thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“I’m glad too so Sherlock can learn to be happy like he used to be maybe.”  Liam rested his head on John’s shoulder and began rubbing his chin and mouth with his fingertips.  ”I love you always, John.  You’re my favourite friend, but don’t tell anyone.  I have nightmares when you’re not keeping me warm.  And I don’t want you to ever ever leave ever.”  He was shy, lonely, and a little bit afraid, but with John, he was better.  He snuggled up to his favourite angel and started the movie, soon smiling and laughing at all the right parts, not a care in the world.

John smiled when Liam pulled up next to him, so indescribably happy to be loved so much and to have someone (three someones?) to love in return.  As warped as things had gotten over the last year, it was still good, still brilliant, still amazing.  He wrapped his arm around Liam and just took in the warmth, the glow, and the love.

Liam fell asleep, not wanting to move from that spot, and soon actually began humming in his sleep, a bizarre but pleasant mixture of songs from various films that he knew with a bit of opera thrown in.  It was a happy song, and the only thing that ended it was John’s phone going off.

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“Eat, silly,” Liam said. “Don’t be sad, okay?  I love you too much to let you be sad.”  He reached up and kissed John on the syrupy lips, only the second time since he’d been created that he’d done so, and, just like the last time, he erupted into a fit of hysteric nervous giggles afterward.  ”I kissed a boy,” he burbled after calming down.  ”I kissed an angel boy!  On the mouth!”  He giggled again and reached over to hug John’s neck. “I love you, my perfect angel.”

John let out a full laugh while Liam had giggled, and it was a more effective medicine than any the doctors could prescribe.  While he never thought of himself as either perfect or an angel, when Liam said it, it always made him feel so much better about himself, and having such an innocent mind kiss him on the mouth made his own heart leap to his throat.  ”I love you too, Liam.  So, so much.”  He returned the hug and pulled away with another grin.  ”My favourite pirate,” he smiled.  ”Ever.”

“Even more than Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“Even more than Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Liam smiled and leaned sideways onto John, relaxing into him as he ate the rest of his pancakes in silence.  ”Let’s cuddle and watch Pirates all day.  All four Pirates films.  And…then we can watch Lord of the Rings all day.  And we’ll cuddle and have Mrs. Hudson bring us sugar and spice popcorn and then we can fall asleep cuddling because I love you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” John said.  ”But first you need to take your medicines.  I don’t want you having any bad awake-dreams, okay?”  That was what Liam called his flashbacks, his hallucinations, being stuck in a traumatic memory.  It always hurt to see someone so strong and brave as Sherlock (and company) dissolve into hysteria and terror after one simple little trigger.  It almost always set John off, too, which was doubly bad for the overall well-being of the men in 221B.

John rose to get the medications and a class of chocolate milk for Liam, dry-swallowing his own, and handed them to Liam.  ”Here you go,” he said gently.  ”I’ll be right back to get the DVDs, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam said, taking his pills obediently and drinking the milk just a little bit too quickly.  His stomach churned at the influx of milk and he blinked hard.  ”Ugh,” he said, lying back against the pillows.  ”I don’t feel good,” he told the air.  But soon the radiant feathers of John’s hallucinated wings started to light up the room again and Liam grinned.  ”My tummy hurts because I drank all the milk, but I drank all the milk because it was yummy.”

John sat beside him and took his hand.  ”You shouldn’t do that,” he said.  ”I don’t want you to feel sick on your birthday.”  He leapt up again and put the first DVD in the machine, turning on the television and placing the remote in his friend’s hand.  ”Happy birthday,” he said again and kissed his forehead.  ”I’m never going to get used to you being here, but I think I’m glad you are.”

“I’m glad too so Sherlock can learn to be happy like he used to be maybe.”  Liam rested his head on John’s shoulder and began rubbing his chin and mouth with his fingertips.  ”I love you always, John.  You’re my favourite friend, but don’t tell anyone.  I have nightmares when you’re not keeping me warm.  And I don’t want you to ever ever leave ever.”  He was shy, lonely, and a little bit afraid, but with John, he was better.  He snuggled up to his favourite angel and started the movie, soon smiling and laughing at all the right parts, not a care in the world.

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“Eat, silly,” Liam said. “Don’t be sad, okay?  I love you too much to let you be sad.”  He reached up and kissed John on the syrupy lips, only the second time since he’d been created that he’d done so, and, just like the last time, he erupted into a fit of hysteric nervous giggles afterward.  ”I kissed a boy,” he burbled after calming down.  ”I kissed an angel boy!  On the mouth!”  He giggled again and reached over to hug John’s neck. “I love you, my perfect angel.”

