It was a quiet ride back to Baker Street; Sherlock was obviously in his 'element', thinking deeply as his fingers tapped on his thigh. John went to speak but was cut off by Sherlock's fierce voice, "shut up, I'm thinking."

He should have known really, when Sherlock was thinking you don't disturb him unless you want some sort of gooey chemical in your shoes the next day. Once the pair were back at Baker Street, Sherlock immediately stripped himself of his coat and began pacing manically in the living room, rubbing his temple many times before quietly swearing and huffing in annoyance.

John calmly sat in his chair and read the news paper; half of his time was spent watching the mad man in front of him get himself worked up, so he ended up reading the same line over and over again, soon he thought to give up and just try and calm Sherlock down.

"Look, Sherlock, just sit down and take a break, okay?" John watched Sherlock pause and turn to him,

"Take a break?" Sherlock almost scoffed. John sighed loudly,

"It's not foreign to take breaks; it will help, trust me."

This time Sherlock did scoff and began pacing again, "there isn't time to 'take a break', John, she could be planning her next murder already."

"Maybe...maybe there's a link between all of the men, like their appearance or something." John suggested rising from his chair. Sherlock paused and looked at John, his eyes lighting up fiercely.

In that moment, John felt like Sherlock's vision had pierced straight through him. It wasn't so much terrifying, maybe just a tad scary. John saw the smile forming on Sherlock's face and felt his body relax.

"Yes! Yes John, you're a genius!" Sherlock grasped John's arms and smiled widely before darting over to the police files. Once Sherlock had let go, John felt a tingling feeling where Sherlock's hands had once been; he didn't want him to let go.

"So now we just have to think what this link is." John followed Sherlock over to the files and watched him dig through them, scanning each piece of paper viciously.

"You said it yourself, John; appearance." Sherlock held up six documents and held them out to John, "and what do all these men have in common?"

John frowned at the documents in his hands, "I don't know."

Sherlock sighed, "blue eyes, John! They all have blue eyes!"

John looked up at the grey-blue eyes staring down at him; calculating. "So...that's why they were murdered. Because they had blue eyes."

"Obviously that's not the full story." Sherlock walked over to the window and looked down at the street below. John looked back at the documents, trying to process it all.

Really, it was probably so simple in Sherlock's mind; the man was just so sleep-deprived and was hit hard by withdrawal. All John could do was stand there and watch him drive himself mad. Then an idea occurred to him, he strolled over to the medicine cupboard and dished through the piles of pills and plasters – for when Sherlock ended up slicing his entire arm open by holding a bloody test tube full of reacting chemicals – and found just what he was looking for.

Clorazepate.

The sleeping tablets he used when he had night terrors. Thankfully there were about seven left in the box, would definitely be enough to...

Wait, what the hell am I thinking? Was John seriously considering drugging Sherlock?

"Tea?" He called from his spot in the kitchen.

"Mmm." Was all he got as a reply – drugging it is then; if you're going to drive yourself insane, at least do it over a good night's sleep.

John prepared himself a mug to make it look less obvious and quickly he popped two – three? – No definitely just two tablets into Sherlock's mug and stirred them in with the tea. He was probably going to regret this later, but it was all for a good cause.

He just couldn't stand seeing such a brilliant man tear himself apart – more than usual. John carried the two mugs into the living room, remembering which one was which for his own sake.

Sherlock didn't even bat an eye when he placed the drugged mug onto the coffee table. "Sherlock, you need the energy."

Oh, I'm a bad man.

Sherlock sighed dramatically and picked up the mug, taking a large gulp of the boiling tea. John tried to look casual and not stare as Sherlock soon began taking smaller sips and made a strange face at the mug in his hand. "John?"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Did you even add any sugar at all?" Sherlock's voice was quiet and slightly slurred.

"Yeah, I put in two."

Sherlock nodded and looked back towards the street below, putting his near-empty mug on the desk beside him. It was quiet for a few more moments until John spoke up, "you look exhausted."

Sherlock didn't reply but he also didn't protest when John sat him down on the sofa in case he fell and injured himself. John knew to act casual even if Sherlock was half asleep, this man was unpredictable and probably knew the tea was drugged the moment John gave it to him. "Come on, you need to sleep." John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and almost dragged him to his bedroom.

"Maybe one would've been enough." John muttered under his breath as he lay Sherlock down on his bed. Looking down at the completely sound body – for once Sherlock was completely sound – John smiled slightly. He laid a kiss on Sherlock's forehead and pulled the covers over him, "night Sherlock."

After he shut the bedroom door did he realize what he'd just done.

Oh Christ.

Everything was becoming slow; he felt sluggish to say the least. His brain stopped calculating what had been happening 36 seconds ago – 37, 38, 39 – His head felt like a train screeching to a stop as he stared out the window of Baker Street, he could hear John speaking to him but he had no way of replying, his voice was gone as well as his thoughts.

What was he supposed to be thinking about again?

John...was it John? Was he thinking of John?

He remembers stress and aches – so many aches – and being cold and hot, a mixture of feelings flowing through his body at one time. He couldn't concentrate, he felt lost and confused – that wasn't a good thing for Sherlock.

Damn it all. He felt so tired that his body refused to move. What was happening? Had his body finally decided to shut down on him? This was strange and he couldn't think it through, his mind was completely jumbled. Almost like a jigsaw with three missing pieces.

He had a jigsaw puzzle as a child – a 5,000 piece jigsaw that he liked to solve with Mycroft before he went off to that high class boarding school. Sherlock remembered having one piece missing from his jigsaw – that's how he felt now, right now, sitting on the sofa.

When did he sit down? Another piece missing. Chunks of events were beginning to disappear from his awareness; slowly he was becoming a darkened figure.

Soon everything went black as he felt a soft pair of warm lips on his forehead and light feeling in his chest.

Okay so I thought I should let you all know now, my laptop is broken so I'm currently using my dad's, which is very old and pretty much breaking too. If I don't update for a very long time, it is because I don't have a laptop to work on. I'm sorry if this is inconvenient, it's damn annoying when I'm on a role writing a new chapter and my dad wants to use his laptop.

Anyway, thank you for the favourites/follows/reviews! Until next time!

Next time: How will Sherlock react when he wakes up realizes what happened? And how long until they finally crack this case?