1. Introduction
"The address is 221B Baker Street and the name's Sherlock Holmes." John swallowed, as the memory of the wink Sherlock had gave him shot through his head. He felt tears well up in his eyes and couldn't help but linger a bit on the door handle. The feel of the cold metal against his hand, a feeling that had never felt alien to him, but in this moment. Now, when he knew Sherlock wouldn't be there to say hi to him, to wink at him or even just to ignore his presence. In this moment John couldn't feel more separated from the place that he had once called home. Now he noticed that it hadn't been the address, the little kitchen, the living room, that had been home. It had been Sherlock.
2. Love
Valentine's day. It was horrible. Sherlock knew he needed to avoid at least four people today. First, Molly. Second, Mrs. Hudson. Third, Mycroft. Fourth, and maybe most important, John. Molly was easy, just not go to Bart's, forget about corpses for a day. Mrs. Hudson was going to be a little harder. Of course he could just go out but that increased the possibility of running into John and his 'date'. Mycroft may even be the hardest, seeing as he apparently owned a Tardis and was able to just appear out of nowhere. Horrible, his brother was. Always so 'worried'. Ugh. "Hello there, brother mine." Sherlock doesn't even bother to roll his eyes when the voice sounds from the doorway. Here we go agaiiiin.. "What do you want?" "Me?" Mycroft smiles at him in a sort of sadistic way. "I just wanted to make sure you were 'loved' this Valentine's day. Why isn't John here with you?" "He has a date." Sherlock hates himself for sounding so annoyed about that. "Ah, that explains the sulking." Sherlock's eyes narrow and he silently kills his brother in his mind. "I'm not sulking." "Sherlock, have you seen yourself?" Mycroft barely hides the mock in his voice. "You are actually eating, you're sitting in John's chair-" Sherlock looks down to check. Dammit, he's right. How didn't he notice this?! "-you're not even trying to hide that you love him." One step too far, big brother, one step too far. Sherlock stands up aggressively, hand clenched around the cigarette inside his robe. "I. Don't. Love. Him." Mycroft holds his hands up in front of him, his eyes getting big. "Whatever you say, brother mine." His voice is menacing. And then, without another word, Mycroft turns and leaves Sherlock behind with a gaping hole in his chest that tells him that whatever he had said to his brother, the older one had been right. He'd always been the smart one.
3. Light
Sherlock's head is burning. He can't cope. He just can't. Every nerve inside him feels like it is on fire, every vein feeling like liquid tar is flowing through them. Behind his eyelids, where normally he finds the soothing blackness, now is a light so bright, it can almost make his brain split. But that is bearable. He can survive that. He can push through it with strength and logic. The light in his heart, though, is a whole different story. Sherlock has never felt like this before. But now, in this moment, he wants to let it go. Let his heart rule over his brain for once, let the light take over. As he forces his eyes open, he can see it reflected in John's eyes too. But that light has always been there, had always left traces on Sherlock's skin, shadows. But now, the light is turned on him, filling him, blocking out the dark, the shadows. And he welcomes it, just as he had once welcomed the dark inside his heart to block out the light.
4. Dark
He had known he shouldn't care, that it would only bring him pain. Mycroft had told him, and Mycroft was never wrong. Sherlock tugged his legs towards himself as he sat against the wall in the corner of his room. There was screaming coming from downstairs and Sherlock flinched. He knew it would eventually be alright again, that they would have dinner, the four of them, and that they wouldn't talk about it until the next time it occurred. It was in the moment that he heard Mycroft scream "Caring is not an advantage, Mother," that Sherlock decided to block out all emotions, that he welcomed the shadow to nestle inside his heart.
5. Seeking Solace
Sherlock was out of it. Completely. John had never seen him like this and, to be honest, he had no idea what to do. Sherlock had looked scared, actually scared! His eyes were teary and his face red, emotion showing all over his features. Now the man was sitting with his legs against his chest in the chair that was too small for him in the corner of the room they had rented. John sat on his bed, leaning with his back against the head just staring in front of him. No, he wasn't just staring in front of him. He was staring at his best friend, who was obviously still feeling anxious. His eyes bigger than usual, his body tense. John's lips twitched as he was about to say something and swallowed it back again. He should know how to handle this, for god sake! He grabbed his phone, only because his laptop was still at home and consulted the internet. Hugs were recommended, talking, a joke to lift the tension, tea, of course. John considered just standing up, pulling Sherlock towards him, putting every ounce of body warmth and comfort into the hug, but he couldn't. Sherlock would probably snap if he even tried. The vision slipped out of his head as fast as it had slipped in. John got up, stretched his legs. He left the room feeling hollow and cold. He managed to fix two cups of tea, one with two sugars, one without. As he re-entered the room, Sherlock hadn't moved one inch. His expression was still a shocked one, and if John paid close attention he could see the light streaks of tears across the cheekbones. "Here," he said, offering the cup to Sherlock. "Maybe you'll feel better." John sat down on his bed again, looking as Sherlock's fingers wrapped around the cup and his expression saddened. Holding a cup of warm tea between your hands can be extremely comforting as it closely resembles the feeling of physical contact and body warmth.
