Survival, Sherlock though bitterly, wasn't enough. He rolled over in the early morning gloom, the duvet wrapped tightly around him. Moriarty lay there in the bed with him, smiling maniacally.

"How does it feel, Shezza, being abandoned?" the shade teased.

Sherlock rolled back over, facing the other direction. "I wasn't abandoned."

Moriarty appeared in front of him again. "Weren't you? Despite what he says, you're losing him. Johnny Boy has a wife and a baby girl. You can't compete with that." He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. "This whole partnership thing will never work. You'll get bored with the petty cases, you'll be cruel and say things you don't mean. You'll say things you do mean, but don't want him to know. How long will John put up with it?"

Flinging himself off the bed, the detective stalked from the room. It was unbearable, this feeling, Moriarty's rantings, his own troubled thoughts. Only one thing could help.

Sherlock realised he was headed towards the front door and stopped himself. He refused to give in to the craving, he'd come too far. Why did he keep having to make the same decision over and over again? The detective backtracked, stopping at the door to Lestrade's room. He hesitated, then knocked.

"Your pet DI won't be able to help you," Moriarty opined. "When has he ever?"

Sherlock fisted his hands in the duvet that was still wrapped around him. "Lestrade is a friend," he hissed.

Moriarty tutted. "Only as long as you are of use to him."

Of all Moriarty's taunts, this one fell short. Perhaps Sherlock had believed that once, but no more. He shrugged it off with little effort.

Greg opened his door, yawning and scratching at his hair. "It's been one of those nights, has it?" The DI didn't wait for an answer. "Come on, lets get something to eat." He stepped around Sherlock and led the way to the kitchen. "You still hearing him?"

Sherlock nodded. He had told Lestrade about his hallucinations of necessity. "He's been particularly annoying." And, the detective thought, maybe Moriarty was right.

"Of course, I'm right. I'm you," the shade whispered. "And we shouldn't expect to be loved, you and I. We only deserve the scraps from the table."

Suddenly, Sherlock felt angry. No, he deserved more. Even John had said so, acknowledging that it wasn't fair, what he was doing to him, leading him along and doling out little dribs and drabs of affection. The detective roared out his anger and frustration, startling Greg. He was done, so done with trying to be the good guy. He wasn't good, he was selfish, and he had had enough. "I don't want to see him."

Greg turned and looked at his friend, understanding washing over him. "Ah. John, you mean."

"Yes."

"For how long?" the DI asked, keeping his tone casual.

"Just tell him to stay away. I can't see him. Not now, not ever." Sherlock's tone brooked no argument.

"Are you sure this is the best ti..."

The detective looked Greg directly in the eyes. "He's killing me, Greg. He doesn't mean to, but he is. John's... He's as bad for me as the cocaine. Worse, maybe. Do you see?"

Lestrade sighed. He couldn't argue with his friend no matter how much he might wish he could. "I'll let him know."

Moriarty smiled and didn't say another word.

John scoffed. "Greg, he can't mean that he doesn't want to see me ever. That's the withdrawal talking. It's that fucking Moriarty hallucination."

"Is it?" the DI asked. "John, I... I like to think I'm your friend. Have you considered what you're doing to him?"

Looking down at his hands, the doctor nodded. "Of course I have."

"He says you're killing him," Greg stated bluntly. "That you're worse than the cocaine." His words fell on John with full force, causing the doctor to crumble beneath their weight.

"Oh, God." John hunched over the table, not caring what the other pub patrons might think. When he spoke next, he could barely get the words out. "Am I? God, I am. Oh, Christ." He was shaking uncontrolably. "I've lost him." He looked at Greg with pleading eyes. "What do I do, Greg?"

Lestrade took a drink and set his glass carefully down on the table, unsurprised by John's reaction. "I'm not good at this shite. If I were, I wouldn't be divorced." He took a deep breath. "You stay with Mary and let him go, John, or you go after him."

The doctor frowned. "Go after him?"

"Yes, but if you do, you can't do it halfway. It's all or nothing." Lestrade waited. "It's time to make up your mind." He stood and looked at John. "I'm sorry it's so hard, mate, but it's worse for him, for both of them."

"I know," John acknowledged miserably. "Thanks, Greg. I have a lot of thinking to do. Take care of him for me."

The DI nodded and left John to his thoughts.