Here it is, sorry for any mistakes. I reread it but there are probably a few errors, but that's to be expected as I'm writing this a 1:30 in the morning and I'm pretty much in a comatose state right now. Anyway please enjoy and tell me how it turned out.


Sherlock stared at the stained fabric of the couch in front of him. He was in one of his 'funks' as John called them and he had been for some time. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been curled up on the couch, it could be a day or a week. Time seemed to move differently when he was like this.

John had asked him on many occasions where he went when he was in a funk and try as he might, Sherlock just couldn't explain it. Nobody knew what it was like being inside his head, all the noise as idea and curiosities shouted at each other , vying for dominance.

Nobody knew what is was like to see everything about everyone, how exhausting it was when every little insignificant fact about someone smashed into his brain. He could never rest, never relax. That was the reason he hardly slept, not because it was boring but because he was incapable of making his brain stop spinning long enough to actually sleep.

Cocaine helped to quieten the thoughts, to give him much sought after silence but it had become more of a hindrance then a help and he'd been forced to stop. Surprisingly enough sex helped, sex with John especially. But there were times, not as often anymore now that he had John but they still happened where it all became too much.

When the shouting inside his head reached its pinnacle and he just shut down. Sort of like a overheated computer, his brain just shut itself down while retaining enough brain function to keep him breathing. And when his brain had cooled down and all the shouting had stopped, sometimes it took an hour, sometimes days, but eventually it would reboot and Sherlock would be able to function again.

Which was where Sherlock was now. His brain slowly flickering to life piece by piece. It took him a few seconds for him to reach full capacity which is why it took him almost a minute to realise something important was missing. John wasn't there.

John was always there after a funk, watching him to make sure he was alright and making sure he ate something. Looking around the living room and craning his neck to see into the kitchen, Sherlock realised John hadn't been in the apartment for days.

Frowning, Sherlock pushed himself off the couch and made his way through the apartment room by room. The bed was made and a quick glance in John's draws told Sherlock he'd taken some of his clothes with him, the kettle hadn't been boiled in at least two days and the entire apartment had the distinct feeling that something was missing and that something was John.

Where ever could he have gone? He should be here, why is he not here? Maybe I did something that made him angry and he left?

He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. The last time he'd spoken to John everything had been fine and even if he had made John angry, he wouldn't just leave. Would he?

He entered the kitchen with a numb emptiness inside him, the kind of emptiness he hadn't felt since meeting John. The first thing Sherlock noticed was that someone had thrown out his experiment and cleaned the kitchen, Mrs Hudson if he wasn't mistaken, which he wasn't. John knew better then to touch any of his experiments where as Mrs Hudson was always touching things she shouldn't.

John will come back. He wouldn't leave me, he promised. looking around the empty apartment, Sherlock was stunned by how alone he felt. "He promised."


Three days passed before Sherlock began to accept the idea that John wasn't coming back. Sherlock hadn't been outside the apartment since John left, nor had be changed his clothes, had a wash, brushed his teeth or eaten anything. It was ridiculas really, he was Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only consulting detective. He had been alone his entire life and he preferred it that way.

Unfortunately living with John had made him forget how to function by himself. He just didn't work properly anymore without John. It was Greg Lestrade who finally checked up on him after twenty-three missed texts and four missed calls.

What Greg saw when he entered the small apartment made him sure Sherlock had been shooting up again. Sherlock was sat on the floor, leaning against the lounge. He didn't even acknowledge Greg's presence, just stared ahead despondently.

"What happened?" Greg asked after a pause. A silent Sherlock made him nervous.

"He left." Sherlock responded, not taking his eyes off the blank television screen.

Greg didn't bother asking who Sherlock meant, there was only one person in the world he cared about enough to be this broken up about.

"What did you do?"

"Why do you assume it was my fault?" Sherlock snarled.

"It usually is."

