Finally Home!

Sherlock ran to the doorstep as soon as he could distinguish the roof of his apartment. Of course, he had been hurting all the way, since he was not fully recovered...but now he'd have time to do so. He pulled out the keys from his pocket and opened the door.

''Come on!''he told Watson, happily.

He entered the house and went in his office. Like usual. There still was that yellow smiley face on the wall and bullets holes... He swung himself lazily onto the couch and began thinking out loud:

''Why did he come to the hospital? This means he must have a plan...of some kind...it's not good...''

And they both knew whom he was talking about.

''MRS. HUDSON!!! ADVILS PLEASE! I'M HURT!''

John was not in the state to run yet, and neither was Sherlock, but of course he would not listen, so he figured to let him run. Maybe he was just excited. So John walked, a lot slower than his friend.

"Yeah, yeah", he groaned as he walked through the door after Sherlock and closed it behind him.

Uh-oh. Now he starts to talk about him.

"I don't know, maybe he just wanted to see you", he couldn't resist but to smile a little. Not really mocking, no, that wasn't his style, just.. it was difficult not to. Smile, not mock.

''Wanted to see ME?!''exclaimed Sherlock in complete disgust, staring at John.''Come on, John! He just plans on using me once again for his little game...not that I mind though, it is interesting...but...I do think he's gonna make it...even harder this time...knowing how I thwarted him first time...''

Sherlock hadn't completely grasped what John had implied....he just was so lame at social skills.

''I don't know what he'll use this time..but it doesn't sound good...''

Plus that kiss..what was it?

Sherlock then widened his eyes a bit innocently and looked at John, wondering if he should...ask him stuff about that subject but, nah, he decided to go back into trying to discover what maniac's plans were.

''I only got one clue...it's the ''I'll burn the heart of you.'' sentence. Thing is I'm not sure he's getting...I do not have one. I'm a highly deficient sociopath, so I do not love...You see?''

He loved speaking his ideas out loud to Watson...He didn't know why but it helped him... As if just this support could give him even more energy..or at least, a gentle ear....Who knew?

"Uh-huh", Watson chuckled.

Well, whatever he wants to believe. What am I now? Their fangirl? Oh, man..

"Yeeah", he didn't really wanna express his opinions, because that would only make Sherlock angry.

"I know you don't. Maybe he will.. No, honestly. I have no idea", he actually didn't.

Sherlock frowned at John's last reply.

Does he really think I have none? Well, I can't blame him..plus, it's true I'm not THAT sentimental...but I still cared back at the pool for his life...Anyways! No need to tell him that..

''I KNOW you have no idea! But still, I'm pretty sure he'll do it...and that's NOT good.''

He then looked at Watson so suddenly it would have scared anyone.

''Are you...really feeling fine? I mean..from your wounds? I know I made you leave the hospital in a haste but I couldn't stay there any longer...I hate to be imprisoned...''

"Thank you", he even smiled a bit as Sherlock "I know you have no idea!"

Now he's worried about me? Hmm, well.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just, well a bit sore", he said. Well, a lot sore. "But I'll be fine. Give it a day or two. How about you? I mean, I know you say you're okay, but now that there is no one to force you to stay at the hospital, you might as well be honest. 'Cause the "ows" aren't very convincing towards the "I'm okay" reply."

Sherlock just shifted...having nothing else to add.

''Well, that's good news! At least, you'll be in shape for the next case...''

Then he smirked as Watson asked how he felt and talked about how the ''ows'' could not convince him... at all. Sometimes Watson was just this funny...

No..most of the time..he's interesting..

''Hmm...No. My ribs hurt. I think some are still broken...and my scratches hurt...give me about 2 weeks to really feel better...Is that what you wanted to hear? 'Cause it's true..''

"Yeah, I'll be okay", he nodded. Maybe not in perfect shape. Well, fine, definitely not in perfect shape, but good enough.

He nodded at Sherlock's reply.

"I wanted to hear the truth, but you knew this was coming. How about you rest for a bit?"

Never gonna go for it, but sorta feel like it's my duty to tell things like that.

''Perfect then!''joyfully exclaimed Sherlock.

Though he frowned when Watson suggested him to rest...

