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You Can't Go Home Again	By : Leloi Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 1809 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Sherlock BBC universe or the characters herein. They are fictional. Make no money.

Chapter List
- 1-You Can't Go Home Again
- 2-The OTHER Ending
- 1
- 2
Warning: Contains suicidal thoughts. Could trigger.
*****
Three years had passed and no one had bothered to change the locks on the door. Sherlock’s key entered smoothly and he twisted the knob. The hall was the same as always. Faint traces of wet dog indicated that one of the residents had acquired a pet. Mrs. Hudson’s door was shut and Sherlock gave it a fond smile as he carefully made his ways up the steps to flat B. Home. Mycroft assured him that John still lived there in the rare communication he received from his brother. Their last communique had been somewhat cryptic, raising Sherlock curiosity. Words of “He’s doing much better now” didn’t tell Sherlock HOW he was doing it… up to that point there had been sullenness about John. For a moment Sherlock entertained the thought that the dog was John’s. A pet… something to care for would raise his spirits.

Sherlock’s key slid home and he opened the door of the flat. It took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. The blond man sitting on the chair was John. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back in a look of total abandon. Another man knelt on the floor before the doctor, moving awkwardly, bobbing his head. John’s fingers were tangled in the other man’s dark, curly hair as if to hold on to him.

As Sherlock took another step into the room he realized he was witnessing John receiving fellatio from the dark haired stranger.

“Oh god, Charlie… I’m almost…” John bit his lip, his eyes squeezed shut. “That’s it, love… oh! Fuck…” John’s mouth opened in a silent cry as he froze.

“Charlie” stopped bobbing and after a few moments pulled away, exposing John’s flushed and softening prick. The dark haired man was younger than John with distinct cheekbones and blue eyes. Casually Charlie wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Reaching out he caught John’s cheek and pulled him down into a semen tainted kiss.

Sudden realization dawned on Sherlock… Charlie had more than a passing resemblance to Sherlock himself. John didn’t seem to notice that the man who gave him fellatio and dirty kisses looked a lot like his old flat mate, Sherlock. Taking a step back he nearly tripped, tangling himself with an umbrella stand that hadn’t been there three years previous.

Both men stopped and turned to stare at Sherlock. John automatically reached for his gun before realizing it wasn’t with him. But seeing someone who shouldn’t be there gave him pause anyway, his eyes wide in shock.

Sherlock nearly reamed his kidney with the handle for the front door. Desperately he scrambled for the knob with his hand.

“Who the hell is that? Who is he? Oh my god! He looks like me, John!” Charlie pressed back into John.

“What are you doing here?” John whispered his voice filled with something raw and hurt.

“I…” Sherlock bowed his head and frowned. “Mycroft didn’t tell me…”

“You know him, John? Why does he look like… oh god! No!” Charlie got up and stared at Sherlock. “I was… his replacement? Is that it?”

“I was dead.” Sherlock responded quickly to the rapidly panicking man. “I’ve been dead for three years.”

“Is this because I look like a dead man?” Charlie demanded of John. “I really liked you… John… I…”

John bowed his head. “Please… just go.”

Sherlock finally managed to get his hand on the knob and open the door. Charlie nearly collided with him on the way out. “Not you! He meant me. You stay.” With a more than encouraging shove he pushed Charlie back towards the door.

“But I’m just a… I look like you!”

“John is WITH you.” Sherlock growled. “Go take care of him. If he asks I… have him contact Mycroft.” Hastily he started down the stairs. “STAY with him! Break his heart and I will find ways to break you.”

Charlie stayed at the top of the stairs, looking upset.

Sherlock waved and made it down to the bottom just as Mrs. Hudson opened her door.

“Oh, Charlie?”

Sherlock spun around and gave Mrs. Hudson a withering look. “Wrong, Mrs. Hudson.”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes went wide. “Sherlock? Is that really? Oh my…”

“Lovely, Mrs. Hudson. I can’t stay. I just remembered something terribly important to do. If Charlie tries to leave John or hurt him in any way, report him to Mycroft for me. Tally ho!” Sherlock waved off her responses and left the building, walking away as quickly as he could.

