AN: (notes added after completion) - Part 2 gets a bit more... well not complicated. Due to a request (which you can see me talk about at the end of chapter notes) I ended up putting Sherlock's POV into the story. Some chapters have repetitive parts and I will put notes up to let you know if its even worth reading. You can read Sherlock POV for fun, sometimes you get some juicy info from his trains of thoughts, sometimes its just an excuse for me to write him and there is absolutely no point. It was really just something for me (doesn't always add to the story) and it was created for readers who were getting weekly updates and sometimes a refresher is a good thing. So sometimes its important to read the chapter but all in all its your choice. I'll just leave you a little suggestion in my notes with the comment that it was created post-completion. -Much love and enjoy.

Part 2

John POV

I slept that night but it took a while. A long while.

It took a lot not to go down and check on Sherlock. A very big part of me didn't trust my own mind. But how could I not see how real that kiss was? I couldn't dispute it. It felt too real. It was different. He was different.

Still I couldn't trust it. I couldn't trust him.

I couldn't get over the fact that I kissed him and he kissed me. The more I went over it, the more I realized it was just to shock me into reality. He needed to do something no hallucination had done. Something I wouldn't have them do because it wouldn't fit. It didn't mean anything.

It didn't mean my lips didn't still tingle.

What if my mind was making it all up? It deserved a medal but it could still be possible. Although I didn't know why it would fake Lestrade too. The more reasons I came up with not to believe myself and my surroundings, the more reasons popped up to believe what was happening. I was seriously confused.

All I had was the fact that I accepted it. I accepted Sherlock was alive and in my apartment. In our apartment. My hallucinations were right. Sherlock faked his death.

Sherlock was a bastard.

And I had to face that bastard when I went down for breakfast. He would probably be waiting for me.

He was.

Sort of.

He was lying on the couch looking up at the ceiling. He was still wearing that sweatshirt and jeans but I guessed that was because we had gotten rid of all of his other clothes. We donated them actually, to the homeless needing suits for job interviews. It took a lot for me to give them away. I wasn't sure how he'd he feel about that. He probably knew some of the men borrowing the suits. I didn't know if he'd try and get them back.

He wasn't wearing shoes this morning. I supposed he took them off when he decided to sleep on the couch. The truth of it was that I chose to sell his bed. It was too comfortable and too much of a temptation. I figured if I got rid of it, I would get rid of the temptation, and I could use the money to buy a different bed. I'd even make a profit off it. I just hadn't gotten around to it yet. I was doing well but the thought of someone else living in Sherlock's space was still a little hard for me.

I guess I didn't have to worry about that now.

I looked up at the ceiling but I couldn't see what he was looking at. He didn't acknowledge that I was downstairs either. He just continued his dazed stare at the ceiling. I chose not to interrupt him.

I moved about the flat getting ready for work but he didn't say or do anything. I was fine with that. I didn't think I could handle a conversation yet and I wasn't about to call in to work. I had done that enough times for him. Not even the real him.

There was still the plaguing thought that he was fake and that what happened the night before was a dream. A cruel dream my brain made up to punish me for whatever reason.

I left for work without saying anything.

That day I spent talking to patients and filling out paperwork but really I was off somewhere else. I was running through everything that was said since he was back.

I told him a lot that I wouldn't have if I'd of known it was him. He said he did that on purpose though. To see how much I would tell him.

Well I definitely told him more than I was comfortable with.

He probably already knew it all. It was probably why he tricked me into saying it. He knew I would never actually tell him. But why would he want me to tell him?

Then there was Lestrade. I would have to call him up and apologize. I wasn't looking forward to that. I would have to apologize not only for not telling him about the hallucinations and all that went along with that, but also for refusing to believe he was real. I'm sure he didn't appreciate it. No one wants to be told they're not real.

Except for maybe Sherlock. He probably loved the fact that I hallucinated him. It was just another puzzle to figure out. He would spend his time trying to crack my mind open in order to tell him all that was said and all that his hallucinations did.

There was no getting out of this one was there?

I supposed I could leave the country. Hop on a plane and go somewhere where they didn't speak English. Then again it would probably take Sherlock less than a day to find me. Hell, it would take him less than an hour.

I thought about just walking. Sneaking out at night, taking a couple of jumpers and some tea and hitching a ride. How could Sherlock find me then?

Damn, I knew that was a load of crap. Sherlock Holmes didn't need a plane ticket to find someone. He would probably wait a day, find my shoe print ten miles out, and know exactly where I was headed.

