A/N I decided to combine two of my passions: Musical Theatre and Sherlock! I will write fics based on songs from all of Musical theatre.

This can only come to life if you all help me out! Is there a song/aria/whatever that you think relates to Sherlock? Please, give me a promt and I'll write a oneshot about it!

This first one is set during the Empty Hearse

On my Own (Les Miserables)

Sherlock woke up in terror. The sweaty sheets clung to him. He shivered.

He had been dreaming of his exile. Of course he had. It was rare these days not to.

He fought with his tears, the burden of his memories proving too much for him.

"You really are a drama queen, aren't you?"

John was there, standing in his room, ready to aid him.

"What?"

"I fought in a war and saw my friends die. Did you?"

Sherlock let out a shaky breath. John's presence was calming him.

"No. I didn't. But one can rarely control one's dreams, John-"

He suddenly went quiet. John wasn't there anymore. Of course he wasn't. He lived with Mary now.

Sherlock sighed and fell asleep again. In the morning, he would be blissfully unaware of the nightmares that came to him for a second time that night.

"Sherlock, there is a case you might find interesting," said Lestrade.

He stood in Sherlock's living room and tried to secretly study the man. He seemed tired, thin and pale. His previous enthusiasm to solve crimes and his arrogance had been greatly subdued since his return. Instead, he pretended to be happy, even normal, a great deal. It was unnerving, but he opted to say none of that out loud.

"Oh. What is it?", asked Sherlock. He felt quite dreadful but Lestrade didn't seem to notice. Usually, he'd have felt proud for his stoicism but the feeling mingled with something else. A need to reach out. The picture of Greg and John being there and watching him until he falls asleep, making sure to wake him whenever a nightmare rears its ugly head, the picture of Mary or Mycroft preparing tea for him and soothing him when a flashback assails him - all these pictures suddenly hit him and made him want to cry. None of that was ever going to happen, obviously. He was alone.

In his distraction, he missed everything that Lestrade had to tell him about the case.

"Could you repeat that?", he asked Lestrade who apparently was in the middle of a sentence.

"...uh, we closed the building off? Come on, don't tell me that's already some sort of mistake because our murderer loves trains for some reason and will-"

"No. From the beginning, please. It wasn't a mistake to close off a crime scene," Sherlock said, trying to sound impatient and superior as usual.

It turned out to be medium interesting, Sherlock solved it within a day. Of course, had he not been hearing John's voice or some flashbacks that he had to hide, he'd have needed one look at the crime scene to tell what had happened.

"John mate, he needs you." Lestrade and John were out for a pint of beer.

"He didn't need me for two years," John answered. The "but I needed him and he didn't care" was hanging between them with a heavy air.

John felt like there was a limb missing, he had had the feeling for two years, but he just wasn't ready to forgive Sherlock. That guy was the definition of independent and egoistical, he could get along on his own, right?

It wasn't until later that John found out that the very opposite was true.

Please review they keep lazy me writing :)