A/N

It was 3 am and I was on a Sherlock binge on and this happened. It sucks, I know, but I haven't written fanfic in years. I say it's just a warm up story. No Spoilers. I don't own any of these characters, except Mitch. Mitch is mine. Don't touch Mitch.

Caution: Implied drug use, depression, angsty-ness out the wazoo, eventual slash, and an american trying hard not to sound canadian.

What have I become,

my sweetest friend?

everyone I know

goes away

in the end...

- Hurt by Nine Inch Nails

Chapter 1, Down the road the demon walked.

Sherlock Holmes is a lonely man. He'll never admit it, of course, but he is. Dreadfully so. On the outside he is his usually strange self, solving puzzles in seconds that no normal person could in hours, fixing problems in a single sentence, starting them in single glances. Setting fire to the souls and kitchens of women all over London and beyond. He keeps himself occupied as constantly as possible, more so now than before. Everyone around him mostly came to the conclusion that he was just more bored than usual because now he didn't have John to occupy that extra bit of his brain. Truthfully though, it was just a distraction. Truthfully, if he didn't keep distracted, John would occupy all of his brain. Truthfully, if he didn't keep busy with himself, he felt the gaping hole left in his chest after John Watson left, taking with him the other half of his life, and if he believed in such things, soul, would make him collapse in on himself and explode all at the same time. Sherlock Holmes is a sad man.

On the 4th of January, approximately four months after Dr. John H. Watson packed up his things and silently exited 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes was bored. He was bored and he was thinking of John again, as he walked down the darkened streets of his city. He was remembering a particular time in which he and John had been chasing after yet another serial killer on the far side of town over rooftops after a heavy rain. John was only a few paces behind him when he lost his footing. Sherlock heard Johns body hit the tin roofing with a thick thud, making the metal ring. Sherlock was turned around in seconds, not missing a step in his long stride, grabbing the sliding army doctor by the arms just before he fell to what would've been a rather painful death several stories below. He had him on his feet before the tin roof stopped ringing, standing there in the drizzling clouds, holding John and watching him. John was clinging tightly to the detective while gaping at the fall and obvious pain he would have endured if Sherlock had been just a few seconds later. Sure, they had saved each others lives countless times, Sherlock's life more than that, but that didn't mean you stopped freaking out over it.

"Are you alright John?" Sherlock asked after a few seconds.

"Yeah..yeah I'm alright. I think.. Uh, thanks." John's mind started ticking again and he became strongly aware of how close he was to the tall man. He pulled back and looked in the direction the criminal had run.

"We should probably go after him before he gets to far ahead."

Sherlock looked in the same direction and nodded. "Yes, we should." He said as he sprinted off into the distance, John trailing behind him like a flag.

They never did catch him.

Back in present day, Sherlock was just rounding the corner next to an obnoxiously over-lit pub. The cold winter night chilled his pale skin, which seemed to glow in the florescent shadows. He walked another few yards in his nostalgic silence before he reached his point of interest. At the end of the large brick building which housed the drunken citizens was a rather inconspicuous looking man. He seemed to blend into the bland gray bricks so well, with his dark cloths and hidden face, that you would hardly notice him unless he moved exceedingly. His stillness proved to Sherlock that not being seen was exactly his purpose. Then again, he knew that already. What man in his line of business would want to be seen?

Sherlock walked up to him like he did to anyone of use. The man lifted his head when noticing he was being approached, while still avoiding eye contact with the very white and very strange looking man. Sherlock stopped about a foot away, drawing his hands out of his pockets. He held something clenched in his right fist, but the other was outstretched in greeting. Sherlock smiled;

"Hello Mitch. It's been a while."

The shorter man finally looked Sherlock full in the face and grinned, shaking his hand firmly.

"Sherlock! It certainly has been a while. How you been, mate? Heard you were working for the police now. You're not here to bust your old pal Mitch now are you?" He laughed and pulled his hands back.

Easier to grab his gun in case I am here to bust him.

Sherlock laughed too. "No, no, nothing like that. Only murders and such for me. Though I do need something from you, if you don't mind."

"Not at all my good friend, not at all. What can I get for my favorite consulting detective, eh?"

"Remember when I came back from Berlin?"

Mitch winced dramatically. "Bad week, eh?"

"Bad year."

Mitch reached into his bag, leaned against the wall. "I got what you need, don't worry." He turned back and handed Sherlock a plain envelope.

Sherlock took the envelope and deposited it within the confines of his coat pocket. He loosened his clenched hands and handed Mitch what he held, a colorful wad of money. Mitch pushed his hand back.

" It's on the house. After what you did for me and my brother, I owe you."

Sherlock retracted his hand. "It was no problem at all really, just a simple observation. Thank you though."

"No problem. Come back anytime."

With that Sherlock left down the ally, his pocket weighted down with guilt, his mind drifting in the haze of London.

Thanks for reading! Please review! It really helps me improve. Chapter 2 should be up now, and I'll be updating on Fridays if possible.

I Love You All!

SOKO