“Sherlock Holmes you come back here!” Mrs. Hudson called from the porch.

Sherlock ignored the older woman, practically running down the sidewalk in an attempt to keep the pain from overwhelming his senses. Never had he truly cried… not since the moment he told John goodbye three years before. In that instant he had been overwhelmed with grief at the thought of losing John forever… and now he had truly lost him.

A black car shadowed Sherlock, keeping a careful distance.

“Why didn’t you TELL me, you pompous GIT?!” Sherlock angrily addressed a CCTV that had focused on him. Waving away the car he continued on his way. “I’m not getting in! You can just go bugger yourself!”

One of the car’s windows rolled down. “Stop making a scene!” Mycroft hissed as his car kept easy pace. “Get in!”

“Fuck you!” Sherlock replied, nearly jogging along.

“Where are you GOING?” Mycroft demanded. “Baker Street is behind you.”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. “I don’t have a place there anymore. In case you missed it… I’ve been REPLACED by a younger, more compliant Sherlock who apparently is very good at fellatio. His name is Charlie. He’s a much easier Sherlock to live with. And he takes it up the arse! That’s always a good point!”

“Then WHERE are you going?” Mycroft demanded.

“To end this!” Sherlock snarled and continued on his way. He only made it twenty feet before he was completely surrounded by Mycroft’s business suit army. Twenty pairs of sunglasses stared at him, surrounding him completely. Sherlock turned to address the man who stepped out of the car. “Let me die in PEACE! I DID your bloody work for you! Let me go!”

“You think I will let you run off so you can OD in an alley somewhere? That’s not going to happen. I’m taking you home now.”

“I don’t HAVE a home anymore! I’ve been REPLACED!”

“Sherlock Holmes… Get. In. The. Car.”

Sherlock looked away but refused to walk under his own power, forcing the business suit army to drag him into the waiting vehicle.

“Damn stubborn minded… No wonder John replaced you…” Mycroft muttered under his breath, causing Sherlock to resist and struggle before he was overwhelmed and tossed into the waiting car.

^.~

Sherlock’s room in Mycroft’s manner house was as he left it the last time he stayed with his brother three years before. It was filled with various trinkets and items he’d acquired and never bothered to relocate to Baker Street. Most of his things were still at Baker Street. But his clothing from his university days or during his rehab days were still folded away in drawers of the generous bedroom his brother provided. They weren’t his tailored suits he acquired to look the part of the consulting detective, but they were familiar and comfortable. And so when Sherlock woke in his old childhood bed wearing a faded university shirt and flannel bottoms he didn’t question it. Rolling over he clutched the pillow with the faded Scooby Doo pillowcase that had been a teasing gift from Mummy when he first started solving mysteries. There was a joke there that was completely lost on a teenaged Sherlock. Odd remnants of his life surrounded him, kept by Mycroft in case Sherlock ever needed to return to it. Sentiment in physical form in case the overgrown boy ever needed to go home and have a good cry and a wank.

Rolling onto his back and staring up at a poster of Escher’s staircases, he sighed. Did he need a cry and a wank? Reaching down into his bottoms he felt for his cock. It pulsed with interest but at that moment in his mind palace a memory of John being sucked by another man with curly hair and blue eyes intruded itself. With a whimper Sherlock removed his hand, refusing to think about John with someone else that looked so much like him. “I should have never left…”

“Don’t be daft. If you hadn’t then John would be dead.” Mycroft stated, drawing Sherlock’s attention to the man leaning in the doorway. Sherlock cursed the room’s overwhelming sentiment that allowed Mycroft to lurk in the corners unnoticed. The younger Holmes suspected it was how Mycroft got the upper hand when illicit drugs had been involved.

“I should have finished earlier… returned to him before he…”

“You did what had to be done. These things take time. Moran was the last of Moriarty’s web. He was the last and the most important. He was also the one with John in his crosshairs as it were. Had you come back even as recent as last week John would be dead. Charles has been around since… they met last month.”

“That quickly?” Sherlock frowned.

“Pardon?”

“They went from strangers to… to not in only a month?”

“It took you a day.”

“But I never…” Sherlock bit his lips and curled up tighter in a ball, surrounded by his childhood possessions. “We were never… that way.”

