Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock was about to move but felt a slight tug from his hand and turned to look at John whose face now showed of sadness and uncertainty.
"I don't know if I'm hallucinating or am I just sodding crazy. But this, this all feels so real and I can't.. I can't take it if whatever I'm doing or whatever is happening right now is not real. I can't imagine what I'll probably do. But, whatever it is, just sod it all. But I just want to say this because you or rather just.. Sherlock needs to to know about this.. You need to know. I-" Before John could even continue, Sherlock had spoken.
"John, I know. I know and I love you." Sherlock whispered. His hand was now on John's face and his breath was thick and hot.
John didn't care if it was the lust talking or if he actually meant it. But he just wanted to stay. Like this. Forever. He just wanted to trust and, for so many times he wanted to believe. He even tried to look away, but Sherlock gently pulled John's face to him, forcing John to look into his own reflection through the beauty of his eyes.
"I love you so much, John. I always have. "
"I love you too," John said finally as their lips met- meaning every single word he said. Saying it because he felt it and not because of obligation or an offshoot of lust; but because he had loved Sherlock since he sat eyes on him, lusted after him during those moments they shared and finally, fallen in love with him with everything he did and said.
It had always been Sherlock.
It would always be Sherlock.
John's mind remained focused on the moment. He couldn't bare to miss a single one.
Tomorrow was another day.
But John wanted to stay like this, forever, with Sherlock.
Their kiss were full of intimacy, and deeper it went full of many emotions. Sherlock's kiss were urgent but tender and assuring. Heat started to build up among the two men. They kissed each other now, with a new urgency, and as their kisses grew more heated, Sherlock pulled John onto the bed with him.
John didn't fight a strong urge to leave, feeling strangely content he just lie in Sherlock's arms and not think about anything more taxing than how he felt at that precise moment. And for awhile, in each other's arms, they managed to forget about everything. John was naked and asleep in Sherlock's arms, his head nestled on his shoulder. Even with the terrible knowledge that this was probably their last night together, which Sherlock knew it was, John had managed to find comfort and peace in being this close to him. And then, without any warning, John wasn't anymore. So, it was easy to fall into a peaceful sleep, only to wake up the next day to an empty bed and a prickle of hurt.
Sherlock was gone.
The night before had been the time of his life and John did not know that that, would be the last time they ever made love to each other.
***TO BE CONTINUED***