A/N: Thank you to my reviewers! It feels so good to see I'm doing something right. Please keep those reviews coming!

Also, I apologize for super short chapter. I'll try to make it up in the next chapter!

Chapter Three: Drowning

.o.o.

.o.

Oh, please don't go

I want you so

I can't let go

For I lose control

Get these left handed lovers out of your way

They look hopeful but you, you should not stay

If you want me to break down and give you the keys

I can do that but I can't let you leave

Barcelona – Please Don't Go

.o.o.

.o.

Sherlock felt his heart shatter against his ribcage before finally sinking into his stomach, feeling each jagged shard cut into his stomach lining. He blinked for several moments, trying to take in this information but wishing it wasn't true. John had to be playing a cruel joke; this just couldn't be happening right now.

"I-I'm sorry… I believe I must have… misheard you speak. What did you say?"

"I have… fallen in love with someone, Sherlock. They're… really amazing," he struggled, trying not to look overwhelmingly happy after having heard his friend's own confession to him. "I'm… so sorry, Sherlock. I had no idea you felt that way about me."

The detective didn't know how to react. He felt like John had thrown him into the ocean without a life preserver and then walked away. Sherlock had put himself out there and let himself feel vulnerable for John's sake and it had backfired horribly. He cleared his throat before he just nodded at John's statement, determined not to let him see the pain he felt inside. He couldn't let John see. Not now when his friend was happy. Sherlock was selfish but only up to a certain point, and he only wanted John to be content with whatever choices he made. Despite the absolute heartache he was feeling at this moment, he wasn't going to let it show in front of him.

"Well, that's fantastic, John. I'm very happy for you. You deserve this. Yes, you deserve to be happy… with… this new person. Err… I suspect you're going to move your things into their flat then?" Sherlock asked, swallowing the daggers he felt on the tip of his tongue.

"Erm... not quite yet. If… if it's all the same to you, I'd rather stay here a bit longer, just to make sure everything's going to work out. I'm sorry – did you say you're happy for me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock saw the surprise in John's eyes but he also saw what he identified as hope. John wanted him to be happy for him; that was only natural, of course. Inside, he wanted to scream at him, wish him dead for having fallen in love with someone else who wasn't him. He wanted to break things and then press his lips against John's just to feel loved by him. Now, that wasn't going to happen. "Of course I am, John. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh, well, maybe the fact that you literally just confessed how you're falling in love with me might a reason not to be happy for me," John answered, standing in front of his friend uneasily. "Why didn't you say anything about this before?"

Sherlock looked away nervously before he clenched his jaw to bite back the profanities he yearned to yell at him right now. "I… I don't know, John. Honestly, I suppose I didn't realize the feelings I've felt for you were… rational. I assumed you… didn't feel the same way about me so I ignore my feelings. Anyway, err… congratulations. I-I'm glad you found someone that makes you happy. I wish you the best."

John clicked his tongue, his eyes unsure but hesitant on pushing Sherlock's acceptance. He knew this wasn't right but John didn't know what to do. He loved Sherlock, as a friend, because that's all he could do now. His heart was with this other person now. He couldn't love both of them; no, that wouldn't be fair to anyone. He looked down at the floor before he anxiously rubbed the back of his neck before turning his attention back to Sherlock who was looking stoic, his back straightened.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Are you sure you're all right, then? I… I'm still sorry. I just can't, you know? I suppose it's simply bad timing and all that…" John trailed off.

Sherlock nodded, swallowing hard. "Right, bad timing. No, I'm… I assure you I'm fine, John. It was my own fault. I suppose I waited too long. Someone else beat me to the punch." He forced a chuckle and forced a weak smirk even harder, as if his life depended on it.

The two men stood facing each other, quiet for several moments before John spoke. "Err, right. Do you mind if… I go out tonight? We haven't had a case and I sort of want to use the opportunity to go on my real, first date, you know?"