John let out a full laugh while Liam had giggled, and it was a more effective medicine than any the doctors could prescribe.  While he never thought of himself as either perfect or an angel, when Liam said it, it always made him feel so much better about himself, and having such an innocent mind kiss him on the mouth made his own heart leap to his throat.  ”I love you too, Liam.  So, so much.”  He returned the hug and pulled away with another grin.  ”My favourite pirate,” he smiled.  ”Ever.”

“Even more than Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“Even more than Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Liam smiled and leaned sideways onto John, relaxing into him as he ate the rest of his pancakes in silence.  ”Let’s cuddle and watch Pirates all day.  All four Pirates films.  And…then we can watch Lord of the Rings all day.  And we’ll cuddle and have Mrs. Hudson bring us sugar and spice popcorn and then we can fall asleep cuddling because I love you.”

“Sounds like a plan,” John said.  ”But first you need to take your medicines.  I don’t want you having any bad awake-dreams, okay?”  That was what Liam called his flashbacks, his hallucinations, being stuck in a traumatic memory.  It always hurt to see someone so strong and brave as Sherlock (and company) dissolve into hysteria and terror after one simple little trigger.  It almost always set John off, too, which was doubly bad for the overall well-being of the men in 221B.

John rose to get the medications and a class of chocolate milk for Liam, dry-swallowing his own, and handed them to Liam.  ”Here you go,” he said gently.  ”I’ll be right back to get the DVDs, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam said, taking his pills obediently and drinking the milk just a little bit too quickly.  His stomach churned at the influx of milk and he blinked hard.  ”Ugh,” he said, lying back against the pillows.  ”I don’t feel good,” he told the air.  But soon the radiant feathers of John’s hallucinated wings started to light up the room again and Liam grinned.  ”My tummy hurts because I drank all the milk, but I drank all the milk because it was yummy.”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“Eat, silly,” Liam said. “Don’t be sad, okay?  I love you too much to let you be sad.”  He reached up and kissed John on the syrupy lips, only the second time since he’d been created that he’d done so, and, just like the last time, he erupted into a fit of hysteric nervous giggles afterward.  ”I kissed a boy,” he burbled after calming down.  ”I kissed an angel boy!  On the mouth!”  He giggled again and reached over to hug John’s neck. “I love you, my perfect angel.”

John let out a full laugh while Liam had giggled, and it was a more effective medicine than any the doctors could prescribe.  While he never thought of himself as either perfect or an angel, when Liam said it, it always made him feel so much better about himself, and having such an innocent mind kiss him on the mouth made his own heart leap to his throat.  ”I love you too, Liam.  So, so much.”  He returned the hug and pulled away with another grin.  ”My favourite pirate,” he smiled.  ”Ever.”

“Even more than Captain Jack Sparrow?”

“Even more than Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Liam smiled and leaned sideways onto John, relaxing into him as he ate the rest of his pancakes in silence.  ”Let’s cuddle and watch Pirates all day.  All four Pirates films.  And…then we can watch Lord of the Rings all day.  And we’ll cuddle and have Mrs. Hudson bring us sugar and spice popcorn and then we can fall asleep cuddling because I love you.”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“Butt cake,” Avery giggled.  ”I’m half-surprised you didn’t get those fondant dicks.”  He was amused by the thought but let it pass, preferring instead to light the solitary candle, staring at it almost longingly before shutting his eyes, pausing, and blowing it out.  ”Thank you for skipping on the singing.  Wretched tradition.”

“Yeah, well, you know I’m not exactly keen on singing,” John smiled, wondering what it was that Avery wished for.  He wasn’t wearing his give me sex or his please let me murder them face, so he must have wished for something else.  But it wasn’t like Avery at all to wish for things, he was generally a very rational person apart from the insane violence.

John watched as Avery cut the cake before remembering he had a present to give.  ”Oh, right, yeah,” John said, retreating to the bedroom and taking the small box out.  ”Here’s your present.  It’s not much, but, um, I thought you’d like it.”

Avery opened the box and took out a small skull carved in obsidian.  His eyes opened wide and he felt it gently.  ”This is gorgeous,” he said, and grabbed John’s shirt, giving him a chocolate-covered kiss.  ”Thank you.”  He dug into his cake again, and watched merrily as John did the same, playing footsie under the table, giggling, and being a happy couple, already settled back home, for the most part, even though it had been less than a week.

Avery was happy, John was happy, Sherlock was happy, and Liam was happy.  Maybe it was because there was nothing but silence from the black menace that had so plagued them, the menace called Moriarty, but their lives returned to being as normal as possible.  Both men had fits in their sleep, horrible nightmares and flashbacks, both had their days of deep depression, and Sherlock still had his empty days from time to time, but overall, things were happy.  A good month passed, and John remembered something as he woke up in bed with Sherlock’s form, having had a glorious Valentine’s shag the night before.  He quietly snuck out of bed and went downstairs, asking Mrs. Hudson for help with baking, and he woke Sherlock—or rather Liam—up in bed with chocolate chip pancakes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.  ”Happy birthday, Liam.”

