AN: So John finally returns to 221B in this chapter. I have to say I'm rather nervous about this one since there is drug use involved and my knowledge of such things is very very limited.
Hopefully Sherlock isn't too unrealistic in his reactions/state of mind. Let me know your thoughts and please forgive my ignorance - hopefully it doesn't ruin the chapter. Also I probably won't be able to update again until Monday or Tuesday - busy weekend. Anyway – enjoy!
Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock; until he does so I own nothing.
221B Baker Street. When he left here two weeks ago; he thought he would never come back. Yet here he is, preparing for the blast of delicious coldness that is Sherlock Holmes to reenter his life. That's the plan anyway. He still has his key; don't ask why, so he goes right up. He ascends the stairs slowly, playing through possible scenarios in his mind as to how this might all go down. He reaches the flat and goes right in without knocking; its habit more than anything.
The flat is completely dark. Curtains firmly shut so that not even a sliver of sunlight filters through. "Sherlock?" He calls; panic rising. He is greeted by a low moan coming from the direction of the couch. "John? Come back again have you? Third time today." What in hell is he on about? "Sherlock, what're you talking about? What's happened to you?" he asks, moving forward slowly; trying to feel his way in the dark towards Sherlock's voice. "Ah well you see my dear John; you left. And I didn't know how much that would bother me; but it does. It hurts and I couldn't stand it. I took something to help; so it doesn't really hurt anymore. But you keep coming back. I keep seeing you walk through that door. That's why I turned off the lights; so I couldn't see you." Lestrade is right; he's relapsed. "Oh God Sherlock, what have you taken?" "Strange. You're the first of my delusions to say anything remotely 'John-like'. All of the others have burst in declaring their undying love for me. Or hatred; there have been a few of those as well.
Do you hate me John?" he asks; his voice strangely detached. "Sherlock you complete idiot. Of course I don't hate you. Do you really think I would come here just to tell you that?" "No. But then delusions don't make sense John." John swore under his breath "I'm not a delusion Sherlock! I'm really here." He'd finally managed to locate a lamp switch and flicked it on; light flooding the room. "Oh my god." he thinks to himself.
If Lestrade thought Sherlock sounded like hell he should see him. Pale grayish skin, dark bags under his eyes, lying limply on the couch looking like all the life and color had been wrung out of him. He knelt beside the couch taking on of Sherlock's hands in his own. "Listen to me Sherlock. I am real. I'm the living breathing John Watson. I need you to tell me what you've taken and how much so I can figure out what to do about it alright?" Sherlock stirred slightly; turning his head to look at John. "Why should I believe you? My other delusions have tried to convince me of the same thing. You're not real. You're just here to torture me. To give me false hope." "What are you on about Sherlock? What false hope?" Even drugged Sherlock managed his "Are you really that stupid?" look. "That you love me back John." It took a moment for John's mind to process and understand that Sherlock had just confessed that he was in love with him. "Oh my god Sherlock" he groaned. "Of course you have to tell me this while you're high." "Of course John." Sherlock responds. "If I wasn't high; you wouldn't be here for me to tell."
John was beginning to lose it. Being told that your best friend returns what you thought was unrequited love while he is high; is really too much for anyone to take. So he does the only thing he can think of; he kisses Sherlock. Well "kiss" is a bit mild for the passionate attack he launches on Sherlock's lips; pouring all his frustration and desperation into it; his mind chanting "I'm real Sherlock. Please believe that I'm real." When they break apart John demands "Still think I'm a delusion you daft git?" Sherlock shifts, sitting straight up looking directly at John. "Are you really here? Delusions can make physical contact, or at least the brain reads it as physical; though none of the other have before. It felt real. It felt wonder-" "Yes Sherlock. I'm here." John says cutting him off. There is a brief silence and then Sherlock groans; falling forward holding his head. "John I- I - ow. I can't think." He manages. "The drugs are wearing off. You're crashing. Let's get you to bed alright? We can sort this all out when you're clean." John says standing and offering Sherlock his hand. Sherlock manages to nod and stand. John loops his arm around him; letting Sherlock lean on him. They made their way slowly to Sherlock's room; John gently eased him onto the bed. As he turns to leave he hears Sherlock "John?" "Yes?" "Stay with me. Please." he says gesturing to the other half of the bed. John lets out a soft sigh; but climbs onto the other half of the bed. "Don't worry Sherlock. I'm not going anywhere. Just sleep." And he did.
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KP