Hey guys! So, I'm going through and working on editing the chapters, cause I've improved my writing since first posting this, so if the writing quality goes down at a certain point, just assume I havent updated it yet. Anyways! So here's Sherlocks POv... First time I've tried to do it in first person... Or at all, actually xD. Anyways, here you go guys, chapter 2!

Chapter 2- Sherlock's POV
The days after Johns death were the worst. I locked myself in my room for the first day, didn't eat, hardly slept, and if I did it wasn't for long. Every time i closed my eyes for too long I saw John jumping. John hitting the ground. Johns blood.

I shuddered at the memories. It wasn't hard to guess that Moriarty was behind it. He said he would burn the heart out of me, and he made good on that promise. Ever since John jumped, there was a hole in my chest that left me feeling empty. It was almost a physical ache.

After the first day, I ventured out of my room for periods of time to work on random experiments, shoot up the wall, occasionally playing the violin. Mrs. Hudson would occasionally bring me tea or some sort of food, generally complain about the state of things '"I'm adding that to your rent! Oh dear, you could at least clean up around here."' but my stony silence was enough to keep her away for the most part.

As much as I tried not to, I kept wondering what John meant when he said it was the only way to repay me, and I couldn't stop the dull emptiness as I realized that would be the last time I'd hear him call me brilliant, or talk to me at all really.

It was nearly a week in one morning as I starred at the wall, last night having been a... Particularly bad night, me falling asleep against my own attempts not to, only to wake from a especially vivid dream, and had been here since then, mentally reciting chemical formulas to keep my mind occupied. I was jerked from my thoughts when I heard someone trying to pick the lock to my bedroom. That was a first. They normally they just knocked, tried to say one encouraging thing or another, and for the most part stayed out of the flat altogether, partly due to Mrs. Hudson stopping them at the stairs.

A few moments later, in walked Lestrade. My eyes idly flickered over to him before moving to the wall again. I wasn't particularly surprised, but I had hoped he'd stay out of it this time. He walked over and sat down next to me on my bed.

"Hey mate. You doing okay?" Lestrade asked after a few minutes of silence.

"I'm doing fine." I snapped, now just wishing he'd leave. He leaned forward,

"I wish I could believe you Sherlock, but I can't. Even Anderson has been asking whats wrong with you!" I glared at the wall,

"Well Anderson is a idiot. I'm surprised the Yard is still standing with him working there." I snapped.

Lestrade's expression softened, "Sherlock..." He began, then paused

"You have to talk sometime." he tried again, more gently.

I was silent for a whole five minutes as I starred at the wall, trying to calm the storm of sudden emotions inside me. I wish they would go away. I liked them dead. They feel out of place here, without John.

"There's nothing to talk about." I said at last, for the most part keeping my voice even. But it was hard to keep the emotions swirling inside out of my voice.

"We're here for you, you know. We're your friends, you can talk to us. To me."

I almost snorted at that, before tensing as my brain supplied a flash of a memory that happened only hours before the Fall. 'no Sherlock, friends protect you.'

"I don't have friends." I hissed.

"We all miss him you know," he finally said, tone almost matching mine.

I just sat there in silence,

Lestrade opened his mouth to say something else, before shaking his head. "You know what? Fine. If you want to believe that, if you want to pretend like nothings wrong, if it makes you feel better, fine. Good."

I was momentarily surprised at his almost harsh tone, before my lip twitched up a little. "Did you come here for a reason, Lestrade?" I questioned, finally turning to face the Inspector.

"Yes, actually. There's a case." he said as he quickly stood up.

I hummed a little, "then I'll be there shortly. There are some experiments I must attend to first," I said dismissively before standing and making my way out as well, heading to the kitchen. I didn't look up when he paused at the door, felt his eyes on me before he have a small sigh and left, shutting the door behind him.

As soon as he left I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, blocking out everything else as I quickly delved into my mind palace and found where the emotions were running free, focusing on blocking them off, double locking the door behind them.

They would do me no good here, they would only distract me from the work. Shortly after I emerged, making quick work of turning off the more sensitive experiments before heading down and finding a taxi and the address that Lestrade had sent me not long before.

It wasn't long after that when I returned to drugs. They helped me think, cleared my head better than working ever did.

Made me feel as if something was right. Every now and then at the peak of drug use I could hear Johns voice echoing in my head, reprimanding me. I ignored him though. He wasn't here, not really. It didn't matter anymore.

All that mattered anymore was the work.

Johns P.O.V
I woke up who-knows-when to the beeping of a heart monitor. My first thought was Sherlock, the next was why am I not dead.

My head was pounding with one of the worst headaches I've ever had, and everything else hurt despite the painkillers I no doubt was on. I looked around as much as I dared, trying not to move my head much. It certainly didn't smell like a hospital, and the fact that it wasn't was confirmed when Mycroft walked into the room.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you doing here?" I snapped.

It doesn't help ones mood (or headache) when you wake up after being unconscious for who knows how long, and in pain, and the first human you see be Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft, of all people!

What kind of sick joke was fate playing here?

"Now now, Doctor. Shouldn't you be thankful we saved your life?" he said, raising an eyebrow at me.

I glared at him, "what do you want?"

Holmes' always have a motive behind everything. Especially this one.

Mycroft twirled his black umbrella a little before holding it still again, instead clenching and unclenching his hand around it.

"I need help getting the rest of Moriarty's web. Something very alarming has come to our attention, and we need it taken care of. And since Sherlock is in no shape to do so, I find I require your services." He replied calmly.

At the words, 'Sherlock is in no shape to do so' my mind started imagining the worst.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked, starting to panic, ignoring the increased beeping of my heart monitor. He smiled, which didn't help reassure me in the least.
"Nothing that you should worry about." He said, turning around.

"Don't worry about a thing. Just focus on getting Moriarty, and everything will be fine, my dear doctor." Mycroft said before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

A picture of Sherlock, smiling, giggling with me and out of breath after chasing a criminal through London flashed through my head.

"I'm not your doctor." I whispered, looking at the shut door.

So, there was that...