hey guys, i've decided i'm going to try and make it a ten chapter story, whether that will pan out i don't know. Hope you stick with it and enjoy it, it's been so theraputic writing it. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and all the favourites and follows, i hope this chapter doesn't dissapoint 3

Chapter Seven

Shadows of the Past

John had just finished scraping the remaining rice into the bin when Sherlock strode into the room, wearing jeans. Actual jeans. With the jeans he wore a dark red fitted shirt and a black fitted jacket buttoned, he had also clearly made an effort to control his mop of dark hair, he looked, and John was alarmed to realise this, extremely attractive.

'John?' Sherlock's serious tone snapped him out of his reverie, he was embarrassed to discover his mouth was hanging slightly open, he caught before attempting to put reason to it

'Im just shocked you've made such an effort, for me- for my birthday, I mean.' It hadn't really eased the tension but both of them pretended it had.

'Are you getting ready then? Please John; don't wear one of your jumpers.'

He was insulted at the slight on his jumpers but didn't argue, emerging back into the living area after approximately twenty minutes of deciding what to wear, John appeared in a Polo t shirt, which, although a little tight, was quite flattering on the remains of arm muscles gained from his army training. Sherlock nodded in approval before handing passing his jacket from the back of the sofa, winking and heading out of the door.

They walked along the streetlamp lit streets of Baker Street towards The Old House Cat pub, Sherlock suddenly looked enlightened before revealing, 'It's supposed to be a surprise party, so act surprised.'

John chuckled, 'Sherlock, you've organised something that isn't for your own benefit, or isn't an experiment, just because it's my birthday, I am surprised.'

Sherlock grinned the half grin that John had become accustomed to before continuing

'Well that's good, but , maybe be more visually surprised as well as inwardly surprised, for everyone elses benefit. You smell different, did you know?

This question caught John off guard,

'Er, yea I got a new aftershave; well actually it was a present from-

'Mary? I don't like it. Well, it's alright I suppose, but I prefer your old smell. Your old aftershave I mean.'

There was something in those words, 'your old smell'. They lingered in the air like the memory of familiar scents. Everything was different since they had been reunited, expressions that would have once gone unnoticed could now mean the end of life as it was known, the look on Sherlock's face as he had said Marys name, angry, undeniable, like the once innocent accidental touches that were now redefined phrases in a whole new language, neither of them quite fluent in it yet, both confused as to what it really was.

The silence lasted until they reached the pub, and as soon as they entered they were greeted by cries of Johns nearest and dearest, 'Surprise!' John attempted to look shocked but a few of the guests didn't look entirely convinced.

Lestrade stood in the corner, looking resentfully at Sherlock and somewhat fearfully at John, which was unsurprising given his reaction every time he had laid eyes on the detective inspector. John was reunited with a few men from Afghanistan, tanned and tired looking, all three of them bought him a drink a piece and they talked about old times, old terrors . John tried to mingle through the croud, gently sneaking his sisters drink away when she'd had too many, laughed sycophantically at Mike Stumfords jokes, but no matter where he was, he kept Sherlock in his peripheral. Sherlock himself had wandered from person to person, slower, more precise, he had spend a lot of time drinking at a table with Molly, casting John glances every now and then, wanting him to join the conversation. It was the first time in a long time John felt at peace, every one he had ever wanted or needed seemed to be in this room, deep down though John knew that if Sherlock hadn't been there, he couldn't have felt this complete, A thought that made his stomach squirm, although that could have been the six pints and two whiskeys he had. Finally, after making sure he had spoken to everyone, he sought out Sherlock and Molly who were still tucked in the corner, and made his way over to them. He collapsed in the alcove sofa next to his best friend and turned to Molly and, pointing drunkenly at her said

'You were a very naughty lady. You knew he was alive, all that time and never told me! That's not nice Molly, not nice at all!' He smiled at her and hiccupped but he saw that his words had effected her, she became uncomfortable, and a sharper mind would have identified the tears welling up in her eyes.

'yes well, I promised Sherlock I wouldn't- Well anyway, its late I should go, Happy Birthday John. See you around Sherlock.' She stood up to go and to Johns annoyance Sherlock stood up to as to follow her,

'Molly, ignore John he doesn't know what he's saying' Sherlock was apologising for John, and John did not like this at all.

