Chapter 2:

"Sherlock..." John moved his lips to breath his name and opened his eyes slowly letting them get used to the blinding light of the morning sun. He yawned and stared into space. Great, another day to face. alone. without Sherlock. There's a cold breeze flowing into the room but suprisigly it feels good as John wraps himself tighter in his warm blanket. He didnt remember ever opening the window (he only remembered how cold it got as he dreamed of Sherlock) John stood up to close the window, still wrapped in his blanket. John shivered as the cold air went through his whole body, he pulled down the window and frowned when he noticed a small piece of paper blowing wildly, stuck to the ledge. "what the..." he grabbed it confused, and examined it before slowly opening it.
I'm sorry.
-SH
John recognized that hand writing immediatly. He felt his breathe leave him, and panic rising inside him. His breathing got heavy and his hands trembled who couldve left this? it could'nt have been Sherlock. I need to stop thinking of him. god, im going absolutly crazy. He stood there for about 5 minutes before realizing it. He decided to go back into bed that was the only thing he felt he could do, for some reason John didnt know why, this made his heart start with euphoria, maybe this wasnt the end. Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock wasnt dead, maybe it was one of his experiments. No, it couldnt be, i saw him fall. He gripped his blanket tighter, until his knuckles turned white. It took a while to calm down completely, but by the time he started drifting of to sleep he'd managed to dispel the panic.
 He layed on his side, his cheeks streaked with tears. If you could only see me now Sherlock. You've ruined me. He still held the note in his hand and traced his hand over the black writing. Then pulled it close to his chest. He thought back to his hazy dream. Thought about Sherlock. How Sherlocks tall, feline like figure stood before him, his skin glowing white like the moon and his eyes, oh his eyes. "it was only a dream John, just a dream" he said breathing out as he rubbed his eyes. He sat up trying to let go of the desire for Sherlock. But he could never keep his mind off of Sherlock. He thought about him all the time and it was killing him. He immediatly went back to thinking of his dream, laying back down, his eyelids closing gracefully. Sherlock raked his hand through Johns hair. "only a dream" he repeated. The feel of those long smooth fingers softly brushing against his skin. It sent shivers through his body "just a dream" then how those hands that he once wanted so bad, brushed over his lips causing him to arch his back and whimper. "Sherlock..." those magnificent hands started moving from Johns lips to his throat, gently carressing his jaw and John ached helplessly into Sherlocks touch. He opened his eyes, nothing and no one was there. He relaxed into his sheets and stared blankly up at the ceiling. The phone is ringing somewhere in the flat but hes past caring, past hunger, past vanity, past everything. "Sherlock for me. Dont be dead" he says hoarsly as his eyes fill with tears "come back...come back to me Sherlock" he pleads helplessly and the tears roll down his cheeks, stinging his eyes, every single one of them for Sherlock.