“There was always that possibility. John Watson is a rather… sexual creature. I was amazed he didn’t manage to get you into his bed. I was certain he would succeed in ways that Adler never could.”

“You can leave now…”

“John contacted me… as did your Mrs. Hudson. It seems that one Charles House was threatened not to leave John’s side and spent the rest of yesterday unable to leave the flat on Baker Street for fear of retribution.”

“John needed him. He had just had a bit of a shock.”

“I assured both Mrs. Hudson and John that I would not destroy Charles if the young man needed to leave the flat.”

“What? You let him abandon John?”

“Sherlock! The person John wished to talk to yesterday was YOU! He asked Charles to leave so you two could talk.”

“I… no. He’s replaced me… they always replace me. I don’t need him or anyone else!”

“This isn’t about Victor Trevor.”

“Who said it was?” Sherlock snarled.

“Victor Trevor did not appreciate your brilliance. He was unworthy of you. John, at least, respects and cares about you.”

“Not anymore. I died and he moved on.”

“Fine then… Wallow in your own self-pity. I will have meals sent up. Until you start making some sense there will be no contact with the outside except through me… And if I find you taking drugs again I will tie you down to that bed.”

But, of course… Sherlock found ways around his confinement. A handful of pills created sweet oblivion so he didn’t have to think about the replacement pleasuring John… sucking him, letting John fuck him as the doctor muttered filthy things with that mouth that had so often stated such praise. Those powerful hands that had healed in the sands of the Middle East and Sherlock’s own aches and pains were busy caressing skin that wasn’t his own. Anger and regret burned hard and deep, barely covered by those few pills he managed to steal from Mycroft’s staff. When he woke from his first drug escape in years he was tied down. It was then that Sherlock decided to let himself waste away. Unlike drugs there was no way Mycroft could stop him.

^.~

“Let me SEE him, Mycroft! Where is he? Is he in here?” John’s voice was muffled by the door as Sherlock swam in and out of consciousness. It had been almost a week since his protest had started and he pulled out the IVs that somehow managed to gather whenever he was unconscious. Sherlock had barely enough time to pull out the latest IV before the door opened and John stepped in. Anger was immediately replaced with pity. “Oh… Sherlock… what are you… why are you doing this to yourself?” Tears spilled unchecked down John’s cheeks.

“I’m just removing myself from the equation.” Sherlock answered airily as if he wasn’t beginning to lose muscle mass.

“You don’t… have to. Please don’t do this.” John stumbled towards the bed and sat on it. His eyes found the detached IVs and the bruised veins they had been pulled from. “Please… You’ve already killed yourself once…”

With a sigh Sherlock leaned back against the pillows, completely exhausted from malnutrition. “How is Charles House?”

John shook his head. “Don’t! Just… don’t!”

“You deserve more. You have so much... heart. Charles is very lucky. They were all lucky to have you. Jeannette… Sarah… the one with the dog…”

Suddenly John leaned in, wrapping his arms around Sherlock and tucking his face against Sherlock’s somewhat ripe shirt. “I missed you so much… Don’t do this! Come home with me! Please, Sherlock… I just want you to come home with me.”

“You moved on.”

“No… never! Please, Sherlock! If you won’t come home with me then I’ll stay here. Just please… come back.”

“I can’t go back…” Sherlock whispered. “There’s nothing left for me.”

“Don’t SAY that!” John demanded, trying to force Sherlock to look at him. “There’s plenty for you!”

“‘Please, Charlie… Don’t stop!’ Do you remember saying that? He had his mouth on you, your head was thrown back and your fingers were tangled in his hair. And if you say he meant nothing to you… John how can you be so cruel? He loves you. He LOVES you, John… I saw it! I can’t compete with that.”

“That never stopped you before… with Sarah and Jeanette.”

“I never walked in on you having sex with them before!” Sherlock replied. “Your relationships never went that far… you were too much of a gentleman to push the issue… but you’ve been with Charles a month? Have you buggered him?”

“That’s none of your business!” John replied hotly.

“You’re right… and that’s why I can’t compete with it.”