Sherlock, who had been the one dominant, blinked dizzily as Liam took over.  ”My…my birthday..?”  It was clear that he hadn’t had enough time to wake up yet, and that the dissociation was keeping him a bit out of it, but it didn’t take long for him to focus to get back to his regular energetic state.  ”My birthday!  It’s my birthday!”  He acted as though this was a total surprise to him, and grinned and giggled, bouncing in the bed a little bit.  ”Happy birthday, Captain Liam!”

John grinned broadly, seeing Liam so happy despite the fact that things were so wrong for Sherlock.  ”Yeah, it’s your birthday.  Hang on, I know you don’t like being naked, let me get you some clothes,” he said, remembering Liam’s aversion to nudity.  Liam nodded and clung to the clothes John tossed him, before telling him to turn around.  ”John decided to sit and wait, facing the wall, and had a quiet moment of this is so, so wrong before Liam let him turn back around.  ”Now, okay, this is your first birthday, so there’d normally be a candle, but I know you’re nervous around fire, so I won’t do that.”  There had been an incident where Liam had burned himself on the flames in the fireplace trying to reach for something that had fallen down in the back—it wasn’t a horrible wound, but there had been second degree burns, and Liam had been wary of fire ever since.  ”But I am going to sing.”  He’d been working up the nerve to sing and broke out in a quiet rendition of Happy Birthday before reaching over and kissing Liam on the forehead.  ”Happy birthday, Liam.  Happy birthday.  Eat your pancakes and then we’ll go out and do something if you want, or we’ll just stay home and play video games or something.  Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to……….cuddle,” Liam decided.  ”All day.  Just cuddle and watch telly and pet Louis.”  He flashed for an instant into a sad face—Sherlock’s face—with eyes that pleaded for help, but then Liam returned.  ”Sherlock’s sad because he wishes we never happened because he’s scared.”  Liam’s lip trembled.  ”He’s very scared, always scared…”  Liam forced himself to smile and took a bite of his pancake.  ”But I try to help him be happy.” Then he nodded determinedly and cut off another bite.  ”I do make him happy but sad.  Happy because I’m happy and sad because he got hurt to make me.  But I’m here now and I love you and I love him so we should be a happy family.  You’re daddy and Sherlock is other daddy and Avery is the uncle and I’m the kid.”

John sat down next to Liam and wrapped his arms around him.  ”I’m very happy that I know you, all of you,” he said.  ”You’re all so preci—”  He realized he was crying and broke off, knowing it was going to be hard to pour out this part of himself, flashing back to Sherlock’s suicide attempts, to the kidnappings, to the three years Sherlock had been “dead”…”You’re all so precious to me, and you’ve saved my life so many times.  I could never lose you, any of you.”  He shut his eyes, focusing on Liam’s warmth, just breathing in his smell and loving his touch.  ”You’ll always be my family, Liam, Sherlock, and Avery, all of you.  I’m not gobgbg—” A piece of pancake had been shoved in his mouth in the middle of his words.

“Eat, silly,” Liam said. “Don’t be sad, okay?  I love you too much to let you be sad.”  He reached up and kissed John on the syrupy lips, only the second time since he’d been created that he’d done so, and, just like the last time, he erupted into a fit of hysteric nervous giggles afterward.  ”I kissed a boy,” he burbled after calming down.  ”I kissed an angel boy!  On the mouth!”  He giggled again and reached over to hug John’s neck. “I love you, my perfect angel.”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“Butt cake,” Avery giggled.  ”I’m half-surprised you didn’t get those fondant dicks.”  He was amused by the thought but let it pass, preferring instead to light the solitary candle, staring at it almost longingly before shutting his eyes, pausing, and blowing it out.  ”Thank you for skipping on the singing.  Wretched tradition.”

“Yeah, well, you know I’m not exactly keen on singing,” John smiled, wondering what it was that Avery wished for.  He wasn’t wearing his give me sex or his please let me murder them face, so he must have wished for something else.  But it wasn’t like Avery at all to wish for things, he was generally a very rational person apart from the insane violence.

John watched as Avery cut the cake before remembering he had a present to give.  ”Oh, right, yeah,” John said, retreating to the bedroom and taking the small box out.  ”Here’s your present.  It’s not much, but, um, I thought you’d like it.”

Avery opened the box and took out a small skull carved in obsidian.  His eyes opened wide and he felt it gently.  ”This is gorgeous,” he said, and grabbed John’s shirt, giving him a chocolate-covered kiss.  ”Thank you.”  He dug into his cake again, and watched merrily as John did the same, playing footsie under the table, giggling, and being a happy couple, already settled back home, for the most part, even though it had been less than a week.