'No Sherlock shuttup, Molly, why didn't you tell me? You knew how I was going through hell and you just watched! I just don't get it Molly I thought you were my friend, friends don't do that to each other Molly.'

'John Shut up now.' Sherlock had turned to directly face John now, a flash of warning in his eyes, a hand upon his shoulder, John opened his mouth to talk again, but Sherlock's face changed, into a pleading expression, it was so rare that it stunned John for a second, long enough for Molly to dash out of the heavy wooden doors. 'John I think we should go home, you've had enough.' Sherlock's voice was soft and caring, he sat back down, close to him and whispered in his ear ' It's ok John, let's go home, please.' It sent shivers down Johns neck, he had actually felt Sherlock's breath on his ear, it was warm and desperate and it made his head spin. 'Sherlock I can't yet, can I have some water first and then we'll go.' He wanted Sherlock to argue, to lean in again and whisper requests to him, but instead Sherlock nodded, slipped by John and headed to the bar, leaving him feeling foolish, his heart beating like he had been running.

He watched Sherlock approach the bar and order, he noticed the slender blonde man staring at him, seated on one of tall stools, he was holding a nearly empty glass of wine. John watched as he knocked back the remenants of the drink and headed towards the bar, keeping his eyes fixed on Sherlock, like a predator stalking its prey, cold and hungry. A part of John cried out to him to go and join his friend at the bar, that Sherlock needed protecting from this mysterious and determined looking man, but the rest of him, lethargic from the alcohol just made him sit and observe as the stranger placed himself next to Sherlock and pretended to notice him as he set his empty glass on the bar

Sherlock had been aware that there were eyes upon him, it was part of his job to know when he was being watched, he knew that John's gaze would be following him, but he was intrigued to realise that there were two pairs burning into him. He stopped himself from scanning the room, John was the priority, 'A large glass of water please.' The barman nodded and turned his back on him, just as a figure drew up beside him, he was very close, Sherlock was pretty sure this man was overstepping the usual social barriers of closeness, having done it many times himself.

'Sherlock Holmes, as I live and breathe. You don't change do you?'

Sherlock turned and looked at the man beside him, he was almost the exact same height as himself, he had blonde hair, straight, a few strands of the fringe dangled in front of his eyes, they were a very dark blue, which were startling against the paleness of his skin. He had freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, it gave him a boyish appearance despite the lines around his eyes and mouth, they showed laughter, but he still looked hollow, like he had been through hard times. Sherlock could have analysed the expensive suit that had been recently laundered for the eighth time, or the cut on the mans hand, from a knife, probably cutting food like vegetables, or even the long faded scar on the mans eyebrow. Instead all Sherlock did was hold out a hand and force out the words

'William. Its been- a long time.'

'You do recognise me then?' The man smiled and his eyes shone with pleasure

'Of course, you haven't changed that much either… Willie.'

'Gosh, it's been a while since anyone called me that, then again, you were the only person that did anyway.'The man's piercing eyes scanned Sherlock's face and he felt heat rise into his cheeks, he was usually the one looking intently at someone to figure out their past. William didn't need to interrogate Sherlock with his gaze to do that, he was doing that for completely different reasons.

A glass of water was placed the infront of Sherlock and the elderly moustached man looked suspiciously between the two of them, their heads were close together and there was a tension that had seemed to come out of nowhere. The barman assumed with a smirk that they must be some of 'those types'.

'Water Sherlock? What's the matter, fallen on hard times?' The man smiled a half smile, and blinked slowly, it was quite hypnotic and Sherlock found himself stuttering

'No, er,no its for my John, I mean, my friend John, hes had a bit too much, its his birthday.'

'Oh I see. Did you buy him something nice? I seem to recall you were good at giving presents-'

'A watch, I got him a watch, because that's what friends do.' Sherlock realised that he was coming across badly, and for some reason he felt the need to impress William, so he changed tack

'How long has it been? What were we? Fifteen?'

William raised his eyebrow and stroked his chin, 'Yea, sounds about right, we celebrated your sixteenth together, do you remember that?' The blue eyes burned for a split second in memory

'Yes. Yes of course I remember.'

And Sherlock did remember, he remembered as he and his best friend had stolen away into the night, after he had had to endure a laborious birthday meal with his family, to which William was invited. They had stolen furtive glances at each other the entire time, both holding a secret, knowledge of what was to come later that evening, making each other smirk and blush when their eyes met over the roast pheasant, a somewhat embarrassing cliché now Sherlock looked back on it.

