Hello, this little oneshot was to get rid of the writers block i have on my other story. (Nimphidelle I know you are reading this you don't watch sherlock this will make no sense.) this is really odd and kinda sad at the end. ENJOY!
Also, I don't own Sherlock, John or the marvellous show that Moffat and Gattiss created.
They are both addicted to something, both searching for a fix.
(Remember Redbeard sherlock.)
Sherlock realized his predicament after a particularly difficult case involving disappearing college students. He was no longer itching for a fix, well, he was, but he was no longer addicted to drugs. He was addicted to something far better and far, far worse. Something dangerous. Something that included sentiment. Feelings. That horrible stirring in the pit of his stomach.
(Caring is not an advantage.)
Sherlock Holmes was defiantly addicted. He couldn't get enough, always wanting more.
(The universe is rarely so lazy.)
Sherlock was addicted to Dr. John Watson, to everything about him and everything he did, he had never wanted to leave the man, it was an addiction, most defiantly.
(Self deductions were always the hardest to realize.)
And John, he was addicted to danger, and more specifically, a tall, curly-haired danger named Sherlock Holmes. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about that man. It was pointless to tell himself that he was fine, he wasn't an adrenalin junkie.
(Deduce this, Sherlock.)
And so it wasn't a surprise that they ended up side by side in a cemetery plot, no longer addicted, but very, very dead.
AN- well that turned out gayer than I originally planned. Maybe this is johnlock. I don't really know. I wasn't in a very good mood and this is what happened.
-Emma