Sherlock paced around the flat. He was a mess, his black curls stuck up everywhere. He looked as if he hadn't slept in days, though he spent most of his hours asleep. It was less painful when he was asleep. He rarely bothered to try and look half decent anymore,he didn't find the point in it all. Sherlock was bored. More than bored...lonely. Lonelier than he had been in forever. Even lonelier than he had been when he was supposedly dead. At least when he was dead, he knew than John was thinking of him. Now Sherlock was the farthest thing from John's mind, He had a wife and a simple life. Sherlock should be happy for John, after all they were best friends. He wasn't though. It was because all these years Sherlock had loved John. He had died for John and John had moved on. Unlike John, Sherlock didn't understand how to move on. Sherlock had never loved anyone in his life until he met John. He didn't know if John had ever felt anything for him but by now it was too late to even ask. He doubted John ever felt a thing for a pompous asshole like himself. They were just friends. That's all. And friends go and get married and leave. Sherlock was all alone, again.
Sherlock reached into his coat. His fingers wrapped around the discarded object in his coat pocket. A cigarette box. He pulled it out and looked at it intently. He hadn't smoked in years. He pulled up his shirt sleeve and ripped the nicotine patches off his arm. Useless things didn't stop the cravings. Nothing in the world could stop his cravings. Not just for nicotine but for his best friend. He pulled a single cigarette out of the box, throwing the box to the floor. He rolled it around in his hand. John would probably disapprove, Sherlock mused. He put the cigarette into this mouth. Then he reached for his lighter on the near by desk. He flicked the lighter and watched the flame dance. He raised the flame to the end of the cigarette. He only got half way there when he heard a knock on the door.
'Who could possibly be at my door? It's three in the bloody morning,' Sherlock thought. He set down the lighter but left the cigarette perched between his lips. He walked forward and opened the door slowly. Behind the door was an all too familiar face.
"John...What are you doing here at this hour?" Sherlock was surprised.
"Smoking, Are you now Shirley?" John said with a smirk. He smelled strongly of hard liquor.
"That is none of your concern...Are you drunk?" Sherlock pulled the cigarette from his mouth and jammed it into his pocket.
"Probably. Damn it, Can I at least come inside?" Sherlock moved out of the door way and John walked in, shutting the door behind him. They stood in the living room of 221 Baker Street. Sherlock could tell John had one too many, he was completely out of it.
"Seeing by your state of affairs, It seems you and Mary had a fight. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."
"Do I really need a reason to come and see you? I thought we had something special." John edged forward a bit.
"You are intoxicated."
"You are gorgeous, You know that?" John smiled and moved closer to Sherlock. Sherlock backed up, trying not to blush.
"John, Stop. You are drunk."
"I know you love me Sherlock. Don't play hard to get," John chuckled, moving even closer. Sherlock was flustered, he had no idea John had known all this time. The great detective struggled to keep his composure.
"You have a wife, remember. My feelings don't matter." Sherlock backed up further. He felt his back hit the wall. He knew it was just the alcohol talking.
"Sherlock, You went and died. I loved you and you died on me. I was left to grieve for two years. And I finally found something. Then you showed up again. And damn it, I still love you. I know you still love me." John moved even closer, pinning Sherlock against the wall. Sherlock's face flushed bright red.
"You are going to regret this when you are sober." Sherlock's common sense drained away as John pressed his body into Sherlock's. He knew he should probably push John away. This was wrong. He shouldn't let his drunk friend cheat on his wife, but Sherlock wanted to be with John. If only in this moment.
"Who cares." John pressed his mouth against Sherlock's. Sherlock's eyes widened as he felt John's mouth on his. Then he began to kiss John back. He kissed John more passionately than he had ever kissed anyone in his life. John's mouth tasted of whiskey and honey. It was better than he had ever dreamed. He put his hands around John's waist pulling his closer. John reached up and ran his fingers through Sherlock's messy curls.
"I love you so much," Sherlock mumbled against John's lips. John's only response was to pull Sherlock into another long kiss. 'I love you,' Sherlock thought over and over. John pulled Sherlock down on to the coach. He stopped kissing him and look into his eyes.
"I love you, you stupid fool," John said in a whisper. He lay back and shut his eyes. Within seconds, John was asleep. The alcohol had finally got the best of john and lulled him into a deep sleep. Sherlock got up and smiled. He looked at John slumped over on his coach, he looked so peaceful. He knew this wouldn't last. By tomorrow this would all be over. Either John would have forgotten or he would wish he had forgotten. Sherlock sighed. He pulled off his coat and put it on John like a blanket.
"Goodnight, Love," Sherlock said quietly.
John awoke startled. He looked down to see Sherlock's coat on him. He looked around, confused.
"Where am I?" John said perplexed.
"Bakers Street, Darling," Mrs. Hudson said as she put tea on the table.
"Where's Sherlock?"
"He went out. Says he has a case of some sort. Didn't want to wake you. You have quite a nasty hang over," Mrs. Hudson smiled at John warmly.
"Oh, Alright." John picked up his tea and looked down into the cup.
"He said he doubts you remember a thing. You were very drunk. Do you remember anything, John?"
John looked at her for a few long seconds. "I best be going. Mary will be worried. Tell Sherlock that if he tries to smoke again I will personally beat the bloody hell out of him. "