John heard his boyfriend stepping slowly up the stairs. John himself had only just got back from work, and had just enough time to collapse onto the couch before Sherlock got home.
He felt a little guilty about letting Sherlock take this case alone, but they did need to pay rent and John insisted on making his own money rather than mooching off of Sherlock's earnings.
Sherlock made an uncharacteristically quiet entrance, shuffling into the flat without a word. After years of dealing with Sherlock running into the room and tossing his coat aside with triumphant cries of how clever he was, John was concerned by this.
"How was it?" He asked cheerily. Sherlock barely even grunted in reply, dropping into his armchair and curling up and tucking himself into his coat.
"Sherlock?" John was really worried now. He walked up to where the detective sat and tried to pull his coat's dramatically high collar away from his face. Sherlock's eyes were half closed and his face looked even more pale than usual.
"I'm okay." The detective muttered, turning his face away.
"Yeah, sure." John scoffed. "Come sit next to me on the couch. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but at least come sit near me."
Sherlock complied, flopping down against John so that his head rested on the doctor's shoulder. For a second they sat in silence, John resisting the urge to cradle Sherlock's head in his hands and ask him what was wrong and Sherlock staring into space. Then Sherlock spoke.
"John. It was my dealer."
"What?" John felt a chill rush up his spine, although he knew perfectly well of Sherlock's past addictions the two of them had never actually talked about it before and pretended the issue didn't exist.
"The deaths. They were caused by my dealer's particular mix of cocaine and heroin." Sherlock muttered. "I tipped off Lestrade and left him to deal with it."
John gaped. Not only was Sherlock feeling what looked like actual guilt...but he had left a case early and left the police in charge. Sherlock didn't trust the Yardies to take care of anything and he certainly never left a case until it was finished.
His dealer.
Cocaine and heroin.
"Being my dealer, he enjoyed a certain amnesty." Sherlock curled into a ball right there next to John, leaning against the soldier. "He knew it too. His business thrived because I never turned him in." Sherlock's face was full of disgust.
John nodded, trying not to wince.
"Even after I stopped using, I didn't bother reporting him. Whether out of loyalty or lethargy I don't know...and now because of me those people are dead."
John sat in horrified silence. How could he fix this? Slowly he lifted a hand to stroke Sherlock's curly black hair and that soon turned into a tight hug. He could feel Sherlock trembling, and for once the usually aloof detective seemed truly human.
"That is not your fault." He said.
"Don't try to reassure me, John." Sherlock growled, his voice muffled against John's chest.
"It isn't!" John spoke more forcefully, pulling Sherlock away from his body so he could look the man in the eyes. "You never put the drugs in his hand. You didn't tell him to go sell them. You didn't tell those people to buy them. They held the needle just as you once did. They chose their death." John looked into Sherlock's eyes...his Sherlock. The man looked utterly beaten.
"Addiction is a sickness." John went on. "And addicts remain addicts their whole lives even if they stop using. Addicts-just like anyone else who is ill-don't make clear decisions." He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. "That means both you and the people who died were not thinking clearly. It wasn't your fault."
"John..." Sherlock's eyes actually looked teary, and John's heart nearly broke right there. He had never...ever seen Sherlock cry. He pulled the man into another hug, Sherlock buried his face in John's jumper. For the sake of the detective's pride John tried to ignore the small sobbing noises. Sherlock's hands clung to John's back, pulling at the fabric of his clothes.
"Shhh..." John began stroking Sherlock's hair again, his eyes worried. "Hey. Come here." He pulled Sherlock's face closer and pushed their lips together with determined force. Then he moved his lips downwards, kissing down Sherlock's neck. He worked off the detective's coat and then unbuttoned his shirt so he could kiss Sherlock's chest. Sherlock just sat there, allowing John to administer this form of comfort. John pulled Sherlock against him so they were both laying down, then he kissed him long and hard.
"Everything will be okay." John gave a small reassuring smile, and Sherlock lay against him.
"I am grateful to have you, John..."