Hey guys,

How are you? Did you watch the Christmas Special trailer?! Did you like it? John's moustache though!

Anyway, here is the next chapter. A tad bit angsty, but we get to see another side of Sherlock. I have split the chapter in two parts. This is the first one. The next will come soon. I hope you like it. And please review. Your words help me with my writing process.

Not Beta'd or Brit-picked.

Cookies and hugs to- omgeology, malya, SilentRaven97, Sandylee007, Suealpacamama, Smita, jwolf18791 and my Kiddo, Nauss. And all those wonderful people who favourited/followed this story or me. You have no idea how you help me with my stumbling, fumbling and finally writing. Your reviews make me immesly happy. Thank you so much! Love you all!

xxx

Abbey.

Chapter-6 : New Beginning Pt-I

"Funny you're the broken one

But I'm the only one who needed saving

'Cause when you never see the light

It's hard to know which one of us is caving."

-'Stay' by Rihanna feat Mikky Ekko

John Watson was happy.

Despite his PTSD, despite his psychosomatic limp, despite his uncertain future, John Watson was happy.

Because he had gotten another chance to meet Sherlock Holmes.

Army had taught John many things, and among them the most fundamental one was to appreciate every living moment. To appreciate every little positive thing that life presented. And the moments, which John had spent with Sherlock in their last meeting, were more than something to be merely appreciated. They should be celebrated, because they made John feel alive again. They made John realize that his Sherlock was still there. There was still hope.

His next meeting with Sherlock was today but there was something special about it. It's New Year's Eve and the rehab let the family members or friends to spend the eve with their patients. John wasn't aware of it as Sherlock, obviously, didn't tell him. It was Mycroft who informed him about it and told him that he could spend the time with Sherlock if he wanted.

If he wanted? Hah! Mycroft had no idea.

Or had he?

Oh hell, of course he had.

~0~0~0~

Sherlock wasn't sure about today. He was aware of the fact that today was a family night when he asked (ordered, actually) John to come, but he wasn't sure whether John would come or not. John must have been aware of it by now, thanks to Sherlock's nosy brother, but would he come? John seemed quite eager to meet him again but would he back off now knowing that it was a family night? Would he want to spend his New Year in a rehab? With someone like Sherlock?

Sherlock absent-mindedly fidgeted with the cuff-links of his crisp white shirt which he had chosen to wear with his Savile Row suit. Mycroft had sent them for today's event. Not that Sherlock had any obligation to doll up for this thoughtless, preposterous occasion. But wearing one of his favourite suits after so long had felt like the right thing to do. It had absolutely nothing to do with John. Sherlock didn't care how he would look in front of that idiot.

"You know, a combed head will look good with that overpriced suit of yours."

Ah, of course, another meddler.

"I do not remember asking for your advice."

"But I know you were dying for my beauty tips."

"I am sure 'privacy' is an alien concept for you, but it is still a part of this society and I quite like to practice it."

"Sherlock Holmes talking about privacy?! Has the world ended already and now we are living in an alternate universe?! Anyway, I just thought John would probably like to see you in a more Prince Charming-y fashion."

"Charming-y? I must say that conversing with you has enriched my pragmatic competence immensely."

"Huh?"

"And why, do tell, John would like to see me as a fokelore character created by the stereotypical mindset of the common mass?"

"W-weeeeel-"

"Yes, thought so. Now, you can remove yourself from this room."

"Prat. But John will definitely like you better if you comb that bird's nest. "

As soon as Natalie left the room, Sherlock dashed for the en-suit. There was a mirror which would help him with his yearly combing. He was not doing this for John, of course. It would just look good with his suit, that was all.

~0~0~0~

John was running late. He was unsure about what to wear and ended up being late. John didn't have any formal wear with him, except for his uniform. Mycroft subtly hinted that if John wanted to wear something formal he could arrange it, but John would rather wear a towel than to accept that offer. So, he ended up wearing a simple pale blue button down, brown trouser, a jumper and his winter coat. He wanted to wear something nice today and sighed heavily when he looked at himself in the mirror. No amount of fancy clothing could cover up this broken frame.

It was not like he could impress Sherlock anyway.

Just as he was about to enter the 'kidnap car', someone called him from behind and everything froze around him.

"John?"

John knew that voice.

"Johnny? Is that you? John?"

