A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback! I'm so glad you all enjoy the story.

SPOILERS FOR SEASON THREE EPISODE TWO: Oh my gosh, I've never been that happy and sad at the same time. Sherlock's best man speech... the time he and John got drunk (LOL)... him making the whole room cry and then wondering what he did wrong... and the end of that episode... when he left because no one was dancing with him... my heart just shattered. Broke. Everywhere.

I hope you all are enjoying the new season as much as I am... XD

Here is the next chapter!

Chapter 2:

Sometime after the bonfire...

Fire… heat… flames licking at his hands, biting through his gloves, biting at the skin of his exposed wrists. Smoke rising into his face, making his lungs ache and his vision blur.

John screaming, begging, pleading. "Sherlock, let me out! Help me, please!" The sound of children wailing echoing around them.

"John!" he coughed. "John!" He couldn't see through the thick smoke, pulling the burning wood away, his heart pounding. He saw a hand, a quick flash of pale skin through the smoke.

"John!" Sherlock called.

The smell of burning flesh…. the heat from the fire making sweat drip down his face.

He finally managed to pull the body from the flames… John's face… barely recognizable, white bone visible in the black skin….

Sherlock shot up in his bed, sides heaving as he struggled for breath. He closed his eyes, the sight of John's burned body still vivid in his mind. Hands trembling, he pulled his phone off the bedside table, clicking the little circular button.

The screen lit up, illuminating his face and making him blink. Without thinking, he scrolled through his contacts until he reached a name…. John…

Don't be stupid, he told himself, throwing the phone onto the bed and standing up, legs a bit unsteady as he stumbled into the bathroom. John doesn't care anymore…. He made it quite clear…

Sherlock flipped on the light, illuminating the room and making him wince, his head pounding. He turned on the tap, letting cool water run over his hands.

This couldn't continue.

XXXXX

John had decided not to visit Sherlock. He really had. But then... the bonfire... seeing Sherlock again…

The doctor walked down the empty street, his heart beating a little faster as he stepped up to the blue door, the gold numbers on the door glinting. He took a shaky breath and then unlocked the door, stepping into the flat to see Sherlock, standing on the couch facing the wall.

He was about to say something when he noticed the elderly couple. "Oh, you're busy," the blogger said.

"No no no no, they were just leaving," Sherlock said quickly, pushing the two people from the room.

"If you've got a case…" John said.

"No, no case," Sherlock replied, still herding the two from the room.

John turned his back on them for a moment, taking in the sight of his old flat. It was dust free now, the curtains thrown open to let the light spill in. He smiled as he saw the wall, covered in papers.

"Sorry about that," Sherlock said after he slammed the door, turning to John. The consulting detective took a breath, taking in every detail of John's appearance.

Happily engaged, no mustache (thank god), had waffles for breakfast.

"Friends of yours?" John asked softly.

"Just my parents," Sherlock responded.

John stared at Sherlock for a second, wondering if the man was joking. Then he rushed to the window, trying to catch one last glimpse of them as they walked down the street.

"Those were your parents?" he asked. "But… I mean… just… they were so…. Ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear," Sherlock said, his mouth tilting up in a small smile. The consulting detective let out a little breath. Things were going back to normal.

XXXXX

It was several weeks after the train incident- that is what John had taken to calling it, despite Sherlock's protests. John and Mary were a happy couple, the wedding only a few months away.

Sherlock was back to solving cases for Lestrade, pounding on John's door at odd hours of the morning, dragging him off to crime scenes and out to lunch and on wild criminal chases. John had even started blogging again, writing out a few more of Sherlock's adventures.

Now, Sherlock, John and Lestrade stood around the body laying face up on the blue rug, her brown hair fanned out behind her head, her glassy eyes staring up, an expression of pain and fear on her face.

Sherlock was kneeling by the body, his eyes flickering back and forth as he took in the purple bruises around her neck, the blood pooling behind her head, dark brown stains on the rug. He looked up at Lestrade and back down at the body.

"What makes her different?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" Lestrade asked, giving the consulting detective a look of confusion.