John grew angrier and more frustrated as he slapped at Sherlock’s arm. “And where the hell have you BEEN? Obviously you’ve been alive so why haven’t you come back? I met Charles last month… where were you then? You… you broke my heart. I only now started to pick up the pieces and here you are… back again.”

Sherlock sighed and shut his eyes. “It’s not important. Nothing matters anymore.” Rolling over, he curled up into himself.

“Sherlock… please? Why did you do it?”

“Moriarty had three assassins pointing guns at you, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade… it was either you or me. I chose me. If I hadn’t then… then all of you would be dead. You all had to believe that I was dead. Only Molly knew… and Mycroft. Molly helped me stage my death. Mycroft provided the means for me to travel and take down those assassins one at a time. There was… one left. His crosshairs were on you, John. If you found out then… then you’d be dead. You’re safe now. You’re all safe. I got him last week.”

“I wish you had told me…”

“It was my death or yours… I chose my death. Last month I was in Brazil, hot on the trail of Colonel Sebastian Moran. Then he got a call and I followed him back here… someone must have mistaken Charles for me… but he knew better.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you? He wasn’t fooled by my doppelganger.”

John bit his lips and looked down at the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“Why must you be sorry? I was dead! No one told you anything.”

“No… I’m sorry about Charlie. It must have been a shock to see him doing that to me.”

“Sex doesn’t shock me.” Sherlock whispered old words.

“What now?”

“Go home, John.”

John shook his head. “It’s just a flat… It’s been just a flat for the past three years.”

“You could try sharing it with Charles. I’m sure he would enjoy taking that next step with you. You two can play house. It will be perfectly domestic… come home every night to your perfect husband. He can suck you off or bend over to give you a piece of that beautiful arse… warm and welcoming and…”

A loud slap echoed through the room, forcing Sherlock into silence as tears welled up in his eyes to burn his swollen cheek.

“You… GIT!” John seethed. Quickly he got up and headed for the door. Pausing he turned back. “Don’t make me beg after what you put me through! And don’t bring Charlie into this! He did nothing wrong. All he did was love me and give me one glimmer of happiness when I only wanted the world to end! The third anniversary… I was going to follow you. But he showed up… like an angel. I thought he was you. But he’s so different… sweet, kind… gentle. He’s so gentle… and he loves me. I couldn’t go through with it and break his heart like you broke mine.”

Sherlock shut his tear stained eyes. John could always cut him so deeply. Sobs began to shake his malnourished body as he heard the pain and anger in John’s voice. There was too much sentiment… too much weakness and he sobbed openly, rolling onto his belly to clutch the faded Scooby Doo pillow and stifle his cries of agony within it as he had done as a child.

There was silence in the room and at first Sherlock guessed that John had left during his emotional outburst. But then… “I still love you, Sherlock. God help me but I do. I want you to come home with me.” When Sherlock made no response John added, “Think about it, ok? I’ll be waiting.” And then John was gone.

For a long time Sherlock lay on the bed, not moving, barely breathing. Counting the seconds he waited for Mycroft to appear… he always did. The younger Holmes knew his brother had been watching the whole exchange. Of course Mycroft was predictable and his footsteps lingered in the open doorway. “Find me a boyfriend.”

“Do you think that wise?” Mycroft answered. “And since when am I your matchmaker?”

“Shut up! I know now that you sent Charles to John to keep him alive and to draw Moran out of Brazil.”

“There is no way you can possibly know that.” Mycroft drawled.

Sherlock sat up and glared at his brother. “Rather convenient… John meeting someone who can convince him not to follow me… Moran hearing rumors of my return to London…”

“Something had to be done.”

“You gave John to Charles… I want a Charles of my own. Short, blond, hazel eyes, athletic… just a little ‘John-ish’ in temperament… I’m sure you have one tucked away. A John decoy… is that what Charles was? Was he my decoy? Did it help that he had no clue about his actual job so he could genuinely fall for John?”

“Charles was unaware of his resemblance to you. He was simply placed in the right place at the right time for John to find him. It helped that he was attracted to John’s type. I simply let nature take its course.”

“Fine… then you took John away and gave him to Charles… I want a Charles too.”