''You know I don't do that! And even before you proposed you knew I wouldn't accept... Why did you ask then? A profound feeling of goody-doing, right?''

He shifted a bit on the bed and growled then punched it at some places as if he weren,t happy at ALL with the service it was giving him...

I knew he would never ever rest.

"Well, yes. I knew you would refuse, but I see it as my job to make you at least consider resting. Though I do fail every time", he chuckled.

At least he's on a bed. Might be a bit more comfy. Though, why should I care now? He always refuses to rest and always somehow recovers anyway. So I shouldn't worry, should I?

''Huhuh...I see... a good-hearted man never stops, does he, Watson?''said Sherlock, half-unattentive.

He stood up and painfully walked up to the little drawer in the room; he opened one of its drawers and took out a pile of drugs and a pipe. He went back to sitting on the sofa and smoked some of it.

''Opium..helps me thing matters even more thoroughly than usual... And after that meeting..I need some of it..''he said, answering to Watson's terrified look.

He then cleared his throat, put out his pipe and laid down onto the sofa, lost in thoughts while staring at the ceiling.

"I guess not", John chuckled.

He rolled his eyes as Sherlock got out the pipe and drugs. He was pretty shocked, yes. Drugs weren't really his scene. Shocking, yes?

"Well, if that's your story", he was actually pretty tired and didn't have the energy to stop Sherlock from everything.

He just watched as Sherlock did his thing. Did it really help him?

John just watched in amusement as Sherlock did what it was appeared to be thinking.

"Earth to Sherlock. Though that might not be your home planet", he muttered the last part more quietly. But there was no worry Sherlock would probably hear any of it.

He does that sometimes. Just goes deep in his thoughts. Is my presence that easily forgotten? .. I cannot let myself answer that..

Lestrade stood outside the door to 221B Baker Street, frowning at the slightly scuffed gold of the numbers as he debated what he was going to say. His instincts warred with one another - he wasn't pleased that they had left the hospital so early, and so evidently not yet recovered enough to be alone... but on the other hand, John was a doctor, and he knew that neither man was the type to put up with involuntary imprisonment, even for their own good.

It doesn't really matter what I say, anyway. Sherlock'll have an answer for it, and damn it all if I don't already know he'll be right.

Sherlock, he knew, was given to doing the most infuriatingly stupid things, but then making it impossible to argue with him about them because he was never, ever wrong.

Anymore.

Not since long before John. Not since the days they didn't speak of anymore, by silent, mutual agreement.

I may as well make it up as I go. Won't turn out any worse than if I don't.

With that, he made up his mind, pushed open the door (he hadn't had to ring the doorbell at 221B in months; they all just accepted his occasional presence there as status quo) and strode up to the top of the stairwell.

"Sherlock!" and, quickly thereafter, "John!"

He hadn't known exactly what he was expecting, but whatever it was, it wasn't this.

Sherlock didn't even hear Watson's funny comment. In fact...he didn't care about anything else but staring at the ceiling and rattling his mind, trying to make theories match with the facts he had in hands. Though, his comprehension of everything surrounding Moriarty's visit was abruptly cut off as he heard the door open. He wasn't giving a hoot about speeches when he took opium, but weirdly, his thoughts were sharpened and his ears too... So, he was aware of EVERY little sounds....but not the words.

Oh, no...Lestrade. Not now! BAD timing. BAD.

''Watson! Hide this!''he said, throwing his pipe with the opium powed in a little sack to Watson.

He stood up and stumbled to the doorframe. He tried his best to keep his composure and stand tall as usual, but..it pretty failed. Drugs....He seemed so far away; his eyes proved it...his glassy eyes.

''Hello, Lestrade! What brings you here? Paperwork I guess..please...not that...It's so lame. And you don't need me, just ask Donovan and Anderson...they did their job. Just copy them.''

And then he tried to smile. He wasn't mad Lestrade was here. In fact, he was almost happy to see him...it was just the drugs making him a bit more sour than usually.

I hope he doesn't notice...OF COURSE he'll notice....he might work for the police, but he's still the brightest one of those morons!....Yeah..damn! Smile, Sherlock...no, don't ! He'll think that's unusual.

And he stopped smiling.