Sherlock kept his body straight and still, like stone. He nodded, perhaps over enthusiastically now. "Yes, of course. By all means… you two have a lovely time. Believe you me, I won't wait up…"

John gave him an agreeable nod but he felt like he could see through his friend. "This doesn't change anything between us, Sherlock. We're still good mates, right?"

Sherlock searched John's eyes and then turned around to grab his coat. "Yes, right. Of course we are, John! Now if you'll excuse me, I just need to pop out for a bit." He didn't wait for a response from John before he hurried down the stairs and finally made his way onto the street.

He paced wildly, letting the emotions he had been holding onto inside finally come out. Sherlock started quickly walking down the street, his hands in his pockets, trying to decide where he wanted to go. His heart was broken and he actually felt like everything else was meaningless. This other person must have really been special if John still chose him over the flatmate he had lived with for a few years and gone on adventures with. He let his tears blur his vision as he walked down the sidewalk hurriedly, deciding to turn to the only person he had previous dealings with in the past; a person he thought he was done with.

He didn't stop until he turned into an alleyway and walked deeper into it until he came across the man who had previously sold him his more illegal drugs in the past, before he had met John.

"D-Do you've got any?" he asked him, trying to hide the fact he had been sobbing just moments earlier in public, nonetheless.

The man glanced around before he slipped two small bottles of clear liquid into Sherlock's coat pocket and then took the bill from in between the detective's fingers casually. Once he left the alley, Sherlock didn't stop until he arrived back at the flat, this time, taking his time. He knew he'd have to see John at least once more before he went out on his date.

This all seemed reasonable and logical to Sherlock as he prodded up the stairs and came back into the flat, listening to the sound of the shower in the bathroom as John got ready for his date. He sat back down on the couch and took out a cigarette before he lit it, letting the nicotine swim through his bloodstream.

"Oh good, you're back already. I need your opinion," John walked into his room and came back with two cardigans, different patterns.

Sherlock looked at him and wondered for a split second if John was doing this on purpose, just to make him feel jealous. He cast that thought out once he remembered what kind of person John actually was. He wouldn't do that.

"Which one?"

Sherlock felt like he had swallowed more rocks. The man he was in love with was asking for fashion advice for the date he had with his significant other tonight, that wasn't Sherlock. It felt like a cruel fate. "The grey and red one. It looks better on you."

John nodded his gratitude and disappeared into his bedroom to get ready. Sherlock put his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. This felt like one big nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. It would've been better if John had told him he was going to move out and live with whoever his new partner was. At least then, Sherlock wouldn't be forced to tell him which outfits to wear on his dates. John seemed completely oblivious to his own misery he was feeling and it hurt.

He took another drag off his cigarette and exhaled the smoke, closing his eyes. This made John happy and although he wanted to scream and cry, it wouldn't change things. You couldn't help who you loved, and if John had really fallen in love with this person before he even knew his own feelings for Sherlock, then this is what he deserved more than anything. It had been Sherlock's own fault for not voicing his opinion about John, for waiting for two years with this secret. He took another drag just as John came back out, clean shaven.

Sherlock felt sick as he smelled John's oaky cologne wafting in the flat. John turned to face his friend as he straightened himself. "Are you sure you're okay about this, Sherlock? I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am."

John seemed sincere but inside, Sherlock Holmes was screaming. No, this is anything but okay! I am not okay! This isn't how it was supposed to be! Why are you doing this?! I love you! I've loved you longer than this other person has! It's not fair!

"I completely understand, John," Sherlock replied curtly. "It's perfectly fine. You two have fun. I'll be here when you come back."

John now shifted his weight, apparently uncomfortable. He bit his lip. "Well actually, I was hoping to spend the night at their house, if you didn't have any plans for us tonight, that is."

Sherlock's discomfort and agony turned into ice that he could feel in his veins now. "No, go right ahead. I'll be okay on my own here at home. I have things to keep me occupied."