John invites Jessica over for dinner that night, today wouldve been Sherlocks birthday and John doesnt want to be alone not since he got that note. For some odd reason John felt scared and helpless. He also felt bad because he was dating Jessica and rarely did anything with her. He orders chinese take out, orders exactly what he and Sherlock always used to get and apparently this is okay with Jessica. He greets her at the door, they kiss for a while, breathless and all over eachother. Later they talk about things here and there, what Jessicas going to do for the holidays, mundane things like that for about an hour. John sips at his wine quietly trying to stay intrested.
"...John" Jessica asks setting down her fork, her brown eyes wide.
"sorry I just uh. I um was just thinking...of...something" John says not to confident, looking down at his plate.
Jessica doesnt want to make John upset, but she doesnt know what to say so she moves her hand across the table and reaches for Johns hand who takes hers graciously. John is silent.
"You dont have to worry about me, that-thats all in the past. I've long forgotten about it." John says waving his other hand dismissively and goes back to his meal, poking at his rice. Jessica just stares at him. She knows he's not forgotten about him. Sherlock. She knows that he only invited her because todays Sherlocks birthday. John was displaying his emotions like an open book! She wasnt a genius but she wasnt stupid or oblivious to how John really felt for the man.
She taps her fingers against the table.
"Its fine if you dont want to talk about it, i get that, but i'd..." She chooses her next words carefully " I'd like to think that maybe you'd tell me John. Please. It isnt healthy to keep all your emotions locked up like that. Im here for you...I'll listen...I'll listen" she whispers her last words quitely but loud enough for John to hear. John doesnt say anything for a while, sipping at his wine and taking little bird bites of his dinner. He hasnt talked about Sherlocks death to anyone in so long and espiecally hasnt spoken about his true feelings for him. Worst of all he feels if he opens his mouth he'll end up choking up and bursting into tears.
"...Well, sometimes," He murmurs, finally. " Uhh I um I have'nt really spoken about this in a while really, so...I'll trust you to understand that it isnt the easiest subject for me." John feels vulnerable and wants to drop the subject immediatly but Jessica has already leaned forward on the table, eyes full of concern, gripping Johns hand tightly.
"I'm sorry for bringing it up but...I know that today would've been his birthday. I know how much he meant to you. How old would that crazy, handsome detective be anyway?" She smiles warmly "If i wouldve lived with him theres a chance i wouldnt be able to keep from beating the shit out him, with all his deducing and body parts in the bloody fridge" At that John snorts and relaxes, a big smile forming on his face.
"God, you don't even know, he drove me up the walls" He says wistfully "But I...I still stayed..." He pulls his hand away from Jessicas.
"John, its okay...you can go on if you'd like." the brunette says.
John smiles. Well tries to smile, setting his fork down as he stands, "Are you done?..with your food." He asks pointing at her plate. "Im tired, and have work early in the morning"
"I'm done" She murmurms and watches John grin.
"ok, great..." He leans down and grabs her plate, then sets a kiss on Jessicas red lips.
5 quiet minutes pass by with none of them saying anything. John's whole body aches for Sherlock. "Thanks for coming over, really, i had a wonderful time" he says
"Good, me too...well i guess i'll be heading home now." Jessica says and smiles as she stands up and flattens the front of her dress. With a sigh she grabs her coat and heads towards the door. She realizes all her questions would have to wait. "I love you." She yells from the door.
John stands in the middle of the room watching her wiping his hands on his jeans. He knows shes waiting for him to reply. For him to tell her that he loves her too. So he does, to make her feel loved by him, but he knows in the end he will only fail her. She deserves someone better than him. He knows its a horrible thing to do. But he says it anyways. "Love you too." his stomach burns as he watches her face brighten up to those words. Then shes out the door and John slumps against the wall sighing heavily

In all his eagerness, when it comes down to it. John feels the need to protect himself from others. He rarely spoke to anyone outside of , Jessica and Greg. Mycroft barely spoke with John, but thats because John didnt want to. Even when Mycroft paid for the flats rent and left him extra money. John was still too heavy with greif to speak to him. He wanted to forget of Sherlock. Thats why he had Jessica but she only broke his heart because he could not love her the way she deserved to be loved. Forget who he is he told himself every night when he layed in bed, or when he took long lonely walks, or when he was at work. Forget who he is. He repeated when he stared into Jessicas dark eyes. Forget, he said as he showered and couldnt tell the difference between water and tears, Forget him He lied, when he thought about Sherlock. His walk, the color of his skin, his bright blue eyes, the curve of his neck, the shape of his lips. John tried to find Sherlock in other people, to think of how ordinary Sherlock truly was. But he never could. Sherlock was everything but ordinary or boring. He was bigger and brighter than everything. Forget He told himself once again as he kissed Jessicas candy red lips. And again he told himself Forget who he is, but deep inside there was nothing in the world that he ever wanted more than to have Sherlock here with him.