"You're right, it usually is. It might be my fault, I don't know. Do you know what that's like for me? Not knowing?"

Sherlock heaved himself off the floor and stumbled over his own feet. Sometime his body refused to listen to what he wanted it to do, it was infuriating.

"So you don't know what happened, where he's gone or why he left?" Greg sighed, shaking his head and heading into the kitchen. He was seriously regretting coming here.

The kitchen was a mess. A weeks worth of dirty plates were piled up in the sink, the table was covered in some form of unidentifiable substance and a quick look in the fridge showed it was empty aside from a rotting tomato.

"How long has this fridge been empty?"

"How should I know? Food is John's department." Sherlock muttered, pulling a cigarette out of his dressing gown pocket.

Lighting it quickly he inhaled the smoke with a barely suppressed moan as the nicotine spread through him.

"You're smoking again?"

"Brilliant deduction, how ever do you do it?"

Greg ignored the sneering tone and snatched the cigarette out of Sherlock's fingers, stubbing it out of the kitchen table. He had to find a way to figure where John had gone. Since the day he'd met Sherlock, the man had been an insufferable, irritating and permanent presence in his life.

Greg had once said if they were lucky Sherlock would one day be a good man but what he hadn't known was that it wasn't about luck. John Watson had made Sherlock into a good man and Greg refused to believe John would just walk out on Sherlock with no explanation.

"That was my last one." Sherlock muttered, staring down at the crumpled pile of tobacco.

"You can't imagine how much I don't care. Go have a shower."

"Have I ever given you the impression that I'll do what you tell me to?"

Greg let out a suffering sigh and grabbed Sherlock roughly by the collar of his dressing gown, dragged him down the hallway and shoved hi into the bathroom. Thankfully Sherlock hadn't eaten in nearly week and was currently sleep deprived so he didn't put up much of a fight.

"Get in the fucking shower."

Sherlock straightened himself and put on his best 'go fuck yourself' face. Greg was relieved to see a spark of the old Sherlock coming through, unfortunately it came at the most inconvenient time. He didn't have time for this, he had to get Sherlock cleaned up and find John before everything went to shit.

"I'll undress you myself if I have to."

Rolling his eyes like a petulant child, Sherlock shrugged his dressing gown off and undid the tie of his pants. He knew Lestrade well enough to know it wasn't an empty threat and he wasn't in the mood to argue if he was going to end up naked either way.

When he was sure Sherlock was doing what he was supposed to, Greg left and headed back to the kitchen. Pulling his phone out he pressed speed dial and waited for someone to pick up. He need to find John but he wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be. Normally Greg would turn to Sherlock if he needed to find someone but unfortunately Sherlock was currently drowning in his own misery. Luckily for Greg he knew someone else.

"This had better be important Greg, I'm in the middle of something."


"Who else would it possibly be?"

"I need your help."


Greg pulled up to a modest brick house about thirty minutes outside of London. His patience was wearing thin, for the last thirty minutes he had listened to nothing but Sherlock's complaining and comments. Mycroft had made a few calls and in under ten minutes had given Greg the address of John's whereabouts. It had taken twice as long to get Sherlock into a car and all up the last fifty minutes had been the longest in Greg's life.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"John is in that house."

"You think I don't know that? I figured out where John had gone as soon as I realised he had left."

Greg frowned and watched Sherlock through the rear view mirror. For the first time he actually felt as stupid as Sherlock always said he was. Of course Sherlock knew where John was.

"I'm not going in there."

"Why not?"

"John has made his choice. He wants nothing to do with me."

"You don't know that."

"He left! Like everyone always leaves! While I was asleep the only thing I have ever cared about walked out the front door. Just knowing he doesn't want me anymore is destroying me, I can't go into that house and have him reject to my face." Sherlock was whispering by the time he finished and his eyes were shinning with unshed tears. He wouldn't cry, not in front of Lestrade. "I won't go in that house and you can't make me."

