So I've decided to continue with this, at least for the time being.

Hope you all enjoy!

Sherlock sank down on the bed next to Lestrade, flipping through the photos with slightly trembling hands. He stopped at a particularly candid shot of the mystery boy, a smile ghosting across his lips, but his eyes remained sad. Not meeting Lestrade's eye, choosing to focus on the stack of photos in his lap, Sherlock began.

"John Watson. He was my best friend, my only one really. You can imagine I wasn't very well liked...We meet in school, when we were both seventeen. He was new, and for some reason, he just...wanted to be my friend. He thought I was brilliant, even though nobody else though so. Everyone hated me except for him. But having him...made everything okay. He helped me deal with the...self-harming, and the drugs the first time around. I was better with him around than I have ever been. His family became like my own, I'd never had a very good one, and I was at their home constantly. Eventually, we went to uni together...but when he graduated, he decided to enlist in the military. I'd know the entire life of our friendship that that's what he wanted to do, but that doesn't mean I was prepared to say goodbye to him, I could never have been. When he left...I promised I would be okay. I promised I wouldn't turn back to drugs or anything else, that I would get help if I even thought about it. I managed for a while, we talked all the time and wrote to each other, it just wasn't the same, not having him there...but eventually, well, you know how I ended up. A pathetic junkie living on the streets. I was so ashamed of not keeping my promise...so I stopped talking to him, and I haven't heard from him in years."

Lestrade stared at Sherlock, absolutely dumbfounded. He'd never even heard a mention of an old friend of Sherlock's, had never even imagined that he'd ever had one. Come to think of it, he really didn't know much about the young man next to him. He'd had no idea about the self-harming, or the fact that he'd used drugs in the past, before they'd met.

"Have you ever thought about contacting him again?", Lestrade questioned.

Sherlock nodded slowly, "Yes. There have been several times in the past few years that I've considered it all...going to my brother for help, getting clean again, finding a place to live and a job somewhere. But before I started, I just would jus get this...nagging...thought in the back of my mind. What if he died and I never even knew? Would it even be worth it, getting clean, going through all that, when the only person out there who matters was gone. And what if he hated me for what I did? What if he could never forgive me? Not knowing how he felt, or where he was, was always better than him hating me, so I never did anything."

"Thanks for sharing with me, and please know that I'll always be here for you if you want to try again. I really think you should, if not for him, for yourself. I hate seeing such an incredible mind wasted, and if these drugs busts have to keep going on, I won't be able to give you cases, and I know how much they mean too you and how many people you've saved and given peace. So what do you say?"

Making eye contact with Lestrade for the first time in their conversation, Sherlock stared at Lestrade for a few minutes before letting out a deep breath and nodding. He got up, and crossed the room, shoving the wardrobe out of the way, revealing a hollowed out hole in the wall. He removed a small box, and handed it to Lestrade.

He hesitated slightly before whispering "Just get rid of it..."

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Thanks for reading, and I hope to update soon!