"What makes her different?" Sherlock repeated. "You only call me in for cases that you can't solve yourself, the ones that make no sense to idiots like you."

Lestrade let the comment slide. "There was no sign of a break in, no sign of any of her family, no sign of DNA from the murderer. It's almost as if she just dropped dead…"

Sherlock let out a little sigh, rolling his eyes. "Of course you would think that," he muttered. "It's just so obvious."

"Well I don't see it," John said.

"She was happily married but had no children, her husband, who was away on a business trip, had recently gotten a divorce, only a few months before their wedding, which was a complete disaster due to the fact that he invited his ex wife to the wedding. But that was a long time ago, everyone seeming to move on. Everyone, except the ex wife, furious with her husband and his new wife. So, using the key that she still had, she walked in and killed her. Simple," Sherlock said.

"How on earth did you figure all of that out?" Lestrade asked.

"I looked," Sherlock responded. He stood up quickly, alarmed for a moment as darkness flooded the edges of his vision, the world spinning around him.

His knees nearly gave out, his hand gripping the wall and his eyes squeezing shut.

"Sherlock?" He heard the blogger's voice as if through a tunnel. "Hey mate, are you okay?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and opened his eyes, giving John a glare. "Fine," he snapped.

But John knew better. He could see Sherlock's pale face, dark purple bags under his icy eyes, the slight tremor of his hands almost imperceptible as he pulled his coat collar up.

"No, you don't look fine," John said. "You look like you're about to fall over… Sit down…" John tried to pull the consulting detective over to the couch, but the man pulled away.

"I'm fine," he snapped. He slammed the door behind him as he exited the flat, leaving John and Lestrade standing in shocked silence.

"He didn't look good at all," Lestrade said.

"I'll check up on him," John said. "Has he done anything else…?"

"No, I thought he was getting better…" Lestrade said.

"I'll check up on him…" John said, pulling out his phone and dialing.

"Hello?" a woman's voice.

"Hey, Mary… Listen, I'm going to be home a little later than I said," John said.

"What's wrong?" Mary asked, sounding worried. "Is everything okay?"

"It's… Sherlock," John said after a pause. "He seemed fine, but then he almost passed out at the crime scene… I have to go and check up on him…"

"You take all the time you need," Mary responded. "Our date can wait. Tell Sherlock I said hi. Love you…"

XXXXX

John opened the blue door, letting the familiar feeling of his old flat wash over him. Mrs. Hudson was baking, the smell of pastries wafting through the air. The sound of a violin reached his ears, the bow scraping across the string, random sour notes making John wince.

He knew that meant Sherlock was irritated, wondering if he should just leave and let the man cool off for a few moments. But he remembered the pale color of Sherlock's face and he dashed up the stairs, opening the door.

Sherlock sat on the sofa, staring at the wall, his violin held to his chin. He glanced over at John, his bow faltering and the screeching notes coming to a halt.

"Sherlock…" John said. He suddenly wished he had planned what he was going to say, his mind at a blank as he stared at the consulting detective.

"What do you want, John?" Sherlock mumbled. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Of course you are," John said, rolling his eyes. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay… You really didn't look that well…"

Sherlock set down the violin. "I. Am. Fine." His voice was a snarl, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Now go away."

"Sherlock, you are not 'fine'! The entirety of Scotland Yard can see it! Look in the mirror, Sherlock, and make a bloody deduction! You've got bags under your eyes, you're obviously not sleeping well, you look thin and tired, you almost passed out! That is not fine!"

"John. Leave. Now." Sherlock's words were like a whip, cutting through John's chest.

"Fine. I'll leave, Sherlock," John snapped, spinning on his heel and striding down the stairs, the door slamming behind him.

Sherlock slumped back against the couch, closing his eyes and clutching his pounding head with his hands. He suddenly wished that John would come back, but he shook the feeling off.

Sentiment... Boring.

It was better if John stayed out of this.

TBC

A/N: Oh no... Sherlock doesn't seem to be doing very well. Will John figure out what is wrong with him? XD

Thanks again for reading, as always reviews are greatly appreciated.

-Dawn