He grew up hearing that voice.

"Oh my God! It's you, it's ...oh God, oh...John."

No no no. Not now. Not today. Not now. Please. No.

"John!"

He knew a storm was coming. He closed his eyes, mentally steeled himself and turned back.

"Harry."

~0~0~0~

It was almost thirty minutes past the scheduled time, but John still hadn't come yet. Sherlock went twice in his private visiting room. Now he was in his own room, standing in front of the window, fidgeting.

Natalie knew Sherlock was tense. It was an important day for him. He may not be as emotionally constipated as his brother, but Sherlock's make-believe impassivity could fool anyone who wouldn't know this boy. Natalie saw through this façade of his just a few days after she met Sherlock, and since then Natalie was unable to see Sherlock only just as a patient.

She, like the rest of the staff, was crazy busy today. The staffs here could not indulge themselves in such festivities; some of Natalie's colleagues weren't really happy about it. They had families, friends too and who would not want to spend this day with their dear ones? Natalie couldn't blame them but she never had any problem with it. It was not like she didn't have any social or personal life beyond this clinic, but most of the people who came here were social recluses and seeing them surrounded by their loved ones, seeing their smiling faces, gave Natalie such happiness which, she doubted, any outing with her friends could ever give. She was happy here. But now her anxiety level was rapidly increasing. She knew how special John was to Sherlock; his condition improved impressively after that army doctor started to visit. But she also knew if John failed to show up tonight, Sherlock's recovery would falter and there was a high chance that he would go back to that aloof stoic state again. Natalie checked on Sherlock every now and then and kept her fingers crossed.

This was exactly why they were told not to build any kind of personal attachment with the patients.

Bugger. It was too late for that anyway.

~0~0~0~

"What do you mean you can't? What are you even saying?"

"Not now, Harry, please. I promise I will contact you first thing tomorrow but please not now."

"Wow! Wow! You, John Watson, are the most selfish being I have ever seen. And I've seen plenty of bastards in my life. How could you even say that? You-WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

"Harry, don-please don't create a scene. Jus-just...God, I'm sorry, I just can't talk to you righ-"

"Can't talk? Can't talk? Do you have any idea what I have been gone through these past few months? First...first there was this letter from that hell hole of yours, telling me that you were injured but alive, and then nothing! NOTHING! No news, no trace, no phone calls. It was like you vanished completely. I thought- I thought you were gone, Johnny. How could you? How the hell could you?"

"I tried to call you while I was in Glasgow, I tried to call but your number was no more in use and the last time I called you from the base you told me that you were changing your address. Then how the hell was I supposed to contact you? I was severely injured. This building, this is a medical facility. I was in Glasgow, just returned from there. Harry, I will tell you everything but please not tonight, not now. And I bet you have big plans for tonight, so I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"You are a bastard, John, a complete utter bastard. This is what I get after letting you stay in my house when you had nowhere to return to on that Christmas break last year? This is wh-"

"Wait wait wait. Hang on! So, you want, what, payment? So, this is what it's all about? A payback for your immeasurable kindness? Jesus, Harry. And you call me selfish? That's rich coming from you."

"Oh yeah? What do you think my job is, moron? Do you think I'm your caretaker? Your PA? First I have to open my house for you then I have to answer all those bloody enquiries about you. What do you take me-"

"Enquiries? What the fuck are you on about?"

"Mike nagged me numerous times to know your whereabouts, and there was this weird guy, suddenly came up from nowhere and almost badgered me to death to tell him about you. A complete freak, stalker. That bastard even knew my life history and threatened me-"

"Life his- Oh no! Harry, name, his- his name? You know his name? When this happened? Tell me, when?

"Ooooooh, so NOW that your interest is perked up, you are suddenly all ears, huh? Why, John, was he one of your fag boyfriend?"

"Fa-wow, isn't that hilarious coming from a fag sister? Why, I thought you approved, Harry?"

"Fuck you, John. Fuck you to hell and back. This is what you have to say to your sister after almost a year?"

"Harry...Harry...I'm-I'm sorry but I'm really in a mess right now, I can't tell you everything, but I'm not ignoring you...God, I just want to live, Harry. I just... can you tell me that man's name? Please? It's- it's important."