XXXXXX

Sherlock hadnt shaved in almost 2 weeks, and reeked of cigrette smoke and musk. But he was so close to finding the last of morairty criminals and so close to being able to see John again. So close to touching, talking to and just being with him again. He had gone to Johns the night before and left him a note, hoping that John would realize and try to figure something out. He knows he shouldnt have gone to Johns flat that night but he couldnt resist it. He only wanted to just see John, to make sure John was okay but he heard John cry out in his sleep. He had cried out for him. He watched as John slowly sturred in his bed, sweating and calling for Sherlock. Sherlock gently caressed John, touching his beautiful face, he looked sad and tired. He had done that to John. He needed to return to John. And he would return even if it meant risking his life to be with John.

It had become normal for Sherlock to choke back tears and to hide somplace where no one could see him. Somewhere to let out all his emotions. His pannic attacks were returning, but he would just have to hold out a little longer.
"We've got Moran, Sherlock." Mycroft said, clearing his throat. "We found him in hiding not to far from here. Picked up by the government." He adjusted his tie as he watched Sherlock, waiting for his reaction. Sherlock nearly melted into the couch. "You don't have to hide anymore Sherlock."
"...But I can't just go back Mycroft. John has... moved on. He's living life thinking i'm dead." Sherlock huffed back
"You know Sherlock, I must say. I'm rather dissipointed in you. You seem to be doing alot of giving up. It really isnt like you. Is it because of John? Because you dont want to hurt him anymore?" Mycroft relpied coldly. "Please explain this to me Sherlock." he asked, his head tilted towards him waiting for a reply. But Sherlock said nothing. "Don't say its because of all that rubbish you fed me that you were merely trying to 'protect' him." Mycrofts tone was calm and almost pleasant now. "Return to him Sherlock, it's what you want, don't try and deny it because you've found out hes happy with someone else. He still needs you." And with that he turned on his heels and walked towards the door. And Mycroft was right, Sherlock hadnt found it in himself to believe that, all it took was for someone else to say it for it to be true. Suddenly Mycroft stopped and turned to Sherlock again. "He misses you, you know. More than you think. It would be best for you to think with your heart this time, Sherlock. Not your head."
Sherlock sunk into his seat staring out the window, tears threatening to fall down as he thought of John. What if john had moved on from his death? john seemed happy with that woman, and worst of all what if john didnt want him back? It was too much to bear, Sherlock hated this, he hated feeling this doubt, and desperate need for John. But he had to know. He had to.
XXXXXX

John could'nt help but wonder why. Why Sherlock had thrown everything away like that. It really broke his heart. He knew Sherlock was not a fake and wondered why he would ever say anything like that. And that phone call, it had been the worst phone call of his life. Hearing Sherlocks voice tremble, hiding something and holding back tears. And even worse, John had to watch Sherlock fall. Thats when John had felt his heart and soul shatter.
They had been more than flatmates, and more than friends. They werent ever lovers (though deep down inside even when he denied it, John wished they had been) even though people believed them to be. John had felt so insecure about that and he really didnt know why. He knew they werent lovers, (Sherlock was 'married' to his work) but what could they have been? They couldve just had eachother. thinking about it made John hurt so much. He needed Sherlock and he thought Sherlock had needed him. John just wanted him too come back. And Sherlock needed to go back to John.

The flat still smelled like him, but only John could ever smell it. Sherlocks smell hung in the air like a spirit haunting John. His papers and books were still all about the room. His microscope and petridishes still in the kitchen, untouched. It was home for John, but not quite. Home is where the heart is, and Sherlock being Johns heart, was gone.

XXXXXXXX

As John entered the flat he sighed loudly, heavily and looked around. The lunch date with Jessica had gone horribly wrong. She had wanted to come back to his flat and have sex, but John really wasnt up for it, he felt so depressed and she knew it was because he was thinking of Sherlock. "Go fuck yourself!" She had said, but he knew she would call in the morning begging him to forgive her. It was in her nature. He thought of calling Jessica to apologize but she had gone back to work and probably was still really pissed off so that wasnt a good idea, so he decided on calling Greg. It rang 3 times before he answered and for some reason Johns hand started shaking, he didnt go out much anymore, and was nervous he'd sound needy.
"Hello" came Gregs thick accent
"Hey Greg, its, its John"
"Hey! John, how you doin'? you holdin up well? hows Jessica?" John was taking back at how welcoming Greg sounded.
"Oh im fine" he lied "ya, i'm doing better and Jessicas great" there was a pause."Hey i was wondering maybe if you werent busy we could meet up some time and maybe um get some drinks"
"Sure, ya that sounds great. where do you want to meet up? How about the pub in town, you know the one right? How does Friday sound?"
"ya, ya sure thats great" John actually felt some relief because he needed to go out, to take his mind of of Sherlock. He was actually looking forward to Friday when the booze would take over his mind and he would finally sleep, heavy and without thinking of Sherlock.

