Happy Friday!

I have officially completed my first week back to university! *throws confetti* And now I'm utterly exhausted and need a nap, but I decided to update this for you lovely people first. And I have Monday off (Labor Day in the US, so we don't have school or mail, which is extremely sad because I love mail). So yay! I get to sleep in!

Invisible Blade: Sherlock, Dodgy Dave

Me: John, random hospital staff, Mr Oswald, Greg, Anderson, Sally

Warnings for this chapter: angst, drug use, trauma patient having an episode, sex whilst high, dubious consent, minor violence, seeing things and hearing voices.


Chapter 29 – Separate Ways, Worlds Apart

John finally managed to flag down a cab, speeding off to the hospital at last. Thankfully the cabbie wasn't in a talkative mood. Maybe the angry looking man wearing a cardigan in his back seat kept him tight lipped. Or maybe he just wasn't a talker. Whatever the reason, John was grateful for the silence. It gave him time to think.

Sherlock had told him that everything he'd said since he'd woken up had all been a lie. So, their relationship hasn't just been an experiment? Sherlock still loved him? Sherlock still wanted to be with him? Did he still want to marry him?

John ran his fingers over his lips, still tingling from their kiss barely five minutes ago. John had forgotten how plush and full Sherlock's lips were. They had moulded perfectly to his for just a brief moment in time before they had pulled away. And they had tasted divine. John dug his fingers into his thigh to stop a moan from escaping, and to remind his prick to behave itself. No more action, ever. Not unless Sherlock's words were true and, even then, not until they had discussed it fully.

The cab pulled up outside the hospital, John passing the cabbie some notes before climbing out and heading inside. He didn't even have to show a badge when he said the Yard had sent him over. Either people were extremely stupid of his blog had a far wider readership than he realised. The nurse at the desk gave him Mr Oswald's room number, paging the surgeon up as well to meet him there to discuss injuries and such before John could talk to him. John nodded and thanked the girl, striding to the elevator and taking it up to Mr Oswald's room, meeting the doctor outside his room.

'Doctor Watson?' the silver-haired man asked.

'Yes, sir,' John answered out of habit. He held out a hand. 'Doctor Doyle, I presume?'

'You presume correctly,' the man said, taking John's hand and giving it a firm shake. 'Greg sent you over, correct?'

'Yes sir,' John answered, nodding his head and falling back in parade rest when the doctor released his hand. 'He asked me to interview Mr Oswald about his attack. If that's alright with you of course.'

'Well, he's stable now, so I don't see what harm it could do,' Doyle said. 'Here.' He gave John the man's chart, explaining what John was seeing as he read it.

'He suffers from multiple contusions to the face and upper torso, a swollen eye, split lip, and he has marks around his neck suggesting that he was strangled for quite some time. Also, he was kicked and stomped on repeatedly. His shoulder was dislocated, three fingers broken, four ribs cracked, two broken, and many organs were bleeding internally. Honestly, this kid is lucky to be alive.'

'Thanks Doctor Doyle,' John said, scanning over the man's readouts before passing them back over. 'Is it alright if I go talk to him now? Is he awake?'

'He's awake yes, but please be careful. The poor bloke was literally dumped on our doorstep this morning. He might be a little confused and disoriented. Go easy, ok?'

'Yes sir,' John said, almost saluting the man. 'One question though.' The doctor turned to smile at him.

'You want to know why you're suddenly a soldier again, yes?' he asked knowingly. 'It happens a lot. I was a doctor in the war too, an officer. Apparently I just seem to radiate high rank and importance, even now. It's happened before and it will happen again. So, at ease.'

John visibly relaxed, laughing slightly. 'Well, alright then. Thank you sir. I'll do my best not to worry your patient.' Then he actually did salute the man, which he returned.

'Have a good day, soldier.'

'You too, sir.' The doctor nodded and walked off to another room, talking animatedly with a nurse before disappearing. John turned to Mr Oswald's door, taking a calming breath before stepping inside.

…::-::…

As Sherlock found himself hammering on the door of his old dealer he questioned what he was doing. He knew that he should be turning around, marching back up the cold, dark alleyway and never looking back. He wanted to too. John would be disappointed in him and furious if he were to get back into the drugs. His brother would drag him through rehab and force him to detox again. Lestrade wouldn't allow him to look into the cold cases. His body wasn't as young as it was before so the likelihood of him handling his drugs wasn't high.

But then for every argument against drugs he found one that was pushing him further into his decision.

John's already disappointed in me and furious for my actions over the past two months.

In my dream world my brother didn't force me to detox and my brother is dealing with his own problems. It is unlikely that he will notice mine whilst he is so preoccupied.

I don't need cases. The drugs will slow my mind down enough. I wasn't on cases when I was doing drugs before and that was fine.

My body will cope. After all it's been through; getting beaten, being in a coma, muscle wastage.

I need a fix. One fix. I'll be fine.

…::-::…

John entered Mr Oswald's room opening and closing the door softly. The poor man looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a chopper blade and had won. He was hooked up to four IVs, one was probably morphine, one a saline solution, and the other two were anybody's guess. His heart monitor beeped slow but steady. So he was alive. That was good. But how long could he stay awake for John's question?

'Hello? Mr Oswald?' John said softly. The heart monitor jumped slightly when the man registered his voice, probably surprised as he hadn't heard him come in.

'Sorry to surprise you,' John said, coming into the man's view. 'My name is Doctor Watson. I'm a consultant with Scotland Yard. I'm here to ask you some questions about your attack.'

'I... I'm afraid I... I can't give you much,' the man choked out. His throat was probably dry and his lips looked chapped. John looked around for the ice chips, grabbing them and sitting down beside Mr Oswald.

'Do you mind?' he asked, holding up a piece of ice for the man to see.

'No,' he croaked out. John delicately ran the ice along the man's cracked lips, moistening them. He sighed in relief, sucking the ice into his mouth and allowing the melting water to run down his throat.

