God, he wishes his mind would shut up. He was thinking about at least 12 different things at once. Why did this have to happen whenever he tried to fall asleep, and where was that sweet white injection of relief when he needed it? It would make him be able to focus, he'd stop floating from one layered set of thoughts to another, and he could go hide in his drug-induced mind palace. John and Mrs. Hudson had been pretty good at keeping him clean, but god, sometimes he just needed something 7% stronger then tea. He needed a case of one kind or another, and at this rate, he'd do just about anything to get to it. Well, except murder someone. He knew what the consequences were for that, and he wasn't that desperate... Well... Let's just say he was pretty close. He sat up violently and threw on his robe. He couldn't do anything while his mind was like this, and he wanted to do something, but there was too much in his head for him to decide what to do. So, he went with the next thing that came though his mind palace, and that was John giving him a cigarette. John had them somewhere, and he was going to get them from him.
John was asleep upstairs. His breath was heavy and he looked like he had been sweating. Nightmare, Sherlock thought quickly. Of course, John would never expect him to be up here, so the cigarettes probably were here. He scanned the room. Clean, military... Very John. Any drawers would be too obvious. John knew that would be the first place he would look. Closet then? Honestly, the drawers were probably more likely, but Sherlock couldn't think about it. He just needed to start looking, before John startled awake from his nightmare.
He opened the closet and went scanned the top shelf. There was a shoe box, which caught his attention, and he pulled it down, opening it up. There was a old camera, yearbooks from school, photo album, notebook, beer bottle, jewelry case, a bottle of perfume, and a suit. Sherlock breath caught in the back of his throat. What was this? He knew that brand of alcohol went out of business a long time ago, was probably from twenty five years ago at least, then. Same with the perfume brand.
He pulled out the yearbook on top and opened it. It fell open to a page with a note tucked into it. It appeared to be from his girlfriend at the time. Susan. He froze. This was John's old stuff from high school, prom stuff, from times with a high school sweetheart from long ago.
He opened the photo album, and sure enough it was. John and Harry were in the pictures, and they looked pretty happy together, put as the photos got newer, they stopped wrapping their arms around each other and there were less pictures with the both of them smiling. Instead the older pictures had John with Susan. That same girl for the rest of the book. Sherlock slowly closed it. John, with one girl as a teenager. He tried to wrap his head around that one. John forever had multiple girlfriends that didn't last long. Not one women he was totally absorbed in.
Just as he was picking up the notebook, he heard John stop his ragged breathing.
"What the hell are you doing in here, Sherlock! It's one in the morning!"
"Nothing."
"Really? You look like you're looking though my stuff! Jesus Sherlock, do you have no sense of personal space? That's my..."
"John-"
"Get out of here. Now. And don't you dare leave with any of it!" He shouted at Sherlock as Sherlock opened the jewelry box. The neckless wasn't that expensive, but seemed to be well worn and well loved. It wasn't clean, but it was a teenagers. They don't clean their jewelry, they wear it constantly till it breaks.
"Put that down. Sherlock-" John snatched the neckless from his hands.
"Get the fuck out of my room and my stuff."
"Who was she? Susan?"
"Get. Out."
"No. Not until you get answers. If I can't have a case, then I can at least have this answer. I can tell she was your girlfriend for a very long time when you were young. What happened? Why did you keep... Oh."
"What?"
"Sentiment. She left you, but you still love her... Even now, years later."
"She died, Sherlock. She died and there was nothing I could do. She wouldn't eat. Anything. For the longest time... She would hurt herself, cut herself so only I ever saw it. She hung herself by this, in the end. My neckless."
Sherlock froze. He wasn't used to people telling him sob stories without it being related to a case, certainly never someone he sort of cared about. He just stood there like he had just been drenched by a bunch of icy-cold bucket of water above his head that came out of nowhere.
"Just go. I need a minute. Damn you Sherlock, what were you doing going though my stuff?"
"Looking for cigarettes."
"That's it Sherlock. You have your answers, and if you dare go through my stuff again, I swear..."
"I'm going. I'm... Sorry," Sherlock choked on the apology as he left the room, John closing the door behind him. He had no idea any of that had happened to John. A deduction he hadn't bothered to make. He hadn't really thought about John's dating habits or the people he had lost. I mean, he knew he had lost people. He had been in the war, as a doctor. Of course he had lost people, but this hadn't occurred to him. John, dating on girl till she died by her own hand. He loved her, but he wasn't enough. Stuff like that happens all the time, and it had never really hit him before that it effected people for years. Not till it was John.