No this was something I had to face. It really shouldn't have been that big a deal. I had done it before. Granted it was much different now. Before there was always that nagging feeling that who I was talking to, who was explaining their fake death to me, was not real. Now I still had that feeling but it was just me lying to myself. Deep down in my gut I knew that this was Sherlock.

Sherlock would be the only one to find a way to make it this real.

That was another thing that kept rolling around in my thoughts. The night before I had already talked myself into understanding that Sherlock only kissed me to shock me back into reality. He only did it to help me understand faster. How he knew that would work, I couldn't understand. I wasn't him.

Did he know how it would affect me though?

I mean, he probably didn't expect me to hallucinate him as an effect to his suicide. He didn't really care enough to think his own actions through. He probably didn't know what his suicide did to me. Or he did and he ignored that because it was necessary at that time. Or because he did and was just an ass.

Did he know how the kiss would affect me?

I found myself more than once licking my lips or touching them with my fingertips. I told him I loved him. He knew that when he kissed me. What was he going to do about it? Probably nothing. I really didn't know what he was thinking. Feelings weren't his thing. Let alone talking about his feelings. That would be something completely unprecedented.

My hallucinations thawed me out. They made me feel. But I hadn't felt something like that in a very long time. Even thinking about it would get my heart racing. I needed to rein that in though. I couldn't let him see me flustered about it when I got home.

After I paid the taxi driver I stood outside the door.

Mrs. Hudson would be home soon. I had to find a way to tell her too. I knew Sherlock probably wouldn't be too sensitive about it.

I also needed to ground myself before I went in and saw Sherlock there. So many times I had come home looking forward to shutting myself out and spending the night alone with my illusion. Then I spent so much time learning to expect an empty flat.

I always believed he would come back. I could never fully accept that he was gone. I believed in Sherlock Holmes. But right now…now I didn't know what to believe.

I guess I wasn't wrong to believe in him but my faith wavered so much.

Well the only thing to do was to face it. So I opened the door and hopped my way up the stairs.

When I opened the door I found him still stuck there on the couch looking up at the ceiling. It looked like he hadn't moved all day. I thought about asking but decided to do the familiar and get myself some tea instead.

He didn't move at all. Not even when I sat down in my own chair and faced him. For a second I was very worried. He hadn't moved at all. I had the need to jump up and check his pulse but then I could see his chest lifting up from an intake of breath.

"I'm back." Sherlock spoke suddenly, still towards the ceiling.

"Yes. I suppose you are."

"I must say your reaction is different than what I expected. I expected physical contact in the form of a hug."

I chuckled at him. Sherlock wanting a hug? "I did that the first time you came back. Disappointed?"

"So you did."

I noticed he ignored my question. I smiled again. Maybe this would be easier than I thought. "What do we do now then?"

"Now, I'll tell you everything. You need to know what was real and what wasn't."

"Great."

Maybe not.

"Nine months ago I faked my own death. Do you have any theories as to how?"

"Yes but I'd rather you just told me."

"Very well." He pushed off the couch into a sitting position and faced me. He dove in as if he was talking about a vacation. Just casual. Being Sherlock. Speaking fast so I had to mentally try and catch up. "What you saw was real. I did in fact jump from that building. What you didn't see was me hitting the ground. That was on purpose. The entire thing was on purpose. I sent you out of the lab with the fake message about Mrs. Hudson in order to get to the rooftop alone. I knew Moriarty wouldn't let me live. It would be the finale to his game. It was how he was going to win. It was the fall I owed him.

"I met him on the roof. I knew what would happen if I couldn't find a way to best him so I had orchestrated a plan. Molly helped me round up some people from my homeless network and quickly gave them civilian clothes and hospital equipment. She was also the one who called you about Mrs. Hudson. She simply changed her voice. She also helped me get the necessary chemicals to create the solution that would temporarily stop my heart. Dangerous but necessary.

"The timing of your arrival was precise. I carried out Moriarty's conversation enough to where I knew you would be coming back to find me in the lab. You had to have gone back to the apartment and seen Mrs. Hudson and known something was off. When I saw I couldn't get out of faking my death I injected myself.

"I knew I had to call you. That entire phone call was necessary. I had to have someone pass on that message. It would keep Moriarty's men away. I also couldn't have you believing I was faking my death. However, what I said on the phone was a lie. I was indeed acting. Everything Moriarty said about me was a lie. I had also timed out our phone call precisely so that the homeless people Molly prepared were ready.