'Often with attacks like this, the attackers leave little evidence behind,' John said, pulling out another piece of ice and tracing Mr Oswald's lips with it. 'But sometimes they mess up. You scratched one of them, they showed you their faces because they thought you would forget or die, anything along those lines. Anything you remember could help us find the men who did this to you.'

'Don't remember much,' Mr Oswald managed to say, his voice sounding better already. 'They picked me up outside the theatre. I'd gone to see that new Iron Man movie, ya know?'

'Yeah. I've been meaning to see it myself,' John grinned. 'Is it any good?'

'It's excellent,' Mr Oswald grinned brightly. 'Robert is amazing.'

'Yeah, I like him too,' John smiled back. 'I'll be sure to see it soon. But the men, they abducted you when you left the theatre?'

'Yeah. I was walking home. It's only a few streets away, so I figured it was safe, ya know?' He looked up at John and swallowed. 'But I passed by this one particularly dark alley and this pair of huge arms grabbed me and threw me in the back of a van. They kept calling me some stupid name. And it wasn't even mine!'

'What did they call you?' John asked, looking up from his notepad.

'Sherlock, I think?' Mr Oswald shrugged. 'Doesn't even sound like a real name. But I was scared so maybe I misheard.'

'Maybe, yes,' John swallowed. 'But who knows? Maybe it was some sort of code?'

'Yeah, maybe. But they kept saying it like they thought it was my name. I don't know. Maybe they were all high.' John didn't even respond to that. 'And... And when they realised I wasn't this Sherlock person, thing, whatever, that was when they started beating me.'

They had been looking for Sherlock? John looked up at that. Mr Oswald took that as his cue to continue.

'They kept saying, "Pass on a message. He'll find you. You'll know 'em when ya see 'em." Who were they talking about? Who is this Sherlock bloke they mistake me for?' He looked up at John, fear and trust in his eyes.

'I think I may know,' he said solemnly. He pulled out his phone, flipping to an old photo of Sherlock he didn't have the heart to delete. He showed Mr Oswald the photo, his heart beating faster when he saw.

'So they... They wanted him, but got me instead?' he asked in a wall voice.

'Perhaps,' John said, putting his phone away. 'Or maybe they wanted you because you look so much like him and they wanted to scare him. They did the same thing a few months back with men who looked like me. If it is the same group of men, that is.'

'So is he, like, your boyfriend?'

'Yeah. Well, he was. Now I'm not so sure.'

'What happened?'

'Look, don't take it personally, but I'd really rather not discuss my private life with a trauma patient,' John said.

'Understandable,' the man nodded. 'But, if it helps, I'm studying to be a therapist at London University.'

'Thanks, but no,' John smiled softly. 'But good luck in your studies.'

'Thanks.'

'So, what else can you remember about your attack? What message did they want you to give Sherlock?'

'Well, after they stopped hitting me, they started kicking and stomping on me,' the man shuddered. 'And then... then some sick bastard ripped open my shirt and started carving into my back. The docs here haven't even told me what it says. Have you seen it?'

'Yes, and as of yet we have no idea what the significance of those wounds are,' John sighed.

'But what's it say?' the man demanded.

'"I.O.U.,"' John sighed. Mr Oswald's eyes glazed over, his heart monitor shooting through the roof. 'Mr Oswald? Mr Oswald! Can you hear me?'

'I owe you!' he cried. 'That was the message!' His voice took on an almost sickly quality as he recollected the message to John with astounding clarity and memory. '"I owe you a fall, Sherlock. Protect your heart and your head. Because I will make you fall. Protect your heart. Because I'm coming after him. Protect your head. Because then I'm coming after you. From, your biggest fan."'

The doctor and a nurse rushed in just as Mr Oswald's body lurched up, his mouth hung open in a silent scream. John was pushed aside as the staff worked to calm their patient down, regulate his breathing and heart rate. In the end, they injected him with a sedative, Mr Oswald's body relaxing but he still had a wild look in his eyes as he fell under.

'What the hell was that?' Doctor Doyle demanded.

'I... I don't know. A memory attached to a word, I believe. He went from calm to frantic in under a second. And all I said was "I.O.U."'

'Ok, well, I suggest you don't say it around him again,' Doyle advised. 'And I think that's all you'll be getting for today. I suggest you come back when he's more stable.'

'Of course,' John nodded, closing his notebook. 'Sorry about all that. But, can you give him this when he wakes?' He handed the doctor his card. 'If he remembers anything else, no matter how mundane or unimportant it may seem, can you give me a call? Any information to the case could be important.'

'Sure,' the doctor said, taking the card and setting it on Mr Oswald's bedside table. 'I'll see you out.'

'That's fine, but thank you,' John declined. 'Tend to your patient. He's going to need you when he wakes up.' John waved and exited the room, managing to make it to the lift rather calmly.

He didn't let the force of what Mr Oswald had screamed at him hit him until he made it into a cab and was headed back to the Yard. He covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply. So it was Moriarty. He was going after them both now. He was going to make Sherlock fall. But how? And why?

…::-::…

The door Sherlock had been knocking on for the past ten minutes finally opened. There in the doorway stood David Daniels, his old dealer, otherwise known as Dodgy Dave.

David wasn't the typical drug dealer. He was short and scrawny with rat like features. In fact that's just what David Daniels was; a rat

Sherlock shivered in repulsion, regretting his decision to come to the door of a dealer that was well known for screwing over his customers more often than not with bad batches.

If you resorted to getting your drugs from Dodgy Dave then you knew you'd hit rock bottom. Whereas the deals were dodgy they were cheap too, and not even the police ventured down the hidden alleyway.

'Sherlock?' Dodgy Dave gave him a lopsided smile and fixed his beady eyes on the detective. 'What a surprise. Thought you cleaned up? Didn't think you'd be back here.'

'Hello, David,' Sherlock greeted the man with a blank expression. 'May I come in?'