Greg pratically threw Sherlock into the lounge room after forcing past the rather startled woman who opened the front door. The still functioning part of his mind supplied to Sherlock that she was John's mother. Stumbling slightly and a bit ruffled at the indignity of being dragged around the place like a child's doll, Sherlock straightened himself with as much dignity as he could manage given the circumstances.

"Who are you?" John's mother exclaimed, rushing past them into the lounge room.

There was a hint of fear in her voice and Greg couldn't blame her. Two strangers barging into your house without warning was bound to cause panic. Greg almost regretted just barging into her house and frightening her, it wasn't her fault he was having a bad day.

But he was having a bad day and he really wasn't in the mood to play the charming, gentlemanly, detective. A day off for him was rare and there were many ways he enjoyed spending his free time, non of them involved playing relationship therapist.

"We need to speak to John." he answered quickly before Sherlock could open his mouth and say something insulting. "I'm Greg and I'm sure John's mentioned Sherlock."

Sherlock took the moment of stunned silence to inspect the contents of the room. John's mother was standing to Lestrade's right and the older man standing behind the couch must be John's father, both of John's parents looked stressed and sleep deprived while John's sister was sitting on the couch looking like a text book case of prolonged alcoholism but Sherlock noticed she was in one of her bouts of sobriety.

An uncomfortable itchy feeling at the back of his mind told him he was missing something important. There was something he should be seeing, but the hazy fog of sleep deprivation made the understanding of what he was observing stand just out of reach.

"John's in the kitchen." Harry muttered when it was clear no one else was going to speak up.

Sherlock got the distinct impression that not one member of John's family liked him very much. Although he'd seen Harry from a distance once, this was the first he had met any of them in person but even he could feel the hostility directed at him.

Sherlock couldn't care less if John's family disliked him, in all honesty he wasn't overly fond of any of them. He didn't like the way Harry would call John at two o'clock in the morning, drunk and crying, arrested for public intoxication and begging John to come and bail her out.

He didn't like John's mother, a woman with all the emotional availability of a piece of furniture, a woman who had spent most of her life ignoring her daughter's drinking problem while just plain ignoring her son. And he hated John's borderline abusive father, a man who had never actually raised a hand to any of his family but relied on mental and emotional abuse.

"What's going on out here?"

Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat when John stuck his head out of the kitchen and into the lounge room. He hated himself and his body for reacting in such a way to John's presence, he hated how weak John made him.

"Sherlock? What are you doing here?" John asked, a warm smile spreading across his face.

Sherlock's heart begun to ache and confusion swam through him. How could John be happy to see him? That was what that smile meant, right? No, it couldn't be. John had left. Had left him.

"Lestrade kidnapped me." he answered, careful to keep all emotion out of his voice.

John frowned at the icy response and shot a questioning look at Greg. "Why?"

"I had to do something! He's been a right miserable bastard since you left. I've got case files pilling up in my office because he wont answer my texts. Mrs Hudson said he hadn't left the apartment in a week, I thought he'd gone off on one of his drug binges. You two need to sort out what shit you've got going on because I need Sherlock as close to a functioning human being as I can get him!" Greg yelled, letting out all the frustration he'd been pushing down since walking into Baker Street that morning.

"I don't understand. Why haven't you been taking cases, Sherlock?" John's voice was so full of worry and concern something inside Sherlock snapped.

John left, left him all alone with no warning and no explanation. He'd forfeited the right to ask if he was alright the moment he'd packed his bags.

"Are you really going to pretend everything is alright? After what you did?"

"What did I do?" John asked, wide eyed and taken back by the anger in Sherlock's voice.

"You left! I did nothing wrong but you still left! Why? Why would you let me fall in love with you if you were just going to leave?"

John took a hesitant step forward. "Sherlock, I….."