"You saw me fall but you did not see me hit the ground. I purposefully told you where to stand so you wouldn't see. Bellow me was a net held by those people. They caught me and quickly took the net away as the biker collided with you. He was also someone that was paid off. By the time you were able to reach me, the members of the network, and a few spectators, had managed to create a wall around me. They kept you from me long enough for the chemicals I shot into my arm to work and for them to pour out the blood. Easy enough to get for Molly. They kept you away as the members dressed in hospital gear came to take me away. There was a reason I was picked up when no one had even called inside. Then of course I slipped out the back. I made sure you wouldn't be able to see me, paying off the secretaries of the hospital and telling them some crack story. It was all a perfectly timed out plan."

"Wow." I pictured it all in my mind from his point of view. I could see everything being carried out as I, John, was pushed out of the way and tossed around like a rag doll. "That's…"

"Brilliant. I know." Sherlock spoke from his chair as he had danced about while telling his story. That was where he last landed.

"Harsh actually. I was the one this was planned for." Everything was about where I was, what I was doing, what I was seeing, where I was going. "I don't know whether to feel special, angry, or especially dumb because I fell for it."

"You just witnessed your friend jump off a building. You were hardly coherent enough to look for discrepancies."

How could he act like this wasn't a big deal? He precisely carried out a plan to make his best friend watch him die. He called me and told me a bunch of lies on top of that. The last words I heard from him were lies. I knew that of course but, still, the way he just said it hurt. He really just didn't care.

"You know I didn't tell people you were a fraud." I said out loud.

"I know. It didn't matter if you did. I just had to say it."

He just had to say it. I had no response to that. I turned over the story in my mind again.

"Molly knew."

I thought about how she visited me in the hospital and the look of pity on her face. She must have wanted to tell me. Maybe that was what she was hiding.

"Mycroft did too. I had him erase the camera footage."

"Right." So maybe paying for my rent and hospital bill was a way of showing he was sorry rather than an obligation. Maybe not. He was a Holmes. Maybe Sherlock made him.

Molly knew. Mycroft knew. "No one told me."

"It was for your own safety."

My own safety. I could have laughed. He sounded just like the hallucinations.

"That's what they said too." I looked over at him but looked back at the wall when I felt a flash of anger. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

He paused at my grave tone and ignored my question. I took that as a no. I was never going to know. He was going to let me live the rest of my life without knowing. I was going to go to my grave thinking I lost the best friend I'd ever had. The man I realized I loved.

"What else did they say?" He went on to ask.

I knew he would want to know about the hallucinations. I knew it but I bitterly didn't want to tell him. Then again if he could explain what was real and what wasn't, I would need that. Best to get it out then while I was still not registering how mad I was.

"They said you made me watch because it was more believable. I guess that's what you just told me too." I felt another flash of anger that I needed to control. "They said you made me watch because I was a soldier and I should have been able to handle it. Anyone else wouldn't have faired as well or it would have caused a bigger scene than necessary for a fake death. It needed to be me."

"Very good John." The praise made my stomach twist.

"Don't. Just…just don't okay." I took a calming breath and thought it over again. Now I knew how. But I didn't get why. Why me? Why this? Why jumping of a bloody building? "You still haven't told me why. Why you did it."

"I told you, Moriarty needed me to fall."

Who could I blame here? How much could I put on Moriarty? "So Moriarty needed you to fake your death? By jumping off a roof?"

"He might have expected me to die. The roof was my idea. I had him meet me there."

Jumping off a building was his idea. Of course. If you're going to fake your death, might as well make it the biggest one possible. I guess it made sense with the fall thing though. In some sort of pathetic poetic stupid way.

"He had three snipers, on you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. He said they would kill all of you if they didn't see me jump." A devilish smile crossed his face. "He never said anything about them needing to see me land."

I nodded blindly but then got confused. Moriarty was on the roof he said.

"But the man was with you. He had to have seen what you did. He had to know you faked it. That you outsmarted him."

"After he told me he had the snipers on you I found out he had a way to call them off." He pushed off his chair and started to move around again as he spoke. "I was going to get him to call them off and he knew it. So he put his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. I wasn't happy about that. Yes he was out of the way but I still had to go through with my own death."

I gaped at him. He couldn't have led with this fact?

"He killed himself?"