'What, and turn me in?' Dodgy Dave snorted. 'I've heard the stories. You're working for the other side now, with that Lestrade bloke.'

'I can assure you that if I wanted to turn you in I would have done so a long time ago.'

'Spose so.' Dodgy Dave moved aside a little reluctantly. 'To what do I owe the honour then?'

'This isn't a casual visit, David.' Sherlock stepped inside the door and into a small room that smelt like gone off food and sweat. 'I need a batch of your best stuff.'

'Course it ain't a casual visit. No one that comes to see me comes away empty handed.'

Yes. I can remember that fact clearly.

…::-::…

John exited the cab and stepped into the Yard. Was it his imagination, or was everyone staring at him as he walked to Greg's office. Sally was standing outside it, throwing John a sympathetic and guilty look. When he opened the door he understood why.

Anderson was handcuffed to Greg's desk, a look of pure horror on his face when he laid eyes on John.

'What is going on?' John asked, striding over to Lestrade.

'Sally, you want to explain?' the D.I. scowled. Sally entered the room and closed the door, locking it for good measure.

'I... I looked through Sherlock's case file,' she said softly, avoiding John's gaze. 'I saw the photos of his back, and... and I shared them with Anderson. I'm so sorry, John.'

'So, why is Anderson tied up? Where's Sherlock?' John asked, turning to Greg.

'Sally?' Greg glowered.

'I talked to Sherlock, when he came back inside,' Sally said. 'He was crying, I wanted to try to be nice. Anderson was a dick as usual. But, while I was trying to comfort Sherlock and apologise, Anderson opened his fat mouth and–'

'I told him he was a freak, he would always be a freak, and if his own father could see it from such a young age then he was destined to be a freak for the rest of his life,' Anderson finally spoke, nailing his coffin shut. He knew John was going to attack him, so he might as well tell it like it was.

'You what?!' John screamed. 'How could you say that? Why would you say that? Anderson, you have made some dick moves in the past, but this takes the cake. Stand him up.'

Greg moved over and uncuffed Anderson from his desk drawer. He stood him up, locking his arms behind his back. Anderson struggled even though he knew it was futile. He looked back to John, fear in his eyes, just as his fist connected with his jaw. John then punched him in the gut, Anderson doubling over but Greg still held him up. John grabbed Anderson by the throat, forcing him to look at him.

'I promised Sherlock earlier that I would punch you in the face for him,' John growled. 'And I'm keeping that promise.' He squeezed Anderson's throat tightly and brought his fist back. It connected with Anderson's nose with a satisfying crack, blood pouring from it profusely. Greg released him then, allowing him to crumple to the floor. John spat on the crumpled form and turned to Sally, his knuckles still itching for a fight. He settled for slapping her across the face with an open palm. She stumbled back, holding her hand to her cheek, tears forming in her eyes.

'Next time, think about what you share with Anderson,' he growled. 'Or you'll get a lot worse than a red cheek.' He turned to Greg, fuming. 'I don't want to see any assault charges.'

'Assault? I didn't see assault. I saw self defence,' Greg shrugged. 'Let's go look for Sherlock, shall we?' He moved to his door and held it open, John storming out in a huff. 'And guys? Clean yourselves up. Oh, and grow some balls or something. Dicks.' He closed his office door, Sally and Anderson still inside dumbfounded and in pain.

Greg followed John out to the staff parking lot, getting in his squad car and pulling out to drive the London streets, informing his officers on patrol to keep a lookout for the missing detective.

'I'm so sorry, John,' he apologised as they drove around. 'We'll find him. I promise.'

'Well, at least you let me punch Anderson,' John smirked.

'I've been wanting to do it for a while now. I figured you deserved it more than me though.'

'Yes. Yes I did. Thanks for that.'

'No problem. Let's find that crazy git of yours then, shall we?'

'Yes. And as soon as we're home, I don't know. I just know he's going to need me. And I have a really bad feeling that he's up to no good.'

…::-::…

Drugs in his pocket, Sherlock strode out into the alleyway once more. Dodgy Dave threw a smug goodbye after him. Sherlock simply kept on walking. He walked until his legs were exhausted. He reached inside his pocket and fished his supplies out, setting everything up.

The needle was his own (he wasn't a complete idiot). He'd had one on him at all times, ever since his cravings had begun. He had known all along that there was a high chance that he'd give in to his cravings and he hadn't wanted to risk using a dirty needle.

In shaking hands he held the needle to his pale arm, and thought nothing of it as it pricked his skin and the drug within it slipped down into his veins.

…::-::…

'Greg, we've been driving for hours and there's been no sign of him!' John complained, fidgeting in his seat in worry. 'He isn't answering his phone, none of the patrol officers have seen him. Greg, I'm scared. What if something happened to him?'

'John calm down,' Greg said, pulling onto a new street. 'He's probably fine. His mobile is probably dead, and maybe he doesn't want to be found. Or, maybe he's home already.'

'Ok. Ok, yeah,' John nodded frantically, still trying to calm down. 'Maybe he's home already. Can you take me home, Greg?'

'We're already here.' He pulled up outside 221 Baker Street, parking the car but not shutting it off. 'Look, if he's there, at least let me know he's alive. But if he's not, call me if he isn't back by morning, alright? Then I'll get a search party started, put out an APB, and you can fill out a missing person's report. But I'm sure he's fine. Don't get yourself worried over nothing.'

'Yeah. Yeah. Thanks Greg. I'll call you for sure. Thanks.' John climbed out of the car and Greg sped off. John entered the flat, taking the stairs two at a time.

'Sherlock?' he called out. Sherlock wasn't there. In fact, the flat looked exactly the same as when they first left. Shit.