''Me and Watson were having a little chat...Weren't we, Watson?''he said, poiting at Watson and giving him a look of ''yes we definitely were huh?! ANd I surely wasn't taking drugs, leaving you alone in the corner for good reasons...!''

"Watson, hide this".. What are we, 5?

He caught the pipe and the drugs and quickly put them to a little bowl next to the table. He'd get them later.

"Hi, Lestrade", he said, not really paying attention to what they were saying as he looked into the bowl just as if to make sure they weren't visible to someone who wouldn't feel the need to look in.

He looked up as he heard his name spoken and tried so hard not to roll his eyes at Watson. "Yes, of course we were", he smiled. Maybe not so believeble, though..

Yeah, Lestrade thought. Of course you were.

Did Sherlock really think he was that oblivious? That he wouldn't recognize the signs he'd seen so many times before?

Blown pupils... unfocused gaze... distant voice...

Not to mention the failed smile and off-balance gait. Lestrade wasn't sure which bothered him more - that Sherlock, despite every effort, was clearly still on something, or that he thought he could keep it hidden, lie about it... to him, of all people.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell..."

No. There wasn't any point. Sherlock wouldn't even really take in what he was saying in his current state. Whatever his mind was focused on, it wasn't Lestrade, and bringing this up now would leave him unsatisfied and Sherlock unwilling to help.

"Sherlock - we're going to discuss this later. And John. Why did you let him?" He shook his head, clearly not waiting for an answer now. They could deal with all that later, when Sherlock wasn't high as a bloody kite.

"Look. If this is the sort of thing I'm going to find when I come over, you may as well make yourself useful. Tell me the story. The whole story, mind, not that sorry half-truth you passed off as a 'statement' earlier."

Damn shit! Doesn't work...I knew it wouldn't....Change the subject.....No..focus on your thoughts...

Sherlock didn't even care or get *both were actually quite close in his state* Lestrade's cussing and just shrugged as he told him they'd have a discussion about it later. He wasn't in his usual mood, so, he didn't think of it as ''of great importance'' right now. He turned his head to take a look at Watson and just weakly gestured towards his sitting friend, as though to try and explain that he didn't know why Watson had let him and it wasn't his fault too... but, like earlier, his attempt failed. Most of his attempts failed when in this state, though his view on the events was keener and his thoughts sharper. There is bad and good in everything, as they say...

Then, he reported his attention on Lestrade and sighed, before waving him to enter the room and take a sit, meanwhile he, himself, threw himself back onto the couch. Sherlock knew he couldn't escape this one; Lestrade knew him enough from all the time spent together, work or not, to not understand that there was something else behing the reasons he had given at the victim's house.

''Fine, fine, fine... I see your eyesight with me is still pretty good...''he began, his voice sounded as if he were in a dream and his eyes were staring back at the ceiling, lost in contemplation of nothing in particular...''I shall tell you. But promise me to not make any irrational move since I don't even any other proof than my personal experience against it... The man, Moriarty, we are looking for... Well, he is not dead. First thing. And I told you. Second, what makes me say he's back with a revenge? Two things. First, such maniac wouldn't give up after having been surprised..no...they'll want their enemies, me, dead or tortured or whatever they please... Second....he came to visit me at the hospital. He acts like a total nice guy, but he's the murderer. Though, I cannot prove it so I cannot even talk about him...because I do not have any proof and he knows it too. Is that good enough for you? of course, it is...''

Then, with little effort and not too many complementary details on the visit and how came the man could visit him at the hospital, he forced himself to take a look at Lestrade and smiled a little. Reassuringly and just....affectionately, hoping he had said enough.

''So, you see why the ''You know'' would fit very well? With blood from another victim..it is just SO his signature...another twisted game of his...But this time, he wants to win.''

Should I really tell him this much? it could get him into trouble...And I don't want that! Really not! But, same time, I took opium to clarify my thoughts about it..why not share some?...Myeah...

John chuckled. Of course Lestrade would know what was really going on.

"I couldn't stop him, even if I wanted to. And in this case, I would want to", he answered to Lestrade and then looked at Sherlock.

He listened when Sherlock spoke his long explanation.

How can anyone explain that much in such short time..?? Well, he is Sherlock.

He's not dead.

Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

He made a wry face at the thought of what 'easy' now meant to him. There'd been a time, once, when 'easy' was getting to check the football scores in the morning paper before heading in to work, having a drink at night and watching Somerset RFU do not too badly in the Sevens. Now, of course, 'easy' basically meant anything in which Sherlock was not involved - and that was getting increasingly hard to find.

It was a good thing he had chosen this life. If he hadn't, it would probably have killed him by now.

"Well, if I'm not doing anything 'irrational,'" he said (we'll see about that; of the two of us, I think I know which is the better judge of rationality) "then what's the next move, Sherlock? Where do you - where do we - go from here?"

''No. You'd better do nothing irrational...just do your usual tidy little business with the victim's family. It'll be best that way. Oh and want the truth? I'm still thinking about that...''he confessed, still staring at the ceiling, with his hands crossed onto his chest.

He then glanced at Lestrade with a little glint in his eyes. Which meant ''Please, listen to what I say...''. He then turned his head to take a good look at Watson who was sitting in front of him and ask him kindly: ''Could you give me the water glass on the table? I think I'm going to need it to...well, to try and supress the product's effects...since Lestrade is here.... Thanks much.''

I just hope he'll listen...it's bad enough, no need to bring in Lestrade in trouble as well.

As Lestrade asked what John had been sort of wondering, too, he turned to look at Sherlock, to see his expression.

Still thinking about it, huh? So the drugs didn't help that much, eh?

"Sure", he said and took the glass from the table he had referred to and gave it to Sherlock.

He sat down more comfortably in case Sherlock was gonna start talking again big again.

Tidy little business?

He really has no idea, does he? No idea at all of what it takes to walk up to the front door of a house, hollow knock or ring the doorbell, stand there, keep my face carefully neutral, say the words over and over in my head... and then aloud.

'I'm sorry, but' - and this is a lie, always, either the face or the words. Either I feel it and I am sorry, and then the blank face is dishonest, or I don't allow myself to feel, and then the words aren't true.

Life of a copper. Easy for him to dismiss.

He remembered the drugs, the vacant expression on the detective's face, and tried to tell himself that it was just the disconnect that made Sherlock so casual about it. And that, too, was a lie - because Sherlock would have said those things even without the drugs.

He shook himself mentally - now was not the time for this. He could steel himself to do the 'tidy little business'; after all, it was his job, and despite everything, he was good at it. Good at compartmentalizing, too, and there were more important things to do than dwell on Sherlock's choice of words.

"Okay," he said instead, "I'll deal with this. But then, Sherlock, I'm coming back, and you'd better have something for me. I won't be sidelined on my own case, and I'm not entirely useless - I think even you know that."

Sherlock was always observant. But it was even worse when he was on drugs... So now, he was staring at Lestrade like never before, with eyes almost scary they could have reminded anyone of an owl.

''Is something wrong, Lestrade? You seemed to have taken a thought vacation....It had to do with me, again, huh?.....''

He then stopped staring and began fiddling with the bow *of his violin*; he had taken it on the little table near the couch.

''Fine, fine. You know I'll have something for you...''

But then, as soon as he had said that, a memory popped in his mind and he glanced awkwardly at Lestrade.

Don't think about that now..!! It's over! Yeah..but still..memories stay...Yeah, I know! Oh goodies, drugs are wearing off..

''And I do know you're not useless...Since when did I think that way? I never did, Lestrade..try and remember it for next time, will you? And...for your own case thing, I just don't want anything bad to happen since I know I'm targeted....''

He quickly looked at Watson, feeling a pang of fear thinking Moriarty could hurt him, then looked at Lestrade and thought the same exact thing. He sat and stared at Lestrade, almost pleading.

''Please, don't do anything irrational. That's all I ask. And as for the deal, yes, I'll have something for you..but for the meant----''

His eyes opened wide as he realized something. He stood up and grabbed his coat.

''I'll be back! Don't wait for me, though! Lestrade, cellphone, you know my number! See you!''

And he closed the door on his way out, still thinking about trying to find a way to stray Donovan from Moriarty so he wouldn't hurt her. Since he was most certainly going after Watson and Lestrade...Donovan should be somewhere in the list. And that was not good.