"I'm not finished talking! My whole life I was blissfully ignorant of just how alone I really was, and then you came along and for the first time in my life I wasn't alone. I actually began to believe you when you said you wouldn't leave me. I trusted you! I trusted you with everything that I am. I told you everything! My past, my insecurities, my drug addiction. Everything I had hid from everyone, even Mycroft. I gave you my heart John. When you left you took it with you and I don't know how to get it back."

Sherlock's whispered words were met with utter silence, a fact he was grateful for. "If you don't love me anymore, I can't change that. But I need to know why. Where did I go wrong? Did I not show you enough affection? In what way am I inadequate?"

John moved across the room quickly and pulled Sherlock into a crushing hug. Breathing slowly to stop his tears from escaping, something that became infinitely harder when he felt Sherlock's tears seeping through his shirt. He pulled away and cupped Sherlock's cheek gently. Sherlock's naturally pale skin that John loved so much was sallow and his bright eyes were dull. Rubbing his thumb in soothing circles, John wiped the tears away.

"You are in no way inadequate. You are smart and brilliant and utterly amazing and there is not a day that goes by that I don't wonder what I did to deserve you."

"I wonder that a lot too." Lestrade cut in gravely, earning a snort from John.

"I will spend the rest of my life in love with you. I need you to believe that Sherlock. What I really want to know is why you think I'd just walked out on you?" John asked, pleased to see Sherlock had calmed down.

"I was in one of my 'funks' as you call them and when I came around you were gone. All your clothes were gone, the kettle hadn't been boiled, you'd been gone for days. I didn't believe you'd left at first so sent you text after text, I even rang you a few times but you never replied. So I waited. I waited for days for you to come back but you never did." Sherlock explained, feeling a curious mixture of sadness and hope.

John said he still loved him, maybe everything was just a big mistake?

"Sherlock this week has been the worst week of my life. I have had a permanent migraine since the week which I refer to as my own personal hell began. I have spent the last week in a rehab facility in Hampshire as we staged yet another intervention for Harry. I left you a note explaining all this on the experiment you have going in the kitchen."

Sherlock could almost feel his brain grinding to a halt and he was capable of doing little more then blinking stupidly. Sherlock had never been embarrassed before, had thought himself above it. He felt it now. It coursed through him and he knew the blush would be starkly evident against his pale skin.

Another feeling was quickly taking over however and this one he recognised instantly as it always seemed to occur whenever John was near. Happiness was bubbling inside his chest and making his skin tingle, a most curious sensation.

"You still love me?"

"Of course I still love you, you silly man. After all we've been through together how can you doubt that? I bought you that stupid riding crop, I was a prostitute for you! I now have a record for cocaine possession! If that doesn't say 'I love you,' I don't know what does!"

"I bloody knew that cocaine was yours." Greg muttered.

Over the top of John's head, Sherlock could see the horrified looks on the faces of John's family but he chose to ignore them. Leaning down he did something he thought he's never get to do again five minutes ago, he captured John's lips with his own and pulled their bodies close. He loved the height difference between them.

Loved the way strong, capable, soldier John moulded his body against his perfectly, seeking comfort and security in Sherlock's arms. The kiss sent fire through his body, the intensity of it making him shiver slightly. John moaned against his lips and Sherlock felt strong fingers tangling themselves in his hair as if John was afraid Sherlock would disappear into a wisp of smoke.

"You two know you're not alone right?" Greg asked awkwardly and the kiss became more intimate.

John pulled away from the kiss with a laugh. Their foreheads remained touching, neither ready to come back to reality.

"Wanna go back to the apartment?" John asked, panting softly as he caught his breath.

"You can't go back with him!"

The sneering voice of John's mother pulled them both back to reality.

"What?" John's head was still swimming with the scent of Sherlock to fully comprehend what his mother meant.

"You can't go with him! He's a drug addict and he's pulling you down with him!"

"I can't go with him? I can do whatever the fuck I want, that's one of the perks of being thirty-five years old." John bit back.

