AN: Hello my dralings:) I'm so very sorry that this update is so late. I haven't really been on the laptop much recently because of school and revison and auditions for the school play. (oh, and the laptop can't go ten minutes without freezing *sigh*)

Anyway, this is the second last chapter, the last proper one. The final one will just be a little epilogue, tying up loose ends and such.

I just want to say that it has been amazing writing this, I've had so much fun and I don't really want this to end. However I didn't want this to turn into one of those fanfictions where they go on randomly and endlessly, getting rubbisher and rubbisher.. (is that even a word?)

As I was saying, it has been really awesome and I have loved every minute of working on this fanfiction:)

Don't worry, I will be back with more Johnlock for certain and I've been experimenting with some MorMor, perhaps a Mystrade is around the corner. I would also like to take this opportunity to thanks each and every one of you who put this story on your favourites/alerts and reviwed. My thanks are too big enugh to be expressed in words, just imagine they are the same size as Mycroft's love for cake.

If you enjoyed this story I would recommend checking out my Johnlock Ficlets. (shock horror, most of them are Johnlock!;o)

Now I'm babbling...

So thankyou, thankyou, thankyou and enjoy the penultimate chapter of 'The Baker Street Tragedy'.

(P.S. Sorry it's kinda short.)

Love you all, virtual hugs! -Erin:D xx

It took John half a second to make his decision: follow Sherlock or stay here. Choosing the former option, he ran out of the flat, trying desperately to figure out where his boyfriend could have gone. He turned his head sharply and thought he saw the flap of a coat disappear round the corner. Sherlock. The ex-army doctor sprinted as fast as he could, feet slamming against the tarmac, little splashes of water drenching the bottom of his jeans. He skidded round the corner, slipping on the wet pavement and caught sight of the dark haired man charging down the street and skittering into a side alley. John pushed himself to run faster and frantically began yelling Sherlock's name. This area was all too familiar but he hadn't been here before had he?

Then he remembered that he had been here before, if not physically then mentally at least. This was one of the locations of one of his most frequent nightmares. He would be running down this road, screaming after Sherlock to stop, to come back and finally the dark haired man would turn but it would be too late. The detective would smile at John and then throw himself backwards over the edge of the street landing on the floor some 10 metres below. John would reach the edge and see the broken and bloody body of the great Sherlock Holmes lying on the ground.

That would be how the dream would end. The ex-army doctor would wake up crying and yelling, thrashing around in his bed to reach Sherlock. Only this time it wasn't a dream. This time he really was here in the god forsaken place and Sherlock wasn't going to die. Was he? Suddenly John's grasp on reality began to slip and his head started pounding. Sherlock is alive. Sherlock is alive. Sherlock is alive. He repeated to himself, sorting out his reality.

All the time he was nearly breaking down he hadn't stopped running and he hadn't stopped yelling. His screams were hoarser now and the rain dripped down his face, mixing with the tears that he couldn't feel but could tell were there. John saw the dark haired man lurch to a stop and turn towards John. Sherlock stood stock still, unsure whether to run towards John or to run away from him. The detective had stood still for too long because suddenly and without warning John had thrown himself at Sherlock. The shorter man wrapped his arms around his flatmate's skinny waist and buried his face into Sherlock's neck, begging him not to do that again. They both realised how cold it actually was as they began shaking from a combination of fear and a drop in body temperature.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock said, desperately pulling away from his blond haired boyfriend and pacing around in the confined space.

"It's okay, I think I overreac-"

"No. I'm sorry for what I've done to you. Not just now, but it can be included. It's my fault. All of it! It was my sugar that was hurting you John! It was an experiment but it went wrong. It went completely wrong. You don't really love me either. It's all part of the experiment." And with that the broken detective sank to the cold, wet ground, face being clawed at by his pale hands.

John felt like he couldn't breathe. The shock hit him like a physical impact. He nearly died because of Sherlock. Twice. Once after Sherlock died (though that was more in a mental sense) and during the fire.

You always knew he was dangerous. A nagging voice in the back of John's head told him. It was true, Sherlock had promised danger and he had come running. He was sure that Sherlock didn't want to kill him. A horrible thought passed through his mind. If Sherlock had wanted him dead he would be already. He shook the thought away, pushing it out of his confused brain.

I love him. I bloody love him. I don't care what his experiment was, I love Sherlock bloody Holmes and I will tell him that.

John crouched down on his knees and prised Sherlock's hands away from his face. The detective looked at John with eyes that screamed help me. John had never seen Sherlock look anymore vulnerable or human than he did right now. Gently, John leant forward and kissed Sherlock's quivering lips.

"I don't care what your experiment was. I love you Sherlock, you crazy madman and I've known it for a long time now. I just didn't want to believe it."

John pressed his lips against Sherlock's again, running his hands through the detective's dark, tangled curls. They broke apart and John pulled Sherlock to his feet.

"Come on, Sherlock. Let's get home before you freeze to death." He said, taking Sherlock's hand and vowing to himself that he would never let go.