When Sherlock woke up the next morning he was surprised at how well rested he felt. He got up slowly, trying not to disturb John, and stretched his arms over his head. He made his way to the kitchen, and as always put the kettle on and pulled out a couple of mugs from the cupboard. He doubted John would stay asleep for much longer and he would appreciate a nice cup of tea when he woke up.

While he waited for the kettle to boil he prepared the mugs and put some bread in the toaster. He was surprisingly hungry today and decided to actually make breakfast for once- a task he usually left for John to do.

As if on cue Sherlock heard shuffling from the bedroom. He quickly finished making the tea and carried the two mugs into the room. He set the mugs down and sat on the edge of the bed just as John opened his eyes.

Before John had even said anything, Sherlock leaned over and kissed him right on the lips. After a second of hesitation where John's brain finally made sense of what was going on he kissed back, settling his hands on Sherlock's hips while the detective braced himself on the mattress.

They continued kissing, growing frenzied and shifting until John was sitting up and Sherlock was on his lap. Sherlock's hands moved and were now cupping John's face, deepening the kiss until eventually they broke apart for need of oxygen.

John's head collapsed back on the bed and Sherlock lay his head down on his partner's shoulders. "Good morning to you too, Sherlock."

"I made breakfast," Sherlock mumbled into his shoulder.

"You did?" John asked incredulous.

"Almost," Sherlock replied, as he got up from the bed and walked into the kitchen.

After Sherlock's unexpected wakeup call John was feeling rather alert. He took a sip off his tea and joined Sherlock in the kitchen. "Do you need any help?"

"I think I can manage some toast, John."

"I know you can, I just thought I might help."

Sherlock was opening and closing cupboards, clearly looking for something he didn't know the location of. John considering asking what he was looking for but Sherlock seemed determined to find it himself. After looking in a few more cupboards Sherlock finally located the jam and prepared some toast for both of them.

They sat on the sofa enjoying finally spending a morning together, just relaxing.

"Have you got any plans for today then?" John asked.

"I have several experiments that require my attention," Sherlock replied. He was glad for this because there didn't seem to be any cases on the horizon and he desperately needed a distraction. The cravings hadn't been too bad, yet, but he knew how they could get. And John wouldn't be here to distract him today.

John seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "You'll be alright then?"

Sherlock held back the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll be fine, John," he replied rather sternly.

When Sherlock's gaze settled on him he noted how John looked slightly guilty. He knew he must feel bad for patronising Sherlock, but he was just worried.

After finishing his breakfast John got up to have a shower and get ready for work. In the meantime Sherlock had gone over to the kitchen table and started working on one of his many experiments. He barely noticed John walking around the house as he got ready until the doctor was standing behind him with his arms wrapped tightly around Sherlock's middle.

"You've been doing really well," John said, "just keep that in mind, alright?" He punctuated his words with a reassuring squeeze and a kiss and Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement of his words. He didn't like failing. He liked failing John even less, so he was going to work hard to fight his urges.

He concentrated on his experiments once again, keeping his mind occupied and the urges at bay. Hours passed as he sat, taking down notes and observing. He didn't even hear his phone go off with texts from John, didn't even notice Mrs Hudson as she peaked her head in the flat.

After three hours Sherlock seemed to finally snap out of his trance. His experiment was finished- for the time being anyway- and he didn't seem to have the energy to check on any of his others. None of them needed urgent attention anyway.

With his mind unoccupied the sudden urge to smoke seemed to hit him. Without even thinking he walked over to the mantle where the skull was and looked for the packet of cigarettes he knew John always kept there.

It was only after a few seconds that he seemed to remember that John had thrown the packet away. That didn't stop him from spending the next hour desperately searching the flat. He overturned everything; papers, books, pillows, furniture, bedclothes, drawers, but he couldn't find anything. He didn't really think that John had kept any in the flat, but his mind wouldn't rest until he'd checked every possible location.

Even after that he was still frenzied. His fingers kept twitching and he was pacing up and down the flat trying to tell his mind to quieten down, trying to get his fingers to stop, trying to tell himself that he did not need to smoke. He'd kicked worse habits before, successfully, he was not about to be beaten by this.

But then he thought back to all the times he'd relapsed and his heart sunk a little. If it's happened with the drugs, it could happen with this, and what would John think? He'd be disappointed and angry that Sherlock couldn't just not smoke.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Stop it. John's not going to be disappointed because you're not going to smoke.

It was only then that he thought to check his phone where he found four texts from John.

Is everything alright? JW

I take it you're still working on your experiments. JW

What do you want for dinner? JW

When you see these say something, I'm getting worried JW

Sherlock tried to get his hands to stop shaking so that he could type out a reply. After a whole minute of struggling he was finally happy with his message.