Avery was happy, John was happy, Sherlock was happy, and Liam was happy.  Maybe it was because there was nothing but silence from the black menace that had so plagued them, the menace called Moriarty, but their lives returned to being as normal as possible.  Both men had fits in their sleep, horrible nightmares and flashbacks, both had their days of deep depression, and Sherlock still had his empty days from time to time, but overall, things were happy.  A good month passed, and John remembered something as he woke up in bed with Sherlock’s form, having had a glorious Valentine’s shag the night before.  He quietly snuck out of bed and went downstairs, asking Mrs. Hudson for help with baking, and he woke Sherlock—or rather Liam—up in bed with chocolate chip pancakes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.  ”Happy birthday, Liam.”

Sherlock, who had been the one dominant, blinked dizzily as Liam took over.  ”My…my birthday..?”  It was clear that he hadn’t had enough time to wake up yet, and that the dissociation was keeping him a bit out of it, but it didn’t take long for him to focus to get back to his regular energetic state.  ”My birthday!  It’s my birthday!”  He acted as though this was a total surprise to him, and grinned and giggled, bouncing in the bed a little bit.  ”Happy birthday, Captain Liam!”

John grinned broadly, seeing Liam so happy despite the fact that things were so wrong for Sherlock.  ”Yeah, it’s your birthday.  Hang on, I know you don’t like being naked, let me get you some clothes,” he said, remembering Liam’s aversion to nudity.  Liam nodded and clung to the clothes John tossed him, before telling him to turn around.  ”John decided to sit and wait, facing the wall, and had a quiet moment of this is so, so wrong before Liam let him turn back around.  ”Now, okay, this is your first birthday, so there’d normally be a candle, but I know you’re nervous around fire, so I won’t do that.”  There had been an incident where Liam had burned himself on the flames in the fireplace trying to reach for something that had fallen down in the back—it wasn’t a horrible wound, but there had been second degree burns, and Liam had been wary of fire ever since.  ”But I am going to sing.”  He’d been working up the nerve to sing and broke out in a quiet rendition of Happy Birthday before reaching over and kissing Liam on the forehead.  ”Happy birthday, Liam.  Happy birthday.  Eat your pancakes and then we’ll go out and do something if you want, or we’ll just stay home and play video games or something.  Whatever you want to do.”

“I want to……….cuddle,” Liam decided.  ”All day.  Just cuddle and watch telly and pet Louis.”  He flashed for an instant into a sad face—Sherlock’s face—with eyes that pleaded for help, but then Liam returned.  ”Sherlock’s sad because he wishes we never happened because he’s scared.”  Liam’s lip trembled.  ”He’s very scared, always scared…”  Liam forced himself to smile and took a bite of his pancake.  ”But I try to help him be happy.” Then he nodded determinedly and cut off another bite.  ”I do make him happy but sad.  Happy because I’m happy and sad because he got hurt to make me.  But I’m here now and I love you and I love him so we should be a happy family.  You’re daddy and Sherlock is other daddy and Avery is the uncle and I’m the kid.”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“Butt cake,” Avery giggled.  ”I’m half-surprised you didn’t get those fondant dicks.”  He was amused by the thought but let it pass, preferring instead to light the solitary candle, staring at it almost longingly before shutting his eyes, pausing, and blowing it out.  ”Thank you for skipping on the singing.  Wretched tradition.”

“Yeah, well, you know I’m not exactly keen on singing,” John smiled, wondering what it was that Avery wished for.  He wasn’t wearing his give me sex or his please let me murder them face, so he must have wished for something else.  But it wasn’t like Avery at all to wish for things, he was generally a very rational person apart from the insane violence.

John watched as Avery cut the cake before remembering he had a present to give.  ”Oh, right, yeah,” John said, retreating to the bedroom and taking the small box out.  ”Here’s your present.  It’s not much, but, um, I thought you’d like it.”

Avery opened the box and took out a small skull carved in obsidian.  His eyes opened wide and he felt it gently.  ”This is gorgeous,” he said, and grabbed John’s shirt, giving him a chocolate-covered kiss.  ”Thank you.”  He dug into his cake again, and watched merrily as John did the same, playing footsie under the table, giggling, and being a happy couple, already settled back home, for the most part, even though it had been less than a week.

Avery was happy, John was happy, Sherlock was happy, and Liam was happy.  Maybe it was because there was nothing but silence from the black menace that had so plagued them, the menace called Moriarty, but their lives returned to being as normal as possible.  Both men had fits in their sleep, horrible nightmares and flashbacks, both had their days of deep depression, and Sherlock still had his empty days from time to time, but overall, things were happy.  A good month passed, and John remembered something as he woke up in bed with Sherlock’s form, having had a glorious Valentine’s shag the night before.  He quietly snuck out of bed and went downstairs, asking Mrs. Hudson for help with baking, and he woke Sherlock—or rather Liam—up in bed with chocolate chip pancakes with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.  ”Happy birthday, Liam.”

