AN: I am so sorry for the late update! I have been sick and then my router blew out so my internet is sketchy at best. The rating goes up to M now for mentions of drugs and prostitution. But the good stuff comes later(;

Again nothing belongs to me and feedback would be greatly welcomed! Maybe it will be the inspiration to get me writing more!


"So John is dating then."

'Obviously.' A little voice in the back of Sherlock's mind retorted.
"He's moving on. Good... That's... good."
'You know you don't like it. You hate that John might be forgetting about you.' The voice whispered in his ear.
"Shut up!" Sherlock snapped back.

Sherlock paced back and forth in his new hotel room. He had left Russia and was now in France. Moran's movements seemed to be leading him back to Spain but he was unsure.

Unsure, yes he was unsure. His thoughts kept on going back to John. John and the smiling woman. God how he hated her. He had stared at the same small piece of glossy paper and he could have told you exactly where the salt and pepper shakers were positioned John was sitting close to the woman, Mary, by the name written on the back. But his body was tense by the clenching of his hand and his body was turned 5 inches away from her.

"Not very serious then."
'But it will be, you can see it in his eyes. Look at how his face is lit up and he is laughing, without you.'
"Stop. Stop it!"
Sherlock ripped the photo in half and threw it on the floor. Muttering to himself, "I knew this could happen. I had planned on it."
The voice whispered in his ear again, 'Then why does it hurt?' It mocked him, 'If you planned on it, then why can't you stand to think about it? I can see inside your head Sherlock Holmes.'
Sherlock shook his head. 'John was always there for you, but you left him. Now he is going to move on. Forget you. He will begin a family with Mary. And never love you.'

Sherlock screamed out in frustration.
"SHUT UP!"
Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he went out into the town. It wasn't hard finding the "bad" part of town. Night had fallen hours ago. The women who sold themselves for money. The men who supplied the antidote for the voice in his head, the thoughts that would never seem to stop, they were all out owning the night.

"Hey baby, you want to have a good time tonight?" A woman with red hair, dyed obviously, and a dress, 3 sizes too small, called out to him. He stopped in front of her and looked her over.
"You are about 27 but your body is crammed into that dress to make you look 25. You have an American accent, but have some French underlying. Student, or rather you were a student until you couldn't pay anymore. You didn't want to get help from family, so you turned to prostitution after several failed attempts at an real job. Heroin addict by the track marks on your arms and you use cocaine by your blown pupils. So, no I don't imagine that it would be a good time with you."

The woman stood shocked, but then her face twisted with anger. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are mister!? You may look like a hot piece of ass, but you are here in this part for a reason, so don't talk to me like you are better than me!"

"I know practically everything about you from just a glance. So, yes I am better than you." Sherlock smirked and walked away, leaving the woman gaping at his back.
He continued down the street and turned off into a back ally. Knocking on a door that was hidden behind a dumpster and decaying trash. A sliding panel opened on the door.
"Name?" A gruff voice asked.

"John Smith."

The panel closed and the door opened, light flooding into the small space. A burly man stepped aside and gestured in.
Sherlock walked passed him and continued down the dimly lit hallway, stopping at the last door on the left. Bursting in, a small woman shrieked and stood up, blocking the man behind her.

"Out."

She stared wide-eyed at Sherlock then to the man on the couch.

"I said get out."

The man on the couch flicked his wrist, "Go, we can finish this later." The woman rushed past Sherlock, avoiding his eyes.

"Don't you know it's rude to interrupt Sherlock?"

Sherlock ignored the question and kept near the door.

"Victor. I need it. Now."

"My, my Sherlock. Word is that you have been clean for 5 years now. Why the sudden change of heart?" The last word dripped with sarcasm.

Sherlock sniffed and turned his head.

"If you would kindly put away your cock, I would rather not have it out."

Victor smirked and put himself back into his pants, pulling up his trousers and zipped up.

"Never seemed to bother you before Sherly."

Sherlock's body tensed," That was years ago, in Uni." Sherlock turned his head back to Victor. "And don't call me Sherly."

"Yet, here you are." Victor stood up, brushing himself off.

"Tell me Sherlock, if I give you any, what do I get in return?"

Sherlock felt his eyes rake over his body. Stepping forward, he stopped inches from Victor's face.

"The satisfaction that my brother has yet to put you away. Now," he took a step back and held out his hand, "If you will."
Victor's lips pulled back into a snarl. "Yes, your darling brother." He reached into a black bag on the couch and pulled out a small bag with a needle inside. "Should we do some together? Just like old times Sherly?"
Sherlock growled and snatched the bag out of Victor's hand.
"Don't call me Sherly." He slipped the bag into his coat pocket and turned to leave. Halfway through the door Victor called out, "Oh, Sherly love, I heard you have a new 'flatmate.' John is his name isn't? John Watson? I'm sure he not very fond of your little idea right now. But, then again, he's not here with you is he." Sherlock froze and closed his eyes, his chest tightening.
He continued out, feeling Victor's eyes follow him the entire way out.

Once outside, he hurried back to the hotel. Avoiding anybody in the lobby,he opened his unlocked door. Shutting it and with a twist to the right he locked it. He threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The presence of the drug heavy in his pocket. His mind yelling at him to do it, to stop the nagging voices. But John's disappointed face was burned into his eyelids, looking at him every time he closed his eyes.

Suddenly his phone vibrated in his pocket. Knowing Mycroft never called, he fished it out and answered.
"What?" He snapped.
"Moran has moved. I have been informed that he is planning to return to London tomorrow."
Sherlock bolted up off the bed.
"Are you positive Mycroft?"
"I am very reliably informed brother. It would be best if you returned to London immediately."
"Of course I'm going back to..." Sherlock's voice faltered. London. Bakerstreet. John.

He was going back to John. To save him.

"Now, I am leaving now."