“You can’t be SERIOUS! The actual John WANTS you!”

“That may be but he’s also in a relationship with Charles. I’ve decided I would like to experience a relationship so find me a Charles… and be quick about it. I was hoping we could double date.”

“This is madness! John Watson loves you! God knows why but he DOES. If you do this you will hurt him.”

“He’s already replaced me, Mycroft!”

“And he would give that up in a heartbeat to be with YOU!”

“No he wouldn’t! He would never do anything to break his partner’s heart! He’s too nice! He won’t break up with Charles. You don’t know him like I do.”

“So you plan to flaunt this in his face until he gets rid of Charles?”

“If I have to… yes.”

“That is a very BAD idea, Sherlock! It will most likely backfire. I will be no part of it!”

“Fine…” Sherlock growled and crossed his arms on his chest. “I’ll go and find my own Charles.”

“You will not be leaving this house unless it is to go back to 221B Baker Street.”

“Fine… I will go back to 221B Baker Street.”

“And I will alert every gay or bisexual man in the city that you are off limits.”

“I’ll find SOMEONE!”

“You WILL go home and you WILL NOT break John Watson’s heart you pompous arshole! You will discuss your relationship with him like an ADULT. Again… let me remind you that he LOVES you! For some unknown sentimental reason someone LOVES you Sherlock and if you mess it up it will never happen again for you.”

“He doesn’t… not really…” Sherlock sighed softly.

“If you are done feeling sorry for yourself I would like you to go back to Baker Street. My staff grows weary of your demands.”

A rather emaciated Sherlock pulled himself from the bed and stumbled towards the door. Mycroft hissed softly as the unwashed, neglected man passed by him. “Do you require assistance in the shower?”

“I’m not planning on taking a shower.” Sherlock responded.

Mycroft gave him a hard glare. “You need a shower.”

Sherlock glared back. “Where are my shoes?”

Casually Mycroft pointed. “You’re going home like that?”

“My wardrobe here is rather limited.” Sherlock replied dryly stepping into his shoes. “Let’s get this over with. And for the record… it’s not ‘home’ anymore. I’m homeless. I’ve been homeless for three years.”

“We both know that’s not true. Up until you found out about Charles you considered John Watson to be your home.”

“As I said… I’m ‘homeless’ now.” Sherlock growled and stomped away.

^.~

The sitting room held the sour sick smell of unwashed flesh as Sherlock sat in his old chair. Now that he wasn’t focused on John receiving fellatio from his boyfriend Sherlock could see that the flat really hadn’t changed much. His chemistry set was gone and the table and counters cleared… but the décor was roughly still his own possessions. Of course now they were John’s… his will had made it clear that John would inherit all of his worldly possessions and a handsome chunk of his trust fund should something happen to Sherlock. Aside from Mycroft, John was the closest family he had… but now that was over.

John tried hard not to react to the smell. The doctor stared at the detective, long and hard, neither saying anything for almost fifteen minutes. Finally John sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you like to use the shower?”

Sherlock stood up mutely and removed his stained shirt, dropping it on the floor. Casually he headed into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. His shampoo and soap weren’t there… he didn’t expect they would be. He found John’s and used them, trying hard to ignore the other shampoo and soap that didn’t belong to John. Finally clean he stepped out of the shower and stared at himself in the mirror, wondering who the zombie was staring back at him. Adjusting the towel around his waist he stepped out of the bathroom to John waiting outside.

“I found some of your old clothes.” Passing them off he left Sherlock to return to the bathroom and dress in his old pajamas.

The blue silk dressing gown was included and he slid it on, staring at the too skinny dead man in the mirror. A shiver passed through him. He looked dead and he felt dead. Officially he was dead. The detective gave up his life for what? So John could go on with his life and replace him? Charles had left shampoo in the bathroom! Sherlock was sure he would find more of Charles scattered through the flat. Was Charles’ clothes in his old chest of drawers where his sock index had once been? Were their condoms stuffed into his old nightstand? Was his bed comfortable enough for them to share when Charles spent the night or when they fucked like rabbits? Crouching down on the floor he leaned against the sink and began to cry. Sherlock felt cheated… all the things he had given up.

