Soldier without his Detective

Chapter 1

                                                                                             ***

                                                                                        Sherlock

                                                                                           John 

                                                                                              ***

I miss you.

I know, you won't get this yet.

I really, really miss you.

Flat is empty without you now.

I miss you 2. Just off plane.

Bet i miss you more.

Not likely.

Oh really??

I cried...

I managed to hold on until i was in the air

I broke down on Mycroft's lap.

They came home with me. They're still here. They think I'll do something stupid.

John?

Sorry, luv, pretty busy arleady

*already

That's okay.

I love you.

I love you too <3

It had been two weeks. Sherlock had hardly heard from John. You knew this would happen . He's hardly left the bed. Curling into the pillows that once held John's head. Has it only been two weeks? Their messages would be left with large gaps between them. John was four and a half hours ahead of Sherlock.

Lestrade had been giving Sherlock more and more cases. He used to only get one when he was being insufferable. Turns out he had the wrong methods. If Sherlock spent all his time alone in bed, not moving, he would be given any and every case. Lestrade would try and talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Nothing was anymore. Maybe Mycroft was right.

Sherlock heard his phone vibrating on his nightstand. Lestrade is spread across the screen. He burrowed further into his blankets, letting it ring off. It went again, and again. Then a text, jeez he just doesn't know when to quit . He leans across to pick it up.

<3<3 John <3<3

Go out. your brother is calling my base about you. Take a case. Just dont meet another man whiel getting your arse handed to you ;p

I love you. Please take care of yourself, for me.

Should have known Mycroft would get his big nose in the way. I just miss you more than I thought I would.

I love you too, John. You need to take care, too, you're the one in a warzone after all <3

Sherlock sits up, unwrapping from his blankets as the first name lights up his phone again,

"Sherlock?"

"What do you want?" His voice had hardly been used and it was showing.

"I've got a case. It's a seven, at least. Locked room murder." Lestrade's voice held hope. That much was evident.

"Fine. Pick me up." With that he hung up and took a deep breath. His legs swung off the bed and he tried to find clothes.

Lestrade had shown up to find Sherlock sat on the edge of bed. Just, staring. He helped him get ready and guided him to the car waiting. They had rode in silence to the scene. How the hell can he help Sherlock?

Once they arrived, it was like something came over Sherlock. He no longer looked empty. His gaze focused for the first time since John left. He strode through to the body, his feet darting around almost as fast as his eyes moved.

Lestrade hadn't told the team about John. That's Sherlock's business, if he wants them to know, he'll say. They stand around the body. Lestrade tries to stop the bounding Sherlock long enough to hand him gloves. He can feel everyone watching them from the sidelines. Sherlock hasn't joined them in many cases. Lestrade only brings him in for the really tough ones.

To everyone else, Sherlock looks the same as he always does. But, Lestrade knows him. He helped him through the drugs and the boredom. They met in a back alley, Sherlock - for lack of a better word - was off his tits. Lestrade had found him on the floor, shivering. He began to search the young man. All that he had was a plastic bag in his pocket. Lestrade sat next to the man and looked through the bag. All the drugs were gone, discarded needles around them. The bag had a notebook. Small, black, it was beaten and had an elastic band around it holding a pencil. He opens the notebook. It looks like a diary of sorts. Filled with dates and lists of drugs and dosages. He moves through it to the day's date. The words mixed and scribbled over, he'd been on a bender . He carried on flicking through. At the front was a name and number. The handwriting was different, vastly so. Lestrade called the number and within minutes a man in suit was by his side. Lestrade had refused to leave. He went home with the men and made a silent vow to save that young man from himself.

It was a vow he intended to keep. He kept tabs on the man, showing up unannounced. This grew into something else, Lestrade would show up just to see the mysterious brother. Bringing cold cases for the younger and dinner for the elder. Sherlock got clean, Mycroft began to melt. Together they helped Sherlock find a flat and stay off the drugs. But, he still had bad days. Lestrade had seen them. He had dealt with the rage and tantrums. The highs and lows. He was there before and he'd be damned if he wasn't this time.

The deductions came flying. Lestrade's pen worked as fast as it could to catch it all. Sherlock was twirling around and pointing as his words bombarded Lestrade. Then he stopped. Sherlock abruptly turned to face Lestrade and gave what he suspected, to be the first smile in almost three weeks. A smile that was gladly reciprocated. He took the young detective back to his office to fill out paperwork, leaving his team to clean up. It won't be the same, they both know that, but this shows they can work through it.