John had been wandering around the maze of hallways for what seemed liked hours, the drug he had been injected with had not shown any signs of wearing off; to be perfectly honest the more frustrated he got by the maze, the more extreme the anger and rage became. His body was shaking with the adrenaline; he needed something to expel the feelings bottled up inside. It took several minutes before he realized he was smashing his fist into the cement wall repeatedly. He couldn't feel any pain so the best idea seemed to be to continue his attack on the wall. Blood dripped down his forearm and the small part of his brain that was still rational told him that the knuckles of his right hand were broken. John ceased his assault on the wall as quickly as he had begun it, and slumped against the opposite wall. He was kneeling with his head in his hands when he heard the grinding of a metal door opening. Every muscle in John's body tensed, finally he would have someone to take his anger out on. John stood up and turned to face whoever was coming. His eyes grew large as he saw HIS doppelganger come walking towards him.

He hadn't been prepared for that, he felt something akin to a knife twisting in his gut. Could he kill someone with such an acute resemblance to HIM? The answer came to him quickly, 'Yup, sure could.' The look-alike just stood there at the end of the hall staring at him. Slowly the man put his hand out in front of him as if he were approaching a scared, wounded animal.

"John, are you alright?"

Dear God, this man even sounded like HIM, John was rooted to the spot, and he couldn't take his eyes off the man.

"John?"

The man was moving towards him, closing the gap between them.

"John, you've been drugged. The anger you feel is pharmaceutically intensified. This isn't how I wanted you to find out that I was alive, but I need to get you out of here. If you'll come with me, I'll explain everything."

The man was standing directly in front of him now. John raised his face to look into the man's eyes, and at that moment, seeing those crystal blue eyes gazing upon him, the truth made its way through his drug addled brain. HE was standing right in front of him, very much alive. Before John even knew what he was doing, he felt his already damaged fist connect with HIS face. John got a few good jabs in before HE wrapped his long arms around him, stopping John mid-swing.

"John, we have time for this later, but right now you are playing right into Moran's plan. He's capturing all of this. All he needs is images of you violently attack som… Oh… Oh that's clever. He thought you would kill me and then …"

John threw his head into Sherlock's nose, allowing him to get free of Sherlock's grasp. He shoved Sherlock once, throwing the other man off balance. John continued to push Sherlock hard back against the wall; the emotions he was feeling were intensified by the drug in his system, he knew that to be true. In the back of his mind, the sane part of him was shouting for him to stop, but he couldn't be bothered with that now. The object of all his pain, love, loss, lust, frustration, and anger was in front of him and nothing could stop John from showing Sherlock what he felt.

"John," Sherlock mumbled from underneath his own hand, which was currently holding his nose. John knew he hadn't hit it hard enough to break it, but it was bleeding profusely.

"Shut up!" John hissed as he pressed into Sherlock, one of his hands had found its way to Sherlock's hair at the nape of his neck, causing the other man to remove his hand from his injured nose. John grabbed a handful of hair, tugged backwards harshly, and then pulled Sherlock's head forward, bringing them together in a bruising kiss. John's mouth attacked Sherlock, who wasn't fighting, but wasn't fully participating either. John let out an aggravated moan in the back of his throat, nipping at Sherlock's bottom lip, causing the other man to gasp ; John took the opportunity to pillage Sherlock's mouth with his tongue. John couldn't stop rutting against the thigh that was between his legs, he needed Sherlock to feel how much John needed him. He broke the kiss and pulled back. He saw fear in Sherlock's eyes, but there was want there was well, not to mention confusion and hurt. They could both taste the coppery flavor of Sherlock's blood.

"Please…" John wasn't sure what he was asking for, but he couldn't help but beg anyway. He was still grinding against Sherlock's thigh as he looked up into the now intense gaze that had him pinned at the moment. John brought his hand up to Sherlock's chiseled cheek and stroked it. The two different types of touches he was simultaneously giving to Sherlock seemed to confuse his friend even more. John couldn't handle looking into those questioning eyes any longer; he brought his lips back to Sherlock's, but hesitated for just a moment, and felt a small victory as Sherlock moved forward slightly, just enough to encourage John to take his mouth again. As their lips joined once more, Sherlock finally moved as he drew John closer into him. John was taken by surprise when he found himself against the wall, being picked up by the world's only, not-so-dead, consulting detective. It was Sherlock who pulled back this time, as John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's slim waist. When their erections collided it sent white sparks through John's vision. He had never wanted someone so desperately in his life.

"Is this what you want John? A quick rut against a wall, while our enemy watches?"

"Fuck, I couldn't care less if the Queen herself were watching! I need you to prove to me that you're here, alive and…mine."

John bent his head down and attached himself to Sherlock's slender neck. He wanted to mark him, he wanted everyone to know what had happened; to know that he had finally laid claim to what should have been his all along. He knew that he would regret his actions after the drug had left his system, but that didn't deter him from taking what he wanted; he unwrapped his legs and slid down Sherlock's body, easily flipping their position once more. He reached for Sherlock's trousers and made quick work of the button and the zip. He pushed his hand down Sherlock's pants and moaned loudly as his hand finally wrapped around Sherlock's erection. The heat coming from Sherlock drove John even further out of his rational mind.

"You want this just as much as I do, don't you Sherlock?" The name rolled off of John's tongue with ease. He couldn't believe that he had gone three and a half years without it crossing his lips.

John took his hand away, licked it and went back to stroking Sherlock with a punishing speed. Nothing about his touch conveyed love, it was brutal and intense. He brought his other hand around Sherlock's throat, pinning him to the wall. John's cock was throbbing in its cage of cotton and denim, but he wasn't worried about getting his. This was about painting a picture for Sherlock, he need to impress upon him what the years without him had done to John. Sherlock's thighs began to shake and John finally worked up the nerve to look up into that passionate stare once more. John had never seen his friend's eyes so dark: there was only a sliver of dark blue rimming the arousal blown pupils. John released Sherlock's throat and started to run his hand through his hair once again. They didn't break eye contact as Sherlock began to thrust into John's hand.

"Sherlock," Just as John spoke Sherlock's name, he felt the taller man's whole body jerk followed by the heat of ejaculate spilling over his hand. Without hesitation John brought his hand up to his mouth and ran a curious tongue through the mess on his fingers. As Sherlock collected himself, John turned to a camera he had spotted earlier.

"Go ahead and publish that, but know I'm still coming for you. I owe you." He turned back to his resurrected best friend. "Welcome back, Sherlock."

With that John strode off towards the door by which he had seen Sherlock enter.