'God dammit Sherlock! Where are you?' John took a deep breath. Greg had said not to get worried, so he was going to do his damnedest to stay calm. He first filled the kettle and set it on its stand, turning it on before trudging up to his room and putting on pyjama trousers and a fresh shirt. He didn't bother with the razor. He was already numb enough as it was. He went back downstairs and turned on the TV to some random channel, just needing it for background noise. He poured his tea and sat on the sofa, pulling a blanket over his legs and holding his mug in his hands.

He stayed like that until it got dark, and then a little longer, wanting to be awake for when Sherlock returned. His eyes began closing around ten, he sank into the sofa by 10:30, and he was fast asleep by 11.

But where the hell was Sherlock? His mind demanded answers, even in his dreams.

…::-::…

The drug pulsed in Sherlock's veins. His mind was blank and, for the first time in a very long time, he felt at peace.

He had been standing in the alleyway for hours. Night fell and with it came a heavy downpour of rain. It drenched him through to his skin. It was freezing but he didn't care.

He wasn't quite sure how or when he got home but at last he was stumbling through the flat door, looking akin to a drowned cat, his curls plastered to his head with rain water, his clothes dripping all over the floor, leaving a mess in his wake.

A loud giggle broke free from his lips as he spotted a sleeping John on the sofa. For some reason he found the image of his flatmate bundled beneath a blanket hilarious.

He dropped to his knees, abandoning his cane, and crawled over to the sleeping John.

He reached out a tentative hand and began petting John's head. 'My preciousss,' he hissed. 'Wake up Baginsss.'

Something wet was on his head. No. Something wet was petting his head. What the hell? John cracked an eye open and nearly jumped out of his skin. Sherlock was kneeling over him, drenched to the bone, and looking all the world like a wet cat. But that wasn't what disturbed John the most. No.

Sherlock's pupils were blown wide. He'd gone back to the drugs. And now he was hissing at him like Smeagol did to the Ring.

'I am not a Hobbit!' John pouted. 'And you're high, Sherlock. Why? Why would you go back to the drugs?'

'Little Hobbitess is lying. What do we do with liars preciousss? We kill! We kill!' Sherlock continued to pet the funny little creature's head, a grin twisting at his features.

'What? No!' John yelled. 'You don't kill! No!' He slapped Sherlock across the face to try to get him to come to his senses. He just hoped Smeagol-Sherlock wouldn't attack him for it.

Sherlock frowned. 'Little Hobbitess is being very mean.' He pulled himself up to his feet and dive bombed onto the little Hobbit-John.

'Gah! Sherlock! What are you doing?' John cried, not knowing what to expect. He's never seen Sherlock high, had only heard stories. But now that he was witnessing it for himself, he honestly didn't know what to do.

Sherlock peered at the strange creature closer and straddled it. 'Little Hobbitess going to play nice,' he growled.

'Um... Ok,' John said softly, swallowing when Sherlock's weight was pressed against him. What the hell was he doing?

'Little Hobbitess must listen. Must do as preciousss saysss.' Sherlock rocked against the little Hobbit-John.

'Gah!' John squeaked, his hands automatically scrambling to grasp Sherlock's hips.

'Little Hobbitess so keen.' Sherlock reached for his zipper and wriggled out of his jeans and boxers, letting them hang on his hips. John didn't speak, just stared at Sherlock's prick hungrily. God damn, he wanted it in his mouth so bad he was actually drooling. Sherlock chuckled darkly and crawled up the little Hobbit-John, wrapping his thighs around the creature's neck. John was panting now, his heart pounding in his chest.

Yes. Sherlock please. Let me suck you off. Please. God yes, he begged silently. His dark eyes boring into Sherlock's.

'Little Hobbitess going to choke.' He pushed his member into Hobbit-John's mouth and down his throat. 'Kill! Kill!'

John gratefully accepted Sherlock's hard member, sucking on it greedily. His hands gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, keeping him from thrusting too hard and choking him. He swallowed around Sherlock's cock, feeling it twitch and pulse. God, he'd forgotten how wonderful it was to give Sherlock head. He was always so responsive.

Sherlock moaned and wiggled in Hobbit-John's mouth. 'Suck me harder, Hobbitess.'

John hollowed his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could, his fingers digging into Sherlock's hips so tightly he was sure bruises would be left behind. Sherlock's cock twitched in his throat. John could tell he was close.

Come on. Come on. Cum for me my delightful idiot. Cum down my throat. Let me taste you. Come on. Please.

With one final thrust Sherlock was coming fast and hard down Hobbit-John's throat. After he was done he pulled out and rolled off of the Hobbit and onto the hard floor with a thud.

Wow the floor was really pretty.

He shucked his trousers and boxers fully off and scrambled out of his hoodie and t-shirt too.

His heart was pounding impossibly fast. Too fast. Fuck.

John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, moaning at the taste. He hadn't had Sherlock in so long, but god damn did he still taste as delicious as ever. He flinched when Sherlock rolled onto the floor. That sounded painful.

'Hey? You ok, Sherlock? That didn't sound too good.'

Sherlock whimpered, closing his eyes, willing his heart to slow down. 'Help me up, halfling,' he begged. 'Help me.'

John stood up, wiping his mouth before slowly helping Sherlock to his feet.

'What's wrong, love?' John asked, easily slipping back into the term of endearment. He rested his fingers against Sherlock's wrist, taking his pulse, gasping when he felt how fast it was beating.

'Oh my god. Shower. Now.' he instructed, gently shoving Sherlock in the right direction.

Sherlock grunted and almost tripped. He glared at the Hobbit. 'Fear me, halfling,' he mumbled grumpily.

'Oh, I'm scared alright,' John sighed, pushing Sherlock to the bathroom. 'But I'm not scared of you, I'm scared for you. You are not overdosing on me.'

Sherlock growled and bared his teeth. 'Do you dare question the power of Smaug?'

John groaned and slapped a hand over his face. Great. Now he was a fucking dragon? And how did he even know what The Lord of the Rings were? How had that not been deleted?