"Damnit, John, don't make that face, don't. You are my only family and- damnit. Okay...uh...he had a weird name, I can't really remember. It was months ago but...uh...something like Halls or Hills...I can't remember. A lanky kid with all these ridiculous cheekbones and a fast and vile mouth. Bastard. He went to Mike also and- J-John? What's wrong? Hey, what the hell? Ho-how is your injury? John?"

"Oh, God, oh Harry. God, Harry, please-uh- can you- can you give me Mike's number? D-do you have it?"

"What? Yeah, yeah sure but are you alright? You look pale."

"No..uh...no, I'm alright, just give me the number, yeah?"

"Sure, um, here it is, do you have a pe- hey, you have a phone also?! And you still didn't-"

"Not now, Harry. You can murder me later, but please, I need to do some things now."

"Hm. Note the number."

"Thanks, thanks so much. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to contact you and I promise I'll make it up to you somehow. But I have to go now, I really do."

"Yeah, yeah, go and do whatever you are dying to do but hey, safe sex, alright?"

"Huh? Oh, god. "

~0~0~0~

John didn't come.

Sherlock saw happy faces of the family members swarmed in the hall. Saw their puerile attempts to cheer the atmosphere up. Saw how stupidly cheerful some members acted. And felt alone. He was not the only one for whom nobody came. There were people like Sherlock, scattered in the corners of the hall, waiting to be pitied upon and forced to be jovial with borrowed happiness.

Bile rose and Sherlock left the hall before anyone could make him feel how unwanted and misfit he was.

He never let himself think about such petty things. Never allowed his mind to linger upon such trivial matters, but tonight was different. Seeing those happy faces, seeing that there were people, families, friends who accepted addicts like Sherlock, freaks like Sherlock, broken something within him. The carefully built walls of illusion shattered, and he let himself accept the fact that yes, he needed someone too and no, nobody needed him.

Nobody wanted him. Nobody cared.

Not even John.

Especially, not John.

Sherlock went to the back garden and sat on stairs of the shed. The cold touched his bones and gave him a full body shiver. He didn't care. What did it matter if he froze to death? What would happen if he ceased to exist? What was he even doing here? Nothing would change. He would finish his term, go back to the 'mainstream' and find out a dealer again. It was a circle. Sherlock wasn't an addict but he needed an addiction. To forget, to forgive.

And maybe next time, once again, there would be a chance meeting with someone like John. Maybe someone like John would send him letters again, and there would be another bubble of illusion to make him feel that someone needed him too, he was important for someone too.

Someone like John.

A breathy laugh escaped his lips and his vision blurred slightly.

"I didn't know you still smoked."

Sherlock's entire body went rigid. He hated that voice. Hated the power that voice had over him. He didn't turn. Instead, he took another drag and exhaled the smoke lazily, buying himself a few seconds to compose his mind.

"I didn't know you were under the false impression that you knew everything about me."

"Those things can kill, you know."

"So does the war."

"Touché."

Sherlock's heart was pounding so loudly that he almost couldn't hear what John was saying. His ears felt hot. His whole body felt warm. He didn't turn. He couldn't. There was no way in hell he could possibly show his face to John right now. No matter how thick John was, a single look and John would know everything Sherlock was feeling at the moment. He never showed anyone his open face, and he never would. Not even to John.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"I will always come back, you know."

Sherlock's vision blurred once again.

~0~0~0~

John couldn't see Sherlock's face, but he knew the moment he saw him that something was off about Sherlock tonight. Or maybe it was John who was seeing things in a different light. He was late, he couldn't keep his punctuality, he even received a brief verbal bashing from Sherlock's nurse too, but he didn't regret it anymore. The meeting with Harry and then the phone call to Mike had opened his eyes, decided it for him. No more hesitation, no more doubt, no more hiding. John Watson was in this for good.

"You look...nice tonight but aren't you feeling cold?" His heart soared to see that blue scarf on Sherlock.

"Do not think this was for you."

Sherlock's reply was clipped, voice irritated. He was still turned away from him. John didn't let himself discouraged by it. He was way too giddy to let these things affect him.

"Of course not."

Silence. John tapped his feet on the wooden stairs, deciding whether to tell Sherlock or not.

Oh, fuck it. He would know eventually anyway.

"I met Harry today."

The instant stiffness of the neck and shoulder was the only signs that told John that Sherlock had heard him.

"I talked to Mike also, you know."

