The news spread fast and they were all shocked. John Watson on the border to death, trapped between life and darkness and the darkness was the stronger side currently. While Molly and Greg were able to comfort each other and Anthea took care of Sarah, Sherlock felt alone. And desperate. He would have never admitted it. He refused to talk to his brother Mycroft; he blocked calls from Harry, his mother and those very few people who called themselves his friends. He wasn't even able to touch the violin and make her sing a sad song.
Sherlock didn't want Mrs Hudson to keep him company. He just wanted to isolate himself. From everyone and everything and especially from his own feelings. And for the first time in quite a while he thought about returning to his old "friend" heroin.
He paced the flat for hours, until his feet hurt and he felt exhausted. It was the moment he paused, when he heard a gentle knock at the door. He knew who it was. Everyone could have guessed it. One of the very few women he trusted. The woman who called herself Anthea. Sherlock opened the door and even tried a small smile when she handed him a cup of tea. This became a ritual. She would drop by and make some tea and they would discuss current situations and happenings. "Hey Sherlock, I thought you may want a...", he didn't let her finish the sentence. With a smooth movement he put the cup aside and took her hand. She looked surprised and a bit insecure. "Anthea...", Sherlock said, not knowing how to finish the sentence. "I know, Sherlock.", she just said and watched him with unbelievable sad eyes. He found it hardly bearable and pulled her closer to embrace her. He felt her trembling in his arms and knew she was silently crying, feeling ashamed to show her emotions in front of him.
Sherlock observed that a lot of people tried to hide and bottle up their feelings when he was around. "Shhh...", he made and gently cupped her head with his hands. She looked up into his eyes and tried so desperately to smile again, to pretend that she was strong. It hurt him to see it and for the first time in his life he decided to give in and do what his heart tells him to do. He kissed her and put every unspoken word of affection, every suppressed need to touch her to reassure himself that she was with him, into this one kiss.
She responded the kiss, her lips slightly parted and with a small moan in the back of her throat. Sherlock deepened the kiss and let his hands slowly wander from her back to her hips. They both sought to forget every evil in the world and every bad news they found themselves confronted with recently. Anthea wrapped her arms around him, one hand pressed against his back, the other cupping the back of his head, fingers buried in his hair. Time became irrelevant, but they found themselves cuddling on the sofa after a while. Sherlock relaxed under her touch, slowly but sensible. She put a hand on his chest right above his heart like she used to do so often. "Are you okay, Sherlock?", she whispered. He took his time before he answered the question whispering, as well. "No." Anthea presses her lips together. There was nothing she could do for him. "Thank you.", he murmured, "For ... being with me." He made her rest on top of him, their legs slung around each other. Her lips brushed his brow and cheeks. Sherlock took a deep breath and stroked her hair behind her ears. "Sherlock, I lo...", he put a finger on her lips. "I know.", he just said and kissed her again, deeper this time, more longingly. Anthea responded the kiss. She didn't need him to say it. Like he didn't need her to say it aloud. It was not "just" love that tied them together. It was a deep and unconditional trust.
She rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes already closed from exhaustion.
Sherlock kissed her temple and hold her close, one hand covering hers. He listened to her breathing that slowly became deeper and calmer. It was enough for him; this little reassurance that she was there and trusted him. That he wasn't alone and never would be.