Sherlock held the baggie in his hand. John had taken his syringes and supplies for shooting up, that doesn't mean he can't snort it. He finds a little mirror he had lying around, he used it for some experiment about refracting lasers. Fairly confident that he cleaned it after, Sherlock placed it on the bed and poured the powder. Took his credit card and made two perfect lines. No track marks equal no trace. You can do this and he'll never know. Come on Sherlock, I'm the only one that ever cared. Just snort the lines. Everything will be better again.

Sitting down he stared at the drugs before him. Wanting more than anything to just lean forward and inhale the toxic substance. The drugs taunting him, encouraging him. But the look of disappointment in John's eyes this morning broke his heart, the image branded into his mind. Sherlock sat there, staring at the drugs, not knowing what to do. So he did the only thing he could.

"John?" Sherlock whispered. Of course he can't hear me. But this lump in my throat I can't speak any louder. I don't want him to see me like this. I can't keep doing this.

"John!" he said again louder. He heard a knock on the door. "Sherlock?"

"Please, John. Help me." Sherlock whimpered as the door pushed open. The army doctor froze at the scene before him. The distraught detective sitting before the lines of coke, crying. Sherlock didn't even realize he was crying until he felt the warm tears dripping down his face. He didn't try to wipe them away.

"Please... Help... I didn't. I can't..." Sherlocks pleading gasps broke John from his trance. He leaped forward and was sitting on the ground next to his broken friend.

"Shhh. It's okay. You don't have to do this. Thank you for calling me." John said as he carefully moved the mirror out of reach. "I know it hurts, but it's not going to kill you. Give me fifteen minutes and I can help you get past this, okay? But, you have to trust me." John didn't have too much expertise in this area but remembered learning some ABC exercise to teach addicted patients. He hoped this would help.

Sherlock slowly turned his head and locked eyes with John. "I trust you." he replied with his small cracking voice.

John got up and pulled Sherlock with him. They headed back to the sitting room. In their respective seats. But John pulled his forward so when they were sitting their knees touched. Sherlock hand came up again to scratch the inside of his elbow, a subconscious trait of the junkie. John reached out and held Sherlocks hands, trying to stop the action. Looking up he saw the quizzical look on the detectives face.

"Trust me." he said, and could see his flatmate visibly relax, although the craving still plaguing him with anxiety. "Breathe with me." John said taking deep breaths. Sherlock soon fell into the doctors pace. "Okay I need you to keep breathing like that, focus on that. Focus on the feeling of right now. I want you to answer me, but don't think about what you're saying, just focus on breathing. Focus on the feeling of the air moving in and out, focus on the slow pace. Okay?" Sherlock nodded in response and his grasp on Johns hands tightened slightly.

"Okay. Remember, just focus on breathing." John stated again. He continued once he thought Sherlock had calmed down enough. "Why did you want to use right now?"

"I messed up, I disappointed you. I tried to stop using and failed." Sherlock said with flat affect. He was just focusing on his breathing, on the feel of Johns hands, trying not to think.

"Do you always succeed in everything?"

"I think I have to. Then when I don't I get frustrated with myself, afraid that I've disappointed people and they'll leave. I get depressed then think what's the point in trying anymore."

"Where is it written in stone that you have to always succeed on the first try?"

"I'm a bloody genius though. I should be smarter than making such stupid mistakes."

"Do they really feel stupid at the time? Hindsight has this way of occurring after the fact."

"I know. But it seems so obvious. Then I kick myself for not having thought of it before."

"Is that realistic? That you always know every possible outcome? That you're always perfect?"

"No. Of course it's not. No one is perfect in everything."

"So why do you have to be?" John prompted

"I know it isn't realistic, but I just do okay? I put a lot of pressure on myself then make myself feel bad if I don't succeed."

"And that leads to?" The army doctor encouraged.

"Self destructive behaviors." Sherlock mumbled in response. "Why am I telling you all this? It's just so illogical."

"You're telling me because I can help you, I want to help you. And despite you hiding your feelings you really do care. So, can you try to be more practical with yourself when you fail at something, or slip?"

"I know just because I had used again doesn't mean I should make myself feel so bad and throw everything away. I can't promise anything." Sherlock stated.

"Okay. I know you can't but you have to try. The world isn't black and white. There's no 'musts' or 'always' or 'nevers'. You have to question these thoughts, dispute them. You can display weakness, you can display hurt and need, you can talk to me about this stuff. It's okay if you fail sometimes, but you have to have realistic expectations. You can't throw everything out the window if you slip up once. I'm not going anywhere, and I want to help you. But, I need you to want to be helped." John expressed, rubbing his thumbs across Sherlocks hands. Sherlock sighed.

A/N- please let me know what you think! I know it's a bit off character but I love a broken Sherlock. The rationalization technique I used was ABC which is normally a one person thing but I altered it for john to be the sounding board. It will get back to business soon. I hope you are enjoying and thank you for sticking with the story for so long.