A/N : This one is for Elixir BB, who was kind enough to dedicate her story 'The birth and death of the day' to me. Thank you so much and I hope you like this weird story that I managed to put together! The idea has been in the recesses of my brain for a long time and I have MorbidByDefault to thank for some really brilliant ideas :) I love you both so much!

It is a bit different from the usual stuff and I really hope I do justice to Sherlock's POV! It really scares me to write stuff from his POV because I'm absolutely nowhere as intelligent as him.

So here goes!

Disclaimer : Not mine. One more thing, I don't smoke and I think it's a disgusting habit.

Listen to : Never Say Never by The Fray or Clocks by ColdPlay.

Eyes closed, he leaned against the old lamp post, awaiting yet another sleepless night. It had been three days since he had allowed himself the comfort of a bed but he's too high to even care. Sleep was nothing but another mundane necessity and he was definitely not going to succumb until it became absolutely indispensable. The dealer had left with him the promised items, the only stuff except for nicotine that would enable him to break free of the tedium of academics. He was in his final year at the University and the dismay in the eyes of his professors was evident and expected. To see such a brilliant student drown in the unpleasant world of drug addiction was disheartening for them but he had foreseen it just after a few months at Uni. The syllabus was monotonous and his peers were just dull. An escape into narcotics was inevitable.

A sudden wave of the frigid winter wind swept over him, bringing with it an inexplicable desire for nicotine. After all, it had been more than a month since he had felt the gratifying smoke fill up his lungs and his longing had only increased with everyday.

As he stood outside the dingy pub with the loud music hammering over his eardrums, he saw the exact object that he craved at the moment. Well, his vision was very hazy but he could recognise the orange glow but only faintly see the petite figure holding the cigarette between her lips. She was positively tiny and if her face hadn't betrayed her age, he would have thought that she wasn't even an adult. A black leather miniskirt with metal fastenings, thick black woollen stockings, a bomber's jacket (too large for her, perhaps her brother's) and a neon green top made up her attire and she shivered, before taking in a long drag and blowing little clouds of blue smoke in the air surrounding her.

He stumbled over to her and she jumped, evidently startled at the sight of him appearing so suddenly from the shadows. Or maybe she was just lost in her own world. Either way, he didn't care. What he wanted was right in front of him and he extended his hand, asking in his gentlest voice, 'May I?'.

She hesitated a little before dropping the lit cigarette into his hand and in a fraction of a second it was at his lips. He took a deep drag, revelling in the warmth that spread through his lungs, ignoring the way the girl's eyes swept over him again and again, the confusion in them turning into absolute panic.

The dealer's warning to not combine the drug with either alcohol or tobacco rushed to his mind as suddenly as the bile rushed to his throat and he promptly threw up on the footpath, only to pass out seconds later, but not before hearing the girl's terrified yells.

When his eyes finally opened, he found himself staring at the pristine white walls of what could only be a hospital room. More particularly, a room in a de addiction hospital. Rehab. Not again!

With a groan, he sat up, only to see his older brother glaring at him with an expression that clearly said What on earth were you thinking?

After explaining the rules for the next few months ( they were stricter this time because this time he had almost killed himself) Mycroft stood up to leave.

'I hope you realise the gravity of the situation. I'm not going to let you relapse this time. I won't lose my brother for the sole reason that the humdrum of your banal life as a university student is too much for you to bear. You have one more year left but try to stay alive at least for your family if not for yourself. Thank your stars that the girl found you and immediately called for an ambulance. I'll see you when you're ready to be discharged. Good Bye then' he said before shutting the door quietly.

He fell asleep soon after and his last thought was about the petite girl, wondering what she had done after the ambulance had taken his responsibility off her shoulders.

The next time he saw her was under far better circumstances than that fateful night. He was finally clean and had resolved never to give in to the temptation again. She was the new pathologist at St. Bart's and one glance at her told him all he needed and didn't need to know, including the fact that she had recognised him at once. He gave no indication of the fact that he had recognised her too, brushing her away, thinking that she was nothing but a person necessary to please in order to have his experiments proceed unhindered and his cases solved without a hitch. A little smile here, a fleeting compliment there and she was in his pocket. All this, until Jim Moriarty came along.

