Underdog – Imagine Dragons
Hey, that sounds like my luck /
I get the short end of it /
Early evening hush me over /
Living the low life
Sherlock lay slumped on the sofa staring at the wall of 221B Baker Street, alone. The spray painted face stared back at him, mocking his mood with its cheerful smile. The flat felt empty without John. He couldn't even fill it with music because John, no, he shouldn't blame John, because his shoulder flared in pain if he tried to manipulate the strings or even hold his precious violin in place, in the end he had been forced to give in to the silence.
Kate had left to go to church, Mycroft had left to go back to work after fussing over Sherlock for an unnecessary amount of time. Now Sherlock wished he had never insisted they go because being alone with his thoughts was the last thing he needed.
He had been right. It did feel empty. Although it felt empty for all the wrong reasons, because John's reaction meant that the three years of pain and torment to protect a man he thought was his closest friend hadn't been worth it. What use were friends when all they did was desert him?
For a long moment Sherlock's eyes lingered on the chimney. There was a loose brick there, no one would know if he only took a little…right?
For a couple of hours Sherlock felt happier than he had in a long time. Then reality came crashing back down when Kate, instead of returning to the house Mycroft had given her, decided to look in on him instead. What she found made her wish she had never left.
Mary had been surprisingly good at listening to John's rant about how much he hated Sherlock Holmes and had taken the news of his return with very little fuss. Comforted by her embrace the pair sat on the sofa in silence. John having run out of steam had instead finally let the news sink in. Sherlock was alive. And before he knew what was happening he was crying, relief and sorrow mixed in equal measures because he both wanted to see Sherlock and also never wanted to see him again.
"Why was he away for so long?" Mary finally broke the silence that had fallen.
"Hmm?" John mumbled against her shoulder.
"Sherlock, he must have faked his death for a reason but why so long? I mean, did he seem different to you?" John paused, for the first time really thinking, deducing, the Sherlock he had left behind in the wedding shop.
At first, John couldn't discern any differences. The man had lost a little weight, but that was to be expected when John wasn't around to tell him to eat. But, now that he thought about it there had been something different about him. Sherlock had always had the appearance of being on guard but in the shop, it hadn't been an appearance, his muscles had been tense, his focus absolute and he had looked down the barrel of a gun without fear. No, that wasn't it, without emotion. The way a soldier was trained to.
Focusing his attention of the details, as Sherlock would, John also remembered Sherlock having some new scars, one near his hairline, another small one on the side of his throat. He had been paler, sweating, which was also unusual. He had protected the girl, Kate, as though he had done so countless times before in countless similar situations.
Conclusion? Sherlock had, in a sense, been in a war and he had come back a changed man, just as John had done five years ago.
"I suppose so. I mean, he was edgy."
"That's to be expected. He was about to reveal a massive deception to his best friend."
"Sherlock doesn't have friends." John's reply was automatic, he missed the widening of Mary's eyes.
"Not even you?"
"He made it quite clear that he preferred to be alone." John retorted, turning away and firmly indicating that the conversation was over.
Mary was concerned. What was clear to her clearly wasn't to her fiancée. She wouldn't deny that he had every right to be angry at Sherlock but to deny friendship with him? From his description of events Sherlock didn't sound like he wanted to be alone, Kate had apparently been with him for some time. He willingly hugged Mycroft and he had reached out to John in the hopes of rekindling their friendship, something John had apparently disregarded.
Not that she blamed him, but by the sounds of things John hadn't let Sherlock explain anything. Mary had little doubt that Sherlock had his reasons for faking his death. All she needed to do was get the two to talk to each other before they destroyed themselves because she had a hunch that John's rejection would have far worse an impact on Sherlock than John expected.
If Kate had been able to hear Mary's thoughts she would have agreed. She hadn't pictured spending her evening with a Sherlock Holmes who was high as a kite, nor holding him as he shivered and tried his best not to throw up again when withdrawal set in. Gently pushing raven curls away from his forehead, pressing a calming kiss to his head Kate did her best to comfort a man torn apart by guilt and despair.
"It meant nothing to him Kate." Sherlock whimpered beside her, tears forming in his eyes, "Nothing." He turned his helpless gaze to her.
"So you turned to drugs?" Her voice was soft, unthreatening, spoken without judging.
"I didn't want to feel sad and alone anymore." Sherlock quietly admitted, "I know it was the wrong thing to do."
"Will you do it again?" A hesitation.
"I don't know. I just don't know." Kate accepted this with a nod and moved to help Sherlock up.
"We'll make John see sense Sherlock. He just needs time to let it sink in, he didn't let you explain, so he doesn't understand the enormity of what you've done for him." Beside her Sherlock sleepily nodded, "Bedtime for you I think."
"I'm not a child." Sherlock protested weakly but let himself be dragged to his room, submitted to her help in changing when his hand shook too much and lay quietly whilst she tucked him into his own bed for the first time in three years.
"I hope you have a good night." Kate said softly as she moved away. In a moment of vulnerability Sherlock reached out to her.
"Stay. Please."
At least this time when the nightmares came Sherlock didn't have to deal with them alone. But they both knew he would rather an ex-army doctor were watching over him.
A/N. Well... that was heavy. But don't worry, there shall be fluffiness before the end.