"I said he ate his gun. I never said he killed himself. They were never able to find his body after all. The news report said the roof was clear of any evidence as far as if I was pushed or jumped. If there was a dead body up there, there would have been a different story."

"But why would he fake his own death?"

I felt like every question was bringing more questions rather than answers.

"He didn't care about dying. He just wanted something to do with his time. If he was to ruin me, the best competition he'd had, he didn't see a point. He wanted to play another angle. Try a different game."

"I'm sorry...How could he shoot himself in the face and not die from it?"

"I have a few theories. Would you like to hear them?"

"No actually. I'd much rather know what you did next. You made your best friend watch you fake your own death, illegally using hospital equipment and people from your homeless network, deleted all evidence that it was fake, purposefully didn't tell said friend, and then what? Vacation?"

"Ah resentment. That I expected. I wanted to come and tell you but I couldn't risk it. If it came to light that my death was a fake right after the fact then Moriarty's snipers would have killed you. Moriarty wasn't around to tell them otherwise."

"I thought you said he isn't dead."

"I don't know for sure. I do know he's not the one calling the shots. Though he may be the one pulling the strings."

"Who is calling the shots?"

"A man by the name of Sebastian Moran." Sherlock turned to me and flourished his arms. "Dishonorable discharge from the military. Long intertwined in the web of Moriarty's crimes. His favorite sniper and hit man. Some sources say he was his right hand man. I do think he was the one with us that night in the pool. He was the one with the gun trained on you."

"That still doesn't explain what you've been doing."

"Getting rid of the problem." He raised his eyebrows at me but I wasn't in the mood for his games.

"What does that even mean?"

"I've been creeping my way into Moriarty's system. I've been finding ways to cut the threads of his web from the inside. I've been working my way to finding Moran and eventually Moriarty."

"But you haven't."

"No not yet."

"But then why haven't they killed you?" Sherlock wasn't one for subtly. "They had to of known what you were doing."

"That's one of the reasons I still believe Moriarty is alive."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would-"

"Moriarty wanted to burn the heart out of me." Sherlock interrupted and dove in front of me bringing his face to my level. "What do you think he meant by that?"

"I don't know." I found my words stuck in my throat at the proximity of his face to mine. "I thought by taking your work away and making you out to be a fraud he-"

"You," He whispered and I furrowed my eyes at him. "You, John. He figured out that you were special. You were different. He would only let me live if you continued to suffer. He wanted me to know you were suffering. That is not to say he didn't come for me on more than one occasion."

"Me?" I felt my heart skip a beat and my stomach flutter. "But-"

"Don't make me repeat myself." He pushed form my chair and paced through the room

"Alright." I was that important to Sherlock that I was used like a chess piece in their game? I felt both flattered and rightfully pissed off. I was alive though. But for how long? If Sherlock didn't tell me for my safety, what was going to happen? "But if you weren't done, why did you come back? Won't they know you came here? Won't they know you talked to me, let me know? Won't they come for you? For me? Us?"

"Molly. She told me…" He moved to the window and looked towards the street again. "I found out you had injured yourself and were sent to the hospital."

"You talked to Molly?"

Now I sounded like the jealous one.

"Only for emergencies. It was the first time she had contacted me."

"What exactly did she say?"

That I tried to kill myself?

"That you had been found passed out in the kitchen and were brought to St. Bart's."

"Did she say why?"

"She might have." He said elusively.

I waited for him to continue but he didn't.

"That was a long time ago." I said.

Almost a month ago.

"I came as quick as I could."

"Let me guess, had to solve a case first?" I asked half joking. Really I just wanted him to say no.

"It was imperative." My heart sank at the answer. "I was undercover at a marine facility and-"

"And let me guess. It had something to do with dolphins?"

"Not directly. Though I chose to learn a great deal about them to get the job."

"And why would you do that?"

"Dolphins are smarter than most humans." He flopped over onto the couch again. "They seemed like the least boring aquatic animal."

"Well it explains the dolphin noises."

"It really is quite fascinating how one dolphin can-"

"Sherlock." I put up a hand to stop him before he started. "I'm not quite done here."

"Fine. Go on."

"A few things don't make sense to me. Why wasn't there a sniper on Mycroft? He is your brother after all."

"One theory was his guards couldn't be bought. It would be hard to infiltrate where he works, not that Moriarty couldn't have done it. We were also never that close. I believe they thought I would be too furious with him over what he did to me to care. At the time that was probably true. That or Moriarty was thanking him for the information."

"But you're not mad now?"