At a time when all seemed lost, help came to him from an unlikely source. His only friends being targeted by the vile criminal mastermind had left him with no one to confide his plan to. Of course, he couldn't work alone and desperately needed help but asking his brother was out of the question, even when it was a matter of life and death. Sibling rivalry and childhood animosity aside, this was the very brother who had traded him to the enemy, all for a computer code. Ergo, Mycroft was not to be trusted.

Three simple words was all it took to bring him to his senses.

I don't count.

At that moment he truly realised that he wasn't alone, that he had never been alone. She had always been there right next to him, albeit in the shadows. He was reluctant to admit it to himself but he knew that she was really mistaken. He had owed her his life since his last stint at rehab. He had never forgotten that. Thankfully, Moriarty had assumed otherwise and the devil's mistake had turned out to be his trump card.

He lay down on her couch that night, ready for a full night's sleep because things had gone exactly according to the plan. It hurt to see John's broken condition, Mrs. Hudson's endless tears and Greg's inner turmoil carefully shielded by the composed exterior but it had been necessary.

Sleep evaded him for an hour before finally enveloping him in its gentle arms but till then, his thoughts revolved only around the woman sleeping in the bedroom and how she had saved his life a second time.

The tracking down of the extensive criminal network took a long time but one loose end brought him back to London. Sebastian Moran, the unofficial successor to the criminal empire was proving extremely difficult to apprehend since he still led the life of an honourable soldier, deceiving the unsuspecting public openly, who had not the faintest idea of his illicit activities.

The chance to catch him red-handed finally arrived with the celebrated solicitor Ronald Adair being murdered in his own room. One look at the crime scene and he had known instantly that it was Moran's work. The room had been locked from inside and yet the victim had been shot in the forehead.

Moran had been working as a sniper for more than fifteen years now and soft revolver bullets were his speciality that he, in all his foolhardiness, had allowed to become his signature. John was still unaware of his best friend still being alive but Moran knew very well whom he was dealing with. The fact that his antagonist had managed to escape death when his own master (one whose intelligence he held in the highest regard ) had not managed to, itself spoke volumes of the man's genius. Single handedly, he had annihilated the whole network that had taken his master ages to build.

The only solution that presented itself to Moran was to get rid of the detective before he took away his freedom as well. If the rumours were to be believed, then the detective was back in London and Moran needed to act and that too, fast.

Not having John accompany him on this case was something he really lamented but at the moment the best substitute was standing next to him quietly as they waited for Moran to strike. Mrs. Hudson being out of town had resulted in avoiding a confrontation that was imprudent at such a crucial time. John didn't live at Baker Street any more and hence the wax bust was sitting comfortably and undisturbed, in his own armchair. It was perfect enough to deceive a man with an average intellect and he expected it to deceive Moran too.

What he didn't expect was Moran using the same flat as them to take aim and shoot what he thought was the detective's head. The sound of the shot was subdued by a long silencer attached to his rifle and Moran jumped a foot in surprise as the said detective sprang on him like a tiger as soon as the shot was fired.

An intense scuffle followed by the end of which he found his throat being squeezed hard by Moran. The man was much more strongly built than him and he knew that the game was up when he started seeing stars and everything started going black... until yet another silent shot rang through the room.

When his vision finally cleared, he saw his companion clutching Moran's rifle and the man himself lying in a pool of blood, unconscious but alive. It was a shoulder wound and the bleeding itself would have been enough to kill him.

When the police arrived at the scene, Greg nearly tackled him to the floor as he fiercely embraced him as he thanked every God aloud for keeping him alive.

Of course, the real reason why he was still alive was standing shyly in a corner but he wasn't going to reveal that to anyone as of now.

Moran was taken to the hospital and later would be taken to prison.

His work was finally complete.

This would be the last night he would spend at her home because tomorrow, he would be back at 221B with John at his side. He was exhilarated at the thought but he also knew how it would make her feel.

The barely audible sobs emanating from her room were evidence of that.

A/n : This was going to be a one shot but then it would have been too long. So it's a two shot instead :)

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Lots of Love

Aditi xoxoxo