"SHERLOCK. What the bloody hell are you doing!?" I yelled, standing up and pushing him off of me.

"I told you, John. Experimenting!"

"Oh really?" Was he serious right now? "And how are the results looking?"

"Inconclusive. Perhaps if I could have a few more test trials I cou-"

"No, Sherlock!" I couldn't believe the man standing before me. "You can't just go around kissing your flatmate! Did you even ponder what this might do to our relationship?"

"John." I couldn't tell if his impassive face was just an act or not. "You and I are both aware of your attraction to me, both physically and emotionally. It seems ludicrous to deny it, no?"

I was seething with anger. How dare he? Not even consider my reaction.

"No, Sherlock. Your massive brain has deceived you. I am not attracted to you, in any way. Now, just... Just leave me alone for a bit."

"But John-"

"No, Sherlock. Just go."

With that, he picked up his coat and scarf and left the flat. I made my way back to my chair and plopped down into it. Suddenly, I heard something rustling behind me.

"Abbey?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's me." She came out of her place of hiding and went to sit next to me. "I'm sorry, if I caused that in any way..."

"No, no, it wasn't you. That was completely Sherlock."

"But were you really serious? I mean, you two seem perfect for each other." She said.

I sighed and looked down at my hands in my lap. "I really do care about Sherlock, but there is no way I'm going to voluntarily enter a romantic relationship with him."

"And why is that?"

"Because emotions are very difficult for Sherlock to understand. I'm not going to willingly give my heart to him, give my everything to him, just for him not to reciprocate."

"Oh, John." She looked at me incredulously. "Do you really think he doesn't care about you? That he doesn't love you with all his heart?"

"Yeah? And how would you know?" I snapped. Seeing the surprised look on her face, I apologized. "I'm sorry, Abbey. It's been a confusing day."

"It's alright, John. But seriously. Me being cooped up in this flat has given me a lot of time to read your blog, and even study your friendship. Everything Sherlock ever does, not matter how infuriating, shows how much he loves you. A man like that..." She paused, as if looking for an accurate describing word for Sherlock. "A man like Sherlock is not the sociopath he claims to be. That man right there is one with a past. You can see it in his eyes, can't you? You need to be genius for that one. Do you know anything about his childhood? His family? I know you told me about his antagonistic relationship with his brother, but there's so much more that. In fact, he probably doesn't hate his brother nearly as much as you think, considering he's the only one that's stuck around. And that right there is why he loves you, John. It can't be easy working alongside this man, let alone living with him. Don't you see? You, John, are still here. You stayed. You showed him that he is capable of being loved. Capable of having a friend, and companion. Don't you see that the only times he smiles, well, when there isn't a corpse lying around, is when he's looking at you? He loves you, John. And you'd be an idiot not to realize you love him just as much."

What is one supposed to say after a speech like that?

As if she read my mind, she said, "Now go. Go find Sherlock. He needs you."

I was halfway out the door before she even finished her sentence.

For someone who looks so different then everyone else, Sherlock sure knows how to disappear.

I must of spent over three hours searching London for the consulting detective, and with no luck. I was staring to get desperate, and desperate times call for desperate measures. I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed.

"Yes, Dr. Watson?"

"Mycroft, I need you help.

"Of course, and whatever do you require assistance with?" I could practically hear him smirking.

"I can't find Sherlock. We had a bit of a fight. and I'm worried about him. Can you find him?"

"Are you doubting my indefinite skills, Dr. Watson?"

"Just find him, Mycroft."

"I'm texting you the address now."

The address was for some seedy-looking building in a very seedy part of London. What is Sherlock doing here? I wondered. I pushed aside the plastic sheet where a door should have been and stepped inside. It was dark, and smelled of homeless people. I don't like this one bit. I thought.

Being an army surgeon definitely made it so horrible images didn't effect me as much, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw in there. There was Sherlock, my best friend, lying on some ratty mattress, with a needle in his arm and a sleazy, unkempt man smirking beside him.

"SHERLOCK!"

A/N: Writing this made my heart hurt. But it had to be done, to work into the story!

Please review! I can't tell if anyone is enjoying this story if there are hardly any reviews!