It had been weeks since the pool incident. Sherlock hadn't left the flat since that unforgettable night, in fact John was sure he would still be wearing the same suit if he hadn't forced him to change. Every day John would get up to find Sherlock in the same position that he had left him the night before. It was like Sherlock wasn't sleeping at all, and the dark circles surrounding his eyes proved this theory. Sherlock hardly said a word, John had tried to snap him out of this for the first few days but he gave up after he knew that there was nothing he could do. Sherlock was hating himself because Moriarty had gotten away, the master criminal, and Sherlock was not able to capture him. It was eating him up inside and destroying him. And John was afraid. Although Sherlock had never actually admitted it, John was sure he had taken drugs in his past, there were clear signs, and John was concerned that if he didn't pull him out of this all time low then he may go back on them.

Sherlock's phone rang. John picked it up, knowing Sherlock had probably mentally blocked out the sound of his phone. It was Lestrade.
"No it's John, Sherlock..." he sighed, "Sherlock can't get to the phone right now, um, what do you need?"
"We need his help. Someone has died but we can't find the cause of death. No illness, no poison, no nothing. And there's some weird encrypted message with the body but we can't work out what it says. Can he help us?" John gazed over at Sherlock, who hadn't moved for over an hour.
"I'll see what I can do but I can't promise anything." Lestrade sighed.
"Huh, well thanks anyway John." He hung up.

John turned so he faced Sherlock who was slouched in the arm chair. He didn't even look up to see who had called him, but John felt it was his duty to tell him anyway.
"Lestrade just phoned, he has a case. Unknown cause of death and a weird message. Shall we..." Sherlock didn't even open his eyes. He merely flicked his fingers to wave the offer away and carried on with whatever he was doing in his mind. This was the last straw for John. Through gritted teeth he said, "you walk this world like you're a ghost, your hands are coming through the needles." He winced as the image of Sherlock returning to heroin (he was certain it was heroin he was once slave to) appeared in his mind. Sherlock's lips curled slightly in disgust. "I'm sick of your tragic and the evils."
"I am the keeper of the songs of everyone," Sherlock said quietly without even opening his eyes to acknowledge that John was angry. Furious John stalked over to the window and dragged back the curtains that Sherlock had demanded stay closed. The sudden bright light hit Sherlock's face and caused him to flinch as he adjusted to the light.
"Look into the sun and see your soul is dying. Used to feel the faith, but now you're tired of trying!" John was shouting now, his arms flailing everywhere. "Should have left alone what you have stolen from everyone." He walked over to Sherlock. "How are you feeling?" he asked with venom, and not waiting for a reply said, "seem a little sick to me now."

John took a deep breath in and shut his eyes as he tried to calm himself. Sherlock was brilliant, he knew that, and yet for the past month he has just been sitting here feeling sorry for himself because for once it didn't go his way. Well John had had enough, it was time to do something about this sociopathic consulting detective. Clearly anger wasn't working so John attempted sympathy and understanding, well he was at the pool too you know.
"This is a coming of the times, you are a witness to the movement." He sat on his knees in front of Sherlock and placed his hands on Sherlock's knees as an expression of trust. But he was going to be honest, because he had to get Sherlock out of this phase. "If all you're seeing is your lies, you had your chance but now you've blown it. You want this world so you can own it." Finally Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John, repeating the same line he said before,
"I am the keeper of the songs of everyone."

Angry again, John jumped up and pointed out of the window as he said again,
"Look into the sun and see your soul is dying. Used to feel the faith, but now you're tired of trying. Should have left alone what you have stolen from everyone. How are you feeling? You seem a little sick to me." No, anger will do nothing, John said to himself. Sherlock faces anger every day from people that don't understand him, I understand him. So prove it, he told himself!

Taking Sherlock's face in his cupped hands John looked into Sherlock's eyes and said, "from the light on high a chance to change your fate, forgiveness falling down on those who chose to wait." John could see in Sherlock's eyes the spark that he had once known, the hope that was beginning to grow in him, his old Sherlock returning. He smiled as he continued, "remember the time, find yourself home again. Deep within your life, find yourself a home again." He pressed his forehead against Sherlock's, never ceasing the eye contact. "Find yourself home again," he whispered. "It's a choice, you have chosen your own."

John pulled away and Sherlock stood up, nodding to himself. He knew what he had to do. Picking up his mobile phone, he dialled a number he knew off by heart.
"Lestrade? Sherlock Holmes."