'Don't test me, Smaug,' John growled. 'Or I'll have the bowman shoot you in your weak spot.' They finally made it to the bathroom. John turned on the shower, making sure it was cold. 'Alright Smaug, in ya go.'

Sherlock snarled and spat at the Hobbit. 'Do you think that a puny little halfling like yourself can order Smaug around?'

John wiped the glob of spit off of himself, frowning deeply. 'When this puny little halfling is extremely pissed off and worried about Smaug, yes, he does.' John all but shoved Sherlock under the spray of cold water, the taller man hissing and spitting at him.

'Fuck!' Sherlock screamed. 'It's fucking freezing in here. Get me out of here you bastard!'

'I'm trying to stop you from overdosing you ungrateful son of a bitch!' John screamed back. 'Now stay still until your body calms down or I swear to god I'll sedate you!'

Sherlock was reduced to tears and whimpers as the freezing cold water battered against his skin harshly. 'Please, just let me out of here!' he begged. 'Halfling, please!'

'No!' John protested, shoving Sherlock back under the spray. 'I am not a halfling, you are not Smaug. You are Sherlock and I am John and you are high as a fucking kite! And you will stand under this freezing cold water until I say so!'

Sherlock was sobbing now. 'Please,' he hiccupped. 'I'll be good. Please.' His legs shook beneath him and he grabbed John's shoulder to support him.

'No,' John repeated. 'But, at the very least, I'll make the water warmer.' John turned the temperature of the water up slightly. Sherlock's pulse had slowed at least, so now it was time to regulate his body temperature to prevent him from getting pneumonia. Hopefully all he'd get was a cold.

Sherlock hummed as his body began to warm. 'It would be far better if the halfling was in here with me.'

'Would it now?' John asked softly. He wiped the tears off Sherlock's cheeks, one hand staying to cup his face. 'Would the great and powerful Smaug like the little Hobbit to join him?'

'Smaug would indeed benefit from the company of the little Hobbit,' Sherlock grinned giddily at the Hobbit-John.

'Well, alright,' John agreed. 'Just let me get undressed.' John toed off his shoes and socks, then tossed his cardigan over his shoulder. It was then that he remembered the fresh cuts on his arm. Would Sherlock say anything in his current state? Maybe he could play it off as something an Orc did? John decided to risk it, taking off the rest of his clothes but leaving his bandage on. He could change it later.

'Is that better, Smaug?' John asked, his hands resting awkwardly at his side.

Sherlock nodded but frowned. 'The halfling is hurt,' he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the injuries on Hobbit-John.

John swallowed. 'It's just a battle injury. It's nothing.' Well, it was a battle injury of sorts. Only the battle was between his body and his mind.

'You're lying.' Sherlock bared his teeth. 'Don't lie to Smaug. I shall hunt down and kill the person who did this to you. Now, tell the truth.'

'I... I did it,' John said in a small voice, hanging his head so he wouldn't have to look Sherlock in the eye. 'I did it because I was sad and hurt and I did something stupid. And I didn't want to feel like that, so I injured myself.'

'Why, halfling?' Sherlock whispered. 'You could have chosen a different method of coping.'

'Like what? Alcohol or drugs?' John shook his head. 'This one is far more forgiving to my body. At least this method isn't damaging my internal organs or my nervous system. All I get are scars on my arms and thighs.'

Sherlock tugged the Hobbit-John into a hug. 'Don't do it anymore halfling. I love you too much to risk losing you to cutting.'

John's heart stopped.

'You love me?' he asked in a small whisper. His arms found themselves wrapping around Sherlock in a tender hug.

Sherlock nuzzled the halfling. 'I never stopped loving you. Everything I do or say is because I love you.'

'I'm not having this conversation until you're sober,' John said, shaking his head. 'But, since you still love me, would you kiss me? Please?'

Sherlock smiled. 'That, little Hobbit, is something I can definitely do.' He moved his head and gently placed his plump lips on John's. John hummed and kissed Sherlock back, his hands moving to cup Sherlock's face tenderly.

Sherlock pulled back and yawned sleepily, staring intently at the bathroom tiles. 'Mmm tired,' he complained.

'Does Smaug need to return to his bed of gold and go to sleep?' John asked, drunk off of their first proper kiss in months.

'Indeed. Smaug does.' Sherlock kissed John on the lips briefly. 'Want my Hobbit in my bed too.'

'Ok,' John grinned. He pulled Sherlock back to him, kissing him thoroughly before pulling away. 'Sorry. But, in my defence, it's been two months. We have a lot of catching up to do.'

He turned off the water and stepped out, drying himself off before helping Sherlock out and towelling him down as well. John looked down at his bandage. His cuts hadn't been bothering him all that much, so he supposed maybe he could go without the bandage. He unrolled it, his skin wet underneath but not too bad. He looked at the six new cuts, frowning when he remembered what each one was for. He shook his head and pulled his arm away from Sherlock's prying eyes.

'Come along, Smaug,' he smiled gently. 'Let's go to bed.'

'Not to sleep I hope,' Sherlock suggested, kissing John over and over down his throat. 'Make love to me.' He stroked the Hobbit-John's scars gently. 'I have a few apologies to make.'

'I, uh,' John stammered, groaning as Sherlock kissed his throat. I can't, he thought to himself. I literally can't.

'No, Sherlock,' he said instead. 'No love making until you're sober. Let's get some sleep, ok?'

'Mmm alright.' Sherlock placed one more kiss on John's neck and sighed softly. 'At least stay with me through the night.'

'I can do that, yeah,' John smiled softly. He took Sherlock's hand and led him to his bedroom, tucking him in before moving to the other side and crawling in himself.

'I killed myself, you know?' Sherlock mumbled, crawling closer to the halfling.

'I'm sorry, what?' John asked, staring at Sherlock. 'You look pretty alive to me.'

'No,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'In my dream. I killed myself in there.'

'You... You did?' John swallowed thickly. 'What... Why?'