"Unfortunately I needed to forgive him because I needed his help. Financial dilemmas."

"So where have you been this entire time?"

"Everywhere really. Crime sweeps across the globe. I've been low key. I lived in cheap places, sometimes staying with members of the homeless network. Hence why I'm dressed in this rubbish wear." I smiled a bit as he pulled at his sweatshirt. "I'd solve cases and anonymously leave messages for the police so they would catch up. Sometimes I'd work with them."

"That must have killed you. Not getting the credit."

He paused and I thought he wasn't going to answer but then he spoke.

"It was all to come home."

I smiled at him. I was glad he still thought of this as home. I guessed it was good I didn't rent out his room after all.

"I guess that kept you from being bored."

"Mostly. What did you mean by no media?" He quickly flipped onto his side to face me.

"What?"

"Last night when we were talking about why I was dressed this way." He said annoyed.

"Oh," As If I knew what he was thinking about at all hours of the day. "That's what they always said. It was why they could never leave the flat or talk to anyone else or own a cell phone. They had made a deal with Moriarty to only do low key cases and stay out of the spotlight. That way Moriarty had something to do. If the media got wind they were back then we would both die. Aren't you worried? Moran or Moriarty or whatever will know you contacted me and kill us."

He never did answer me the first time I asked. I was fairly certain he wasn't going to, and was going to let me forget I asked at all. If Moriarty planned this to make me live in the dark and make me suffer, something was going to happen now that Sherlock was back and I was in the light and only suffering due to annoyance and not grief.

"I plan to contact. Make a deal."

I didn't like the idea of a deal. What could we have to offer?

"How are you going to do that?"

"He sends a spotter to check on me every once and a while. I'm sure since I've returned to London he is already here. He has been my contact with Moran. He is the one they send to threaten me."

"Why doesn't he just kill you himself?"

"They want to see how far I'll go. They want to play the game."

Another game. If it was the only reason Sherlock was alive, I guessed I couldn't complain just yet. He was alive and he was able to tell me so himself.

"So now I know. Lestrade knows. Molly knows. Mycroft knows. Mrs. Hudson? How are you going to tell her?"

"Tomorrow. We'll let her settle from her trip and then you'll tell her."

"Me?"

"Yes you. I don't want to frighten her by telling her myself."

"Alright."

That was going to be a challenge. Hello Mrs. Hudson, want to see Sherlock? He's right upstairs. I know I've hallucinated him a lot before but this time I swear he's real!

"But if I get put in the loony bin, you're going to have to bail me out." He smiled at my remark and I smiled back. "So is that everything?"

"Obviously not everything."

"I mean…" You arrogant sod. "Well this had to be great fun for you didn't it? You got to fake your own death and lead a life of solving crimes without having to dictate to society's rules." Some of my anger and bitterness seeped through. "I'm sure you loved it. I'm sorry my hospital trip brought you back."

Sherlock studied me for a bit before sitting up and staring at me. If I didn't know any better I would have said he was struggling with what to say next.

"The hardest part of falling was not to look at you and tell you." I opened my mouth to respond but he mumbled something unintelligible and continued. "No. No, when you were at my grave asking me to tell you it was a lie. That was the hardest."

He heard that? He was there and he didn't say anything? The memory of speaking to Sherlock's shiny black gravestone made my chest hurt. It was one of the few moments I broke down. Sometimes I still felt that broken.

"I'm glad I'm back." I studied Sherlock's face and saw as it fall. It started to move on its own, showing the emotion underneath. "I hated it John. The way I was forced to live and move around. Yes it was fun at some points. But all I wanted was to come home. I hated to think of how I affected you. Moriarty got what he wanted in the end. And I'm sorry I couldn't stop it."

I wanted to believe him. I so desperately did. He looked so sincere. It was what I wanted after all, for him to feel bad about what he did to me. To be sorry. But I had heard these things before.

"That's what they said too." I responded coldly. I could see he had expected a different response. I could see my words hurt him and his face returned to blank.

"You think I'm acting." He said with a stoic face.

"I don't know what to think." I said honestly.

"Believe what you want." He spat at me, jumping up from his seat. "What I told you is true. I risked my life coming back here. Honestly I risked yours."

"And why did you do that?" I stood now angry myself. "You could have called Molly or Mycroft. They would have told you I was fine."

"Is that what you would have rather happened?" He turned on me and rounded into my personal space. It only riled me up more.

"I don't know Sherlock." No, not really. "You were free to do what you wanted and you came back for nothing."

