Loving a Holmes

Smith

Molly and I had taken turns watching after Rosie for the past few weeks, honestly, it seems like John is avoiding his own daughter. But Molly liked it joke that it was giving me plenty of practice for when Sherlock and I have kids. I suppose she's right, but I'd rather have Mary here making that joke while Sherlock is there to tell her we haven't even decided if we want kids or not.

John had gone out to a therapy session so I was at the flat alone, with little Rosie. Not that it bothers me, but would like to get out of here at some point. Following Mary's advice, Sherlock had gone to hell. Getting back on drugs and losing his mind. I know he is doing this for our friend, which made it all the harder to act like I hate him right now around the man he is trying to save by risking his own life. But since this is the situation we have to deal with I had asked John if I could stay with him while Sherlock went through whatever it was he was going through and John was happy to oblige, since I was helping to take care of Rosie. As long as Sherlock didn't come around the flat. We had kept in contact with a handful of texts when he was sober, which sadly, wasn't often.

Which brings us to today, Sherlock had sent me a text about a week ago telling me to get a sitter of Rosie and to meet him at John's new therapist's office. When I get to the rather nice house in an upper-end neighborhood I see a very nice car out front and when I walk inside I hear John and Mrs. Hudson talking. "How did you know where to find me?"

"Oh, Sherlock told me. He's not so difficult when you've got a gun on him."

John turns and sees my walking through the open door. "Oh, let me guess he told you too." John takes a deep breath. "How did you know? How? On Monday I decided to get a new therapist. Tuesday afternoon, I chose her. Wednesday morning I booked today's session. Now, today is Friday. So two weeks ago, two weeks before you were abducted at gunpoint and brought here against your will... over a week before I even thought of coming here, you knew exactly where you'd need to be picked up for lunch?"

As I enter the room the rest of them are in I see Sherlock sitting in one of the chairs, looking up at the ceiling. He looks horrible, he hasn't shaved since I left the flat, his skin looks oil and discolored, and he looks extremely strung out. "Really? I correctly anticipated the responses of people I know well to scenarios I devised? Can't everyone do that?" I have to fight the urge to run over to him.

Mrs. Hudson tilts her head. "How?"

"Except the boot. The boot was mean."

John scoffs. "Never mind how. He's dying to tell us that. I want to know why."

"Because of Mrs. Hudson's right. I'm burning up. I'm at the bottom of a pit and I'm still falling and I'm never climbing out."

I take a deep breath, placing a hand on John's shoulder. "He's right, John. He needs you. I mean look at him, he looks horrible and that's coming from the woman who loves him."

Sherlock stands.  "I need you to know, John. I need you to see that up here... I've still got it, so when I tell you that this... is the most dangerous, the most despicable human being that I have ever encountered; when I tell you that this-this monster must be ended, please remember where you're standing, because ... you're standing exactly where I said you would be two weeks ago. I'm a mess; I'm in hell; but I am not wrong, not about him."

John crosses his arms. "So what has all this got to do with me?"

"Look at me. Can't do it, not now. Not alone." He looks away and swallows, his eyes slightly tearful.

John sighs slightly, then unfolds his arms and holds out his right hand towards Sherlock, pulling in a sharp breath through his nose. "You're not alone, you have Madison."