'Your blushing Sherlock, trip down memory lane is it?' William had placed a hand over his, and he snatched it away, snapping his head to the corner where John sat, still staring, taking in everything,

'Didn't you tell him about me Sherlock? About what happened-'

'What almost happened Willie-'

'Yes because you chickened out, I would have gone through with it-

'Of course you would have, it was your idea, everything was always your idea-'

'You never said no though, well, right up until-'

'It was the look on the womans face, it just put me off-

'I know exactly what it was Sherlock. Cowardice. Its ok, I was never angry with you, not really.'

'I know. You were my best friend-'

'Oh I think goes beyond that Sherlock-'

'Look I have to go, Johns been watching and I don't want him to get the wrong idea.'

' Where does that leave me then Sherlock?' And then Willie did that thing that he always did, he took in a deep breath, and let out a long sigh, drew his eyebrows together and slowly licked his bottom lip and then when he knew Sherlock would do anything he asked, said ' You want to see me again, right? To have a proper catch up.'

'Of course. Give me your number I'll call you when-

'No Sherlock. I'll call you. Give me your number.'

John saw Sherlock reach his long arm down the bar and grab a beer mat before sliding it infront of him, he then took a pen out and starting writing something on it. It was only when he passed it to the strange blonde man that John realised it was probably a phone number, Sherlock's giving him his number? What the hell does this mean? Maybe he's a potential client. Must be. Only possible reason really. Its Sherlock for god's sake. He doesn't get chatted up, and when he does he ignores them, or mocks them or exploits them. Fine. New Client. Good. Where's my bloody water? Just before John had summoned the energy to get annoyed at his missing beverage it was slammed down in front of him, the liquid swished to one side of the glass before moving back and spilling over the side, spreading out onto the table, Sherlock hadn't noticed.

'Drink up John. Quickly if you please.'

John didn't ask why, Sherlock's face was twisted into a strange frown, he almost looked in pain, but he looked angry and excited at the same time, it was a new expression and John realised that it probably had something to do with the stranger. He took a gulp of water before trying casually to question his flatmate

'So, that bloke at the bar, was he chatting you up or?' He had a laugh and a grin, trying to make it a joke, but he realised his own voice sounded strained. Again though, Sherlock hadn't noticed

'No. He was nobody. Went to school with him. That's it, right we're going.'

'I've not drank my-'

'NOW, John.'

There was no arguing with him in this mood, John knew that. It had come out of nowhere, all he knew was the Sherlock as agitated and that could only be a bad thing. Gulping down two more mouthfuls of water he stood up, Sherlock shoved his jacket in his hands and stormed out of the door. John turned away from where his friend had exited and looked towards the bar. The blonde man was leaning casually against it, one ankle tucked behind the other, one elbow on the varnished wooden top, he waved at John, but it was sly, airy, moving one finger after another on his long spidery hand, then he winked at John, and turned his back on him, leaving him feeling confused, angry and a little scared. This man was not 'nobody', he knew that for certain.

It had been almost a week since Johns birthday and Sherlock had barely spoken a word. He hadn't come out of his room the first two days, and when he finally did he was snappy, aggressive and didn't eat. He kept checking his phone every few minutes, John hoped he was just eager for a case but something told him it wasn't that. Finally, after realising that Sherlock had hardly eaten for seven days, John decided to confront him. He placed a carefully constructed meal of tuna pasta bake with garlic bread in front of his friend, and when Sherlock blew air out his nose and turned away he sat down in front of him;

'Sherlock, I've had enough. You're not eating, you're not speaking and its all since you spoke to that man in the pub. What the hell did he say?'

Sherlock shot him condescending glance and shook his head

'Was he threatening you?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood up

'Sherlock I'm serious you have to stop keeping things from me, last time you didn't tell me something it almost killed us both.'

Sherlock had been walking away and suddenly he froze and whirled around, suddenly he looked frightening, he had a crazed look in his eyes, 'I don't you anything John! I lie to you all the time, to protect you!' He added in a disturbing sing song voice 'What you don't know can't hurt you!'

'What Sherlock? What aren't you telling me?' John kept his temper but he could feel an acidic, sickened feeling in the pit of his stomach, Sherlock would crack and he was dreading what he would discover.

