A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! To make up for my appalling lack of updates I'm posting the rest of this month's song fic drabbles today. Let me know what you think of them.

January 18, 2014

The Very Thought of You—Harry Connick Jr. (3:41)

Sherlock

Honey 'Verse

Sherlock

He stared up at the ceiling and clenched his fist again. He needed more. It was the only thing that kept the ghost away. Without the hit John was everywhere. In every line of every book. In every flower on the street or in the park. He couldn't take the ghost anymore. He had to banish it.

John shouldn't haunt him like this. It wasn't fair. He should have fought harder to make John stay. John should be here, in London, with him. Not off in Dubai or Kuwait or wherever getting shot at. He should be safe at home. Here.

He needed another hit. John's face had appeared in the cracks on the ceiling. "You know I hate you nearly as much as I love you, don't you?" He hissed at the cracks. "Why did you leave me? What did I do?"

I didn't leave you, you berk, John's voice was exasperated. I made a vow to be with you to the end of days, remember? Just because I had to go fight for our Queen doesn't mean I wanted to.

"Liar!" Sherlock yelled desperately. "Mummy and Father would have paid for university if you'd let them. But you're too proud to ask for help. I hate you."

You don't.

Sherlock scowled and turned away from the face to lay on his stomach on the sofa. "Do," he muttered. He heard John's heavy sigh in his mind and pressed his face into the cushions. It didn't help. John's form was imprinted in his memory and he couldn't delete it no matter how hard he tried.

He flopped back over and stared at the telly. That didn't banish the ghost either. Every actor had John's face. He threw a book at the offending object. He really needed another hit. But he was out and he didn't feel like getting up and buying more. "Fuck!" He cursed. "Fine," he pushed himself to his feet and scooped up his coat.

Don't. Please Sherlock. Just stay inside and come down. Please.

"Then go away," he ordered futilely. "Go away and I'll stop completely." The ghost was silent but hadn't moved away from the door. He strode through it and slammed the door behind him. "Stubborn idiot."

One more hit. Just one more and maybe it would be enough to make his husband's ghost go back to wherever John was this week.