Vaguely he was aware when the door opened and John knelt beside him. “Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“You’ll have condoms stuffed in my nightstand!” Sherlock sobbed, unable to articulate clearly what was really bothering him. “My sock index will be gone…”

“Sherlock…”

“His shampoo is in the shower…” Finally the younger man hit on what had started his whole train wreck of a thought train.

John sighed and tried to help Sherlock back to his feet. “Smells like you found mine, though. Come on… I’ll make you something to eat. You’re skin and bones, Sherlock.”

Sherlock leaned somewhat heavily on John, finding himself too weak. Gently John placed him in his old chair and went back to the kitchen. “How about some leftover soup? I have some lemon grass chicken soup from that Thai place we like.”

“I’m not hungry…” Sherlock replied.

“You have to eat something. When was the last time you ate?” John entered the sitting room to get a better look at Sherlock.

“What day did I see you two together?”

“SHERLOCK!” John cried out and knelt at the other man’s feet. “No! That’s too long! That was over a week ago! Please tell me you’ve eaten something, anything since then?”

“Whatever was in the IV I kept pulling out. I haven’t had any solid food since… since… it had to have been after I took out Moran.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” John demanded. “Sherlock… god, Sherlock… has it been like this for the past three years?”

“I’ve eaten during that time. But with Moran I got a little distracted… and then I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I did my job. Moran is gone and so is the rest of Moriarty’s network. Mycroft can’t force me to eat. He may take away the drugs but I can keep my mouth shut.”

John got up and went into the kitchen to return a moment later with a glass of juice. “I want you to drink this… slowly. You’re probably dehydrated as well. I’ll go find you something else while you drink that.” Heading back again he returned with several glasses and some crackers. “Drink I said!”

Sherlock blinked at him. “John…”

“Listen to me, God damnit! I said drink and you’ll drink! I’m NOT Mycroft! DRINK! Slowly!”

Sherlock brought the orange juice to his lips and took a cautious swallow.

At that moment the front door opened and Charles stepped in. His eyes fell on John fussing over Sherlock. “I should…”

“No! You stay.” John nearly tackled him and dragged him across the room to where Sherlock sat. “Charlie… this is Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock eyed them both warily and ignored the hand Charles had held out. Of course Charles would have better manners… He was bloody PERFECT!

“Sherlock, is it? John has told me a little bit about you.” Charles pulled his hand back in since Sherlock wouldn’t shake it. “He said you were brilliant and… a genius. That you could solve any puzzle… and that he used to chase you throughout London all night.”

“Did he tell you I died?”

“Yes… he may have mentioned that. When I met him he was still mourning you.”

Sherlock gave a nod but then he felt his center of gravity falter. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he slid out of his chair and onto the floor at the feet of a very surprised Charles.

^.~

Sherlock woke in his old room in his old bed. An IV was hooked to his arm and he contemplated removing it.

“Don’t you dare!” John growled from a corner of the room. “Keep it in. You’ve done a fantastic job of starving yourself. If you don’t want to go to hospital I suggest you let the IV do its job.

“I can’t stay here…” Sherlock made an attempt to get out of the bed.

“Just lay still!” John replied.

“No… I need to… go… Your boyfriend won’t like me being in your bed.”

“Sherlock… look around. I haven’t touched this room. It’s still yours. I couldn’t take it… up until last month I was sharing a flat with a dead man. Why would I intrude on your space?”

“It’s the bigger room… bigger bed… It’s perfect for two people.”

John shook his head. “It was yours. Do you really think I’m insensitive enough to take another man to my deceased friend’s bed? What sort of person do you take me for? Your room has been a sort of shrine to you from the moment you left. I haven’t even made the bed or cleaned up the mess you made in the corner...” John pointed to a spot where Sherlock had idly thrown his things the evening they had run from the police. “It’s as you left it.”

Sherlock looked around, finding everything he had left behind in the exact spot where he had left it. “I… don’t understand.”

