That night I have a nightmare. Mary's death plays over and over in my mind. I can't make it stop. I awake with a scream. My sheets are damp with sweat and I know it's time for a fix. I grow angry as I walk over to my sock drawer, for the indexing of my socks is all undone. Why is it undone? Because I turned my drug den into a bloody nursery. "Fuck you, John," I think as I rummage around for my balloon, spoon, lighter and syringe.

I tie off my arm and then plunge the needle into a bluish vein. I stumble backwards and fall into bed. I smile as my senses fade into oblivion.

"Sherlock, are you alright? Can you hear me?" A harangued voice whispers into my ear.

"Sod off," I mumble as I turn over on my stomach. It isn't John. So, why should I care?

A gentle hand rests on my brow. I open my eyes and the figure takes shape. It is Anderson. "Sherlock, are you okay?" He asks.

I slap his hand away. "Of course I am you twat. Why else would I be talking to you?" I smile as I stand up and let the sheets fall where they may. Anderson's cheeks flush as I stand naked before him. I yawn and stretch. Then I scratch my navel. "So, what do you want?" I ask in satisfaction as his eyes trail down to where my fingers have just rested. I smirk and scratch a little lower.

Anderson swallows. "Umm, there's been another murder. It's just as you said. This one took place in the home of the victim and his second toe has been removed."

"Umm, just as I said," I state in a haughty tone as I walk down the hall to the bathroom. Anderson follows me and then runs into me when I stop abruptly. For some reason I want to rub my bum across his crotch until it hardens. I stop just short of this with my hand on the door knob. "Are you coming?" I ask in a teasing voice.

Anderson moves his hands behind his back in a swift manner but not before I see them shaking. I lick my lips and am surprised when he backs me against the wall. His body is perfectly aligned with mine as he whispers through clenched teeth. I expect him to tell me to go to hell, but he does the unexpected. He presses his lips to mine in a firm kiss. He then pulls his mouth away and kisses my ear lobe. "Other people have feelings too, Sherlock. Quit being a prick. I'll be downstairs if you need a ride."

My mouth stands open in shock. Anderson winks at me and then his face betrays his despair. "Our addictions will kill us all and break our hearts," he says and then leaves me alone with a raging case of morning wood. I take my shower and then hide like a child in the flat, fearful of a lingering bully outside the door. I only emerge when I hear the throttle on his bike roar, carrying him away into the early morning fog.

By the time I reach the crime scene, Lestrade is livid. "Where have you been? I need to let forensics in."

I exhale a plume of smoke, gobbling up the last bits of tobacco before I taste the paper filaments of the filter. "Sorry, I had trouble getting a cab."

Lestrade looks at me in speculation before he replies. "Well, get in there so I can send Anderson in, for I know he won't work with you."

Anderson steps forward in an uncharacteristic show of confidence. "It's fine, I'll work with him."

Lestrade steps forward and sniffs Anderson. "Well, I can't smell alcohol. Fine, I'll leave you both to it."

Lestrade exits the room and Anderson and I are alone at the crime scene. We both stare at each other, as if seeing each other for the first time. I clear my throat. "Umm, thanks for working with me, Anderson."

Anderson stands up from his kneeling position and stands directly in front of me. "Phillip, call me Phillip."

I frown as I ask, "Philip, who the hell is Philip?"

Anderson's lips twist into a sad lopsided smile. "It's my first name."

I appear to consider the proposition for a moment or two before I answer. "Nope, don't like it. I'm calling you Anderson."

Anderson chuckles. "Fine, Sherlock, now let's work together, shall we?" He then steps back to let me examine the body. "The victim is male, around 50 years of age, the second toe of each foot has been removed and placed where?" I ask as I look around the room.

Anderson bends over the body and inspects the victim's feet. "The toes have been removed with a surgical instrument."

I snort as I reply in a sing song voice, "Oooh, brilliant you're so smart, Anderson."

In two strides Anderson is across the room, he locks the door and then slams me up against the wall. "Don't do that. I don't like it." Grabbing my hair, Anderson begins to kiss me in a most impure manner. He then takes the heel of his palm and rubs my crotch until I cry out. The room swirls around as black spots appear before my eyes. Anderson is stronger than he looks and I am amazed when he lowers me to the ground.

I lay helpless under his sexual ministrations, gasping with pleasure. It has been so long since I have felt another's touch. Too long. Tears run down my face as I gasp, releasing in my pants. I whimper in embarrassment and discomfort. Anderson shows no mercy as he finishes what he started. Transfixed I watch as he rubs the front of his own trousers. His eyes never lose contact with mine. I watch as his eyes widen and his head snaps back.

"Fuck, Sherlock, you can undo me without a touch," he cries out as his body tightens.

I observe as his eyes lose their luster. Like a corpse he slumps to the ground. I hear pounding; it is not my heart. Someone is knocking on the door.

"Sherlock, unlock this door now," Lestrade orders.

I am the first to recover. I look down at the wet spot in front of my trousers and button my coat shut. With a bored expression on my face I open the door and Lestrade charges in like a raging bull.

He looks from me to Anderson and then back again. "Why did you lock the door? I thought you would have killed each other by now."

Anderson smiles. "We're getting along splendidly, aren't we Sherlock?"

I say nothing.

Lestrade frowns but dosen't pursue his line of questioning. "The second toe has been removed from each foot surgically. Judging from the state of the man's flat and his clothes I deduce he is single and most likely single. He appears to have no connection to the first man and therefore I am happy to report that this is the work of a serial killer." I say as I smile at the delicious thought.