"I came back for you."

"But I was fine!"

"No you obviously weren't!" He yelled even closer to my face. "I was out there every night thinking about how you were. I kept telling myself that I shouldn't care, that it would get me nowhere, but I did. I had to spend months worried about if you were dead or alive. I didn't know if they were going to change their mind. Believe it or not I cannot actually predict the future. I liked having cases, yes, because they took my mind off of you. I did everything to take my mind off you. But there you were buzzing about." He flapped a hand around between our faces. "My worry and my caring. It was what he wanted. To throw me off. Well it did! Then I got that blasted phone call from Molly telling me you tried to kill yourself! Do you know what that did to me? Do you know how much it killed me that I couldn't leave that second to come and get you?"

I gaped at him. He had never spoken like that about me before. My heart was racing as his yelling buzzed in my ear.

"Good! Maybe you understood what it was like! I had to watch you die Sherlock! You weren't even around when I went to the hospital!"

"And you don't think that's worse?"

"I don't know Sherlock," I started sarcastically. "I hallucinated your existence for two months. I think that wins!"

"I didn't know!" He pulled away and doubled back. "I couldn't tell you. You have to see that. I wanted to. I wanted to come back but I couldn't."

"I believed in you Sherlock! I always thought you would come back to me but you didn't. Instead my mind made up the reality in which you did. And now you come back spurting on about how sorry you are? Forgive me if I don't believe you now!"

"Believe me now. It was hell out there without you. I haven't felt this way before!"

"You haven't felt before! Some good old feelings would do you some good."

"Are you so naïve enough to actually believe I don't have feelings? I haven't felt? John that's all I did! It was how Moriarty got to me! It was how he won!"

"Well I'm so sorry I made you lose your little game!"

"I didn't care he won! I cared he hurt you to do it!"

"I'm sure you did. I'm sure this wasn't-"

"Dear god! Can you be more ignorant?!"

"Can you be more infuriating?!"

We were far too close in our screaming and the next thing I knew my face was being grabbed and Sherlock's lips collided into my own. He was holding me tightly and I squirmed to get away. He pulled down harder and opened his mouth, biting down on my lips. I pushed back enough to grab his arms and push him away.

"Don't! Don't do that! You can't just do that to shut me up! To make me do whatever you want!"

Sherlock ran at me again and I tried to block him but he saw it coming. He was after all a very stealthy fighter. He pushed away my hands and grabbed my wrists pinning my arms to my side. Again I felt his face smash into mine and his lips opened trying to pull my mouth open with his teeth.

"Sherlock!" I yelled out around his mouth. He stuck his tongue into it when it was open. I gagged at the sudden entry and managed to push back on his hands so he stumbled back.

"You told me you loved me. Is that true or not?!" He yelled at me.

"I told you that because I thought you weren't real!"

"True or not?!"

As I was gaping over at him, Sherlock quickly moved in front of me. He bear hugged me and kicked out with a leg, wrapping it around the back of mine. He swung it in and sent us crashing down onto the couch. Quickly he straddled my lap, keeping me from standing up.

"Would you stop?!" I yelled out, trying to struggle to get out of his arms.

"I am not acting. This is real. Now tell me the truth."

I struggled more but he had me locked in tight.

"Get off me!"

"True or not?" He brought his head down so it was pinning mine with his forehead. I was forced to look at him so close that his eyes blurred together. I growled and he asked again. "True or not?"

I struggled one last time before grumbling out, "True." I continued to struggle a bit more but it didn't go anywhere. There really wasn't a point in lying to him. I expected him to just get up off me and be glad he won. He would probably just tell me that if I loved him then I should forgive him.

Instead he crashed our lips together and moved them hard against mine. I was stuck in his arms with his weight on top of me. I was a little stunned at first but I soon found my lips started to part and crash back against his. Faster and faster my lips rolled into his and I moved hard, trying to bite him back for biting at me in the first place.

I grabbed onto his lower lip with my teeth and I could hear him growling at me. He squeezed me hard with his arms before letting me go. My arms flung up to grip him down tighter, clawing at his back. His own hands started to dig into my shoulders and I arched up in response. I let go of the grip on his lip with my teeth and moved my lips faster on his, trying to keep up with his quick pace.

"You." He growled out between smashing his lips back onto mine. "Masochistic." Again he smashed his lips into mine. "Idiot."

