As the cab pulled up to the address, John handed the driver what was owed and stepped out. He reached into his coat pocket for the key to the flat before the realization that he no longer had one struck him.
John paused for a moment and wondered why he hadn't kept it. He then remembered that Sherlock had asked for it back when he was still "dating" Janine. John felt a slight pang of jealousy. Sherlock had so easily given her full access to his life without so much as a second thought. Of course, John knew it had all been a front for a case, but he couldn't help and think that being allowed into Sherlock's word was a special gift. It was a gift that had to be earned, just as John himself had earned it. But, for her, Sherlock had just given it away.
John stepped back from the door and began to wonder why he had even come. It was becoming obvious the Sherlock had simply moved on and didn't need John anymore. Was he just trying to restart a friendship, a relationship that may have already been dead? No, it just couldn't be. John wiped all the doubts from his mind. Of course he and Sherlock were still friends; best friends. John did not need to start questioning this relationship too. Not when every other one in his life was practically falling apart. John took in a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Mrs. Hudson answered after a brief moment. Her face was long, but upon seeing John she lit right up.
"Oh, John!" She exclaimed as she reached out and gave him a tight hug.
"It's great to see you, Mrs. Hudson." Chuckled John as he smiled and embraced her back.
"You too, John. You too." She replied before ushering him off the street and up the stairs. "I'd been hoping that you would show up. I was starting to think you weren't getting any of my messages."
"What messages?" uttered John in confusion with a cock of his head.
Mrs. Hudson stopped in her tracks and stared at John before answering John in a grave tone.
"The messages about Sherlock. The message I left for you with Mary. Isn't that why you are here?" She insisted.
John's stomach knotted and clinched with anger. Mary had been keeping messages from him. About Sherlock of all people at that. But the anger was quickly replaced with fear at the realization that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have actually called John unless something was wrong.
"No. I didn't get them." John began. "I had just come for a visit. Why? Is there something the matter?"
Mrs. Hudson sighed and resumed climbing the stairs, John close behind.
"He hasn't been doing well, dear. I don't know what to do anymore. He won't eat or sleep. The tea I bring him every morning goes untouched. I don't think he has even left the flat since he got back. He's even worse than…" She paused and glanced back at John over her shoulder.
She didn't have to finish. John already knew she meant when he had moved out. When he had left Sherlock. And that also meant…
"You don't think he is using again, do you?" John asked as worry crept over him.
"I am almost certain of it." Mrs. Hudson said with a solemn nod. "He's a complete mess. But, of course, he would never admit it."
They stopped at Sherlock's door. Mrs. Hudson turned to John and rubbed his arm.
"I'm sure you can help him. He'll listen to you." She said while forcing a smile before walking back down to her flat.
John let out a soft sigh. He was hoping that Mrs. Hudson was wrong and that Sherlock was just a little depressed or perhaps busy with a case. Sherlock just wasn't himself when he was high. Everything that John loved about Sherlock -his mind, his wit, his curiosity- completely disappeared, leaving behind a shell of a man with only his anger and bitterness to comfort him. It'd be far from a pleasant visit if Sherlock were indeed in that state.
With hesitation, john opened the door and surveyed the scene in front of him. Dirty clothes, dirty dishes and various pieces of chemistry equipment were strewn everywhere. Sherlock had always been messy, but usually there was some form of order to the chaos around him. There was none here. The only part of the room that seemed even slightly organized, was the wall above the couch. Sherlock had created a board, as it were, dedicated to Moriarty. It mapped out all of his various associates, places he might hideout, and what his next move could possibly be. However, it didn't look like it had been touched in weeks. A thick layer of dust had begun to form around most of the pictures and maps, as well as the strings on thumbtacks that connected everything together.
A below it all laid Sherlock, clothed only in his robe and a dirty white undershirt, his eyes closed. He certainly didn't look good. His skin was paler than usual and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced and exaggerated than John had ever seen them. Sherlock also looked as if he had lost some weight, if that was possible on his already pencil thin frame. John approached him slowly, as to not wake him.
"Not so loud, John." Sherlock's voice rang out from the almost corpse like body under the make shift board.
John jumped, startled by the voice, hitting his leg on the coffee table and knocking off the full ashtray that was on it. If he hadn't been making noise before, he certainly was now. John cursed and rubbed his knee while bending over to pick up the fallen cigarette butts.
"I said, 'Not so loud, John'. Does that miserable excuse for a thing you call a brain no longer comprehend the good Queen's English?" Sherlock said, as his eyes opened and he rubbed his temples, slowly sitting up on the couch.
John placed the ashtray back on the table, as he looked Sherlock up and down. A rush of relief swept through John's body. Sherlock was not high. If anything, he was coming down. Sherlock would be extremely grumpy and agitated, but at least he would be himself.
"Of course!" John shouted before reassessing his tone. "Of course I heard you, you twat. You scared the hell out of me, you know. I thought you were asleep."
Sherlock swiftly rose from the couch and walked towards his violin that was lying on the floor.
"You should know better of me than to waste my time with sleep, dear Watson." Sherlock shot back wistfully as he began to play a slow, melancholy tune.