I'm fine. Busy working and didn't hear my phone. Stop worrying and pick up some Chinese on your way home. SH

He thought he'd settled down at his desk reading the paper after sending the text but the next thing he knew he was sitting in John's old bedroom. He wasn't entirely sure how he got there but a couple of minutes in his mind palace and he finally realised that he'd been once again searching the flat, no doubt figuring that if John had hidden the cigarettes anywhere it would be in the one unoccupied room they had. He reminded himself once again that he didn't need to smoke.

"Sherlock?" he heard John shouting from downstairs.

He got up and quickly made his way to the door. John, having heard the creaking door from upstairs open, walked over to the door of their flat, confusion written on his face. "What were you doing up there?"

"Nothing," Sherlock tried dismissing casually.

He could tell that John knew but was glad when he didn't call him out on it and simply accepted the fact that they weren't talking about it right now.

When they were both back downstairs, Sherlock bent over his microscope again and John sat in his chair reading a book, Sherlock gathered up the courage to make a request.

"John, are you working tomorrow?"

Maybe not a request, but he knew John would understand. "No, I'm staying right here with you."

Sherlock uttered a quiet 'thank you', grateful to have someone who understood him as well as John did.

The next day John woke up to the sound of retching. He blearily opened his eyes and went to the bathroom where he found Sherlock leaning over the toilet bowl looking tired and miserable. John sighed sadly and grabbed a towel from the cupboard, running it over the cold tap. He spent the next hour wiping the sweat off Sherlock's forehead and trying to get small sips of water into the man.

When Sherlock's body finally seemed to accept that he had nothing left to bring up he helped the detective get back into bed. Sherlock was asleep in no time, having exhausted himself enough for the day.

John slipped quietly out of the room and into the living room. He sat down heavily in his chair, thinking about the past couple of days. He couldn't help but remember all the times he'd tried to help Harry, unsuccessfully, to stop drinking. He knew the case wasn't the same here; it was obvious that Sherlock wanted to stop smoking, and he'd kicked worse habits before, but he couldn't help but think about the similarities.

He felt a pang in his chest whenever he thought about his sister. He hated being cut off from her, but he'd reached out time and time again to no avail. At the end of the day, he couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to.

Luckily he hadn't had the same problem with Sherlock, at least this time around. John may have seen many people detoxing from a lot of things over the years, but he couldn't imagine what it had been like when Sherlock was detoxing from drugs. Sherlock had never talked about it and Lestrade had only alluded to how bad it had been to see the great detective in that state.

He shook his head to clear those thoughts, knowing that nothing good would come from them, and went to check on Sherlock. The detective was sleeping soundly in bed and had barely moved since John had laid him on his side almost an hour ago. He seemed settled, and John was glad for it. He was convinced Sherlock had now gotten over the worse of the withdrawal and would be back to pacing around the flat flapping his dressing gown dramatically in no time.

It came as no surprise then, that the next three days were the worse for both Sherlock and John. The detective was constantly restless, ranting and raving around the flat about how much he needed his cigarettes. He was convinced John had hidden them somewhere and refused to believe he had willingly let John throw them away.

As if that wasn't enough, Sherlock's body decided that now would be the time to show him how right he was about needing the nicotine. Sweat poured off Sherlock in buckets, and he spent much of his mornings leaning over the toilet bowl and his afternoons sleeping off the exhaustion on the sofa. When he'd finally wake up they went through the usual motions. John made dinner which Sherlock didn't eat. He left out glasses of water and cups of tea which Sherlock only sipped. All of this would come back to haunt the detective the next day when he would undoubtedly be retching up bile and nothing else.

After three days, it all blessedly stopped.

Sherlock was beyond exhausted. Only now had he realised the extent to which he had let his habit get this time around. But having been through the last few days, he was certain he'd never let it get to that point again. He knew how much John had put up with during this time, and he was ashamed of some of the things he had said to him. John had forgiven him, of course, asserting that Sherlock couldn't be blamed for the things he said.

But that didn't change the fact that Sherlock wanted to do better this time. He wanted to stay away from the nicotine as well as he'd stayed away from the drugs. He wanted to be clean and his mind to be sharp and his body to not depend on anything but food and water like everyone else, even if that annoyed him to no end. He knew he could do this. He was going to do it. Having John by his side was added motivation, but he would do this for himself.

Sherlock woke up this morning feeling calm. For once, he hadn't been woken up by the urge to empty his stomach or by the painful cramps, but instead felt well rested and ready to face the day. He laid in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the peace his body was finally allowing him to have.

The last few days had been exhausting, for him and for John, but it seemed like the worst of it was finally over. He would have to make sure that he stored the memories of these days in his mind palace, to remind himself of what happened when he let his urges overpower his self-control. But he was truly determined not to do it again.

He would stay clean this time. He would not put himself through another withdrawal.

Sherlock took a deep breath and finally got up. He walked into the kitchen to find a steaming mug of tea on the counter along with a note from John. He must have just missed him.

Sherlock picked up the note and read it.

Going into work today, I'll bring dinner tonight. Be good. JW

"I will, John," he uttered into the quiet room, "I will."