Hope you all enjoy the new update! I'm enjoying writing this, and I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed my little story. Sorry in advance that these chapters are a bit short compared to my others.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, nor do I own Facebook (duh..).

Time to put your genius computer skills to good use, Lestrade thought to himself as he balanced his laptop on his knee. And by computer skills, he basically meant typing "John Watson" into a search engine. It had been nearly three weeks since he had talked to Sherlock and convinced him to try getting clean. The young man had invaded his flat and taken up residence on Lestrade's sofa ever since, not trusting himself to make it through the withdrawal period without resorting back to drug use. Despite how insane the detective could be on a good day, and no matter how much Lestrade researched cocaine withdraw, he could never have been prepared for the hurricane that was Sherlock Holmes going through withdraw. It only took Sherlock a few days to break, and want to give up. It was too hard, too painful, and not worth his time. But Lestrade would force him, sometimes even resorting to holding him down when he tried to fight. Soon there were times when Sherlock would pace the flat for hours, fingers twitching and eyes following Lestrade every where he went, obviously paranoid about something. He couldn't bear to sit still for even a moment, let alone to sleep, and he would go days without rest or food. His weight dropped startlingly low, to the point where Lestrade could feel the man's ribs and the knobs of his spine easily.

But even worse were the days as of late when Sherlock would lie there on the couch, not moving, not even blinking. Just staring at the ceiling. He wouldn't eat at all, always passing up the food Lestrade handed him. His weight dropped even lower, if that were even possible, and Lestrade had to force food on him on several occasions, threatening to call Mycroft and have him forced into a proper rehab center. Thankfully, he would sleep more when the depressive fits hit him, but he manage a few hours before waking screaming and sobbing, gasping for air. Lestrade would comfort the damaged young man, assuring him that it was only a dream and rubbing comforting circles on his back, letting the man sob into his shoulder. He didn't want to ask, and didn't want to know, what Sherlock was dreaming about, and he knew that the man would be mortified if he had been in his right state of mind. It was during these times that Lestrade worried about Sherlock the most. Only a few days into their agreement, Lestrade had noticed the multitude of scars that peppered Sherlock's arms, shoulders, and ankles. He never seen them before because Sherlock always covered up when out a crime scenes or even in his own flat, and almost always wore his thick, black wool overcoat. He was, naturally, worried out of his mind. He hated leaving Sherlock alone, even if it was only for a few hours. If the depressive fits got much worse, he was afraid the young man would resort to harming himself to feel better, and he was even more worried that Sherlock would try to kill himself to get rid of the pain. He knew from all the research he did that suicide was common at this stage, when the depression warped the person and wrapped it's cold fingers around the person. Lestrade thought that maybe finding John would help get rid of the depression, because he knew that if things got much worse he would have to go to Sherlock's annoying brother for help. He would really hate to send Sherlock to a rehab facility, considering he'd promised not to, but if it became necessary, he would have to.

So there he sat, laptop balanced on his knee, watching Sherlock, who was lying apathetically on the couch, eyes closed and arms flopped across his thin chest. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the arm of his chair, waiting for the search to finish. Alright, here we go. The first hit was a Facebook profile, and Lestrade clicked it. It wasn't private, so Lestrade could see it. Just the average page of a young adult. No condolence messages, no "you will be missed", no RIPs or slightly creep photo collages. Defiantly good. Lestrade wasn't sure if what he would have done if the man had been dead, he knew that Sherlock would completely self-destruct if that had been the case. Everything up to this point would have been for nothing, and Sherlock would have certainly run away and drowned himself in drugs, trying to forget his lost friend. Sighing in relief, Lestrade put his detective skills to good use and kept digging. The man in the photos seemed to resemble the teen he had seen in Sherlock's photos, same nose, same hair, same eyes. Apparently John had returned from military service in Afghanistan about a year ago (again, consistent with Sherlock's story), and was currently living in London (though on the opposite side of the city) and was working at a local hospital in the A&E department. Time for the awkward part. Lestrade opened up a private message tab and began writing.

So this might sound a bit strange, but I was wondering if you, by any chance, knew a young man named Sherlock Holmes? I've rather recently come into contact with him, and he has expressed some interest in reconnecting with you. As I understand, you two were quite close during school and uni, and I was wondering how you would feel about meeting up. If you are the John Watson I'm looking for, please contact me ASAP.

Thanks for your time,

DI Greg Lestrade, Scotland Yard

Reading it over several times, making sure it didn't sound to stupid, Lestrade hit send and closed his laptop, transferring it to the coffee table and rubbing his temples. Now all he could do is wait for a reply, and he really hoped it would come soon.

Wow...Sherlock fics make my search history look really weird...

Anyways, John will be making an appearance in the next chapter, and I'm super excited to start writing it! Hope to update soon!

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Please leave a review if you enjoyed my little story!