6. Break
Away Sherlock feels himself falling inside. He knows the patches won't be enough soon. And he knows too that John being away on his honeymoon isn't ideal, he's not even going to try to fool himself. He feels himself falling into an old habit, knows that he shouldn't be doing what he's doing. He feels the pressure, hears the nagging thoughts that are telling him to stop, always in John's voice, as he walks through the deserted streets of London. He knows he should stop, he should listen to John, but he can't, for exactly the same reason. Because John's hold on him is too strong. And he needs to break that hold. John's gone, he abandoned him, so why listen? Why not give himself what he wanted, what he craved? As he finally holds the needle between his fingers, the tip pressing against the soft skin of his arm, the feeling of not being bored, of brain activity, floods him. All he needs to do is press the needle inside, push the drug into his system and don't think anymore. But he can't. He can't not think of John. He can't not hear the voice pleading him to stop. And he can't ignore him. Not now, not ever. Because John has him in a hold that is too strong to break and too important to ignore. So he drops the needle, and sits, against the cold stone of the alley. And the sudden realisation that he can break away from everything, anything, as long as he doesn't have to break away from John, floods over him, stronger than the feeling of annoyance, than the feeling of boredom.
7. Heaven
What if this was it. Sherlock knew it wasn't, of course it couldn't be, it was his mind palace. But what if? What if his plan hadn't worked as it should. What if his trust in Molly, his care for Mycroft and love for John hadn't been enough to wake him up. What if, for once, his mind palace had failed him and Mary had won? What if this was heaven. He shouldn't been in heaven, though. He should be in hell. Sherlock couldn't open his eyes, as the memory of John's hurt face with the abominable moustache above his lip shot through his brain like a knife. He had hurt him so much, and he hadn't made up to him. Couldn't make up to him, because he had fucked up this time. He had let Mary take his only chance he had. He had waited too long, he had wasted an opportunity and now it was too late. But this wasn't hell, nor was it heaven, because if Sherlock's assumptions were correct, John would be there in both cases. Either to taunt him or to keep him right. But he wasn't. John wasn't here and Sherlock knew he could open his eyes. Knew that if he would, he'd find himself in a sterile hospital room with morphine attached to his arm. He knew that John would be there. Maybe not now, but eventually. And that he would make this living hell feel a little bit like heaven.
8. Innocence
"John, what is this?" John looks up from where he was standing in the kitchen. Sherlock has a weird expression on his face which comes closest to shock and amusement and.. is that what John thinks it is? "Hm..?" He asks, as if he isn't slightly intrigued by what has caused Sherlock to look like that. "Just.. I was googling something about your blog when I found this." He turns the laptop around in his lap to face the screen to John and John damn nearly falls over his own legs. He feels his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, feels his mouth doing something he does not approve of and feels a weird -no not weird, it wasn't weird, it wasn't even unusual, for god sake!- burning feeling in his stomach. Damn, of course Sherlock has to go and find those. Stupid people, and their stupid assumption that they are together! No, they weren't, thank you very much, no need to rub it in! "Just ignore them. It isn't as if it's real." John turns back to the dishes and he hears Sherlock scroll downwards. Hears the ticking sound of his fingers against the keys of the laptop. And it is distracting, and it shouldn't be, but it still is. Because John has dreamt about those fingers. He has looked at the pictures and drawings Sherlock is seeing now. And it is frustrating, really, that he had filed the expression he had seen on Sherlock's face earlier as lust. John almost groans as he leans against the kitchen counter. "John?" Sherlock's voice tugs him back to reality. It sounds genuine. John doesn't respond, just steadies his breath and dammit, Sherlock must have noticed. "Your breathing sounds heavy." "I almost dropped a plate. Don't bother." John knows it is a lame excuse because there had been no sound of splashing water, no sound of dishes at all. But it was all he could say, because Sherlock was innocent. And he won't understand, as much as John wants him to, he won't.
9. Drive
"We could just go home if you want?" They were at Greg's party. Sherlock hadn't wanted to come but John insisted, of course. And now John felt horrible for bringing him because he had never seen Sherlock looking so uncomfortable with himself. "Come on." John grabbed his hand and Sherlock didn't even protest. He kept quiet until they reached the car. John climbed into the driver's seat, and waited for Sherlock to join him. He looked at him through the front window, saw his outlines traced by the streetlamp, pointing out the cheekbones and his pointed jawline. Sherlock's hair was outlines by the tiniest stripe of white as if it glowed. And, not unusual to John, he felt his heart surge. Sherlock opened the door to the passenger's seat and John started the car. "Home, or just somewhere?" "Somewhere," Sherlock answered, a little out of breath and too quickly. They drove off, in silence, except for the radio guy that was predicting tomorrows weather. "Tomorrow's, going to be sunny, with an occasional cloud. Not much to say anymore. No rain, no wind. Just a beautiful day." John smiled. He loved the sun and he knew that Sherlock was a lot easier when the weather was good. He'd run around like a little kid and smile a lot more often. "Where are we going?" Sherlock asked suddenly. John had actually been driving without really paying attention to where they were. "Uh.." He looked at the roadsigns, trying to figure out where they were. A long way from London, that was for sure. "I don't know..?" He started laughing, feeling incredibly ridiculous until Sherlock joined him and they were both laughing like teenagers who had just ran away from home. "We could just stay here?" Sherlock nodded with his head at the sign that appeared in the distance, showing the B+B and as John looked over to look at Sherlock he actually saw him blushing.
10. Breathe Again
For the first time in two years. John almost cries as he thinks about it. He wants to scream, to punch him. He wants to make the ache in his chest go away, wants the feeling of betrayal to be gone. He wants every single thing in the universe to stop. He wants the man in front of him to stop too, because this is not what he was supposed to do. This is not what he.. John takes a breath. He half sobs, and then he notices how his lungs fill. How for the first time in two years he actually feels like he's alive again. This is what Sherlock Holmes had done to him. He had had John in his grip even when he wasn't there. And John looks up, beaten, awfully tired, and he can't, he just can't admit that Sherlock has changed him. But he has, in so many ways. And John will always miss the fight, the thrill of adventure, if it's not there. But for now he just breaths. He breathes and feels the air inside of him, the same air Sherlock is breathing. And he is alive again.