John had left the clinic and had ambled in to the flat. As soon as he walked in he knew something was wrong. He turned on the light and half the stuff had gone. They had been robbed, he darted round the flat noting the missing items, he stopped when he saw his laptop sitting on the table. 'Why would they leave this?' He turned to the telly which was also still there. 'What sort of crappy burglars are these?'

That's when he saw it. His stuff had been left untouched. Only Sherlock's stuff had been taken. He tried calling his mobile. 'The number you have dialled is no longer of service.' He tried Mycroft and Lestrade, both didn't answer.

All of Sherlock's clothes, had been replaced with his. The flat looked barren without the apparatus', it felt wrong, even without the damn skull.

He ran down and banged on the door for Mrs Hudson; "Mrs Hudson are you there? Something's wrong, hello?" He banged continuously till a sleepy housekeeper appeared.

"John, God what time is it?"

"Have you seen Sherlock?"

"You know I haven't dear."

"But all his stuff has gone, has anyone else been into the flat today?"

"Nope I've been waiting for a package to be delivered today so I've been very focused on that door."

John marched away; 'it doesn't make any sense.' He decided to go to Mycroft first; 'he has more eyes than the police.'

"Mycroft. Mycroft I need to see you." He was trying to cram his way through the doorman.

Mycroft emerged as regal as ever and waved the doorman away.

"I'm a very busy man, what is it?"

"Where is Sherlock?"

"Who?"

"What do you mean who? Your brother, Sherlock Holmes."

I assure you sir, I have no brother." He turned to walk away.

"MYCROFT! You have more eyes and ears in this city than anyone; you know where he is so tell me!"

"Escort this man out."

John was forcibly dragged out of Mycroft's sight.

He didn't know what silly game Mycroft would be playing when Sherlock's life could be in danger but he should have expected little help from the face of the government. So he bolted to Scotland Yard. Sherlock still had the access pass so he had to wait for Lestrade to be brought down to the main entrance.

"Oh Lestrade thank God, there's been a break in, all of Sherlock's stuff has gone and so has he, something's happened to him and I don't know what to do."

"Calm down sir, please state your name so we can file a missing persons and a home invasion, has it been more than 48 hours."

John stared at the inspector.

"What..."

"Your name sir?"

"...You know my name, John Watson."

"Ok John, wait John Watson as in the guy that always writes in with the absurd 'deductions.'"

"What..."

"We've told you before sunshine your absolute ludicrous rambles about subtle connections and detail are just wild accusations with no hard evidence, you need to stop wasting the police's time. Sort ya life out."

"What are you talking about?" John started to back away.

"Consulting detective my arse. Do I need to put you in a holding cell?"

John ran out of the door, his head was spinning 'What the hell is going on.'

He didn't know what else to do so he ran to Sarah's. Sarah opened the door and John pushed his way in.

"Sarah, please say you know who I am."

"What of course I do John." John exhaled an enormous amount of relief.

"And Sherlock?"

"What about him?"

"You know who he is?"

"...Yes"

"Oh thank god, I've been running round London looking for him, but it's like he's been wiped off the face of the earth. No one knows who he is or where he is...Do you know where he is?"

"Oh, John, not again. This is the second time in 3 months."

John was about to question her but she had moved and pulled down his cheek to inspect his pupils. "When's the last time you took your meds?"

"My...What? What meds."

"Oh John, you promised me. That's it you really need to be readmitted you obviously can't do this on your own."

John pushed her hand away. "Where is he?" He commanded firmly.

Sarah sighed; "He's in your head John."

"No, no, why would you say that. Why are you doing this to me?"

"John, hey it's ok."

"NO! No it's not ok! This is anything but ok! I need to be out there looking for him, he needs me!"

"John sit down, please. He's not out there and he's not in danger. He's in your head and the only one in danger is yourself."

John felt faint, so he did sit on Sarah sofa, she took a seat next to him and put his hand on her knee. "If I knew you were getting this bad I would have taken you in myself."

"Shut up, no, shut up. You met him. Sarah, you met him when we went to the Chinese circus."

"John that was our date, no one else was there."

"No he was, he saved three tickets and then turned up, I didn't want him there and then he got into trouble and I had to jump that guy. And then, and then we were kidnapped and he saved us. Why don't you remember?"

"John, we went to the circus, just the two of us, but you had an episode before it ended so I had to take you home. There was no kidnapping."

John shook his head. It was real he knew it was.

"After the war you got depressed and you started to make these fantasises to cope. That's all, Sherlock is a fantasy, a coping mechanism."

"But..."

Sarah carried on. "I know it didn't work out between us but I still care about you, and you had been doing well. Your paranoia had decreased as had your schizophrenia; you were stable at the clinic. But now..."

John stared at Sarah on the verge of tearing his hair from his scalp or crying, anything to release these emotions.

"I know why you wanted him around John; he was everything you're not. Smart, beautiful, just amazing in every way. The cases you would fabricate for him they protected you from reality and the man you really are."

She patted his knee: "Don't worry John; we will get you some help."

John swallowed what felt like a cue ball in his throat.

"Urm...no Sarah it's ok, thank you. I think I just need to go home and get some rest."

Before Sarah could protest John was out the door, he spent the rest of the night trudging the streets, questioning the homeless network and visiting all of Sherlock's common places, just for the smallest sign of Sherlock's existence. The night turned in to day and it was 3 days later before John finally stumbled back empty handed, he passed Mrs Hudson on the way upstairs.