'I hurt you, made you break, made you bleed. Seemed only logical to end it.' Sherlock wrapped his arms around the Hobbit-John.

'No. Never kill yourself because of me,' John said, hugging Sherlock close. 'Please. Don't ever kill yourself over me.'

'I held the gun to my lips. Your gun. Our children were screaming outside our door. They begged me to stop. I didn't. I couldn't. I hurt you. I deserved to die.' Sherlock shivered and clutched to the halfling like a baby.

'We had kids?' John asked, his mind wandering to the world where he and Sherlock were parents. 'No, not important right now. No one deserves to die that way. Especially not you.'

'I did,' Sherlock sniffled. 'I hurt you. You and the children deserved better. I was an alcoholic. My life was miserable.'

'I would have gotten better,' John protested. 'And we would have gotten you help. You should never kill yourself over another person. Especially me. I'm not worth the trouble.'

'You are worth it. You are worth so much. That's why I lied to you. I thought if we weren't as close I wouldn't hurt you. Because if I did then I really think I would have done it for real. Kill myself that is.' A tear dripped from Sherlock's eye. 'And even now I've hurt you. Your scars are proof of that.'

'Don't you dare kill yourself over me,' John scowled. 'I won't stand for it. Because if you do, I might just follow you. And you won't be able to stop me.'

'But at least I wouldn't have to watch your self destruction.' Sherlock began to tremble violently. 'I've thought about it over these two months. Thought about leaving this world. Every time you went to cut.'

'No,' John choked out, trying not to start sobbing. 'Don't – don't you dare even think that. No.' He clutched Sherlock tight and clenched his eyes shut.

'Why? I can't stand watching you hurt yourself because of me.' Sherlock joined the Hobbit-John in his sobbing.

'I'll stop then,' John choked out. 'I promise. I'll stop. I won't hurt myself ever again. Not on purpose anyway. Please, don't kill yourself because of me. Please. I... I need you. Please.'

'I–' Sherlock gulped. 'God help me. I don't know what to do anymore.'

'What you do is you live,' John stated, pulling Sherlock close. 'Find something worth living for.'

'Like what?' Sherlock choked. 'I don't have you anymore. I don't have anything.'

'Sherlock, I haven't left. I'm still here. You've still got me. I... I never stopped loving you. I've always loved you and I always will.'

'It isn't healthy for us to be together like that.' Sherlock wrapped his legs around Hobbit-John. 'I love you but I need you to respect that I can't be with you like that.'

'Can't be with me like what?' John trembled, his voice breaking. 'Don't you want me?'

'I want you so much,' Sherlock gulped. 'But look at me. I haven't slept more than an hour a night over these two months. I've resorted to drugs. I'm depressed. I'm a mess.'

'I cut myself, haven't been sleeping, would cry for days, and am depressed as well,' John said softly, running his fingers through Sherlock's shorter curls. 'I'm a mess too. What's to say we couldn't help each other get better? Because I was better with you.'

'That's my fault! I did that to you!' Sherlock cried out. 'I put you through that pain!'

'Because you weren't there for me!' John countered. 'No. I am not having this conversation right now.' John climbed out of bed and to the medical cabinet in the kitchen. He grabbed the sleeping pills and poured some water into a mug. He returned to Sherlock and shoved the pills into his palm.

'Take these. We'll continue this when you're sober.'

'I don't want to sleep!' Sherlock chucked the pills to the floor. 'I want to bloody talk!'

'I will talk when you are sober!' John countered, picking the pills up from the floor. 'Now take the bloody pills!'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'I want to talk now.'

'No, Sherlock,' John said, shaking his head. 'You aren't in your right mind. I don't want to talk about this while you're high. Please, just take the pills. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise.'

'I don't want to sleep,' Sherlock grumbled. 'I don't trust you. You might do something stupid.'

'Ok, how about this? You take one pill and I'll take another?' John offered. 'That way we'll both get some sleep and I won't do anything stupid.'

'No.' Sherlock turned his back to Hobbit-John. 'I don't want to sleep.'

'Ok. Fine. Since you won't sleep, I might as well help you stay awake.' John stalked off to the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker and dumping the water out of the mug. He glanced back to Sherlock's bedroom, making sure Sherlock wasn't watching.

'Forgive me,' he whispered to himself as he crushed the sleeping pills into a fine powder, dumping them in the mug and pouring the hot coffee over them. He stirred the coffee, adding a touch of creamer to hide the taste of the pills. He then returned to Sherlock, offering him the mug.

'Here. If you won't go to sleep, at least drink that so you can sober up a bit.'

Sherlock stared at the cup of coffee in horror. 'God no.' Sherlock shook his head, lips trembling, eyes tearing up. 'Not coffee.'

'What's wrong with coffee?' John asked, raising an eyebrow. 'It's always been your drink of choice to keep yourself awake.'

'Thought you didn't want to talk whilst I'm high,' Sherlock snapped.

'Ugh. Fine.' John returned to the kitchen and turned the kettle on, dumping the coffee down the drain and washing the mug out. Well, that was a waste of pills. John pulled the medicine cabinet open and took two more pills out of the bottle, crushing them and putting them in the clean mug.

John sighed and leaned against the counter while the water boiled. How could two people he so good for each other yet be so destructive to one another? The kettle turned off before he could consider an answer. He poured the water in the mug, allowing the pills to dissolve in the water before steeping a bag of Earl Grey in the hot water. He added a spoonful of milk and some honey to it, just the way Sherlock liked it.

He took the bags out and threw them in the bin, making his way back to Sherlock. 'Here. Earl Grey, just the way you like it. Is that better?' he asked softly.

'Spose so,' Sherlock mumbled, taking the cup and sipping at the beverage gingerly.

'Ok. Good,' John said, sitting down on the bed. He watched Sherlock sip at the tea, hoping he wouldn't taste the pills dissolved within it. He shouldn't. The tea was strong and the honey was sweet. They should cover up the taste.

