John lay panting atop Sherlock for a few minutes before he finally managed to get his muscles to work long enough for him to slide down to his side of the bed. It wasn't long though until Sherlock rolled over on top of him.

"What are you doing?" John asked between heaving breaths.

Sherlock mumbled something that John couldn't make out, seeing as Sherlock's head was buried in the back of Joh's neck.

"What?"

Sherlock lifted his head up, "I love you," and then he put it back down again.

John couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "I love you too, now get off me."

He pushed Sherlock off, got up from the bed and put on his pants before turning the kettle on in the kitchen. While he waited, he noticed Sherlock's clothes scattered everywhere. Sighing, he picked them up and folded them. When he got to the jacket he noticed a small bulge in one of the pockets. He put his hand in and pulled out a nearly empty packet of cigarettes. He picked one out and binned the rest.

After making the tea he walked back into their room where Sherlock was now spread right in the middle of the bed. He set the tea down on the bedside table and crawled over Sherlock's body.

"Last one," John said as he showed Sherlock the cigarette, "then it's over, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and accepted the cigarette. "Did you bring my lighter?"

"No. And you're not smoking in here. You'll stink up the place and I intend to stay here with you for a very long time."

Giving John one last kiss Sherlock put on his dressing gown and went into the living room. He opened the window and lit up the cigarette on the way to his chair. He remembered another time when he was allowed one last indulgence before kicking the habit.

"Mycroft, please!", he begged his brother. "Just one last time, please!"

"I can't, Sherlock. You know that." Mycroft could feel tears stinging in the back of his eyes. He hated seeing Sherlock like this- desperate, pleading, dependent. He needed to end this once and for all; the drugs were destroying his brother's life, and most importantly, his mind.

"Just one last time, Mycroft. I promise I'll go to the clinic afterwards but please, just one last time." He was starting to panic now. He knew he had to get clean- he wanted to get clean- but he just needed to know what it felt like again.

"Sherlock, no!" He tried to sound firm, but he could feel his resolve crumbling as Sherlock collapsed on the bed and started crying. He walked over to his brother and put a hand on his heaving shoulder. He had never been the best at consoling people, but he knew he had to at least try. "Everything will be better after this, believe me."

"Please," Sherlock managed to get out between sobs, "please, brother."

"I can't, Sherlock, I-" his voice broke and a single tear ran down his face.

A particularly violent sob left Sherlock's lips and Mycroft felt himself giving in. "Fine." He shook his head, disappointed in both their weak wills. "But I won't watch," he said, before leaving the room.

"Sherlock?" The detective snapped his head up to meet John's concerned look. "Are you alright?"

"Of course, I'm fine," he dismissed quickly. He stubbed the cigarette out on a dirty plate.

"Are you sure? You don't look fine."

John had come looking for Sherlock after twenty minutes had passed, and the detective still hadn't returned. He walked in to find Sherlock sitting in his chair with a hazy look in his eyes and the cigarette almost burning his fingers.

Sherlock smiled at John, hoping to be able to dismiss his concern, but he knew that John didn't believe him. "It's nothing to worry about."

John gave him a sad look before sitting on his lap and leaning his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "You were miles away. What were you thinking about?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he admitted, hoping that John would drop the subject. It wasn't anything that John didn't already know about but if Sherlock admitted that it was upsetting him he worried that John would want to discuss it, and he really didn't want to bring up all those memories again.

"Okay, that's fine. But I'm here if you want to talk, you know that."

Sherlock stroked the side of John's face lightly and saw him closing his eyes against the sensation. "I know. Thank you."

He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky. Having John in his life was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time, and he was so grateful. When they had first become a couple he was a nervous wreck, always worried that he would upset John or not meet his expectations until John sat him down and very plainly told him that he wasn't expecting Sherlock to change for him.

But there had been subtle changes over the months they had been together. Sherlock started to slowly reveal more of himself than he ever thought he would. Little things at first, that had slowly evolved into secrets that Sherlock never thought he would tell anyone. There wasn't much about Sherlock that John didn't know.

