Addiction, a sherlock fanfic

Disclaimer

Don't own, don't sue.

Author's Note

SPOILER ALERT IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCH TRF! (WHAT ARE YOU DOING READING FANFICTION GO WATCH THE EPISODE) AND JOHNLOCK AHEAD DON'T LIKE DON'T READ!

Addiction

Tick

Drip

Tick, drip, tick, drip

Sherlock rolled over on the couch, covering his ears.

Freak, tick, drip, Freak, tick, drip, Freak, tick, drip

Sherlock rolled over again pulling his robe up to muffle the noise with a huff, his nose wrinkled.

You know how to quiet the noise Shirley, all you have to do is take a deep quick breath and the world will be quiet or you could set your veins on fire.

Freak, tick, psychopath, drip, Freak, tick, psychopath, drip, Freak, tick, psychopath, drip

Oh come on Shirley just a little bit, don't you want to remember what it was like to fly.

Freak, psychopath, drip, Freak, psychopath, drip, Freak, psychopath, drip

"Shut up," Sherlock whispered pulling the couch cushion over his head.

Shirley come on Shirley, you know you want to.

"Shut up," mumbled into the couch.

Freak, psychopath, Freak, psychopath, Freak, psychopath

John isn't here Sherlock, no one is here, Moriarty won, and all you have are your thoughts.

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock screamed throwing the couch cushion.

Freak

Psychopath

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" chanted throwing himself off the dingy couch to pace across the small dingy room.

Sherlock

Shirley, Shirley, come on Shirley, you've earned it after all you have done, killing all those men.

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock roared pulling at his hair.

Sherlock!

You are a murderer Sherlock Homes, no one loves you now and now no one will ever love you lest of all John Watson, no the only thing that will love you is the cocaine now, murderer. Do you really think John will want you back after all of this, murderer?

"John," Sherlock gasped wrapping his arms around himself closing his eyes.

"SHERLOCK," hands grasped Sherlock's shoulders. The detective's eyes flew open to stare into the warm blue eyes of John Watson who stood searching Sherlock's troubled eyes.

"John," Sherlock gasped sagging to his knees, burying his head into John's stomach and wrapped his arms about his waist.

John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair feeling his thin t-shirt become wet surprising the doctor and mumbled, "I'm here Sherlock. I'm here."

The two friends stayed in the embrace until Sherlock's breathing returned to normal.

"John," Sherlock gasped jerking himself out of John's grip and threw himself into the corner as far from his friend as the room would allow, "You can't be here!" Sherlock protested.

"It's over Sherlock, Moriarty is finished." John spoke quietly as if talking to a scared dog.

Sherlock's all knowing eyes swept over John noting the differences in his friend from three years ago, gained a stone of muscle, a faint tan line around his left ring finger, and a military cut to his hair. Sherlock stared into John's eyes and saw the soldier he had met so many years before.

"It's over Sherlock; it's time to come home." John spoke softly.

"How are you here? What about your wife? What happened to you?" Sherlock babbled.

"Mycroft, died, Mycroft," John answered the questions with a smile.

"Home?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yes, home,"

"You can't want me, a murderer in your home." Sherlock mumbled.

"Sherlock, there is already one there," John whispered his eyes turning sad.

"No John, you didn't not for me."

"Well not for you precisely, Queen and country," John joked and sobered quickly, "after you jumped I was a mess, Mycroft offered me a job and I took it. After you, I knew the most about Moriarty; I began hunting down Moriarty's web leading a team from MI-6. I noticed something funny about the men we were hunting they would either be jailed or killed days or even hours before we were to close in on them. I confronted Mycroft about your death, he knew nothing, and he was just as much surprised as I was when I tracked you down to the ass end of nowhere South America."

Sherlock picked at a hangnail on his finger.

John stood there taking in his friend, from his badly abused fingers, the pinky finger on his left hand looked as if it had gotten broken and set poorly. To the orangey blond color to his hair, to how his friends clothes just hung off of him as if it had been years since his last decent meal. The most startling difference from three years ago were Sherlock's eyes, once sharp enough to cut through you and see all your hidden secrets, now sat dull as if the world no longer had secrets for them to learn.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!" John suddenly bellowed out startling Sherlock out of his stupor. Sherlock jerked his head up to look at John who in the same moment dragged Sherlock to his feet to pin him to a wall.

"Tell me that, Holmes. Tell me why you faked your death. Tell me why you made me," John closed his eyes for a moment and reopened them to stare into Sherlock's eyes, "why you made me watch. Why did you put us all through this awful thing?"

"John, I…," Sherlock started and jerked his head back to look at the brown water stain in the ceiling.

"No," John hissed gripping the curls at the back of Sherlock's head to sharply tug on.

Sherlock looked down into John's eyes, he saw the anger but the second emotion made him gasp canting his hips to feel John's arousal.

"No, we are not getting to that till you answer my questions Sherlock." John scolded pinning Sherlock's hips to the wall.

"John, please, I did it for you!" Sherlock blurted out.

"No, you did it for the game, to one up Moriarty." John seethed Sherlock whimpered at the tone from John, "Give me the truth Sherlock. I deserve that."

"For you, for Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, he had gunmen ready to kill the three of you if I didn't kill myself." Sherlock whimpered feeling John loosen his grip on his hips.

"How did you do it?" John asked brushing his fingers gently over the outside of Sherlock's thighs

Sherlock closed his eyes at the sensation of the lightest touch could provoke such a reaction in himself.

"Open your eyes, Sherlock," John whispered tugging a curl, Sherlock looked down once more into his friend's eyes to see the anger had melted away to sadness still with the under laying emotion of arousal.

"How did you survive the fall?" John whispered a breath away from Sherlock's lips.

"Does it matter?" Sherlock asked.

"To me it does,"

"Molly and the homeless network," Sherlock gasped as John dug his fingers into his hips.

"Thought so," John murmured and leaned in to kiss his friend. Sherlock met him half way in a gentle kiss full of promise and trepidation. The two men poured the past three years into the kiss, their fears, their heartache, and their love for one another. Sherlock tugged John tightly against his body has he slid down the wall, John's knees fell to either side of Sherlock's legs not ready to relinquish the kiss. Breaking apart to gain valuable air, John rested his forehead against Sherlock's.

"You do this to me ever again, Holmes, I'm finding away to bring you back and killing you myself." John panted into Sherlock's ear.

"I wouldn't want to kick my new addiction too soon." Sherlock mused with a smirk running his hands down John's back possessively.