Is it that time again?

Chapter 4: Lost

John was fuming, furious, fretting that he wouldn't find a new place to live, livid that Sherlock would do this to him.

"Harry?"

"John...?"

"I...-I need help, Harry," John's voice crackled down the phone.

Noting the tome of desperation in her older brother's voice, Harry Watson let out a sigh.

"What's wrong, John?" Something must be seriously wrong, he never came to her for help.

"I don't know who else to turn to...I...-Harry I've been evicted and I- well, I need a place to stay. Badly."

"Oh John, what did you do?"

"I, er, reacted...badly? To some news. Very badly."

"...care to elaborate?"

"Uhm...Sherlock has been in a secret relationship with a very bad man and I've just found out and...well you can fill in the rest...put short, I have two weeks to get out.."

There was a beat of silence at Harry's end.

"...Fine. I'll see what I can do, but John this had better be short term, extremely so," she warned.

The dial tone sounded. Typical Harry, no goodbye, no pleasantries.. John closed his eyes and breathed out heavily. He glanced at the clock. Eleven O'clock in the morning. Rubbing his hands together, he emerged from his room, greeted by a sombre violin melody. Sherlock was composing again. The small man silently cursed himself yet again, berating himself for his reaction the previous night. Why was he so angry? Well, the obvious being that Jim Moriarty had threatened to kill him and Sherlock, and he was committing crimes, hurting people, but there was something else. Eating away at him, bubbling inside him every time he thought about the whole affair. No, he was not jealous of Jim Moriarty. Jealous? Him? Bah! He shook the thought off, and returned to the more pressing matter at hand. He sighed once more, quietly, before continuing his way downstairs, Sherlock's lugubrious tune playing him out.

"John! Will you answer my phone?" Sherlock called out, his eyes unmoving from the eyepiece of the microscope, before realising, remembering what had ensued, a crestfallen look marring his pale features. A sad sigh escaped his lips, before he stood up, searching for his phone. It was a blocked number, so it could only be one person.

"Jim, hello."

"Hiii-iii Sherlock!," the voice sing-songed.

"New number?"

"Yeeeeah, sorry about that, it's going to be changing a lot over the next few months, some government's trying to track me down, ha-ha-ha," his tone dripped with sarcasm.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"So...why are you calling?"

"Am I not allowed to call my very most favourite person in the whole wide world?"

Sherlock swallowed nervously. He, of course, knew exactly why he was calling.

"I take it you want to know what happened?"

"Ohhhhhh yaaaaaaaaay! Well done sweetie! Cookie for you! So, please, spare me the suspense, do tell every. Juicy. Detail."

Sherlock breathed out sharply and rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Come over?"

"Ohhh tantalizing, I have to be there in person for the tale to be told? My, my, my you had better not disappoint! I'll be there in an hour!"

"John what's the matter? You seem unfocused today," Sarah questioned.

John was sitting in the break room with his head in his hands.

"Ah nothing...just..-just some drama at home. I-I've been evicted and it's all just-"

"What happened? Did that flatmate of yours do something to get you both kicked out?"

"Uh...no, it-it's just me...actually..."

Sarah's eyes narrowed.

"What did you do?"

Blast it, John thought angrily, why does everyone think it's something I did? Oh but it is, his conscience told him, it's all your fault. Everything's your fault, John.

"Sherlock...he, uh, he's got a boyfriend and I...-well, I didn't react appropriately I suppose," he explained, all the while thinking he bloody well did react the way any sane person would, finding out your best friend is shagging a murderous sociopath.

"Oh John," Sarah tutted, "don't you worry, I'm sure things will be alright again soon, you'll see it'll blow over."

John gave a small grunt of dismissal.

"Oh hello Jim, dear!"

"Hello Mrs. Hudson, how's the hip?"

"Just awful but I'll manage. He's in a bit of a state, Jim, moping around, playing that wretched violin of his..."

"Oh I'm sure he'll be juuuuuuust fine."

"Sherlock? Hiiii-iii!"

Sherlock lifted his face from the pillow it was buried in, damp with a mixture of tears and sweat. He sniffed.

"Jim," he replied thickly.

Jim caught sight of Sherlock lying on the sofa, his face tear-stained and the pillow sodden.

"oh sweetheart, whatever is the matter?" he surged forward, engulfing Sherlock in his arms.

"I'm glad you left last night," Sherlock whispered, barely audible, "the things he said about you..."

"Shhh, it's okay...words are knives that often leave scars...but then...that's all, just scars...no real damage done..."

The curly-haired man raised his head, looking at the Irishman with bleary eyes and snorted.

"You stole that from a song."

Moriarty shrugged, giving a look of mock defeat.

"What," Sherlock chuckled, "can't think of your own lines any more?"

"Oh...oh Sherlock, you wound me!"

He gave a small smile.

"So!" Jim clamped his hand firmly down on Sherlock's thigh, "tell me! Tell me, ohhhh tellllllllllllllll meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Sherlock closed his eyes for a little longer than a standard blink.

"He wasn't happy, that's for sure, but of course you knew that already," Sherlock began.

Jim smirked.

"Anyway," he continued, "push came to shove, John raised his voice, Mrs. Hudson came up, and she made good of our arrangement."

"Ohhhh that makes me tiiingly all over!"

Sherlock look at Jim reproachfully, and muttered, "It hasn't done me any favours...I miss him..."

"...of COURSE YOU MISS HIM!" Moriarty began shouting mid-sentence, "he was your very favourite little hedgehog."

"Shh Jim, please, keep your voice down, you'll worry Mrs. Hudson."

Jim stopped dead, realisation dawning in his eyes.

"Wait...wait, wait, what precisely did you tell him about us?"

Sherlock's throat tightened.

"I..." it then dawned on him.

"You told him all the crimes were a set up, didn't you?"

Sherlock gulped, his throat now dry.

"Y-yes," he stuttered.

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!?"

"I..-I-"

"You have a pissed off ex-flatmate, with a story the press would juuu-uuuust love!"

Sherlock turned away with a groan.

"Yes, 'ugh' is right Sherlock! If he goes to the press, which I have no doubt in my mind that he will, you, I, - we are ruined!" And you! You'll be thrown in prison for this!"

Sherlock paled, as Jim's face reddened.

"We uh...- I suppose we'll have to do something about it then..."

"About him Sherlock," Jim said suggestively, his eyebrows quirking upwards for a brief moment.

"No!" Sherlock stared in wide-eyed horror, "no Jim! You mustn't!"

"Bo-oring! Fine then, what if we were to disappear...-no he'd still tell...OH! If we were to, oh I don't know, die tragically and suddenly, he'd feel bad, and surely he wouldn't want to mar your name in death..."

"Tragically?"

"The most tragic way possible."

"You mean..."

"Yes, Sherlock. Suicide."

Sherlock fell silent.

[cue dramatic music] Please please pleeeeeeeeeeeease review!