John couldn't keep his voice free from the happiness he was feeling inside. It seeped out of him and made his tone sounded like amused.

If only John knew how much that would backfire, he would have been more careful. Sherlock abruptly stood up and turned back at him at last. But seeing his face, every happy feeling evaporated from John instantly, and he braced himself.

"Oh, so that was the reason of your coming here tonight? You came to gloat? Came to rub it on my face that how pathetic I was to try to find you, try to reach anyone and everyone who might have known what happened to you? What, did you think that would shame me? I would deny my momentary lapse of reasoning? Well, sorry to disappoint you, John, but I will not deny anything and give you the satisfaction to laugh at me. Yes, I contacted that alcoholic good for nothing sister of yours who was way too sober to even say her own name properly. Yes, I went to that dimwit friend of yours, who claimed to be your best friend, but never did anything to reach you. Yes, I did all those things. I went around the city like a lunatic, trying to find any trace that might lead me to you. I do not need you to tell me how pitiful I was because I am aware of that already."

Sherlock was panting and John was stunned to silence. He closed his eyes, because it was a lot to take in. He tried to quieten his chaotic mind to let Sherlock's words sink in. But apparently it was a wrong thing to do as it backfired also.

"Oh, so you can't even look at me now? Have I stooped that low for your taste? No no no, keep your eyes closed, keep them away from this hateful creature standing in front of you. The addict, the fool, the freak of the society, the dispensable member of your family whom you can cut off anytime, who will not bat an eye if you call him names, mock him, exclude him from everything. And why so? Because he is the sociopath, you see. The gangrene. Poke him, prod him, cut him off, throw him away, he will not mind. Because he is Sherlock Holmes- the freak. Sherlock Holmes who combed his stupid hair so that you would like him better; Sherlock Holmes who used to wait for a damned letter like a dog waiting for a bread; Sherlock Holmes who fucking relapsed just because he thought he lost someone. The fool, the imbecile didn't even think that the person he was pining after, might not want him back, might want to disappear from his life intentionally. After all these years, after facing all the facts, this simple fact still can't get through my stupid thick brain that nobody wants me. Nobody cares."

Sherlock was trembling. John knew he should let Sherlock vent out, but he was shaking for God's sake! How could he let him be?

"Sherlock-"

"Shut up. SHUT. UP. I don't want your pity. I don't want anything. Do you think you can tell me something which I don't know already? Do you think you can shut me up with your fake kindness and pitiful words? Do you honestly think that? How much, John? How much Mycroft has paid you? Tell me how much? I will pay you twice more, but please stop this. Stop looking at me like you care. Stop giving me false hope only to snatch it away. Stop it already. Tell me your amount and get lost. Tell me!"

"Wh-what are you talking about? Sherlock?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't look so surprised. You can drop this act now. I know everything, John. Does-does Mycroft honestly think he can fool me this easily? Fool Sherlock Holmes? Why look so confused, John? Didn't you know that my perfect brother pays people to be nice to me? Didn't you know that all those people, who treat me like a human being, are actually on Mycroft's payroll? I know very well that without my brother's money nobody would care a fig about me. I am perfectly aware of the fact that I am unwanted. So, tell me, how much it has cost Mycroft to convince you to come here? To meet me? To write that letter? To convince me that...that you care?"

John was perfectly calm by now. It was surprising, considering when Sherlock started to lash out John felt like a drowning man, but the more he heard Sherlock the calmer he felt. John realized that his mind identified the whole situation as a crisis and activated this calm-like-water mode, which he adapted before facing any crisis in the battlefield. John knew the situation was so delicate that even a wrong body movement could destroy every positive thing between them. So, he stayed just like as he was before, sitting on one of the stairs, looking directly at Sherlock, opening his face as much as he could so that Sherlock could read everything John was feeling right now.

John's heart ached. His whole body ached. All he wanted was to get up and hug Sherlock. Sooth this hurting boy somehow, make him see that he was cared for, he was precious. But he didn't think approaching Sherlock physically would be a right move. So, he kept on sitting and watched a panting, trembling Sherlock who had once again turned his back to John.

"Why, John?"

"Sherlock?"

"Why?"

Sherlock's voice cracked, John's heart broke a bit more.

"What, Sherlock?"

"Why don't you want me?"

Was Sherlock, was he crying?