With a heavy sigh John sat down on the bed beside Sherlock. “For two years and 11 months, 3 days… I thought about nothing but you… why you had done it… why it had to be you and not me. If I had realized sooner… come back earlier… stayed so you didn’t have to face Moriarty alone… I could have protected you… I could have been there for you. You broke me. I was having trouble coping and everything reminded me of you… the Tesco… St. Barts… Every alleyway… and in here your scent… that shirt that makes you look so fucking amazing. I couldn’t let that go. So even if the rest of London slightly changed and the rest of the world forgot about you… this room would stay the way you left it. Some days I would sit on the edge of the bed just to be near you.” Reaching under the pillow he pulled out a blue scarf. “You were wearing this when you jumped. They gave it to me. For a while I slept with it or wore it on cold days just to be near you… but it loses your scent so I put it in here under your pillow. Sentiment, Sherlock… I’ve been existing almost entirely on sentiment for the past three years.”

“Until you met Charlie…”

“Yes.” John leaned back against the pillows. “Do you remember the night in Devonshire? After the Baskerville case and you finally went to bed… but we had to share a bed?”

“Of course I do.” Sherlock replied, staring up at the ceiling.

“I rolled over in the middle of the night and snuggled up against you.”

“Yes… I remember that too.”

“You never said anything about it the next day.”

“I woke up when you grabbed me.”

“Why didn’t you push me away?”

“Why would I push you away?”

“Rather odd… for one bloke to cuddle up with his mate in the middle of the night and not be woken up or pushed away.”

“Why would it be? I’ve always imagined you were rather needy in bed… that just proved my assumption. There was no need to push you away… especially after…”

“After you telling me that I was your only friend?”

“You were my home, John. It didn’t matter where I went as long as you were there to return to. I won’t begrudge you a little cuddle if you need it at night.”

John was silent for some time, staring up at the same ceiling Sherlock was staring at. Finally… “Don’t leave again.”

Sherlock cast him a suspicious look.

“Stay here… you belong here with me.”

For once the younger man didn’t bring up Charlie. Lying on the bed next to his only friend, his home, he couldn’t bring up the wedge between them. Turning his head his ice blue eyes studied John. John studied him back. Helplessly the thought occurred to the detective. “What stops you from leaving?”

John shook his head and gave a shy smile. “I haven’t left yet, have I? And you were gone for three years.”

“But I’m too late. You’ve already committed yourself to someone who looks like me. Next step he’ll ask you to move in with him and then he’ll propose a civil partnership…”

“We’ve broken up, Sherlock.”

“What? But he was… PERFECT for you! When?”

“After you passed out and he helped me carry you in here. I had never allowed him in here… and he didn’t realize it was your room or that I kept it like you would come back at any moment. He told me he couldn’t compete with a ghost that came back from the dead.”

“I’m… sorry…” Sherlock breathed.

“We had fun… but he’s not you. He could never be you.” In that moment John relaxed more fully upon the bed, checking Sherlock’s IV connection before resting against his friend.

Giving off a sigh Sherlock also relaxed, knocking their heads together as he settled against John’s shoulder. “I want to come back home…”

“I know you do. I’m sorry I hurt you… sorry I shocked you.”

“You didn’t shock me… not really. I knew you were capable of it… I just wasn’t prepared to see my clone doing it to you.”

John smiled softly. “We didn’t do very much… if that worries you. It was just some snogging and some groping. That was the first time for… that. And the last time…”

“You didn’t even reciprocate? John, how could you?”

“I was a bit distracted with my best mate returning from the dead and interrupting me.”

“Now I feel bad for Charlie. He should have at least gotten more than a mouth full of your…”

John slapped him playfully on the arm. “Hey now! No more of that!”

Sherlock smirked and nuzzled against John.

“I still have that soup… You’ve lost too much weight.”

“I don’t care.” Sherlock replied, lightly kissing John’s cheek.

“If you eat then I’ll give you what I didn’t give him.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and stared for a long moment before he slowly nodded. “Ok… yes.”

John grinned and got up from the bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

^.~

Two days of careful feeding followed. John did not allow Sherlock out of bed except to use the loo. The IV stayed in overnight to keep the malnourished detective hydrated.

Finally John gave Sherlock a reluctant health check with the promise of more food to come. After a quick shower he was returned to the bed and laid out between fresh sheets.

John smiled at his patient. “Feeling better?”

