((Hi everyone! Okay I really feel as if I should stop writing these little notes, but I always keep finding stuff to say. 1) Shout out to 'xxxemoxbeccaxxx'! I TOTALLY forgot to get you a shout out last time, but I just wanted to say that you ALSO have very… expressive reviews, and they never cease to make me smile and laugh. I appreciate them very much! And then 2) I am currently in the possession of a fake baby I have to take care of for school. And this is unbeta-ed. So if there's any mistakes, picture a girl trying to type and care for a screaming baby at the same time. Then take pity on me. ;D It might be a little shorter than usual, but the ending is just where I had to end it. I'm a sucker for dramatic ones. So I hope this is dramatic XD… Ps: Anyone guess Rose's secret yet? xx-Tori))

After the whole 'tucking him into bed' incident, Sherlock seemed to ignore me. It made me a bit sad, and also a bit pissed, but I had John. He and I tended to stay away from 221b on our dates now, choosing the park, or Speedys, or even the lab, over an awkward moment with Sherlock. He was kind of a thorn in our side. We had an unspoken agreement of avoiding him in conversation because it was so… It felt so wrong.

John was Sherlock's. Sherlock was John's. They just had that sort of connection. It was just them… But… Apparently in some way Sherlock had decided I was equally his. I didn't know what he'd done, but I could tell he'd done or said something to John. I could see it in John's hesitation, and the way he'd get lost, deep in thought, after we'd kiss. So I wasn't even that surprised when John showed up unexpectedly at my flat on that drizzly Sunday afternoon.

His mouth was open when I opened the door… And then he shut it… And then opened it again. The rain was soaking him, plastering his grey-ish hair against his face, and the look in his blue eyes told me everything I already knew.

"It's okay, John. Now come inside, you must me freezing. Ill fix you a cuppa."

It was ten minutes later, after John was nestled on my couch, dry, with a cup of tea, that he finally came out of his trance. He suddenly hugged me tight, and I blushed, hugging him back gently.

"Uhm…"

He shook his head, stopping my words.

"Thank you. That's all… I didn't know… How to..." He swallowed, then continued, "I had to. I… I do like you, Rose… But… Sherlock, he…"

He trailed off. I raised an eyebrow, sipping my tea, waiting for him to finish.

But he didn't.

He left soon after that, giving me a kiss on the cheek, and then disappearing out into the rain.

And then I cried.

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After John and I broke up, Sherlock stopped ignoring me.

He even whistled.

Fucking Sherlock.

It angered me to no end, maybe even worse than when he'd been ignoring me. He's the reason John and I ended it. And now he was just a bucket of daisies and rainbows. I knew one day I was just going to explode. I knew I would. I just didn't know when that moment would be.

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Apparently that moment would be at 5:17, Thursday evening. I pride myself in lasting even that long. Sherlock had been on an insult rampage all day, and was all but skipping round the lab. Molly was all cheerful because he was cheerful (of course), but I was fuming. Suddenly he looked up, staring at me.

"Why're you so tense?"

His voice was snarky. And I snapped.

"Oh. I don't. fucking. Know. MAYBE it's because of YOU, you PRICK! I had a NICE RELATIONSHIP going on. FINALLY. I had one! I PROMISING one at that! And YOU had to go RUIN it! Do you just LIKE hurting people? Watching them SUFFER? FUCK. YOU. SHERLOCK. WHAT did you SAY to him?"

When Id started yelling, Sherlock's eyes had gone wide. He looked like a confused deer in the headlights.

"I… I never said anything to John, Rose… I… "

I laughed, glaring, fighting the tears of frustration and emotion that I knew were building up.

"Just… Fuck you, Sherlock Holmes. I could… I just… hate you right now."

I was trembling, and clenching my teeth, trying to look just strong and angry. Sherlock spoke softly again.

"What… What did John… Tell you?"

I winced as a tear fell, and spat my words.

"What do you THINK?"

It was quiet suddenly, and Sherlock looked like the epitome of panic. He made a choked sort of whimper, stumbling back against the counter. He was staring at me, shaking his head. I didn't understand his reaction. Why was he looking so… horrified? What did he think John told me? My eyes flickered up to his, and I watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly… Then he fumbled for his coat, and dashed out the door.

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I got a visit from John and D.I. Lestrade a few hours later. Apparently they'd found Sherlock in some grimy bar, nursing a pint- and not his first. I brushed past my visitors, working, and listening to Greg speak.

"Really. I haven't seen him like this in years. Not since his bout with drugs… That's where he used to hang out, before he got clean."

I looked up, noticing the two men's worried looks. Sighing, I spoke.

"It's not my fault he throws tantrums like a two year old."

I tried not to look at John, knowing how he'd look. Sherlock was three fourths of his life now. And he needed him safe. And I knew I'd do whatever I could do for John… So looked at him? Out of the question… Unfortunately, John spoke, his voice breaking.

"Please, Rose."

I groaned. "John, really, I'm not gonna-"

"You're the only one who can fix this, Rose. I don't know why…. But he… needs you. To fix it. He hasn't ever acted like this… Please."

I swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. Damn you, John Watson.

"Fine. Fine okay? I'll talk to him. Where is he?"

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I entered the foyer of 221b quietly, and was immediately confronted by Ms. Hudson.

"Oh Rosalyn, dear, I'm so glad to see you! My poor boy's been a right mess. I think he was throwing things earlier. Right now, hurry, hurry…"

I left her flitting about downstairs, and I cautiously opened the door to John and Sherlock's flat.

It was ransacked. Papers, files, glass, just… EVERYTHING… all over the place. I closed the door slowly, my mouth hanging open. This was… scary looking.

But I'd seen worse.

So I made my way through the mess to Sherlock's room, and knocked on the door.

"Sherlock?"

I peeped in, and saw him immediately. He was stretched out on his bed, spread eagle in the dark, his long bare torso standing out stark white in the blackness. I stared, noticing all the nicotine patches lining his long arms. His lithe body was all smooth and sharp angles and lines, and…

'He looked so gorgeous.'

My thought surprised me, and I almost stopped to ponder it but I forced myself not to.

"Sher-"

He held up his hand, cutting me off. I gave him silence for a bit, before eventually sighing in irritation when he didn't say anything. I tried another approach.

"Really? With the nicotine patches?"

He let out a long sigh, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"It helps me not think."

I moved more into his room slowly, and then made my way to his bed.

"Why do you need to not think?"

His eyes flew open as I perched on his bed, and he studied me. He was totally relaxed, his greyish blue orbs sort of hazy from the nicotine and alcohol coursing through his blood. He picked up my hand, holding it, pushing his long fingers through mine. I watched, feeling warmth seep into my soul.

"I'm… Deleting things."

His voice was hoarse, and deeper than usual. I squeezed his hand gently, noticing how he was trembling.

"What are you deleting?"

I tried to make my voice comforting. I was worried about him. He gave me a wan smile, and spoke.

"You."