Laughter

I had walked for so long that I lost track of all of my surroundings, thoughts and emotions. I had hit a brick wall, a mental block. I had to go back. I didn't know why I needed to, I just had a horrible ache in my chest, worry and anguish collided together so hard it shook my body, every nerve tingling with such passionate emotion. An emotion that suprised me. No matter what happens, I know the real Sherlock. My roommate. My bestfriend. The man I l-

"No. Just..no." I shook myself, pushing the thoughts away.

I looked about me, trying to gain some sort of indication of where I was, but none was found. I was surrounded by grey victorian style, back to back houses. Each house was impersonal yet thrusted against another, like prisoners in a crowded cell. I could see no-one, no cars, no life. I thrust my hand into my pocket, digging out my scratched phone. I typed in the number I had grown so familiar with, a concoction of happiness and anxiety brimmed within me. It began to ring.

"John." Sherlock simply stated.

I hesitated.

"Sherlock, are you still at home?"

We both didn't speak for moments. I had called it home. For the first time in just under a year, I had been able to address 221B with its proper title and I knew why I were able to. It's the life which resides within that truly makes a home, which creates such a beautiful atmosphere that you feel completely at ease in, and it was that arrogant, brilliant man who made it a home. I could feel my cheeks flushing with colour in embarassment. Perhaps this was what took Sherlock so long to answer, because he knew exactly how I feel. Bit not good.

"What do you need John?" he said carefully.

"My phone number is linked to a GPS, go on the site the woman from A Study in Pink was on."

It took him a mere couple of seconds to follow my vague instructions.

"It can't find you John." I rolled my eyes, bloody technology. I had a flashback of an argument I had once had with a chip and pin machine. I chuckled to myself and there was silence on the other end of the phone. I heard a slight scuffle of feet behind me and as I turned- it went black.

My eyes flickered, intense brightness blocking my vision and forcing them shut again. Eventually, I managed it. As my eyes focused and my surroundings were clear, I looked about me, still dazed. I was in 221B. That was clear enough. I was perched on the sofa, I scanned the wall behind me, the same yellow spray-painted smiley face stared at me. Definitely 221B but I couldn't push away the feeling that something was not normal. An emotionally corrupted ex-army soldier and doctor with a psychosematic limp who seeks the thrill of war and so finds that thrill with his recently-deceased but not actually deceased sociopathic flatmate and bestfriend who he moved in with after meeting just briefly, okay maybe it's not that far that normality can stretch in this house. I chuckled to myself, sounding almost drunk. Wait, drunk? I looked about me again and chuckled again. My brain and my body weren't communicating properly, why I found this amusing, I couldn't say but apparently I felt like laughing. So I laughed, over and over until my stomach hurt.

"John, what are you lau-?"

Before I could attempt to order myself, I had clambered off the sofa and stumbled towards the tall detective, who was stood at the frame of the kitchen. He seemed puzzled, scanning me up and down, trying to detect what was wrong with me. Truthfully, he wanted to bloody hurry up because I was keen to know myself.

"Shhherlock" I said, sounding a little childish.

"John."

"I donds know whaz wrong with meee Sherlo, I n-need your help" I slurred, swaying as I tried to keep myself steady while I stood infront of him.

A small flicker of triumph appeared on his face. Annoying dick. He's walked back into my life after sending me through hell and back and now he's got that smug look on his face. I'll bloody show him.

"Wipe that bloody lo-look, off yo' face Sher-"

Then I passed out at his feet with a loud thud. Brilliant.