John looked reluctant but nodded. "Okay, then. If you're sure. I'll see you sometime tomorrow morning."

Sherlock waited until he heard the door close when he took another drag from his cigarette before he put it out in the ashtray and then stood up slowly before he walked over to his desk where manila folders lay strewed across it. He opened up one of the smaller drawers and pulled out what he was looking for.

His syringe. He took out one of the bottles from his pockets and took off his coat before he grabbed a belt from his room and wrapped the belt around his forearm and hit the skin hard, looking for a vein. Once he had found one, he plunged the syringe into the bottle before soaking it up, and then hitting the vein with the needle before he pushed down on the plunger, injecting the morphine solution into his body.

He quickly threw the syringe back into the drawer before he was too far gone and stumbled a few steps forward before he fell onto his knees and let his body fell the rest of the way onto his stomach but then rolled over.

It was less risky to get his morphine in an alley than from the hospital. Bart's knew his past history from accidental overdoses and Sherlock didn't need the bad publicity once people found out. It was just easier this way.

His eyes rolled upwards in relief and he fell back onto the floor, feeling something he didn't know he could feel again after his confession to John: a peaceful ecstasy that let him relax completely.

Sherlock didn't need to pretend anymore. He didn't have to pretend he was okay when he was dying inside. This was losing all hope and letting the drugs make him feel the happiness he couldn't feel otherwise. He exhaled slowly, feeling his heartbeat in his head and feeling tired. It didn't matter though. Nothing mattered right now except this feeling.

.o.o.

.o.

When he woke up the next morning, he heard a voice yelling at him to wake up and then through bleary eyes, he saw John. He faintly felt taps on his cheeks and then felt a wetness on his skin.

"Mmmm?"

"Sherlock! Can you hear me? Look at me, mate. Open your eyes…"

The detective rolled his heavy head, still feeling the high from last night. "J-John," he slurred. "What are you doing back so soon…?"

The doctor shined a light in Sherlock's eyes and sighed in partial relief when the detective weakly slapped his hand away. "Jesus, Sherlock! You nearly gave me a heart attack… what the hell did you take?"

Sherlock felt around but didn't feel the bottle anywhere. He then felt it in his pants. Good, then. John hadn't taken it. "Mmm… nothing. Just some sleeping pills. 'M all right…"

John sat back on his knees and looked at his friend with worry in his eyes still but seemed to have bought it. Next time, try taking them in your bed. You scared the hell out of me."

Sherlock forced himself to sit up but his limbs still felt numb and his head still felt fuzzy. "E-Errm… would you mind helping me into my bed? I'd like to go back to sleep again, John…" he made a feeble attempt to hide his slurring but prayed John would chalk it up to fatigue.

He helped Sherlock stand up on his feet and the detective mostly leaned on him, if not just to smell the cologne that still had left trails on him. Then with an overwhelming amount of depression, he realized that this was most likely the closest he would ever get to John. He felt tears fill his eyes before he let John help him into the bed.

"When was the last time you even had a proper night's sleep?"

"Mm…" Sherlock tried to think but the morphine was clouding everything. "A long time…" he finally managed to get out before he hugged the blankets close to him.

John closed the door on his way out and Sherlock was left alone again. When he touched his face again, he felt the tears from earlier that he hadn't realized he had cried. What had John thought about them? Maybe he thought it was just Sherlock laughing himself to tears or…

Or maybe John realized why Sherlock had been crying but decided to ignore it? That was a possibility. The doctor knew about his black spells of depression he had. Maybe John just assumed it had been that?

He shoved his face into his blanket and weakly gripped the fabric as he started to really sob now, willing John to move out and leave him to his misery. The whole situation was just ten times worse with him still living in the flat with Sherlock. He didn't want to feel anymore. He wished John hadn't come home yet; everything was coming back to him again and now he felt more foolish and depressed than before.

He closed his eyes and let himself slip back into his morphine induced state, letting the rest of the world, including John, fall away.