"Oh John, good where have you been? The new tenant has moved in upstairs. I can't believe we actually found someone who wasn't bothered by your continuous babblings to yourself. Oh well he seems nice enough."

"Upstairs? But that's my room."

"No dear you're on the second floor remember, Cole I think his name is will be in the one above you."

John thought back to his clothes and his possessions all being in Sherlock's room: "Oh right yeah, sorry, I forget sometimes."

"Well as always feel better love."

John sat in his armchair and stared at the wall, the wall with bullet holes and a yellow smile. The bullets that must have come from his gun. John clawed through his hair. "Could I really imagine it all?" Everything seemed to be fading; he couldn't firmly grasp reality now. He picked up his laptop and tried to check his blog. A blog that didn't exists.

"Ahem."

John hadn't noticed a man was now standing in the shadowed door way. "Nice to meet you, John Watson isn't it?" John span round he knew that voice. The tall man was standing in the door way smiling and holding a box of kitchen appliances. "I couldn't remember what was already there so I just brought all my old stuff." He started pointing out kettles and various other metal tools.

John stood to face the man but couldn't move a muscle he could was just about able to mumble out: "...Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?" The man looked up.

"I KNEW IT!" John ran to hug him. "Are you alright, were the hell have you been? I've been so worried."

The man slowly prised the doctor off. "Urm John, it's me Cole, the new tenant, we met a few days ago."

John stared at the man. "No no, it's you." The same brown mess of hair, the cutting cheek bones and the ridiculously enchanting eyes which can't be limited to a single defining colour. "Sherlock, why are you doing this?"

"Cole, Cole H. Slohmeks. Of 'Slohmeks and Sons.' Nice to meet you." He held out an inviting hand and a sympathetic smile.

John blinked at the slender pale fingers but didn't move. Cole made an awkward cough and slid past John to the kitchen. "How about some coffee huh?"

John sat opposite but refused to touch the coffee. Just staring waiting for Cole to recognize him. "So, John, Miss Hudson tells me you're a doctor."

"You know I am."

"So what's that like then?"

"Stop it! Just stop it! YOU'RE SHERLOCK HOLMES!"

"Listen John, Mrs Hudson told me about your condition and I understand. My father suffered from the same condition in the end years of his life. So you need to know I'm a friend, but you have to understand I'm not who you think I am. I think it would be good for both of us to get to know each other a bit."

It had been weeks John had tried everything he questioned Cole about interesting cases in the papers but was always only replied with: "Oh how terrible, those poor families." He tried to dig up information on his family business but everything came back clean. John couldn't face work; he couldn't face much of anything except Cole. Everything revolved around this Cole, nothing made sense and he was sure that this guy was the cause. John pushed the man up against the wall; he held his throat in place with his elbow. "I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE! I can't live like his, please, PLEASE! Sherlock, just...please." John fell to the floor at the man's feet, he couldn't stop shaking.

"John please I don't know what you're talkin..." The man suddenly burst into a fit of heinous laughter. John looked up stunned. "Oh, look at you, your face! Yeah it's me, and that, that was hilarious."

"...Is it really you?" John pawed at the man's legs. "What happened? Why..."

The man kicked his hands away: "Always the slow pony eh John. Did you learn nothing from me?"

"But are you ok?"

Sherlock blurted another laugh: "Have you missed me John? How much did it hurt knowing I was gone? Thinking none of it was real! I didn't think you would bite at first, like you could ever imagine up someone like me, but you convinced yourself you did."

"But everyone said..."

"They did well didn't they, I've been watching it all, very convincing. I didn't even have to pay them. Each of your "friends" wanted to see you break. Wanted to get the needy, pathetic John Watson out of their hair. Even Mrs Hudson was sick of you." Sherlock had been circling the kneeling man. "I didn't get taken. I left. I left you John. But I couldn't resist being there first hand when you finally cracked, watching you crumble, watching the inevitable end to the predictable Dr. Watson. Oh it's been spectacular it really has; rocking in the corner? A bit cliché even for you but still highly amusing and oh so satisfying. How does it feel John to know I couldn't stand to be near you? Who else have you got besides me? You're nothing without me. Maybe, maybe if you had an ounce of intelligence or even just a touch of dignity. Sure the neediness is humours for a while but how can one person be so dull, so boring. So ordinary."

John hadn't said a word, he couldn't. He just knelt there listening unable to connect to his emotions; he felt numb, cold and like the words were carving themselves on to his bones. Sherlock kicked him in the stomach, hard. John crumpled but reached for the man's trouser legs as Sherlock tried to leave. His head was bowed to the ground: "Please, please don't go. Not again."

Sherlock rolled the man over with his foot and stepped on to his chest, he bent down to look John in the eye. "You're so weak." Sherlock smirked. "So, I'll help you, how about that. My final curtsey to the blindly faithful pet." He pulled out his gun, cocked it and handed it to John. John took it with quivering fingers. "Put it in your mouth." John had no control of his arm, he did it automatically, he tasted the sharp pang of iron on his tongue and his finger twitched on the trigger. Sherlock hadn't removed his steady gaze; his eyes were shadowed but wide, almost smiling at John as he placed his finger over John's on the trigger. "Do it." His teeth were grinding against the metal uncontrollably. "DO IT!" His finger twitched again but hesitated. Sherlock lent in closer, his voice was suddenly so soft and gentle: "John, do it for me." John pulled the trigger. The gun clicked. But nothing happened. Empty. Sherlock was staring at John who realised he was still alive. His manic laughing grew from a snicker; he stood and left John on the floor. John didn't move. He couldn't even close his eyes. He just lay still till sleep eventually subdued him.