John put his hands into his pockets and walked over to Sherlock with a stern look in his eye. Sherlock would not be getting off so easily.
"But you have time enough to get high. Is that it?" interrogated John.
Sherlock paused. His eyes flicked towards John in cold manor before resuming the melody. John ignored the look and walked up closer to him. Sherlock replied by turning his back to John as he approached.
"Sherlock! What's going on?" John gasped in desperation. "I haven't heard from you since you got back and I half expected you to be dead when I walked in here! Haven't you got any of my texts?"
Sherlock stopped playing abruptly and turned to face John.
"Of course I got them. I figured you would be busy with Mary and preparations for the baby. Mary's due in a week, is she not?" Sherlock replied in his familiar calculating, near robotic tone.
"Yeah…" said John with a sign and a nod as he let his eyes drop to the floor. "I mean, I think so. I haven't really been keeping track, I guess."
He looked back up at Sherlock only to be met with an expression he knew all too well. Sherlock was analyzing him.
"You don't… seem…" Sherlock began slowly with a bit of a frown.
"Happy?" laughed John. "Yeah. I realize that."
John turned away and walked towards the kitchen in hopes to find a clean kettle and a few tea bags. Sherlock set his violin down and followed after him.
"Why is that? I thought you and Mary had worked everything out." Sherlock inquired earnestly.
"It's not that simple, Sherlock." snorted John as he continued to search through the cabinets. "Yes, I forgave her. Sure, we moved on. But that doesn't mean that for an instance I'm not still deeply hurt. It doesn't mean that everything magically goes back together. That just isn't how things work!"
"It did with us." Sherlock offered sincerely.
John closed a cabinet door and turned around at those words, shocked to find Sherlock directly behind him.
"Uh, what exactly do you mean?" said John.
Sherlock studied John's face for a moment before he spoke.
"Well." He began. "After I rose from the dead for instance. It may have taken you a little while, but eventually, you forgave me and everything went back to normal. Well, as normal as normal ever is for us. You didn't seem hurt or angry still. You let it go"
"That's because I wasn't hurt or angry anymore." answered John quickly before realizing this wasn't a conversation he was prepared to have right now.
"But why? What's different?" asked Sherlock as he moved closer to John, still studying him.
John pushed past Sherlock, walking out of the kitchen and began to pick up bits of trash from the floor. He was beginning to feel anxious and confused. What was different? His stomach sunk. He knew the answer, but he refused to admit it; not even to himself.
"Because our relationship is not romantic? Is that it?" Sherlock asked inquisitively from behind John.
John spun around to meet Sherlock's gaze head on.
"No! Romance has nothing to do with it." John said trying to assure himself as much as he was Sherlock. "It's just… different…"
"How? What is it that makes it so easy for you to forgive me, yet so hard for you to forgive her?" probed Sherlock.
"I don't know!" exclaimed John throwing his hands up in the air.
"You're lying, John. You do know the answer. I can see that much. Why won't you tell me?" Sherlock asked curiously, unfazed by John 's outburst.
"Why? Does it even matter? Why do you even care?" John pleaded.
"Just say it, John. Whatever it is, just say it, for Christ's sake!" retorted Sherlock.
"It's different because I'm in love with you, Sherlock!" John shouted so loud he thought he might go deaf.
"You're… in love with me?" Sherlock muttered as he looked away analyzing the missing piece of the puzzle.
"Yes! Of course I am!" John let out a sharp, but nervous laugh. "I've been in love with you from the very moment I met you, Sherlock. For all of your deductive abilities, you couldn't see that?"
"You know I tend to not be go with… emotions." Sherlock replied as his brow furrowed.
"Oh, that's right!" laughed John sarcastically. "Ever the sociopath, how could I forget?! How could I be so stupid? Are you happy now?"
"Does this mean that you don't love Mary?" Sherlock asked ignoring John's questions.
John was admittedly surprised. Why would Sherlock care? John's voice and demeanor softened.
"I do love her." John hesitantly muttered. "It's just not the same. Maybe it never really was. I guess my feelings for her aren't as…"
"Strong." finished Sherlock.
John looked up at him and notice the confusion had left Sherlock's face and was replaced by understanding. Perhaps even happiness? John suddenly realized just how close the two men were standing and his heart began to thump.
"I see." stated Sherlock. "But, then why never tell me?"
John felt his body begin to tingle. Was it possible that Sherlock was moving even closer to him?
"I guess… Uh, I guess I never wanted to admit it. Least of all to myself." John nervously suggested. "And I knew that you would never feel the same way."
"And what made you think that exactly?" pondered Sherlock aloud.
John met Sherlock eyes again. They were practically intoxicating.
"I… Well, I… I didn't…" John struggled to form words. "I mean you are a sociopath. Right?"
Sherlock smirked devilishly as he brush his hand through John's hair finally cupping behind John's head. John tremble with desire at his touch.
"High functioning. Remember?" Sherlock replied with a wicked smile.
Before John could fully realize what was happening, Sherlock's lips were on his own.
Edited & Beta'd by ever helpful, incredible Ekko Wilde.