He hadn't been joking when he'd called the last week his own personal hell. He hadn't been forced to spend that much time with his family since he has a teenager. He loved his family, he always would. He just didn't like them very much and his mum was grating on his last nerve.

"You've been different lately John." Harry cut in.

"I'm happy! The fact that you can't recognise when I'm happy just shows how little you know about me."

"You need to get your life straight." she continued as though he hadn't spoken.

"I'm sorry, what? I need to get my life straight? Have looked at the shit storm that is your life recently Harry? Your marriage is over, you lost your job because you kept showing up for work drunk, you've been kicked out of your apartment because you can't pay your rent, you're forty years old and you're living with mum and dad in the same room you grew up in, you're one drink away from liver failure and you just got back from the third rehab facility this year. So perhaps you should straighten your own shit out before you start criticising my life!"

John didn't give her time to respond, instead he grabbed Sherlock's hand. "And mum? Sherlock isn't a drug addict anymore, he was strong enough to realise it was killing him and he quit. Whereas your precious Harry is still an alcoholic and judging by the bottle of Jack Daniels stashed under her bed that she bought this morning at the liquor store around the corner twenty minutes after she got back from rehab, that's not going to change anytime soon."

"Are you ready to go home?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh god yes."


They barely made it through the front door before John dropped his suitcase and Sherlock pushed him roughly against the wall and claimed his mouth in a possessive kiss. John groaned had allowed Sherlock to lift him off the ground, wrapping his legs around Sherlock's thin waist securely.

He knew Sherlock was stronger then he looked but it still made John slightly nervous to have his entire weight held up by a man who weighed less then him. Sherlock grunted softly and wrapped his arms tightly around John so he wouldn't drop him.

"Hold on."

John obeyed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. Sherlock carried him to the bedroom as quickly as he could and dropped him into the bed. John made a small noise of shock as he fell without warning but laughed when he bounced slightly. Laying down on his back he pulled his jumper and shirt off in one practised move before fumbling with his belt. Sherlock snorted and shrugged off his own coat and shirt.

"So eager."

John glared at him playfully, toeing off a shoe and kicking it at Sherlock who dodged it expertly and gave John a smug smile. His smile dropped when another shoe came out of nowhere and hit him on the leg. He looked at the offending object in surprise.

"I have more then one shoe dumb ass." John pointed out with a laugh at the disgruntled look on Sherlock's face.

"You of all people know my intelligence is far beyond….."

Sherlock was cut off by John's pants hitting him in the face.

"Shut up and get naked."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but kicked his shoes off, closely followed by his pants and underwear. Pausing for a moment he drunk in the sight of John naked and waiting for him. John's body was perfect, all neatly compacted muscle and glowing skin. Crawling onto the bed he straddled John's waist while resting his hands on John's shoulders. The angle meant their cocks rubbed together against their stomach's, creating delicious friction.

"Oh god!" John panted roughly as the instant pleasure made the muscles in his stomach tense and twitch.

Sherlock dug his fingers into John's shoulder's, knowing he would leave a mark but not caring. He rolled his hips slowly, overwhelmed by the pleasure the simple touch bought him. John wasn't even inside him but he knew they could cum by doing nothing but this. His orgasm was building as he grinded with abandon on top of John and judging by the way John was tensing underneath him, he was close as well.

"Sherlock stop!"

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to continue but the urgency in John's voice cut through the haze of want and desperation. Sigh a grunt he rolled off John and settled beside him, his ball aching at being denied their release.

"What's the problem?"

John continued to pant and was forced to close his eyes for a moment while he gathered his wits.

"No problem, I just didn't want us to cum."

"I thought that was the goal?" Sherlock asked, a little irritated now that he nothing was wrong.

John laughed and rolled off the bed. Walking required much more thinking when you legs felt like jelly. He headed over to the dressing table and opened the top draw, grabbing the bottle of lube. He was glad Sherlock hadn't gotten rid of it.

