John had been at work, and left Sherlock at home by himself. He had doubted whether Sherlock was stable, because he did seem rather down for the past week or so, but he felt that Sherlock could handle being alone for a few hours. Besides, Mrs. Hudson was home, so he could go to her for help, if he needed it. But when John walked back into flat 221B a few hours later, all was not okay.

As soon as he walked into the living room he saw Sherlock standing in the middle of the room, staring out of the dusty window. He closed the door behind him, which made a noticeable sound, but Sherlock didn't move a muscle. "Sherlock?" John said, worried, and a bit regretful that he thought he could leave Sherlock alone. He continued to stare out of the window in complete silence. John couldn't see Sherlock's face because he was facing the opposite side of the room, so he walked round to look at him. The first thing he noticed was a bruise on Sherlock's forehead, huge and deep purple. He had scratches on his lip and from the look in his eyes he looked drained of energy. John's first reaction was fear. He had never seen Sherlock like this, and was absolutely terrified at how he looked. Of course he didn't express that out loud. Above all, he was confused. Confused as to why Sherlock was just...standing there? He looked as though he'd been beaten up and drugged or somethi-

Drugged.

"Sherlock? Can you even hear me?!" John raised his voice as he looked into Sherlock's eyes. His gaze hadn't moved from the window, but was now moving slowly to the ceiling. Then back to the window. Then at John. "Sherlock!" John shouted as he shook him by the shoulders. Suddenly a switch seemed to go off in Sherlock's brain. "Oh, John. John. Hi, John." His words were at first delivered in a very slow and slurred manner, but quickly became energy fueled and rapid. "John! Hi. I missed you...I missed you a lot." John decided to switch from friend to doctor. "Sherlock, what did you take?" Sherlock looked the man up and down with a devilish smile. "Take? Take what? I'm fine." He said with a casual shrug. "You are most certainly not fine, what did you ta-" "John." John rolled his eyes in an attempt to seem like he wasn't worried sick. "What?" "John I really missed you. You were gone for...for days!" "I was gone for a few hours, I just came back from work. Sherlock, look at me and concentrate. What did you take!"

There was a moment of silence, John's words lingering in the air. Sherlock looked into John's eyes hungrily, but John ignored it. He was worried about his friend. "Sherlock. Listen to me. I need you to listen. Can you do that?" Sherlock smiled at John and slurred a very quiet "Yes." in his direction. "Do you know why you have a big bruise on your forehead?" Sherlock scrunched his nose and brought his hand up to touch his forehead. When his fingers came into contact with his head he immediately pulled them away from feeling the pain. He smiled a very small, almost unoticeable smile and then returned to a blank expression. "No, I don't."

"Why did you smile? What happened?" John said hurriedly. "Smile? Nothing. I'm fine. I just missed you. A lot." John was finding it very difficult to ignore the tension. "Okay. Now do you remember why y-" John was interrupted by a hurried kiss from Sherlock, who had moved himself closer to John as he kissed him. John pulled back and looked up at the man in front of him. "Sherlock! What are you doing? You are clearly high as a kite and...and we are friends!" Sherlock refused to listen. John looked into his eyes and saw lust and want like he'd never seen in another human being. His thoughts were interrupted again by a stronger press on the lips, and Sherlock's body so close to his own. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know whether to fight or give in.

Sherlock was forceful in a way John had never seen him, but then again, he wasn't Sherlock right now. He was a drugged, sex hungry shadow of the man. His thoughts took him away enough that he didn't realise that Sherlock had basically dragged him to a corner of the room, pushing him against the wall. Sherlock's lips moved over John's quickly and messily, and John didn't know if he was in heaven or hell. Sherlock was breathing rapidly and now so was John, despite him trying to stop the kiss. "Sherlock!" John tried to shout through a mess of lips and teeth. Sherlock was having none of it. He pushed his tounge deep into John's mouth, almost violently telling John to just shut up. Their foreheads clashed and John felt Sherlock twitch at the pain he must've felt, but showed no signs of stopping. As soon as John was starting to enjoy this, he reminded himself that Sherlock was NOT okay right now, and needed to be talked to. He was shorter than Sherlock but he had been to war, he was strong. He pushed Sherlock away and sort of ran out of the corner he'd been placed in, to avoid being pushed back in. "Sherlock! Stop!"

Sherlock stumbled away from the kiss and looked into John's eyes again, now with rage. He was breathing so heavily that he could pass out at any moment. He wandered over to the sofa like a baby deer just learning how to walk, maintaining eye contact at all times. John was relieved and scared and...excited at the same time. Sherlock dropped down onto the sofa and tears formed in his eyes. John could only imagine how confused and overwhelmed he must've been. He wanted to just go over and hug him, but was still wary about what Sherlock would do to him if he did.

Sherlock was crying although he was still angry. It was difficult for John to watch. Above all the anger he felt towards the man right now he just felt sad. That a man with such a beautiful mind was sitting infront of him, high on god knows what and reduced to a quivering, crying mess. And sad that he was scared to hug him. And to be quite honest, sad that the moment he just shared with Sherlock, he wouldn't remember. Even if John was scared to death, it was only because Sherlock wasn't himself. He could only wish that Sherlock did something like this sober (perhaps in a less forceful way). He would never admit it to the man when he would remember it, so he went ahead and said it. "I love you."

This really isn't the way he hoped it would go, telling Sherlock how he felt, but it seemed like a better time than any. As he suspected, Sherlock didn't really reply, let alone understand that John had just said...those words to him. He wiped tears from his cheeks with a shaky hand, although they were still falling. He really was a mess. The anger he had in his stare had gone completely, and right now Sherlock just felt confused, and rejected. John felt slightly safer around him now, and brought himself to sit next to Sherlock on the couch. He almost tried to forget that he had just said what he did, embarrassed by the lack of a reply, and the reminder that Mrs. Hudson could've easily heard him downstairs.

As soon as he sat on the sofa, a slightly calmer Sherlock rested his head on his shoulder. It was weird, because a moment ago John was terrified to even look Sherlock in the eye. But both of them just sitting there, albeit one a tad more sober than the other, felt so comfortable. And John was so heartbroken that the moment he had just experienced was just Sherlock's drugged lust, rather than genuine love. Because that's all he felt for Sherlock since the day that they met. "John?" Sherlock said shakily. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry."

John began to tear up as well, but used the fact that Sherlock couldn't see his face to his advantage. All the anger he felt, and all the regret and all the fear, all washed away. "It's okay. Don't worry, it's all okay."