"You're thinking too much," John noted after seeing the far-away look in Sherlock's eyes again. He was starting to worry because there were no cases or experiments to think about, and he wondered what could possibly be consuming Sherlock right now. "What do you say we go back to bed?"

"You go, I'll join you in a minute," Sherlock said with a smile. But John noticed the smile didn't reach his eyes, something that only happened when Sherlock was pretending.

"Okay, you're really worrying me now. What's going on in that big brain of yours?"

Sherlock leaned forward and started kissing John's neck, lightly at first and right at the pulse point where he knew John was most sensitive. It worked for a few seconds, he even managed to get a quiet moan out of John before his brain caught up to what Sherlock was trying to do.

"No, no, stop-" he gasped as Sherlock bit his neck and then licked the same spot, "you're not going to distract me like this" he half-heartedly tried to push Sherlock away but gave up in the end, and became pliant under Sherlock's ministrations.

The kisses had now moved to John's exposed chest and Sherlock found that this was a very effective distraction for all the thoughts he wanted to ignore. Thank you, John.

He moved back up to capture John's lips in one deep, long kiss. John responded immediately, bringing his hands to the back of Sherlock's neck, effectively pressing the two of them closer.

They both moaned in unison, and the kiss became more desperate. Suddenly Sherlock grabbed John, wrapped his legs around his waist and got up from the chair.

John held on for dear life, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I believe the question is, 'what are we doing'."

"What are we doing?"

By then they had reached the bedroom and Sherlock dropped John down on the bed and climbed over him. "Round two."

They had every intention of spending the rest of the day in bed when they realised how empty their fridge was, and how hungry they were- even Sherlock. So they dragged themselves out of bed and got dressed.

"You're seriously coming with me to do the shopping?" John asked.

"I said I would, didn't I?" Sherlock replied, growing slightly irritated with John's disbelief. It was true that he'd never shown any interest before, aside from the supplies he asked John to bring for his experiments, but there was a first time for everything. "Besides, I forgot the milk."

"You always forget the milk," John noted with amusement.

Sherlock scowled at him before leaving the bedroom. John followed to find Sherlock with his arms crossed, sulking on the sofa. "Come on, Sherlock, you know I was only joking."

"If my attempt to assist you is amusing, then by all means I'll leave you to it."

John walked over to the sulking detective and uncrossed his arms. "Get up, we're going for a walk."

"I thought we were going shopping."

"We are," John replied as he pulled Sherlock off the sofa, "if you stop sulking, that is. And I just thought it would be nice if we walked there. We spend enough money on cabs as it is, and you need some fresh air."

John knew that Sherlock's irritability was likely to be one of the first symptoms of withdrawal. Last time Sherlock had harpooned a dead pig, scared off half of London's cab drivers and deduced Mrs Hudson to tears, and he'd only had one cigarette then.

With Sherlock's addictive personality it was extremely easy for him to fall back into old habits, and John was determined to not let that happen.

Sherlock was jittery when they got to the supermarket. The fresh air had been good for him but the supermarket was too crowded and noisy, and on the few occasions he actually came here it was aggravated him.

So they progressed through each aisle quickly, John throwing things into the trolley that Sherlock was pushing. The detective had been distracted enough on his phone not to notice where they were until they finally arrived.

"What are we doing at the pharmacy?"

"You're out of nicotine patches."

John had barely finished his sentence and Sherlock had already turned the trolley around. "Don't need them, let's go."

John jogged to catch up with Sherlock, who was clearly heading for the self-checkout, even knowing how John felt about those. "What do you mean you don't need them?"

"Cold turkey, we agreed, remember?"

They stopped once they reached the checkout machine and Sherlock started scanning items.

"That was last time and look where it got you. You were pacing around the flat with a harpoon like a maniac."

Sherlock dropped the milk he was holding back onto the trolley, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew it wasn't John's fault that he was so anxious, but he really just wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible and have this conversation later. Or maybe never.