I smiled against his mouth and continued attacking it. "What's that-" His lips crashed into mine, "supposed to-" again I couldn't get a full sentence out, "mean?"

"You-" He talked again between running his teeth across my lip and pulling it out, making it pop when it bounced back. "Love me."

Hearing him sound so proud when he said that made my heart bounce and my hands grabbed him tighter, pulling him flush to my body. I blindly ran a hand up his back and wrapped it up into his shaggy black hair. He groaned as I pulled back on it, pushing my tongue into his mouth as his opened.

He responded by pushing his own tongue forward and battling to get it into my own mouth. I pulled back with a moan when I needed air. As I breathed, I continued to kiss him down to his neck where I pulled back on the black hoodie and sank my teeth down into his flesh. He grabbed me tighter which only made me bite down harder.

"I bet you knew that already." I spoke into his neck as I switched sides and licked a line up to his ear and started to nibble on his lobe. I could feel the breaths from his pant hit against my face and I grinned, slipping my tongue out to play around the rim of his ear.

"I didn't actually." His voice came out gruff and his chest was heaving against my own.

"No?" I whispered into his ear before taking another bite.

"Love is subjective. I thought I was projecting my own thoughts onto- oh god." He couldn't finish his sentence because my tongue dipped down into his ear. I breathed cool air onto it and felt him shiver in response.

Before I could do anything else his hands grabbed onto my hair and ripped my head back from his. He then smashed into my body causing me to fall back onto the back of the couch. I ran my hands back down his front fishing around the edges of his sweatshirt. It seemed like something he needed to take off. It wasn't like him anyway. That and it was getting much too hot for so many layers.

As I pulled up on the sweatshirt I felt something move in the giant front pocket. I didn't think anything of it at first but then I heard something fall to the floor and I quickly looked down to see what it was. On the ground was a packet of cigarettes that popped open to show they had been used.

I looked back at Sherlock and he looked like a little kid caught with his hands stuck in the cookie jar. He might as well have been. I glared at him and saw his eyes dart back to the floor.

I jumped for the ground at the same time he did.

We crashed on the ground on top of each other. I pushed him down under me and reached for the pack as he struggled and punched my elbow out. I quickly switched hands and grabbed the pack as tight as I could as he tried to pry my fingers off.

I stood up quick and pushed away from him, keeping the distance between us. There was no way I could play keep away when he was so much taller than me. The only way to win was to keep him from getting too close.

"What's this Sherlock?" I rattled the half empty back at my side. I saw him glare at it.

"If you didn't know what it was then you wouldn't be keeping it from me."

He tried to run for me but I managed to separate us with my chair. We circled around it for a bit as we talked. It was like I was playing with Harry all over again.

"And what about the patches?"

"No longer effective."

"When was the last time you smoked?" We continued to dance around the chair and he didn't answer me. "Sherlock?"

"Two hours ago."

"Two hours?" He ran for me in the opposite direction and I ran off to the bathroom. I chucked the cigarettes in and tried to push the door shut. He managed to grab the door before I could shut it and he pushed back as hard as he could. "How did you smoke and I not know it?!" I yelled still trying to close the door. "I couldn't smell it on you or anything!" I also couldn't taste it on him.

"Alcohol swab, chewing gum, and shower!" He yelled back through the door. I had my back to it and was trying to push with my legs straight out.

I ran over that list quickly in my head.

"What about your clothes?"

"Wasn't wearing any."

"What?" The image of Sherlock smoking his cigarette naked distracted me enough to the point where he pushed open the door enough to slip inside. I feel back as the door shut with my body weight slamming it closed.

He ran over to the other side of the bathroom, having already figured out where the pack landed. "Naked, John. Is that a problem?" He moved back over to where I was standing, slipping the cigarettes back in the large pocket.

"Problem? I-" I found my mouth had dried out while I was gaping. I shut it and licked my lips trying to talk before he pushed me from the door and walked through, shutting it behind him. I gaped a bit at the empty room before spinning around and chasing after him. "The flat doesn't smell of it."

I always felt like I was playing catch-up when around Sherlock. I thought my hallucinations cheated a bit in that. I still had to mentally catch up but it wasn't quite as real as it was now. Now I also had to physically chase after him.

"Fire escape John!" He yelled from the living room as he plopped back down on his chair.

"Right." I guessed I would have to keep an eye on that then. The fire escape was through his bedroom so he could probably sneak out whenever he wanted. Not that he would be sleeping there because there was no bed. He could still find a way to sneak out there and smoke. Wait…

"You were on the fire escape naked?"