Sherlock, who had been the one dominant, blinked dizzily as Liam took over.  ”My…my birthday..?”  It was clear that he hadn’t had enough time to wake up yet, and that the dissociation was keeping him a bit out of it, but it didn’t take long for him to focus to get back to his regular energetic state.  ”My birthday!  It’s my birthday!”  He acted as though this was a total surprise to him, and grinned and giggled, bouncing in the bed a little bit.  ”Happy birthday, Captain Liam!”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

“Butt cake,” Avery giggled.  ”I’m half-surprised you didn’t get those fondant dicks.”  He was amused by the thought but let it pass, preferring instead to light the solitary candle, staring at it almost longingly before shutting his eyes, pausing, and blowing it out.  ”Thank you for skipping on the singing.  Wretched tradition.”

“Yeah, well, you know I’m not exactly keen on singing,” John smiled, wondering what it was that Avery wished for.  He wasn’t wearing his give me sex or his please let me murder them face, so he must have wished for something else.  But it wasn’t like Avery at all to wish for things, he was generally a very rational person apart from the insane violence.

John watched as Avery cut the cake before remembering he had a present to give.  ”Oh, right, yeah,” John said, retreating to the bedroom and taking the small box out.  ”Here’s your present.  It’s not much, but, um, I thought you’d like it.”

Avery opened the box and took out a small skull carved in obsidian.  His eyes opened wide and he felt it gently.  ”This is gorgeous,” he said, and grabbed John’s shirt, giving him a chocolate-covered kiss.  ”Thank you.”  He dug into his cake again, and watched merrily as John did the same, playing footsie under the table, giggling, and being a happy couple, already settled back home, for the most part, even though it had been less than a week.

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

Nodding shakily, Sherlock agreed.  ”Yes, I think that might work.”  He rose and made his way to his chair, taking great pains to feel along every surface, to tell himself he was fine, he was home, he was safe.  When John finally brought the pie, cut more sloppily than not, Sherlock made sure to force himself to understand these were cherries before him and not something else.  He took a deep breath.  ”I’m home, John.  I never wanted to be away for longer than a month, not again, not after those three years.  As sentimental as it is, I need this place as much as I need you.”  He felt very mentally ill, very defective and broken.  ”I need things.  Steady things.  I need them not to change and I need them to be there for me when my head yanks the rug out from under me.”  He bit into his pie and felt comforted by it, as if things were normal again.  As if nothing was wrong.  He smiled.  ”This is good.  The pie.  Being here.  My birthday.”

John smiled, too.  ”Yeah, it’s good to have you back.  Happy thirty-seventh.”  He finished his own pie before pulling out a small box.  It had been tricky to get a present without Sherlock finding out, since the two had almost never been apart, but he’d managed.  ”Happy birthday.”

Sherlock looked at it curiously and opened it.  Inside was a small figurine, made of wood.  It was a tiny little violinist, exquisitely carved and perfectly hand-painted.  It was beautiful, and Sherlock smiled gratefully.  ”This is beautiful, John.”

“I’m glad you like it,” John said with an equally content smile.  ”It wasn’t easy to find something without you knowing about it, the way you snoop, and I mean that in the most loving of ways.”  He reached over and took Sherlock into an embrace.  ”Oh, God, I never want to lose you, Sherlock, not ever, oh God, just…happy birthday, I love you so much, I just…you’re everything to me and I need you just as much as you need me.”

Sherlock was caught off-guard by the suddenness of the embrace, and, without hesitation, returned it.  ”I’m here, John, I’m not going anywhere, not while you’re here, I promise.”  They sat like that for what must have  been over an hour, Liam waking up to hum, Avery to promise, but for some reason, they didn’t leave one another’s embrace for the rest of the night, and, in fact, fell asleep there in the living room, clutching one another dearly.

All was normal for several more days, as normal as the life of these two could be, and then it was time for Avery to have a birthday.  Sherlock was awake at the start of the day, fronting as he thought about how this time last year, he was in a drug-overdose-induced coma, how he’d not yet killed a man, how he hadn’t realized the split…he was still himself.

A shattered self.  A self who had spent the last week and a half moping in bed, too afraid and too damaged to move.  A self who thought drugs were the only way out, who thought the best reaction was to wallow in his pain.  Avery stood in front of Sherlock, glaring him down, challenging him and demeaning him all at once.  Stop it, Avery, please.  You don’t have to emulate fath—  Suddenly Sherlock couldn’t breathe, hallucination too real, cutting off his airway, making it impossible to take breaths.  ”J—!”

“Shit!”  John saw Sherlock struggling to breathe, but there were no obvious signs of what was happening.  ”Sherlock, what’s happening, come on, have you taken something?  I need you to answer me, please, for fuck’s sake, answer!”  Sherlock was going blue already, and trying to mouth one word—Avery.  ”God damn it, Avery, let him go, alright?”

