He's broken, and John doesn't know what in the world to do. He's obviously been back on drugs, his hands shake, he sweats like the world is a sauna, his chest is tense, and when John puts his hand on his chest, his heart is beating a roller-coaster pace. Right now Sherlock is lying on the couch, sleeping (which he never does) breathing and shuddering like he's having a nightmare. John would hate to wake him up, it's been so hard for him to sleep, but nightmares don't need to be had. John sits down at his feet and gently rubs his thumb over his foot. Sherlock's body freezes up for a second before he violently sits up, and he clings to John like a kindergartener scared of their first day of school.

"Shhh..." John says impulsively, and kisses him on the forehead. It's been years since his lips have touched his Sherlock and his body begins shuddering almost worse then Sherlock's. They sit there just clinging to each other, praying it's all going to get better, and remembering the times with each other that were much more of a adventure. Crazy cabby's and circuses, bombers and girls, mutated animals and the morgue. John remembers watching Sherlock fall and holds him tighter. He can't loose him again, not after he's just come home. He can't spend anymore of his life seeing him everywhere he went and knowing it can't possibly be him, because he was dead. Now he's back, but barely. John feels he is actually trying to bring Sherlock back from the dead. If only he had arrived collapsed on the steps of 221B sooner. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

"Missed you," whispers Sherlock.

"Me too," says John, his hand finding its way over Sherlock's heart. It has to be painful to have your heart beating so fast.

"You and Mary..."

"Yes."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"More then anyone else?"

John smiles, "Almost."

"I knew that."

"Sure you did."

Sherlock coughs. How did he go from jumping from rooftop to rooftop to a heap of bones clinging to John for dear life? Well, for whatever life was still left in him.

"You need to rest," says John, but he doesn't let go.

"Yes, but that's not what's going to happen. You're going to kiss me. That's what's really going to happen," says Sherlock, as they turn towards each other and John's left hand entangles with Sherlock's right.

"Why do you have to be such a smart-ass?"

"It's what you love about me."

"I'm getting married."

"You don't really care. You'll still come to me if you want a good fuck."

"That's not the only reason I care about you Sherlock."

"I know. I'm a pretty damn good kisser, too."

John kisses Sherlock. His Sherlock for the first time in years. He did love Mary, but it would never compare to this. No one could replace Sherlock.

If anyone had tried to guess which one was going though withdrawal, I don't think anyone would have been able to tell. They were both pretty much in the same shaken state.

"God Sherlock, you have no clue what you do to me. You have no clue what it was like, thinking you were dead for years... And you just show up like that... If you would have been better, I would have punched you."

"I would have expected that."

"You wouldn't have expected how hard."

"I of all people know how rough you would be in any situation."

"Any situation?"

"I promise, any situation."

Sherlock settles down again into John's lap and John fondles Sherlock's wonderful black curls till he seems to fall back asleep. Half of him wouldn't move for the world, but the other half is terrified someone's going to walk though the door and see the two of them like this. He can't risk messing things up with Mary... Or can he? Being in a relationship with Sherlock could mess with so much in his life, not to mention how unstable his lifestyle is. He wouldn't call it settling down to say the least. No, Mary was a healthier relationship for him, no matter how much he might love Sherlock, it could never work. At least... It'd be incredibly awkward. Sherlock may of had problems with cocaine, but John's drug of choice was Sherlock. He was addicted, and he had finally gotten his hands on the drug again. What was difficult was he had no one to tell him not to take it.

So he just did what any addict would do and stayed there stroking Sherlock's hair, no matter the consequences.