The next few days had gone fairly well, nothing special really happened. He and Jessica had gotten back together as he knew would happen and they made love. That morning, the sun was barely peering over the horizon and brought some sunlight in to room causing John to open his eyes as he thought. He was looking forward for tonight, he just wanted to get drunk and forget about everything, so he didnt have to think or feel.
He crept out of bed and made sure not to disturb his sleeping girlfriend whos hair was all jumbled and tangled from the previous night. He used the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He felt old and tired. His eyes were red from the lack of sleep and had dark bags under his eyes. His hair wasnt as light as it used to be, now it was a bland blonde with grey. He didnt know what it was that Jessica saw in him. He shrugged his shoulders and made his way into the bedroom downstairs. Sherlocks bedroom. It smelled like him, his sweet yet musky aroma still in the air bringing John to life. He missed the person who owned it. He wanted just once to hold Sherlock, to hug him and to speak to him or even kiss him. He longed to kiss those lips so badly, he wanted to feel the deep hot taste of Sherlocks mouth and feel Sherlocks breathe on his neck. John felt wrong for feeling these things because Sherlock was dead. But he couldnt hold back these feelings. He sobbed onto his hands and sunk to the floor. It hurt, it still hurt. John still blamed himself for Sherlocks death and he hated himself. Then he craved for Sherlock once again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The night out with Lestrde went too out of hand, after about 2 hours of talking and booze, John was pissed out of recognition, he was honest and dangerous when drunk like this. It was such a depressing and embaressing sight, John mumbled and spoke non-sense. Lestrade had to drag John into his car and drive him home.
"Just settle down, John, alright? It's been a long day and you've had way too much." He let out an exasperated sigh and continued to make his way to John's flat.
The ride home was silent except for the radio playing lightly. Greg glanced over at John who appeared to be sleeping then kept his gaze on the road until he heard soft sniffiling and looked over at John. His eyes were red and glassy, and he was mumbling things Greg couldnt make out. The next minute John was sobbing uncontrollablly.
"John, John, come on, its okay. what is it? whats wrong?" Lestrade asked desperatly. After what felt like forever John answered.
"Its not fair" John said, his face in his hands " He just- he left-Sherlock just left me, he went away and...Why'd he have to? Why did he…" his voice slurred off as he choked back a violent sob, and did his best to keep from slamming his hand against the dashboard. He had never let himself get so intoxicated in front of anyone, let alone Greg. Greg struggled to keep his eyes on the road and off of his grieving friend. Lestrade couldnt find anything to say, he felt so bad for his friend, he wanted to say something but John seemed to go quiet, and turned his body towards the window, trying to hide his face. the radio hummed lightly, "Fade into you, strange you never knew. Fade into you, I think its strange you never knew..."

They pulled up to Baker street, the streets were wet and empty. "Err...Thanks, Greg" John said through a yawn. Greg nodded "Becareful John, when you get inside just go straight to sleep. You need it" He gave John a reasurring slap on the shoulder and smiled warmly. John stumbled out of the car, out of the cold rain and into 221 baker street.
He struggled with the keys but managed to open the door. As he walked in he kicked off his shoes, a wet burp escaping his mouth. He slumped against the wall, trying to find some balance, then retreated climbing up the stairs.

It took him a while to get up the stairs but as he opened the door he noticed the flat was strangly quiet, orange light streamed in from the street lamps outside. He looked around, his eyelids heavy with sleep. But something caught his eye. He immediatly went into soldier mode as he stared at the black figure sitting on the couch. He backed up into the wall as he stared and could make out a figure. His heart stopped.