Slowly, slowly, the apparition of Avery was letting go.  Sherlock gasped for breath, but he didn’t have much time before a wave of dizziness and nausea overtook him and suddenly all was black.

Avery sat up, looking angrier than usual.  ”He fucking compared me to our father,” he spat.  ”Just because I said how much of a wreck he was this time last year.”  He took a few deep breaths and stood up.  ”No one has the right to compare me to that filth, no one.  Just because we have the same fucking name doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“Just…calm down, okay?”  John was a bit exasperated.  ”Just because someone insults you doesn’t mean you need to try to hurt them, especially not when hurting them hurts you.”  He reached over and pecked Avery on the cheek, even though it might be dangerous right now given Avery’s mood.  ”Happy birthday.  I know you like chocolate, so I actually tried baking for you.”  He led Avery into the living area, where there was a chocolate bundt cake dripping in hot fudge, with a single candle atop it.  ”I mean, I had some help, but hey.”

“Butt cake,” Avery giggled.  ”I’m half-surprised you didn’t get those fondant dicks.”  He was amused by the thought but let it pass, preferring instead to light the solitary candle, staring at it almost longingly before shutting his eyes, pausing, and blowing it out.  ”Thank you for skipping on the singing.  Wretched tradition.”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

Nodding shakily, Sherlock agreed.  ”Yes, I think that might work.”  He rose and made his way to his chair, taking great pains to feel along every surface, to tell himself he was fine, he was home, he was safe.  When John finally brought the pie, cut more sloppily than not, Sherlock made sure to force himself to understand these were cherries before him and not something else.  He took a deep breath.  ”I’m home, John.  I never wanted to be away for longer than a month, not again, not after those three years.  As sentimental as it is, I need this place as much as I need you.”  He felt very mentally ill, very defective and broken.  ”I need things.  Steady things.  I need them not to change and I need them to be there for me when my head yanks the rug out from under me.”  He bit into his pie and felt comforted by it, as if things were normal again.  As if nothing was wrong.  He smiled.  ”This is good.  The pie.  Being here.  My birthday.”

John smiled, too.  ”Yeah, it’s good to have you back.  Happy thirty-seventh.”  He finished his own pie before pulling out a small box.  It had been tricky to get a present without Sherlock finding out, since the two had almost never been apart, but he’d managed.  ”Happy birthday.”

Sherlock looked at it curiously and opened it.  Inside was a small figurine, made of wood.  It was a tiny little violinist, exquisitely carved and perfectly hand-painted.  It was beautiful, and Sherlock smiled gratefully.  ”This is beautiful, John.”

“I’m glad you like it,” John said with an equally content smile.  ”It wasn’t easy to find something without you knowing about it, the way you snoop, and I mean that in the most loving of ways.”  He reached over and took Sherlock into an embrace.  ”Oh, God, I never want to lose you, Sherlock, not ever, oh God, just…happy birthday, I love you so much, I just…you’re everything to me and I need you just as much as you need me.”

Sherlock was caught off-guard by the suddenness of the embrace, and, without hesitation, returned it.  ”I’m here, John, I’m not going anywhere, not while you’re here, I promise.”  They sat like that for what must have  been over an hour, Liam waking up to hum, Avery to promise, but for some reason, they didn’t leave one another’s embrace for the rest of the night, and, in fact, fell asleep there in the living room, clutching one another dearly.

All was normal for several more days, as normal as the life of these two could be, and then it was time for Avery to have a birthday.  Sherlock was awake at the start of the day, fronting as he thought about how this time last year, he was in a drug-overdose-induced coma, how he’d not yet killed a man, how he hadn’t realized the split…he was still himself.

A shattered self.  A self who had spent the last week and a half moping in bed, too afraid and too damaged to move.  A self who thought drugs were the only way out, who thought the best reaction was to wallow in his pain.  Avery stood in front of Sherlock, glaring him down, challenging him and demeaning him all at once.  Stop it, Avery, please.  You don’t have to emulate fath—  Suddenly Sherlock couldn’t breathe, hallucination too real, cutting off his airway, making it impossible to take breaths.  ”J—!”

“Shit!”  John saw Sherlock struggling to breathe, but there were no obvious signs of what was happening.  ”Sherlock, what’s happening, come on, have you taken something?  I need you to answer me, please, for fuck’s sake, answer!”  Sherlock was going blue already, and trying to mouth one word—Avery.  ”God damn it, Avery, let him go, alright?”

Slowly, slowly, the apparition of Avery was letting go.  Sherlock gasped for breath, but he didn’t have much time before a wave of dizziness and nausea overtook him and suddenly all was black.