'What do you want to do, then? Since I'm not talking about this until your sober and you don't want to sleep it off. What do you normally do? Play violin?'

'Yes,' Sherlock whispered. 'But I don't like you listening to me play. Not since the dream.' Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. 'This tea tastes strange.'

'Really? Oh, crap. I didn't check the milk. Did you have an experiment in there?' John lied, raising an eyebrow for added effect.

'No. It tastes like – oh.' Sherlock glared at the Hobbit. 'How could you halfling? I said I didn't want to sleep.'

'What are you talking about?' John asked playing dumb.

'The pills in my drink,' Sherlock grit out. 'Don't play fucking stupid.'

John scowled at Sherlock. 'Ok, fine, yes. I drugged your drink. Because, forgive me, but I want you to get a good night's sleep. Now drink it or I'll sedate you properly.'

'That's exactly what you threatened to do right before I hurt you!' Sherlock wailed, tossing the cup along with the tea across the room with an almighty crash.

John flinched and ducked just as the mug flew over his head, the tea splashing against the wall as the mug broke. John looked up at Sherlock, scared but not wanting to go anywhere.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry,' he apologised.

'Shut up!' Sherlock barked. 'You think you can just do what you like with me! Well fuck you!'

'I was trying to take care of you!' John wailed, collapsing in a heap on the floor. 'I'm your doctor, and I want you to be healthy. I... I only want what's best for you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'You can start by lying by my side and giving me a cuddle,' Sherlock whined.

John nodded, crawling over to the bed and climbing atop it. He pulled the covers and clung to Sherlock like a baby bat would to its mother.

Sherlock snuggled closer to the Hobbit. 'Are you sure you want to wait till morning to make love?' He kissed the creature on the lips gently and pushed his growing arousal against him.

'I... I'm sure,' John said, pulling away from Sherlock's lips. I'm not even sure I can anyway.

'It'd help me sleep,' Sherlock pouted, kissing John again. 'Please.'

'Thought you didn't want to sleep?' John mumbled against Sherlock's lips. I can't, I can't, I can't, he chanted in his head.

'You pleasured me.' Sherlock chewed on the Hobbit's lower lip. 'Now let me do the same for you.'

John groaned against Sherlock's mouth, his hips canting against his will.

'I... I can't,' John said, tearing his lips from Sherlock's teeth. 'I physically can't.'

'Yes you can.' Sherlock rubbed himself against the Hobbit. 'Feel that?' he moaned. 'Concentrate on that.'

John's face contorted in pain. 'Gah! I can't! I can't! It hurts!' he cried out. He pushed Sherlock away and sat up. 'I'm sorry. But, I can't. Look.' He lifted the sheets to show Sherlock his flaccid penis.

'It's not that I'm not interested, believe me, I am. It's just–' John sighed, lowering the sheets. 'Sherlock, I haven't had an erection in a month and a half. I've trained myself to feel pain every time I get one, and now my body has come to learn to feel pain before one even starts. So I actually can't make love to you.'

'I – no. I should be the one who is sorry,' Sherlock murmured. 'This is my fault.'

'I did it because I thought you didn't want me,' John whispered, turning his head away. 'But, training goes two ways. You can learn it, and you can forget what you learned. So, do you want to help me get back to normal?'

Sherlock smiled softly. 'I'll try.' He reached a hand under the covers to stroke the Hobbit's member.

'Ugh! Fuck!' John cried, his body arching off the bed.

'Shh. It's ok,' Sherlock whispered. 'I love you. It will be ok.'

'I love you too,' John moaned, pulling Sherlock into a kiss. 'I love you so much.'

'Mmm sorry,' Sherlock groaned against the Hobbit's lips. 'For everything. Especially the drugs.'

'I'm sorry for the cutting,' John said, pulling Sherlock closer so his tongue could delve inside his mouth. His hips jerked, pushing his cock through the ring of Sherlock's fist. It gave a twitch of interest before going limp again.

Sherlock hummed and squeezed John's member. 'John,' he mumbled as his tongue danced with the older man's, seeing his flatmate instead of a Hobbit for the first time.

'Sherlock,' John moaned, flicking his tongue along Sherlock's playfully.

'I'm scared.' Sherlock pulled away from John's lips. 'Really scared.'

'Scared of what, love?' John asked, a hand moving to hold Sherlock's face gingerly.

'Being back on drugs,' Sherlock whimpered. 'You don't know what I'm like when I'm an addict.'

'You only took them this once, right?' John asked.

'It only takes one time.' Sherlock rested his forehead against John's and let go of his member. 'It's likely I'll go back to the way I was.'

'No. I won't let you,' John said, shaking his head while grabbing Sherlock's firmly in his hands. 'I'll handcuff you to the bed if I have to, but I won't allow you to become an addict again.'

'Handcuffs won't stop me,' Sherlock snorted. 'Nothing will. And maybe I don't want to stop.'

'Shut up,' John scolded. 'Shut up. I won't let you. I'll stop you. I'll put you in rehab. You will not become an addict again. I refuse to allow that. You won't.'

'Feels so good,' Sherlock growled. 'Feels bloody amazing even.'

'Drugs make you feel that way for a while, but then they turn ugly. I am no stranger to their effects,' John admitted. 'And I won't let you make that mistake again. Please, let me help you.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'What if I don't want to be helped?'

John scowled, dropping his hands from Sherlock's face and scrambling out of bed. 'I'll get Mycroft to help,' he threatened. 'Because I refuse to watch you destroy yourself.'

Sherlock chuckled harder. 'He won't help. He didn't help in my dream. He let me get worse. And then of course there's his own problems he has to deal with. You wouldn't dare bother him with my problems too. He's already gorging himself like a fat piggy.'

'Shut up, Sherlock! Shut up!' John cried, holding his hands over his ears and curling up in a ball on the floor. 'No! I don't want to hear it! No! I don't want you to go back to drugs! Please! Please!' He began sobbing, his hands still clamped over his ears, his sobs echoing in his own head.