Oh God, please no.

"No, Sherlock that's-"

"Am I not worthy of your friendship?"

Please, please let this be a nightmare and wake me up.

"Sherlock, no, ple-"

"Am I not worth keeping?"

It's me who is not worthy of you, Sherlock.

"God, no, Sherl-"

"Why didn't you want to come back?"

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

"No, jus- no."

"Are-are you here because Mycroft is forcing you?"

No, no, no, please God, no. I Can't take it anymore. I can't stop it, can't take it, can't even say anything meaningful. I am choking up, Jesus...

"If you want to leave, you can. I promise I won't try to find you again."

Enough is enough.

"Sherlock, stop it."

This cannot be happening. No, this just cannot. Cannot.

"But, when you-when you said that you-you wanted to make memories with me, we-were you lying?"

"Sherlock, stop it."

"When you said that you li-"

It was too much. Too much to bear, too much to hear, to much to watch. John couldn't control himself. He got up, reached Sherlock with such swiftness he didn't know he still possessed and hugged him with his uninjured arm from behind.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up already?"

Sherlock's whole body went stiff. It seemed as if he stopped breathing altogether. John rested his head in between Sherlock's shoulder blades. Despite the cold, sweat was pooling around his neck. He didn't mean to hug Sherlock, didn't mean to actually touch him physically, but desperate times needed desperate measures, and it was beyond his capacity to express his own emotions in words right now. The only option he had left to reassure this fragile, vulnerable boy was to show him how much, just how much he meant to John. Therefore, John did what he thought would be the best. He took a risk and took Sherlock in his arm. Consequences be damned.

"Stop it, Sherlock. No more, please, no more...You have no idea, do you?"

John's voice was muffled, but he was sure Sherlock understood him anyway.

"For such a brilliant man, you are pretty thick at times, you know."

John could feel Sherlock's breathing had gone all erratic.

"You want to know why I didn't want to come back? Why I wanted to disappear from your life? You want to know it?"

He received no response from the man he was still hugging.

"That was because I wanted you so much. Because I want to so much."

"Aren't you contradicting your own statement?"

"Shut up, I am not finished yet."

For once, Sherlock listened to John and shut up.

John was beyond relief to hear Sherlock's response, but he needed to say what he wanted to say for a long time, and for that he needed a quiet Sherlock right now.

"I wanted all the things I said to you. All the things and more. I never once lied to you, Sherlock. But after my injuries, after what I had become, how could I possibly think that you would want anything to do with me? How could I stand in front of you and demand your friendship, your companionship, when I had nothing to offer to this brilliant, brilliant man? Do you have any idea, any idea how I see you? When I look at you, I see a brilliant, marvellous genius, mad, totally utterly mad man and ask myself why should you bear with me? Why someone so precious would give a care about someone like me? Yes, I wanted you, wanted your friendship, wanted to make memories with you but above all these, I wanted you to be happy, I wanted you to have the best things in life. Because, you, Sherlock Holmes, are the best thing that has ever happened to me."

The silence stretched on and just when John was beginning to think that he, once again, fucked everything up royally, Sherlock spoke-

"I am assuming that you have a massive confidence over your eloquence and therefore decided to torture me with this self-contradicting, confusing and overly romanticized speech. But I must inform you that poorly formed sentences and illogical decisions do not really do a good job in order to convince someone with a functioning brain."

The thrumming tension left John immediately, and his shoulder sagged in relief. Sherlock's words had its usual cutting edge, but his voice was unusually soft and there was something else which John dared to interpret as fondness. He wasn't sure how to respond to that and just when he was about to remove his hand from Sherlock's torso, a warm pressure fell over his hand. With a jolt John realized that Sherlock had put his own hand over's John's. John tightened his slack grip again and pressed his face more into Sherlock's back.

"Idiot."

Although John's face lit up with a smile, his eyes teared up not so unexpectedly.

"Happy New Year, Sherlock."

"Hmm. You too."

They stood just like that for a long time, ignoring the fact that both of them might get pneumonia, or an awful lot of people were just a few yards away from them, or more importantly, Sherlock had a very nosy and a very curious nurse at his disposal. They ignored everything because what mattered to them most in the world was with them at the moment. Everything else was just white noise.

"So...you combed your hair for me, huh?"

"Shut up."

~0~0~0~