"John...you're home" The baritone voice said, his voice filling the flat. Johns jaw dropped, his breathing hitched and his chest was tight. you've had way to much to drink john, its just your imagination.' he told himself. He closed his eyes tight, this couldnt be real, what was going on?

"John? its me, ive returned" And there he was. That dark figure silhouetted on the couch, still in long coat and scarf, looking at John, tense all over listening, waiting, for John's reaction. That dark, brilliant, genius leant casually up from the couch taking small, calculated footsteps towards John, keeping his distance. John felt so angry, he felt like striking Sherlock but at the same time wanted nothing more than to pull those lips to his or atleast see sherlocks brilliant eyes. And as if reading Johns mind, Sherlock took three big steps across the room to come and stand up in front of him, he looked John in the eye and said almost helplessly "I needed you".

Their eyes locked. Johns mind froze and he stood there, breathing heavily, he wanted to go upstairs and sleep, and dismiss this as a nightmare because this couldnt be real. But sherlock still stood there. "no-you-you're, i saw you fa.."

"I just… I'm sorry, I needed you, I've missed you". Sherlock looked into his eyes again. "Talk to me John, say something please, after all this time this is killing me."

He felt dizzy as if he'd collapse any moment "Is this some fucking joke? Youre dead! i saw you fall and have you not seen what you've fucking done to me? why Sherlock?...oh sherlock..."He said his speech sluured. He felt anger, anger like no other. Tears started streaming down his face, and his head was pounding so loud he thought Sherlock would be able to hear it. "fuck you, I don't- i can't...why Sherlock? why did you leave me?... How is this killing yooouuu?"

"I…", Sherlock paused, taking a step back " John... I couldnt have possibly stayed with you, me staying away protected you...I dont understand why this has engrossed your life so much."

Even though John was drunk as hell hearing Sherlock say that was enough to kick-start John's brain again. "What the fuck? You fucking asshole. What the fuck made you think you could just walk out and leave me like that? Oh but of course, you know exactly what this has done to me, because you've..." Then it hit him. He thought back to the note, the 'dream', when he thought he'd seen Sherlocks dark fugure "It was you. You...you left the note, and in my ro-oh my god? you sick bastard"

"John...I had to. I needed to know you were okay" Sherlock struggled to keep the strain from his voice "why are you speaking like this? Ahhh i see youre drunk." But he went on "Moriaty had snipers trained on you, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, the only way to stop them from shooting you was for me to jump." The world spun and John's legs gave way, and incoherent babble came from his mouth as he gave up trying to control his mind, he felt everything slipping away. He slid down the wall and sat on the ground, the tears starting to leak through even harder. Sherlock moved as if to touch him and John froze.

"Don't you dare lay your hand on me right now." John yelled at him.

"John please, just let me explain. Or at least let me move you onto the sofa. Your pissed out of your mind and you wont make it up to your room" He moved his hand again to grab Johns arm but John jerked away.

"Don't. You. Dare." He watched as Sherlock shrunk away. John didnt mean to, he only meant to show Sherlock he was angry with him, he didnt think Sherlock would back away completly. But he felt Sherlock whachful gaze on him and he stared back. They're eyes were locked and John felt his heart flutter. He finally had those eyes here with him. Finally Sherlocks glance against everything. But this, this was too much. John felt his dizzy and this felt like a dream and at that point John lost it completely. He closed his eyes and lost control of his body. Nausea soon took over him and everything went black.

XXXXXX

It was Sunday morning and the sky was fanned with vibrant hues of orange and reds, Johns eyes slowly craked open as slivers of light struck his eyes and on the wall. He opened his eyes fully, they felt as if theyd been glued shut "ahh shit, Sherlock?...ugh" he groaned, holding a hand to his spinning head from his previous hangover.

"John!" came the soft voice of Jessica "good morning" She sat on the floor stroking his forehead and watching john who had fallen asleep on the couch.