Donovan sighs, "God, you're such a pervert, getting off on this stuff."

I smile and then look at Anderson. "Umm, I'm sure I'm not the only one whose gotten off in this flat today."

Lestrade grimaces. "Oh, right would you two stop. We've got a case to solve. Focus, now."

I lick my lips. I can still taste Anderson on them. "I need to think and I need someone to take notes for me. Anderson are you coming?"

Anderson gives me a sly look under hooded lids. "Of course I'm coming-again."

As we leave the scene I hear Lestrade mutter, "What the hell is going on?"

I close the door and then focus my attention on Anderson. He looks less confident as I stare him down. He doesn't break eye contact though.

"Well, Sherlock are we going back to Baker Street or do you want time alone to go to your mind palace?"

I think of the empty nursery back at the flat. I think of Mary's dead eyes as they stare back at me and I think of you, John. I miss you. Anderson is still there. I don't want to be alone.

I follow Anderson down to where his motorcycle is parked. He hands me a helmet and then hops aboard the bike. I grimace as I sit down on the seat. Anderson laughs as he turns to look at me. "I need to go by my place for a new pair of pants and a quick shower."

"No need. I have pants and a shower at my flat," I say and then I put on my helmet. It mutes the sounds of the city, would be it could mute the sounds of my brokenness. Only the syringe can take away my despair. "We must get back to Baker Street. I need a fix," I think as we race through the streets.

After a brief shower back at the flat, I shoot up and collapse into the warm sheets of my bed. Anderson then takes his shower. The smell of cocaine wafts through the air as he stares down at me. I roll over in the sheets like a caterpillar spinning in its cocoon.

"I guess I'll be going now," Anderson whispers.

I open my mouth to insult him and then clamp my lips shut. I'm lonely and cold. I don't want to be alone. "Join me?" I say and then turn over.

Anderson takes off all of his clothes except his pants and then slips in beside me. Like two orphans lost in a winter storm, we cling to each other and shiver in each other's arms.

"Are you going to tell Lestrade about…?" My voice trails off as we both look over at the discarded syringe and rubber tie.

"No," Anderson says as he runs his fingers through my curls.

I turn around and he positions me so that I lie in his arms like a child. "Anderson…. I'm not sure exactly what's going on between the two of us, but my heart will always be John's."

Anderson's haunted expression mirrors my own as he says, "It's fine, Sherlock. When I speak I may lower the IQ of the whole street or the whole world for that matter, but I know that an addiction cannot love me back. It's a temporary fix for an unrequited need."

Without a word, I roll over and Anderson holds me in a chaste grasp. I can't stop the tears that flow down my face.

"Sssh," Anderson soothes. "John, will be back soon."

"He's changed since Mary's death. He doesn't want to come back to Baker Street. I turned my drug den into a bloody nursery for Christ's sake. The blue lights to find my veins are gone. I painted the walls and bought a crib but the worst of it is that I can't get Mary's cold dead stare out of my mind. She's dead and John left me alone to grieve." I am sobbing and shaking.

My body tightens as Anderson holds me. "I need another fix," I gasp as the muscles in my neck feel as if they are going to snap.

"Sherlock, you can't use anymore. Do you have any weed? It could help us both relax." Anderson says as he holds me tight.

I nod and point to where a cracked teapot sits. Anderson glances at the teapot and then looks back at me. "Is this what I think it is?" He asks.

"It's an ancient object that lay in neglect. I liberated it from a slow death." I say as Anderson pulls out a joint. He brings it over to the bed while I reach over and grab my lighter from the floor. Anderson turns away as the sheet slips away. I cover myself in one haste motion and then we light up. After a few inhales we are giggling. I feel dizzy as I lay back in Anderson's arms. He smooths my hair back from my forehead as he says, "Sherlock, you have to get clean. After all you have an intriguing case now. You shouldn't have to use."

I blow a puff of smoke in his face and laugh. "Sod off," I say.

Anderson chuckles. "Ahh, Sherlock you are such a bad boy-my addiction."

I stop laughing as Anderson's fingers trail along my bare shoulders. "I cried for two weeks straight, after I thought you jumped."

I grow still in his arms. "I thought you hated me. After all, didn't you volunteer to search my flat for drugs?"

"Yes, but it wasn't until I thought you were dead that I acknowledged my true feelings. I was put on administrative leave and spent time in a mental facility."

I let him take my hand, his fingers warm under my touch. "A mental facility, you mean a nut house?"

Anderson smiles as he rubs my cheek with the back of his hand. "Yes, Sherlock, I tried to off myself."

I turn to look at him, my interest is piqued. "How?"

Anderson looks at the ceiling and chuckles. "You are such a morbid beast. I tried to hang myself."

I show him no mercy. "Are you telling me that you were even too stupid to kill yourself?"

Anderson begins to laugh. "Sherlock, you are such a prick. I tried to hang myself with your scarf. It was found at St. Bart's, at the scene of…Well, you know. The material gave way and I fell to the ground. When I came to I was alone with your bloody scarf still wrapped around my neck. So, yes I was too stupid to commit suicide."

"You're not stupid. In fact, quite the contrary. You graduated in the top percentile of your class with an IQ of approximately 131, which means that you are gifted. Not a genius like me, but gifted." I say as I yawn. "Now go to sleep."

Anderson opens his mouth to speak but I hold two fingers to his lips before they can issue forth their oral message. "No talking, just sleep. Goodnight, Anderson."

I wait for his answer but he is fast asleep in my arms. "Lightweight," I think as I look down at his face with a reluctant fondness.