"Coming is the goal. But I didn't want us to cum all over each other like teenagers. I want to cum inside you."

Opening the bottle with a small pop, John crawled back onto the bed but this time stopped at the bottom of Sherlock's legs.

"Spread 'em." John said, slapping Sherlock's thigh playfully.

Sherlock spread his legs which allowed John to settle in between them comfortably. Spreading a generous amount of lube on his fingers, John rested his free hand on Sherlock's stomach and pushed a single finger in up to the knuckle.

Sherlock's hole clenched around the digit tightly before relaxing enough for John to enter a second finger. Sherlock's breathing hitched and he rocked back against the fingers. John pushed down of Sherlock's stomach to stop him from moving and hurt himself.


John obeyed and added another finger. The tight heat surrounding his fingers made his cock twitch, begging for some attention. When he was sure Sherlock was stretched enough that he wouldn't cause any damage, John pulled his fingers out and before Sherlock could finish his whimper, thrust his cock in their place. The pleasure of being inside Sherlock made John's eyes roll back and he snapped his hips forward.

Sherlock grunted and John drove into his forcefully, each thrust moving him a little further up the bed until his head hit the headboard. This was better then anything, better then cocaine, better then cigarettes, even better then a case. John hit his prostate and it sent Sherlock over the edge. He saw stars as he came violently, the pleasure and force of his orgasm hitting him so suddenly his body shock with the force.

John swore as Sherlock tightened impossibly around him, gripping his cock in a deliciously hot vice. He came almost immediately after Sherlock, and Sherlock could feel the cum entering him and coating his insides.

John collapsed on top of Sherlock as his arms gave out and settled with his face resting against Sherlock's chest as he tried to catch his breath. There was a comfortably silence as they both came down from their high.

"There's something I still don't understand." John muttered, shifting up to nuzzle into Sherlock's neck.

"That doesn't surprise me."

"Don't be a twat." John laughed, flicking Sherlock's neck.

"What don't you understand?" Sherlock tried again.

"I left you a note. What happened to it?"

"You left it next to the experiment in the kitchen correct?"

"I sticky-taped it to the bloody experiment!"

"While I was in my 'funk' Mrs Hudson cleaned the kitchen and threw away my experiment, no doubt the note went with it." Sherlock explained, playing with John's hair.

"Tomorrow I'm going to have a talk with Mrs Hudson about touching things that don't belong to her." John growled, thinking about all the trouble that could have been avoided if Sherlock had found the note.

"Sounds like a brilliant idea. John?"


"What didn't you answer any of my texts or calls?"

"The facility has a no phone policy. My mobile was turned off, hasn't left my suitcase all week. I figured if you really needed me you'd come and fetch me, or send Lestrade and when you came to my parent's house I already had a taxi on the way. I was going to surprise you."

Sherlock huffed and tightened his grip on John.

"I can't believe I reacted so idiotically. I made a utter fool of myself."

"Don't worry about it. Embarrassing ourselves for each other seems to be what we do."

"That's probably not very healthy."

"I don't think anything about our relationship is particularly healthy. We are scarily co-dependent on each other." John pointed out.

"Does that bother you?"

"Not one bit."

Neither cared that it was barely lunch time, sleep was the only thing they wanted. Sherlock smirked and allowed all the tension of the past week to leave his body. He was hungry but at the moment he was more tired then he had ever been in his life which was saying something so food could wait until tomorrow.

John would cook something lovely and he would be able to sneak a cigarette from the packet he'd stashed in the apartment while John was gone and therefore didn't know about. Breathing steadily he focused on John heartbeat thumping in time with his own.

"And Sherlock?"


"Don't think I didn't taste that cigarette when you kissed me earlier."


Well there it is, the last chapter. I know it's a lot longer then the others but think of it as an apology for making you wait so long for it. Please review and let me know what you think.