'Well I didn't tell you about the time I grew poisonous mould in the bread bin, or the time I put a human liver in the toaster. I didn't tell you that when I was younger I got bullied a lot, even in a public boarding school where everyone was rich and supposedly civilised, I didn't tell you that I've only ever had one other best friend and he came with me from primary school to boarding school but then when I was sixteen I stopped speaking to him because of something that I nearly did and that after all these years seeing him in that pub brought my whole horrid childhood back. Oh and I also didn't tell you that your ex fiancé is pregnant with your child. So you see John, there are lots of things I don't tell you, but it really doesn't matter because you knowing doesn't change anything for the better.'

John sat there totally stunned. The bread bin and the human liver were nothing, he suspected there was something more to be said about Sherlock's newly returned childhood best friend, but the one thing that John could not wrap his head around was that-

'Marys pregenant!'

'Yes, that's what I just said.'

'She's pregnant. And you didn't tell me? How did you know!'

'I didn't know, I saw. And then she saw that I knew and asked me not to tell you. I wanted her out of our lives so I agreed.'

'That wasn't your decision to make Sherlock! She's having my baby!'

'She might have got rid of it. I would have done in her cituation-'

'YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HUMAN EMOTIONS!'

'I have studied-

'THAT'S NOT THE SAME! You don't get it, you don't understand how I feel right now, or how Mary was feeling, you don't feel jealousy, or love or loyalty. YOU DON'T FEEL ANYTHING!'

John couldn't see straight, he wanted to call Mary and to strangle Sherlock.

'Right I'm going to see Mary. Right now.'

'John don't leave-'

'Shut up Sherlock, don't even speak to me, go back to being quiet.'

'This is why I don't tell you things. I hate it when you're angry with me.' Sherlock's voice was timid, he sat down staring into space while John stomped around gathering his coat and shoes. He grabbed his wallet but before he disappeared out of the door he turned around and hissed at Sherlock 'You better go find that other friend of yours, because right now he's the only one you have.'

Sherlock sat alone, the sky outside grew darker and cast the living room into shadow, he let the darkness descend upon him, it was the perfect physical representation for the inner torment of his soul, his heart, whatever it was that made him feel this terrible whenever John wasn't around. John had been right, he may never understand human emotion but it didn't mean he didn't feel them. It was strange really, he tried to avoid emotions because he couldn't rationalise them, analyse them as well as more physical acts, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't eradicate them completely. He still felt anger, and pain, and, in some very rare instances, even something akin to love. He wondered if John would really go and see Mary, and whether the prospect of becoming a father would guilt him into re- establishing their relationship. After everything that had happened, all the talking and the tears and laughter, Sherlock could still lose John. Sherlock felt his chest tightened and hated himself for giving into his human nature, he cursed John for making him care, despised him for the hold he had over him, it was just like being fifteen again, only this time John didn't know the effect he had over Sherlock. William had always known.

It was as if by magic, or divide intervention, that at the precise moment that William had snaked his way into Sherlocks mind, his phone started ringing. With a shaking hand, again annoyed at himself, he picked up from the coffee table and held it to his ear.

'Sherlock. Glad you ansered. Where do you live? I'm coming for a visit'

'I don't think it's a good idea-'

He heard the sigh turn into a small growl like chuckle, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up

'Don't be boring Sherlock. John won't mind.

'Johns not in. 221B Baker Street.'

The phone went dead, not so much as a thank you or a goodbye. Sherlock finally switched on the lights and absent mindedly tidied the flat, moving papers into neater piles, throwing away the meal he had left untouched. He didn't even like garlic bread, he only ever ate it to make John happy. Stupid, simple John. Not like William, William was clever, devious and manipulative. He made Sherlock's skin crawl, but it wasn't entirely an unpleasant feeling.

After about half an hour there was a ring on the doorbell and Sherlock descended the steps to remove the latch and let his guest in. He noticed the sound of the rain rushing from the sky as he opened the door wide and his eyebrows shot to the top of his head as he came face to face with his former best friend, drenched the bone, his hair releasing droplets of water onto his delicate face that already shone bright, the tip of his nose had gone a rosy red from the cold.

'Come in then, before you catch your death.'

William slipped by him and Sherlock gestured for him to head upstairs, he followed him closely as they entered the living room

'You never had a problem with death when I knew you Sherlock. John must have changed you.'

'He's house trained me a bit.'