“I could feel a little better…”

John parted the dressing gown to use his stethoscope on the pale chest. “Oh?”

Sherlock reached out and gently cradled John’s head in his hands. “I thought I lost you.”

“I was pretty sure I lost you too.” John replied, draping himself over Sherlock’s legs. “Twice.”

Fondly Sherlock’s fingers caressed John’s hair. “It is rather disturbing that you have such control over my emotional health.”

“At least you now admit to having emotional health.” John grinned. “And if it’s any consolation… it’s the same for me.” Resting his head on Sherlock’s belly he drew idle patterns on the bed with his fingertip. “I love you, Sherlock. Please don’t leave me again.”

Sherlock shook his head with a small smile. “My John…”

John leaned down and kissed at a small sliver of exposed skin near Sherlock’s abdomen and crawled his way up the long torso to press a kiss against a quivering lower lip.

“I don’t know what to do.” Sherlock breathed, blinking up into John’s eyes. “I don’t know how to please you.”

“I’ll teach you.” John replied, deepening their kisses, tasting Sherlock’s mouth as the detective clung to him.

“Yes… teach me…” Sherlock whispered when his lips had been set free in exchange for his neck. His hands reached for John’s neck as if to hold him still or to learn his movements as the doctor kissed a trail down his body. His dressing gown was opened and he didn’t care that John could see him naked… John had already seen him naked many times before and in the past few days John had been the one to bathe him. But now his groin was beginning to show interest and react to John’s touches.

John made his way down to Sherlock’s knee before kissing the left patella over the skin and working his way back up to take something in his mouth.

Sherlock cried out and arched his back, wrapping a leg around John’s back to hold him in place. “John… oh God, JOHN!” Sherlock whimpered, trying hard not to suffocate the poor man.

John pulled off and grinned. “How does it feel, love?”

“Ugh!” Sherlock gave an undignified answer, trying to push his hips up. “Please… don’t stop!’

John returned to his task, bobbing on the detective’s obscenely hard phallus, wondering how they would ever get to anal sex with something so big. His mouth and tongue worked as Sherlock nearly convulsed beneath him.

“John… oh John…” Sherlock panted, trying to bring John to lie atop him. “Come here… Please…”

John obeyed and hastily opened his own trousers, sliding them down his thighs as he pressed himself against Sherlock, thrusting, needing friction.

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John’s waist to bring the other man closer as he kissed blindly. His body wanted to explode and he was more than a little terrified about doing so without John pressed fully against him. It helped that his penis seemed to like the friction of rubbing up against John. “Harder…”

John thrust eager to see Sherlock come undone. “That’s it, Sherl… like that… I’m here…”

Something warm and wet spurted between them and Sherlock made the face he made when a puzzle snapped into place, causing John to giggle as he soon followed. They lay panting for breath, John moving occasionally and Sherlock holding him in place with his legs.

Neither moved snuggling against the other as the last of their orgasm passed. But John was the first to speak. “Wow…”

“That’s… not how it’s supposed to work, is it?” Sherlock gasped, trying to bring his breathing under control.

“What do you mean?” John asked, resting his cheek on Sherlock’s sternum.

“Should one of us… up the bum?”

John chuckled softly, idly tracing the edge of Sherlock’s nipple. “Where did you do your research?”

“Online. What we did was… Frottage?”

“Then you know there’s many ways to do this.”

“Is this the only way you’re comfortable with?”

“I’ll happily try anything you want to try… when you’re at 100% and not just recovering from malnutrition and near death.”

Sherlock blinked at John.

“We have our whole lives ahead of us. Be patient. Besides… are you really ready to take me like that?”

“Who says I would be on the bottom?”

“Exactly!” John kissed his lover. “We’ll work up to it…especially with how BIG you are!”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, rolling them over onto their sides and covering them both with his blankets. “You plan to keep me, then?”

John struggled a moment, grabbing a handful of tissue to clean them both off before binning it and snuggling up against his detective. “Always, Sherlock… Always. If you’ll have me.”

“My John… my home…” Sherlock breathed, suddenly feeling exhausted.

John kissed his forehead and held his love tight. “Welcome home, Sherlock.”

--Fin
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