“Sherlock. It's been too long. There's no hope.”
“I don't care. Keep going!” Sherlock snapped. The man that had been speaking to him stepped away.
“You're high, and you're depressed. That's not a good combination. You should really get to sleep, eat some, you know.”
Sherlock took a note out of his pocket. “I believe in him. I know he's alive.”
“I don't think that's a note from John.” He knelt down to the breaking detective. “Sherlock. He's dead. He didn't send you that note, you were so depressed, you wrote it and tricked yourself into thinking he made it.”
Sherlock stood up and stumbled out of there. He didn't want to take that from a man he barely knew.
While he was stumbling away, he passed another member of his homeless network, who stopped him. “I can bring you home.” He said. “You could use some time away from here, all you do is cry and get high.”
“That's my intentions.” He looked up at the man, who he swore he recognised, but it was all so fuzzy.
The stranger set a hand on his back and lead him outside. He didn't have a car-- of course, Sherlock expected that-- this was the homeless network. When people were homeless, they usually tried to buy a house before a car, especially in cities like London where they could just get a cab.
Sherlock leaned heavily into the man, staring at him. He had nice blue eyes, a pretty smile, cute nose, and a beard, that Sherlock wasn't that attracted to. He wore his sweatpants, backpack, and oversized jumper. He was very attractive for a man that looked like he just got run over.
Sherlock could've sworn he'd seen this man before, out of the homeless network. They didn't see each other much in it anyways, but he joined a while back, sometime after John died.
Thinking of this made Sherlock notice the stunning resemblance-- this man really, really looked like his deceased boyfriend.
Sherlock stared hard at him, trying to focus.
Single. Sherlock scanned him up and down. Jobless. No addiction. Traumatic experiences. Hurt. Poor. Sleeps in a sleeping bag by the drug den, or goes really far.
Sherlock shook his head, washing the dizzy words away. They got to 221B and the homeless man, who had introduced himself as Joey, helped Sherlock inside.
“Thank you, John…” Sherlock whispered, stumbling inside. He looked around, then turned to Joey. “Y-you should clean up… Get dressed into something nice…”
“Oh, no I can't stay.” Joey frowned. Sherlock noticed how he didn't correct him as he was called John.
“Why not?” Sherlock turned around completely, shuffling over to Joey. “Y-you left for so long, J-John.”
“I didn't leave anywhere.” Joey stated, frowning. Sherlock took the man's hand, holding it and feeling the heartbeat in his wrist.
“Yes… You left m-me..” Sherlock moved closer. “John.”
He shook his head again. “John died, Sherlock.”
“No,” Sherlock smiled and shook his head. “He only wanted me to believe that.” He stepped closer, their bodies almost brushing together. “You wanted me to believe that. My best guess is Mycroft had something he needed you to do, and hesitantly you did it… doing the thing I did, you faked your death. Af-afterwards, it wasn't safe to be J-John Watson… but you wanted to be near me, still check up on me.. you were homeless anyways, so you joined the network…” Sherlock tightened his fingers around Joey's wrist, staring into his blue eyes. “You're going to need to shave that.”
'Joey’ looked down, staring at their feet. He moved forward, his forehead on Sherlock's chest. “You're exactly right. I got in trouble. I got in some deep, deep trouble. I was being hunted. Every time we were cuddling with each other, I was a target. All they needed to do was shoot. You were in danger. I needed to save you.”
Sherlock ran his fingers through John's rough hair. “Well, if you can't be John Watson, then why don't you be John Holmes?” Sherlock asked, wrapping his arms around John. “They think you're dead, and as long as you get rid of… that…” He gestured to the facial hair. “I won't mind marrying you.”
John laughed quietly, leaning up and kissing Sherlock, who giggled softly because the rough hair on John's face.
“I guess I'll stay then,” he whispered, kissing Sherlock softly. It felt amazing to be kissing him again.