'Not too much I hope, still a bit of the wild animal in you.'

'I don't think I was ever what you would call wild Willie.'

William surveyed the room before settling himself upon the sofa, his long legs stretched out luxuriously before him and his arms folded behind his head. He looked up at Sherlock and their eyes remained locked as Sherlock took the armchair opposite.

'You were wild enough for me Sherlock. John noticed me I suppose; did you tell him about ourpast?'

'No, I had some other secrets for him to deal with first without him knowing about what we almost did.'

All of Sherlock's attention was fixed on the man on his sofa, his eyes ghosted over his face, down his neck, remembering the smell, the bitter taste of teeth on flesh, the top of the shirt, white. It reminded him of the school shirts they used to wear. Willie could open a shirt with one hand whilst grabbing a handful of hair and demanding full attention of the lips of whom it was attached to. He was too distracted to hear a creak of a stair outside.

'So he doesn't know anything? About how much a bad person you are' William licked his bottom lip

'No. Look we never actually went through with it-

'Yes, yes I know. Because of the poor woman's face.'

'I've never seen anyone look so scared and horrified. Well back then I hadn't'

'I think it would have been even more horrified if we'd carried on-'

'Yes but I can't, I'm not that heartless I can't just-

'I know Sherlock. It saved your soul, so don't keep apologising.'

'I still see her face sometimes, when I go to sleep-'

'Jesus Sherlock you do have a conscience after all.'

'Not much of one. If John ever found out-'

'Johns already figured it out.' John entered the living room, also drenched, face as white as a sheet and eyes as dark as pitch

'John I-' Sherlock began

'No Sherlock, I've had enough, you lie and lie an then I find out that Donavan was right all along, you are a freak!'

'John I hardly think that what I nearly did-'

'JUST BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T GO THROUGH WITH IT DOESN'T MEAN YOUR NOT WRONG IN THE HEAD SHERLOCK. That poor woman, what was it first? Setting cats on fire, drowning hamsters? That's what your type usually do isn't it?. I cant believe I stuck up for you. No wonder you like doing what you do, it's like you admire these murderers because theyre as twisted as you are!'

'John you said you were fine with anything-'

'Well I guess I was wrong! I've had enough Sherlock.' John pushed past him, took a larger coat and an umbrella from the stand. 'I'm going to stay with Harry for a bit. I'll be back tomorrow morning to get some stuff but for now I just need to get out of here. Don't text me or call me or try to get to me because it won't work, im turning my phone off.' Sherlock followed John to the top of the stairs to try and stop him, grabbing at his jacket, but he just yanked his arm out of his grasp

'Get away from me Sherlock.' John descended the stairs leaving Sherlock breathing heavily and trying to collect his thoughts and turn them into words but all attempt failed. John threw open the door and looked back, disgust etched upon his face like carvings in stone, 'I always knew you were odd Sherlock but I never thought you'd go as far as to plan to kill someone. You are a psychopath after all'

Sherlock blinked in confusion as the door slammed shut, parts of his brain that had shut down due to hurt started to wake up again.

'Wait. Kill someone? What? JOHN NO WAIT!' He realised that John had got the totally wrong idea, he thought the woman was a victim, an experiment, of torture or murder or something else. Sherlock jumped half of the staircase and ran out into the rain, it was torrential, he was soaked instantly but he span around wildly looking for Johns frame disappearing into the rain. He couldn't see anything; he must have got a cab straight outside. He delved his hand into his pocket and brought out his phone, he pressed John on speed dial but it said that it was unable to connect. Sherlock felt like running and running in an attempt to find John but he knew it waste of time. Instead he collapsed in the middle of pavement, onto his hands and knees and let out a roar of rage, frustration and anguish at the river running down the concrete, weaving between his grasping fingers. His John thought him a murderer, or, close enough. Tears cascaded down his face and mingled with the rain on the ground. He felt nauseasm. He couldn't lose John again. It had been a horrible, horrible day.

Sherlock eventually made his way inside, cold to the core. When he entered the living room William was stood with a blanket he must have found in the airing cupboard. He was holding out corner to corner, Sherlock just walked forward into it and he enfolded him into it, bringing him close to him. They stood, chest to chest, Sherlock resting his head on William's shoulder, William curling his hand around Sherlock's head and holding it there, unable to see his face, Sherlock didn't see the devilish grin upon his old friend's face.