'Then stop me!' Sherlock yelled. 'Do what it takes to save me from myself!'

'You said you didn't want to be helped,' John sobbed. 'How do I help someone who doesn't want my help?'

'Perhaps you should call my fat pig of a brother,' Sherlock snarled. 'See what good that does. Go on. I dare you.'

'What happened to us?' John asked himself, ignoring Sherlock's harsh words.

'He broke your heart and you want to know what happened?' a voice hissed in his ear. John froze and looked up. His deranged version of Sherlock was grinning down at him. 'He's not the one who can't get it up. He's not the one seeing me. Despite being on the drugs he's the sanest one here.'

'Go away!' John shouted. 'I got rid of you! Go away! Why are you back?'

'Oh Jonathan,' the deranged Sherlock tutted. 'I never left.'

'Fine!' Sherlock roared. 'I will!' He rolled from the bed and began to crawl away.

'What? Sherlock, no!' John cried, grasping onto the real Sherlock as the fake one chuckled in his ear. 'I... I didn't mean you, the real you. I meant the fake you. He's still here. And he's sitting behind me, chuckling darkly. And now he's flicking my ear.'

'Is he now?' Sherlock frowned and shuffled forwards, pulling John's body into his arms. He covered John's ears with his hands. 'Better?'

'Yes,' John smiled. 'But, oh god.' John paled considerably. 'Sherlock, he's... he's stabbing you in the neck. No! Leave my Sherlock alone!'

'No he's not,' Sherlock smiled. 'I'm fine.'

'I know, I know,' John sighed. 'But that's not stopping my mind from seeing it.'

'Then maybe this will.' Sherlock brought two of his fingers to his lips and sucked on them. 'I'm going to make love to you, and you'll forget him.' He placed a finger near John's entrance. 'Ready?'

'Yes,' John groaned, pushing against Sherlock's finger. 'Make love to me, please. But, can we get back on the bed first?'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Here. Now. Make love.' He pushed his finger inside with a loud moan.

'Gah! Fuck!' John groaned, pushing against Sherlock's finger. 'Yes, yes. Oh god, yes!'

Sherlock laughed and added the second finger, stretching John. 'Feels so good to be doing this.'

'Feels bloody fantastic!' John panted, falling down to the floor and spreading his legs open. 'God yes! Oh fuck! Gah!'

'I want you.' Sherlock kissed John heavily, pumping his fingers in and out at a frantic rhythm.

'Yes! I want you too! Fuck!' John swore. His prick wanted to harden but the phantom pain in his leg wouldn't allow it. He pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, tangling his fingers in his hair, shoving his tongue down Sherlock's throat.

'Take me!' he gasped when Sherlock's fingers found his prostate. 'Take me now!'

Sherlock smirked and wriggled his fingers back out. 'I'm going to pound you like the halfling you are,' he snarled, shoving his prick inside of screamed bloody murder, his back arching up off the floor as his legs wrapped around Sherlock's waist.

'Yes! Sherlock yes! Fuck me! Pound me! Do whatever you want to me! Just fuck me, please!' John cried out. His prick gave a flicker of interest, the blood flowing from his brain down to it. It slowly began to harden and the phantom pain began to fade. Sherlock thrust manically. His drug addled mind made everything feel so slow. He wasn't moving fast enough.

Harder, his mind called out. Faster.

Two whole months of fear, emotions that he couldn't explain, and no sex had left him lusting for hard and slightly painful love making.

'Yes! Yes!' John screamed, meeting Sherlock thrust for thrust. Two months of pent up sexual need had made John a whiny, needy excuse of a man. And now that he was being fucked hard and fast for the first time in six months he knew he wouldn't be able to last. His balls were already drawn tight against him and his prick, hard for the first time in weeks, was already leaning profusely.

'Close,' John gasped out, clutching to Sherlock tightly. 'So close. Won't last. Oh, fuck!'

Sherlock thrust particularly harshly. 'John!' he screamed, spilling inside of him.

His entire body arched and he fell onto John with a thud, still thrusting in and out, but this time with the added sound effects of snoring as his drug high was starting to end now and he felt exhausted. He was practically asleep in fact.

'Sherlock,' John whined, desperate to cum. 'Come on, love. Help me over the edge. Please. Please. Don't go to sleep yet. I need you to make me cum. Please.'

Sherlock whimpered and began to run a hand up and down John's member. All the while more snores escaped his lips. John rut against Sherlock's hand, Sherlock's softening prick still up his arse. It all felt so good, even Sherlock falling asleep, because his weight was pressed against him, causing him to squeeze John tighter.

'Oh. Oh god. Yes! Sherlock yes!' John cried, shouting Sherlock's name as he came almost painfully hard. He collapsed against the floor in a heap, Sherlock falling with him. His entire weight pressed against him now, and he had begun snoring softly.

'Oh god,' John laughed, very much out of breath. 'Oh, thank you for that. Time for bed now.' He rolled Sherlock off of him, standing up and wiping his cum off his stomach with one of Sherlock's old pyjama t-shirts. He picked Sherlock up off the floor, cradling him in his arms as he carried him to bed. He set Sherlock in the bed, pulling the covers around him and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before climbing in himself.

'Thank you so much for this,' John whispered, cuddling up to Sherlock's sleeping form. 'You have no idea how much that meant to me. I... I love you. So much.'

Sherlock didn't answer, but John hadn't expected one. John simply snuggled closer, resting his head on Sherlock's chest, falling asleep to the beating of his lover's heart.


So there was some sexy times! Yay! Though I know parts of it seemed like dubious consent, but each participant was all for it I swear.

We'll be facing drug withdrawals in the next chapter, as well as more sexy times. Ones where everyone involved is a willing participant. So that'll be a nice chapter to have on Red Pants Monday ;) Hope you all have a wonderful weekend and I'll see you in September!

TSA + IB