Avery sat up, looking angrier than usual.  ”He fucking compared me to our father,” he spat.  ”Just because I said how much of a wreck he was this time last year.”  He took a few deep breaths and stood up.  ”No one has the right to compare me to that filth, no one.  Just because we have the same fucking name doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

Nodding shakily, Sherlock agreed.  ”Yes, I think that might work.”  He rose and made his way to his chair, taking great pains to feel along every surface, to tell himself he was fine, he was home, he was safe.  When John finally brought the pie, cut more sloppily than not, Sherlock made sure to force himself to understand these were cherries before him and not something else.  He took a deep breath.  ”I’m home, John.  I never wanted to be away for longer than a month, not again, not after those three years.  As sentimental as it is, I need this place as much as I need you.”  He felt very mentally ill, very defective and broken.  ”I need things.  Steady things.  I need them not to change and I need them to be there for me when my head yanks the rug out from under me.”  He bit into his pie and felt comforted by it, as if things were normal again.  As if nothing was wrong.  He smiled.  ”This is good.  The pie.  Being here.  My birthday.”

John smiled, too.  ”Yeah, it’s good to have you back.  Happy thirty-seventh.”  He finished his own pie before pulling out a small box.  It had been tricky to get a present without Sherlock finding out, since the two had almost never been apart, but he’d managed.  ”Happy birthday.”

Sherlock looked at it curiously and opened it.  Inside was a small figurine, made of wood.  It was a tiny little violinist, exquisitely carved and perfectly hand-painted.  It was beautiful, and Sherlock smiled gratefully.  ”This is beautiful, John.”

“I’m glad you like it,” John said with an equally content smile.  ”It wasn’t easy to find something without you knowing about it, the way you snoop, and I mean that in the most loving of ways.”  He reached over and took Sherlock into an embrace.  ”Oh, God, I never want to lose you, Sherlock, not ever, oh God, just…happy birthday, I love you so much, I just…you’re everything to me and I need you just as much as you need me.”

Sherlock was caught off-guard by the suddenness of the embrace, and, without hesitation, returned it.  ”I’m here, John, I’m not going anywhere, not while you’re here, I promise.”  They sat like that for what must have  been over an hour, Liam waking up to hum, Avery to promise, but for some reason, they didn’t leave one another’s embrace for the rest of the night, and, in fact, fell asleep there in the living room, clutching one another dearly.

All was normal for several more days, as normal as the life of these two could be, and then it was time for Avery to have a birthday.  Sherlock was awake at the start of the day, fronting as he thought about how this time last year, he was in a drug-overdose-induced coma, how he’d not yet killed a man, how he hadn’t realized the split…he was still himself.

A shattered self.  A self who had spent the last week and a half moping in bed, too afraid and too damaged to move.  A self who thought drugs were the only way out, who thought the best reaction was to wallow in his pain.  Avery stood in front of Sherlock, glaring him down, challenging him and demeaning him all at once.  Stop it, Avery, please.  You don’t have to emulate fath—  Suddenly Sherlock couldn’t breathe, hallucination too real, cutting off his airway, making it impossible to take breaths.  ”J—!”

Never say these things to someone dealing with these 

• Anxiety: Just calm down, everything will be fine. There is nothing to be worried about. Stop freaking out all the time.
• Depression: Stop being sad all the time. People out there have it worse off than you. Cheer up nothing is wrong.
• Sexual Orientation: It's just a phase. How can you know you are____ unless you had sexual experience.
• Bipolar: It's just mood swings, everyone has them.
• Self harm: Stop seeking attention. Stop trying to kill yourself.
• Eating disorders: Just eat. Stop being so picky.
• Abuse: Report who hurt you.
• Suicide: Stop being so cowardly.
• Sexual assault: You shouldn't have dressed like that. We were drunk, but you still said yes. You never outright said no.
• Multiple Personality Disorder: You are making it up. There is no such thing. They are just your imaginary friends.
• Post Traumatic Stress Disorder: It happened in the past, stop obsessing over it. Get over it.
•  please never say any of these things to someone who deals with these. If you hear someone say something like this to you or someone else, please say something. If you ever need someone to talk to please know that my ask is always open for you. I want to help as many people as i can.

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

Nodding shakily, Sherlock agreed.  ”Yes, I think that might work.”  He rose and made his way to his chair, taking great pains to feel along every surface, to tell himself he was fine, he was home, he was safe.  When John finally brought the pie, cut more sloppily than not, Sherlock made sure to force himself to understand these were cherries before him and not something else.  He took a deep breath.  ”I’m home, John.  I never wanted to be away for longer than a month, not again, not after those three years.  As sentimental as it is, I need this place as much as I need you.”  He felt very mentally ill, very defective and broken.  ”I need things.  Steady things.  I need them not to change and I need them to be there for me when my head yanks the rug out from under me.”  He bit into his pie and felt comforted by it, as if things were normal again.  As if nothing was wrong.  He smiled.  ”This is good.  The pie.  Being here.  My birthday.”

