He gave John another kiss, this one on his forehead. "I love you." His voice hung just above a whisper, something for just the two of them to hear.
"I love you too, Sherlock Holmes."
This was perfect. The two of them tangled together in the mid afternoon. Even better than the sex, it was intimate and romantic. Two things Sherlock never saw himself enjoying. Not until he met John. It took a few years, yes, but eventually John returned his feelings, and now everything was perfect.
John unfolded himself from Sherlock's arms "I'll put the kettle on."
He responded with a nod, folding himself into the fetal position and pulling a blanket around himself. "I'll be there in a bit."
He lay like that for a long while, asking himself over and over again how he managed to get John to fall in love with him. He sure as hell didn't deserve it. John was so fantastic for the genius, he knew what to do to calm him down after a case, knew how to make him laugh and cry and scream. he could read Sherlock like no one had before, and Sherlock knew just how lucky he was to have him. It was almost like fate, if Sherlock believed in that sort of thing.
A light shake to his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts, only instead of his boyfriend standing by the bed with a cup of tea, it was his brother holding his umbrella. "We need to talk, Sherlock." He said in his typical political voice. "I suggest you put some clothes on and we can go to my office."
"No."
Mycroft sighed, "I'm afraid this isn't something that you can just blow off, brother dearest."
Sherlock turned and buried his face in the pillow, inhaling the scent of his love. "John and I have plans. You're going to have to reschedule."
The older brother let out a frustrated sigh. "You're going to have to cancel."
They sat across from each other, the first minute passing in silence, until Sherlock cleared his throat. "If you could get on with this, I would like to get back to my boyfriend."
"Yes, John Watson. Exactly what we're here to talk about." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, interest clearly struck. "I understand that this will come as a shock to you, but your boyfriend is a hallucination." He broached the topic smoothly. No compassion in his words. "Drug based, we assume." Sherlock let out a laugh and Mycroft held out a finger to silence him. "We humoured you at first, the drug use had started slowing down and we assumed it would go away. But when you quit using, and John stuck around, well, frankly, we're worried about you."
"You honestly expect me to believe this? I thought you were above that." He stood and pushed his chair back in, "You're not as clever as you think you are, Mycroft."
"You don't have to believe me, Sherlock, but I know what's best for you. You're going to be put in a psychiatric home until you've come to terms with this."
With a laugh, sherlock shook his head. "I don't think I am."
But of course Mycroft holmes always got his way.
-
"Sherlock.." His therapist spoke in a slow, calm voice, despite the frustration she held in her eyes, "You've been with us for months. I think it might be time for you to start understanding that-"
"No." He interrupted. "Stop. I don't care."
"Look," She sighed, "I know this is hard but you're going to have to deal with it eventually."
"Hard? No- this isn't hard. This is fucking unbearable. John is the love of my life. I know he's real- he has to be. He isn't just some imaginary friend." Tears ran down his cheek bones that seemed to go unnoticed.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but it is." she jotted something down as she spoke, something Sherlock might have read had his vision not been slurred with unwanted tears.
"No. I'm not going to lose him. He's all I have you- You can't take him away from me." He blinked his eyes, his soldier appearing behind his eyelids. Breathing was becoming hard now, sobs trying to heave their way out of his chest. With a strained breath, he whispered, "I love him."
"You can't love something that isn't real, Mr. Holmes."
He shook his head. "You don't know that."
A week later, he was released. Mycroft dropped him off outside of his flat. "Are you sure you want to stay there?" He remembered the therapist mentioning that it may be a negative environment for him. "I could rent you a hotel room, and I've got extra bedrooms as well."
Sherlock gave a silent nod and climbed out of the car, the cold of a London winter biting him immediately. His fingers shook as he turned the door knob. When he had climbed the stairs and stepped into the flat, he realized why Mycroft had offered to let him stay somewhere else. John was gone. He wasn't there to greet him like he always had, his coat no longer hung on the rack, and the smell was gone. His mind really had tricked him.
He tried with everything in him not to cry, but it didn't work. Tears rolled off of his chin as he looked around at his empty flat. He wanted John back, his dark eyes and his strong shoulders. The freckle to the right of his navel. He loved him so much.
But John Watson was never real.