He looked around the room frantically searching for any clues from yesterdays strange occurance. How had he ended up on the couch? "Where- what? Sherlock? wheres Sherlock? Oh jessica erm..what, what are you doing here and wheres Sherlock?" he sat up his head spinning.

"Sherlock?" she arched her confused eyebrows "John, no ones here, what are you talking about? I came to see you this morning and you were asleep on the couch, and you reeked of alcohol so i guess you had a night out with Greg. You were very very drunk, you were yellin all sorts of things out in your sleep, maybe that explains why you'd think Sherlock would be here."

He stood up and walked to where Sherlock had been standing "He was right here and-and he spoke to me. It had to have been real" he muttured to himself, pulling on his hair confused.

"What? did you say something?" Jessica asked, still sitting on the floor knees tucked under her legs.

He looked at her and decided it was best if he didnt mention anything "Erm you no what, you're probably right. I got pretty wasted last night so umm ya, nevermind it was nothing." he lied "Probably just my imagination" He faked a laugh.

"You sure you're alright?" He nodded at her. "Good, you were staring to scare me" she said then got up to give John a kiss "I've got to go to work so I'll probably see you later" she smiled wrapping her arms around his waist "And you should probably go take a shower mister, you smell" she wrinkled her nose and fanned her hand in the air as if to make the smell go away. She gave him a long kiss. He barely replied to it, letting her mouth move on his. He broke the kiss and looked away, he didnt want her to see the despair in his eyes.

"Okay. See ya" Maybe last night all had been a dream.

John went to the bathroom, where he stripped to nothing. He turned the water on letting it slowly get hot, he stepped in and the water rained over him burning and peeling away the sweat and dirty smell. He rubbed his bad shoulder and looked down at his body and realized he was thinner and that he was several shades paler than he normally was. His hair was messy and longer and didn't smell of mango, as Sherlock had pointed out once. Instead his locks reeked of sweat. He touched his face and felt the heavy bags under his eyes, the lines and wrinkles that were forming. The warm water soon seemed to rejuvinate him and he suddenly felt that maybe Sherlock would return to him. he didnt know why or from where he got the idea, but yesterday had to have been real. He took some soap and lathered it onto his torso and neck, the suds bringing a nice feeling to his rough and coarse skin. It became smooth again, the way it was when he sat in the living room with the consulting detective, or when they were sprinting together in the dark of the night away from the police, or when he ran to the detectives side and…

John gasped, pulling himself away from those thoughts. He was sick of living in his own mind for so long. He had vgone through some rather dark and morbid places in the time that Sherlock had left him. He closed his eyes and exhaled softly. Perhaps he needed a bit of relief from all this tension. He gulped and wrapped a single hand around his member, moaning at the contact, it felt almost unfimiliar. He slid his palm against the hardening shaft, bringing it to life. He thought of Jessica, and the night they had shared together a few days back, when they were in bed together and she performed on him. He remembered how much he loved feeling her tongue on his head, how skilled she was and how she made him squirm and writhe with pleasure. He rubbed faster, feeling a bit of pre-ejaculate forming at the tip. He groaned softly, his free hand clutching the wall. A new thought crept into his head, and new hands began to wrap around him, and slender fingers trailed his spine and neck. Soft, warm lips planted small hot kisses on his neck, nibbling at his earlobe, the feeling going straight to his cock. He panted, those intangible palms gliding over his cock. John shut his eyes harder, almost there "ahh sherlock..." he moaned rubbing his cock faster. Almost. He imagined those beautiful pink lips and talented tongue on his cock taking all of him in. God, how beautiful Sherlock would look doing this if he was really here. "oh fuck ya...ohh Sherlock" Then with one last tight squeeze John came all over his hand, panting, his eyes still closed shut. Then he heard the fimiliar voice of .
"John dear? I just got back from the market. I brought you some groceries" she yelled from the kitchen. John finished cleaning himself up then turned of the water and grabbed his robe, sighing. He made his way to his bedroom. Where a surprise waited for him.