A/N: Sorry for any grammer or spelling mishaps, it's late and my computer doesn't have spell check. I do not own the characters. Please leave a review, it makes my day!

Sherlock had been clean for years, but changes usuallly lead to more changes.

"Stop it Sherlock." John eyes flicked up from his newspaper.

"Get out of my head, John." He ran his fingers through his hair, pacing the room. "You're starting to sound like Mycroft."

"Probably because we both care about you." Sherlock stopped pacing at John's words and grey eyes locked with brown.

"If you care so much why did you have to go and..." Sherlock flopped on the couch with an exasperated sigh. "Why am I even talking to you?"

"Maybe because you really do care or you're bored." John paused. "You haven't taken a case in weeks. Lestrade is probably desperate for help." Sherlock's eyes did not move from the spray paint on the wall. "Think of how may stupid remarks Anderson has made we have missed." John succeded in gaining a faint upturn of the lips from the detective. "I wish you would go back to work Sherlock."

"What's the point?" He sat up staring at John. "Before you showed up the world was drab and dull then you popped in and the world was still drab and dull but with a touch of light. Now the world is just simply unbearable."

"Maybe I should leave then..."

"No!" Sherlock Interjected, eyes flashing. "I just need to get out." He began to frantically search the room.

"That's a good idea, I'm sure Mrs. Hudson would fancy a stroll... or call up Molly she'd be willing to go, even at this unGodly hour."

"Not out of the apartment." Sherlock produced one of his common 'you're idiotic' looks. "Out of this!" He tapped the side of his head.

"Sherlock, you can't possibly mean..." John grabbed his shoulder.

"I do mean it!" He pulled a book off the shelf opening it and pulling out a gun. "A hollow book, so predictible John." He smiled.

"It's only been three weeks you can't possibly think that you would revover this quickly. Give yourself some time to recover!"

Sherlock stopped fiddeling with the gun and looked up to his friend. "John won't you understand. I can't talk to a skull and be content anymore! I told you once that I only had one friend...and that's you." He brought his hand up to his friend's face was but felt nothing but air. "I need to really see you, hear you, and touch you again. Please John, let me do this."

John's face relaxed a bit. "Won't you wait for a clear head?" He asked half-heartily.

"This is the clearist head I've had in three weeks." He brought the gun up to his temple, a slight tremble in his hand.

"So this i the night that the world's only consulting detective dies." John eyes were soft.

"No John, I died three weeks ago with you. Tonight is the night my transport system dies and my mind goes free to be with you again." He took a deep breath. "John, you once told me you would always be by my side, does it still apply?"

"Of course Sherlock. I'll be here the entire time, and afterwords as well. Forever."

His hand stopped shaking. "Forever as well. Thank you."

His eyes never left his friend.