John smiled, too.  ”Yeah, it’s good to have you back.  Happy thirty-seventh.”  He finished his own pie before pulling out a small box.  It had been tricky to get a present without Sherlock finding out, since the two had almost never been apart, but he’d managed.  ”Happy birthday.”

Sherlock looked at it curiously and opened it.  Inside was a small figurine, made of wood.  It was a tiny little violinist, exquisitely carved and perfectly hand-painted.  It was beautiful, and Sherlock smiled gratefully.  ”This is beautiful, John.”

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

theonlyconsultingdetective:

thearmydoctorin221b:

“Happy birthday, Sherlock,” John said as he opened the door to 221B.  January sixth was upon them, and just like the same day last year, it marked a return to home after a painful ordeal.  Fortunately, perhaps, not quite as painful, not quite as blackening, but an ordeal all the same.

When the door swung open, he was glad to find that someone—probably Mycroft or Anthea or someone like that—had put everything back where it had belonged, as near as John could tell, anyway.  It looked and felt like home, and there was a fresh cherry pie on the table, baked by Mrs. Hudson.  ”Welcome home.”

Sherlock smelled the familiar smells, saw the wallpaper and the clutter and the organization, and smiled.  This was home.  His things, along with Avery’s and Liam’s, and, more importantly, he thought, John’s.  He sighed with relief, and moved towards the pie lying on the table, with a note on it wishing him a happy birthday.  ”No sense waiting on the pie,” he said.

John grinned.  ”No, there really isn’t.”  He moved to the cabinets to get a knife, and Mrs. Hudson (presumably) had left numeral candles reading 37 in the drawer, clearly to be used on the pie.  ”Well, someone knows it’s your birthday, Sherlock, they left candles.”  He swung around with the knife in hand and placed the candles on the top of the pie, in the latticework, lighting them.  ”Make a wish,” he said.

“What, no singing?”  Sherlock was teasing, of course, he’d never stood on ceremony of that type, and had no desire to start now.  Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and made his wish—If there is a higher power, please keep us safe, please keep us sane.  Don’t let things get any worse for us.  He blew out the candles in a full breath and softly smiled.  The smile hid, or tried to hide, his intense worry that this year would not be an improvement over the last, that somehow things could get worse, that his mind would slip away even further, that John’s would abandon him.  And when John cut into the pie, all Sherlock could see was red sticky fluid on the knife, and it sent his stomach cold.

Seeing Sherlock go so pale and so distant so quickly made John start to panic.  ”Sherlock?  Sherlock, are you okay?”  There was no answer.  Sherlock was frozen in place.  At first, John couldn’t work out why, what had set him off, but then he looked at the knife in his hand and remembered that Avery was a killer.  He immediately put the knife down and held Sherlock’s shoulders, staring into the eyes which suddenly seemed so completely afraid.  ”Sherlock, it’s okay.  I’m here.  No one’s been hurt.  I’m fine, you’re fine, it’s just a birthday pie.”  Nothing.  ”Sherlock, please, don’t go empty on me, not today, not on your birthday, I’m begging you.”  John felt his eyes welling up and he reached over and kissed Sherlock gently in the hopes that it would revive him in some way.  ”Please.”

Sherlock heard John’s voice, heard him pleading, and somehow it reached him through the fog.  ”J…John,” he said softly.  ”John.  John.”  He blinked repeatedly and eventually came back, slowly aware that John was in front of him.  ”Sorry,” he said, weakly but growing stronger every second.  ”It was the pie filling.”  He took a deep breath.  ”Thank you for bringing me back.”

John hugged him.  ”I’m your best friend, I love you, and I’m being paid to look after you.  I would bring you back from the darkest pit of Hell if I had to, and I know you’d do the same for me.”  Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him in return, and the embrace lasted for what felt like ages.  ”Now,” he said quietly.  ”Let’s have some birthday pie.  I’ll cut the pieces in here, you can sit in the living room.  How does that sound?”

Nodding shakily, Sherlock agreed.  ”Yes, I think that might work.”  He rose and made his way to his chair, taking great pains to feel along every surface, to tell himself he was fine, he was home, he was safe.  When John finally brought the pie, cut more sloppily than not, Sherlock made sure to force himself to understand these were cherries before him and not something else.  He took a deep breath.  ”I’m home, John.  I never wanted to be away for longer than a month, not again, not after those three years.  As sentimental as it is, I need this place as much as I need you.”  He felt very mentally ill, very defective and broken.  ”I need things.  Steady things.  I need them not to change and I need them to be there for me when my head yanks the rug out from under me.”  He bit into his pie and felt comforted by it, as if things were normal again.  As if nothing was wrong.  He smiled.  ”This is good.  The pie.  Being here.  My birthday.”