Drug buddies

Chapter 3: I Don't Love You

One they had left John decided that, to get Sherlock to stop doing drugs, he should move back into the flat. This was met by great protest from Mary, but eventually she accepted it. Sherlock needed John a lot more than Mary did, and it was finally decided. John would be back in 221B, solving crimes with the famous Sherlock Holmes. It was almost all back to normal.

But Sherlock was getting worse. He constantly thought about how he didn't feel alive as he once did. He didn't feel anything really, not after the fall. All of those barriers that he had finally put down, they had been destroyed. There was no use for them any more. Sherlock was a ghost with a beating heart. He didn't care, he didn't feel, he had no sympathy. John seemed to realise this, and tried to get emotion out of him. He would tell jokes to get Sherlock to smile. He was slipping bad into his old habits, working back down the path. John, before the fall, had made him better. You could see he was happier back then, but now he doesn't feel. His heart still beats, and his eyes still flutter, but his soul doesn't work. That was the part that died when Sherlock jumped.

"Want to go see Lestrard?" John asked. Sherlock hadn't spoken at all that day, and he didn't even react to Johns question. He simply stared out the window from the sofa, his eyes setting on a flock of birds. He watched as they curved in the air, barely having to flap their wings at all. His eyes set on a younger bird, not all of its feathers changed yet. Little spots of black and grey covered it, and it's small wings made it hard to keep up. "Sherlock." John muttered. The whole house was silent, so Sherlock heard him perfectly. He turned his head towards John, wishing to see no anger in John face. To his surprise, he didn't see anger. Instead he saw pity. It was Sherlocks turn to be angry now, turning away from John and keeping his mouth firmly shut. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will you please just speak to me!" John cried out, his voice wobbling like he was going to cry. Sherlocks eyes met johns as Sherlock stormed away, not wanting to hear Johns pleas any more. He ran up the stairs, slamming and locking his bedroom door. As he laid on his bed for a few hours, hearing Johns knocking get louder, then stop completely.

After an hour, Sherlock climbed out of his bedroom window. His feet slipped on the ledge, but he slowly lowered himself down to the thick garden wall. From there he ran away, going back to a drug house to get rid of his worries.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

"Hey, Gerard, how you doing?" Mikey called out to his brother.

"Shut the fuck up Mikey." Gerard replied, hungover and tired. He was bent down over the toilet. "I think I'm sick. I can't go on a plane like this."

"Fuck, Gerard! The next plane we can get on is in two months. We can't wait. We are leaving in two hours. Be ready or be left behind." Gerard hated when he was like this, all demanding. The fear of his brother hating him bubbled in his chest, and all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole and stare at the walls for years.

"Where am I suppose to go?" Shouted Gerard as his younger brother slammed the bathroom door. He leaned back over the toilet until a smaller man entered.

"Hey, Gerard. I heard what Mikes said." Frank was teeny tiny, his eyes red and crossed from makeup he forget to take off the night before. "You could go to that Sherlock guy. He seemed quite nice."

"You're not going to stay here with me?" Gerard asked. Frank, his best friend, was going to abandon him. He didn't expect Ray to stay if Mikey was going, and bob liked to go with the crowd. "Franky?"

"I can't, I want to get home. You have enough money to buy another ticket. You can wait two months, right? It won't be that long. You could stay here as well. Gerard?"

Gerard had turned away from Frank, choosing the porcelain toilet over looking at his 'friend'. Why wouldn't he stay with Gerard? They had just ended a tour, so they didn't have anything planned.