"Way to catch up John." He ran his hands through his hair pulling at some of the curls in the front before pushing it all back again.

So Sherlock picked up smoking again. That wasn't good. Maybe it should have been expected but what else did he pick up again? Everyone knew of his drug use. I wasn't around for it but as a doctor I knew how hard it was to go through withdrawal. Would he put himself through that again? He probably didn't expect to have to. He didn't expect to come back.

I walked over to my chair across from his and folded my hands over my lap. How did you ask someone if they were doing drugs? That is without having them throw a fit.

"I can't take any more lies Sherlock. I've lived a life of lies and I need the truth. I can't handle being lied to."

"And you call me dramatic." He didn't look at me but I could tell he rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock…are you doing drugs?"

Best to be straight with him. And that was funny to me seeing as how we just kissed. Not exactly my straightest moment.

I might have still been a bit high off the hormonal and adrenaline rush that accompanied it.

He looked up at me but didn't say anything. His reddened lips were tight in a small frown. I supposed that color was from the kissing but I couldn't think about that. I needed an answer.

"Sherlock don't lie to me. Just tell me."

I swear sometimes I could hear his mind working when I could see him thinking in front of me. Probably trying to find out the best way to tell me without actually having to say it.

"Yes." He said it in that emotionless way. He could have been talking to the scull. Which I guessed was gone now. Mycroft had it.

"What?" My doctor voice came out.

"Cocaine."

"How long?" I couldn't be mad at him right now. Right now I needed the facts to see how I could help him off it. Again.

"Since South America."

"Which was?"

"Two months ago."

"How often?"

"Occasionally."

"Right. And how often is that?"

"I'm not some idiot! I am handling perfectly fine! I don't need a doctor asking me these questions!"

"Really and when was the last time you did it? When was the last time you were high?" He gave me that pursed lipped look again.

I knew he wasn't high right now. He wasn't showing any signs of it. The only reason he would be so quiet is if it was while he was around me. The last time I saw him was this morning before work and he wasn't…he was staring at the ceiling ignoring me but his fingers were tapping incessantly. All that pent up energy from having to stay still while I was in the room.

"This morning?"

"Very good John," he sneered. I took a very deep breath in and ran my hands over my face.

"You can't do this Sherlock."

"Telling me what to do again? I'm not in your brain John. I don't have to listen to you."

"There's a reason it's called the heart attack drug Sherlock. I can't lose you again!"

Well that shut him right up.

If I squinted I could see the guilt washing over him. His face didn't betray him though. I guessed I just knew him well enough.

"So please. If you'll just try. Just try and stop. For me."

"Fine. I'll stop. I've already started."

"When?"

"About a month."

The hospital call? I couldn't ask. I didn't want him to fight me about this.

"The withdrawal?"

"I've been dealing with it."

"Alone? Right. Stupid question."

"I'm not quitting the smoking."

I expected that. It would be very difficult to quit both at the same time. Though really he would probably just transfer his addiction of the cocaine to the smoking.

It was going to make the whole apartment smell.

We needed to figure out what to do with him. He needed something to do.

"Fine but only smoke outside." I moved to pick up my tea cup and bring it to the kitchen before a ring was made. As I reached the kitchen I popped my head back in and yelled, "With clothes on!"

I heard him groan, "But John-"

"Nope!"

AN: Remember, this is actually a Johnlock, I told you it wouldn't always be depressing.

And I know, you all are like 'You updated a day late!'. Yes, yes I know. But this chapter is very explainy and I tried to make it sensey.

Also because someone asked in a review if I was going to do a Sherlock POV. When I first started writing I wasn't, then I was a little, then I was going to write a sequel from his POV, then the review happened and I said oh what the hell. So your next chapter will be a Sherlock POV. Yay. I already wrote it, I just need to make sure it lines up and edit later chapters so they don't repeat.

One more thing. You know how you guys threatened to kill me a lot? Lovingly? Well I threaten to kill you, lovingly, if you find flaws in my logic about his fake death. You still can, but I swear I will find a way to dispute them. Lovingly. It'll be fun all around.

If I missed something that you thought of for the fake death, let me know. I may have already written it in a later chapter but just let me know anyway.

Also, Rated T for drugs. That's apparently added into the mix.

Sorry for the long notes. Love you all! Thank you for the follows/favs and reviews. I never expected so many people to read this :) Reviews still make my life.

Love is being sent your way :)