This story is named "Parachute" after the Ingrid Michaelson song. I highly recommend it, however, the tune doesn't quite go with the mood of this piece, as much as the lyrics themselves. And I love the song so much that it will not be the only story it inspires.

So what song should you listen to when reading this? "Amy's Theme" .com/watch?v=4QGTyxtdd2Q I listened to it while I wrote this.

Also, yes, I chose the drug for a specific reason. It's in the books.

So. Disclaimer time: If I owned Sherlock and John, do you really think I would be sitting here writing fanfiction? I didn't think so.

It had been so early on. This feeling of loyalty and obligation for John. And I'm certain that I can narrow it down to the exact moment that I began to feel it. It was that first case, definitely. What John named "A Study in Pink."

It was when Lestrade had decided to act like a cowardly animal. When he and the other officers broke into our flat on the pretense of a "drugs bust."

I will confess to you that at first I was terrified for two reasons. Not only at the idea of those bumbling idiots confiscating or ruining one of my experiments, but also of them finding my cocaine.

I'm smarter than the entire populous of this street, and perhaps even this entire city. So what does it matter if I have a little cocaine? I'm not selling or growing it. And it's not as if I use it on a regular basis.

Lestrade was just being immature.

But that initial fear and panic I felt when John and I first entered the flat and saw Lestrade sitting there (like he was God), was nothing in comparison to the shame that I felt when John defended me.

"Seriously. This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?" He looked so incredulous…as though he had never even considered the possibility.

"John." I said quietly. I had to stop him before he provoked Lestrade.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day and you wouldn't find anything that you could call recreational." He was certain of it. Defiance and pride were written across his face.

"John, you might want to shut up now." He needed to stop.

"Yeah, but come on..." I gave him a look and the recognition washed over his features like a wave. "No..." It was quiet, as though he wasn't sure of himself, or he was willing it not to be true.

"What?"

"…you?"

"Shut up!"

The second when John understood, when he uttered that almost silent, 'No,' I have never felt so much shame in all of my life. Guilt as well, because I felt as though I had betrayed him, as well as our relationship, (however short the amount of time we had known each other was). I had disappointed him, and for some reason that knowledge made me feel as though something had slipped from out of my chest.

And it was in that moment that I made a deduction: if I felt this terrible when John was disappointed in me, then the sensation I would receive upon his being proud of me would rival even my favorite cigarettes. Not only that, but that the experience of living with him and just knowing him would be my most treasured mystery and adventure yet.

But it didn't make any logical sense. There wasn't anything extraordinary about John. He was average really. I didn't owe him any obligation. He certainly didn't rival my intelligence or wit.

But he was brave. And he was reliable.

And from that deduction I knew that if John ever left, or if something ever stopped us from being friends, that I would crash into the ground. How could I not after having been held up by something as strong and wonderful as John? After flying above the earth? And then to be forced to trod on the mud and filth as every other regular person did. After having known that wonderful flying sensation…

I'm sure of it. Without John I would fall back down, much lower than I had ever fallen before.

And I don't think I could get back up.

If you have any music suggestions that you would like me try and tackle, (whether with or without lyrics) I would be willing to give it a shot. Oh, and please, review. Reviews will help fight Sherlock's addiction (to drugs, not John).