"I know, John, I was there. It's easier this way, there's less temptation." He rarely liked admitting to any weakness, but in cases like these it was best to be honest.

"You're just making things more difficult for yourself, Sherlock," John argued.

"I've been through this enough times to know my own damn body, John. I'm doing it this way whether you want me to or not, so just leave me alone."

He stormed out of the supermarket, leaving John with a trolley full of shopping to finish.

When he finally did, successfully avoiding yet another row with the machine, he walked outside and started looking for Sherlock, hoping he hadn't gone home on his own.

He finally spotted him pacing just around the corner from the supermarket. The detective swiftly turned around and started walking towards John. He grabbed two of the bags out of John's hands and started walking towards somewhere where they'd be able to get a cab.

Neither of them said a word. John didn't want to rile Sherlock up anymore and Sherlock felt guilty enough as it was that he kept snapping at John.

When they finally reached Baker Street John grabbed all the bags and left Sherlock to pay the fare.

It was a few minutes after John had finished putting away all the shopping that Sherlock finally walked into the flat. His face was a bit flushed and his hair messy. John deduced that the detective had been pacing outside where it was cold and windy, before finally coming in to the flat.

After putting on his dressing gown he shuffled into the kitchen where John had started making dinner. "I didn't know it was going to be this difficult, but I shouldn't be taking it out on you." He cleared his throat nervously. "I'm sorry."

John turned to look at him. "I know that, but I'm here to help you, not to be your verbal punching bag."

Sherlock looked at John, guilt clear in his eyes. "Are you mad at me?"

"Of course not, Sherlock," John reassured him. "I'm worried about you."

"There's nothing to worry about, John."

He noticed how Sherlock looked away when he said that. He walked up to the detective and lifted his chin up so Sherlock would look at him. "Look me in the eye and tell me there's nothing to worry about." Sherlock remained quiet. "You can't, because you won't lie to me, and I'm glad for that. But this has been harder than you imagined and it's only just started. Something's going on in that big brain of yours, and I would like to know what it is."

"I-" Sherlock hesitated. He wanted to talk to John. He wanted to tell him how anxious and nervous the whole thing was making him because it was bringing back so many memories. His brain couldn't discern the fact that he wasn't detoxing from cocaine because it all felt so similar. He wanted to tell John all of this, but he couldn't bring himself to. "I don't want to talk about it."

John sighed. He'd watched the turmoil cross Sherlock's face and had hoped to actually get something out of the detective. "We don't have to talk about it now," he watched as Sherlock visibly relaxed, "but we have to talk about it eventually."

"I know. And we will, I promise. Just not right now."

John held his hand out to Sherlock, and when the detective took it he squeezed it tightly. "Help me make dinner?"

"Fine," Sherlock reluctantly agreed. He figured it would be a good way to keep his mind busy while he worked up the nerve to talk to John.

They worked in the kitchen, Sherlock, for once, following John's instructions, and they managed to make a nice meal for themselves. After dinner they curled up on the sofa watching telly. John could tell that Sherlock was tense. "Sherlock, why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not," Sherlock replied, sounding affronted.

"Yes, you are. Why are you so reluctant to talk to me?"

"I just," he began hesitantly. He was visibly struggling with the words and John had to resist the urge to just pull him into his arms. It was hard watching Sherlock Holmes not knowing what to say. "I just don't want you to think that I'm…"

The detective cut himself off, and John waited a few long seconds to see if he would finish the sentence. When he didn't John held his hand tightly and squeezed, hoping the gesture would prompt Sherlock to finish.

Sherlock sighed heavily, and when he spoke his voice was near a whisper. "I don't want you to think I'm weak."

John couldn't help himself this time. He pulled Sherlock into his arms, the detective's head cradled in the crook of his shoulder, and he help him tightly. "You are the strongest man I've ever met, Sherlock Holmes. Don't you ever doubt that."

Sherlock didn't reply, but instead of laying stiffly in John's embrace he wrapped him arms around John's waist and let himself be comforted.