*Sorry to keep you waiting!

This is my last installment of Relapse, I hope you like it!

Sherlock started speaking slowly and steadily but as his explanation developed, his speech gained its usual speed and he started using long sophisticated words. John listened to every single one of his words intently and marveled at Sherlock's rapid recovery.

"When a person dwindles into drug addiction, they succumb to it both physically and psychologically. You being a doctor must understand the mechanism of it very well." Sherlock was seated at his chair with his knees tucked in in front of him. John noticed that instead of aligning the fingertips together like Sherlock usually did, his hands were clasped together and were slightly shaking.

"In order for me to solve this problem, I must break away from the pull of these two elements. Time will automatically solve the physical issue. I've handled worse." Sherlock shrugged. Then he frowned a little and thought about what he had just said. "Then again, I've never gone into cardiac arrest so that comment may be slightly faulty. Well, that's not the problem. My main point is," Sherlock paused to take a breath. He raised his eyes slowly toward John.

"I must overcome the psychological aspect in order to prevent myself from relapsing again." John nodded. "This…this…is not an easy task." Sherlock sighed. "It's never easy. No matter how many times you've experienced it. It's like you, fighting with yourself. It knows your weakness, your desires…everything." Sherlock smiled to himself weakly. "Moriarty sure is smart."

"And a bastard." John added. Sherlock looked out the window. The sun was starting to set.

"I have a feeling that tonight is going to be a particularly rough night." John's shoulders tensed. "Are you ready?"

"Would it be dangerous?"

"Quite."

"Then I'm ready." Sherlock gazed back at his flat mate silently. His incredibly crystal blue eyes melted in with the orange flame of sinking sunlight and made his eyes almost look amber. Sherlock closed his eyes and pondered for a second.

"No, you know what, I can't let you-"He started but John cut him off with a firm voice.

"Sherlock, I'm a doctor. There's nothing you need to feel embarrassed ab-"

"If you think I'm too arrogant to show my weakness to you, you're mistaken. You've seen how I was at Baskerville… I learned from my mistakes." Sherlock lowered his eyes away from John. He bit his lower lip gently as he chose his words carefully. John remembered the night Sherlock had gone half wild with unknown rage and fear when he got exposed to the fear gas. Sherlock had rejected John's assistance and had snarled at him nastily. John was surprised to hear that Sherlock took the whole episode as his mistake.

"I'm afraid that I would hurt you." He croaked. John smiled.

"Sherlock, so far the only way you've harmed me is by depriving me of sleep." Sherlock shook his head.

"No, no, you don't get it...half of me still believe that I need the drug in order to survive. Jim is me. He's as smart as me." Sherlock licked his lips uncomfortably. "And now I understand how he feels, and what he's thinking right now. John, you helped me stay on track for the past few days. If it weren't for you, I'd be long gone and Moriarty would have savored his victory by now. Now that I have realized that, Jim's also realized that you're a threat to him. He wants to get rid of you. Half of me want to hurt you."

…

After the sun had set, Sherlock looked even more anxious. The tremble in his hands worsened and he started to shuffle in his seat and massage his joints. John offered to help him and Sherlock nodded at first but shook his head firmly as he changed his mind.

"I don't want to…grow too familiar with your assistance. Jim will get angry." He protested quietly. John ignored his refusal and stretched out his hands but Sherlock jumped to his feet and stormed away to his room.

…

Sherlock was barely able to stand on his feet. He stumbled down the endless black aisle and fumbled to open the drawers. He thought as hard as he could to remember where he had last left that file. He needed to find it and check before Jim came. He needed to see it with his own eyes. Sherlock rummaged through the neatly filed folders and pulled one out randomly. He scanned the contents and closed it briskly. He grimaced and grunted as he fought against the particularly annoying pain in his right shoulder. He leaned his body against the drawer to close it and awkwardly crouched down to check the bottom row when a voice called from behind him.

What are you looking for?

Sherlock turned around to see Jim standing across the aisle with his hands in his pockets. Jim's eyes still had that tempting warm glow and his smile was as gentle as ever. Sherlock blinked and reminded himself that that same person had tortured him just a while ago in the middle of his mind palace. Jim took a step toward Sherlock. Suddenly, a painful sensation erupted in Sherlock's abdomen, as if his intestines were being squeezed. The consulting detective clutched his teeth and fell on his knees. Jim took another step forward. Sherlock wrapped his arms around his stomach and bent over with a muffled groan.

You're not thinking of anything stupid, are you?

Jim cooed and advanced toward Sherlock again. The more the distance between them shrunk, Sherlock was enveloped in agony. Just when Jim was only a few paces away from him, Sherlock raised a hand in protest.

Stop.

Jim didn't listen. Sherlock panted heavily and tried to lift himself up to his feet but before he could, Jim roughly grabbed Sherlock's neck and pushed his head against the drawers. The smile was still etched onto his face. Sherlock screamed. The moment he came in contact with Jim, his eardrums burned and his eyes watered from the searing pain that erupted from the top of his head. He clawed for Jim's hands and scratched against it but Jim didn't seem to care. He just cocked his head to one side and widened his eyes.

Sherlock, remember the time I saved you?

Sherlock squeezed his eyes tightly and shook his head.

Remember?

Jim pressed on. Sherlock kept on shaking his head sideways. Jim tightened the grip on Sherlock's neck.

Remember?

…

The young man's coat was drenched in the rain and he was freezing cold, but that was the least of his problems. He was hurt and confused. Sherlock limped into his flat sluggishly and collapsed onto his knees the moment he entered through the door. The door slammed shut behind him. He stared at the wall across him with hollow eyes. How can he possibly be so foolish? Why couldn't he do the most obvious things in life? Suddenly Sherlock wanted to destroy everything that was in his house, including the violin. His mind was racing. He had to do something about it. Sherlock, after his encounter with Mr. Dalton, has acquired a skill to display false emotions and act convincingly toward others in order to blend in. He has learned to laugh merrily as he deduced his company's nasty habits and personal issues, to keep his mouth shut even if he itched to point out to people that their husband or wife is sleeping with someone, and to cry along with others even if he didn't feel anything whatsoever. It was working just fine. It was hard work and it usually left him very tired by the end of the day but he still managed to belong in a fairly pleasant company of ordinary people. It was all going so well, until today.

It was almost like an over blown balloon that just had no other choice but to pop. Sherlock's seen too many. He's heard too many, he's noticed too many things that he couldn't keep it in him. Sherlock was spending another night at the pub with his "friends", and was listening to their conversation, trying hard to display an interested look. He nodded, smiled, and leaned forward anxiously at the right timing, but his mind was darting back and forth through the crowd in the pub. Every single noise, laughter, looks, fidgets…any kind of movement jumped into Sherlock's consciousness. In matter of seconds, all the information were piled up in his head and had to be organized. He tried to shake it away. All he had to do was ignore it, but today, there were just too many people and distractions. He lost track of his company's conversation. Sherlock panicked and that was when he exploded. He suddenly stood up, knocked over his drinks and started to blurt how Jimmy was sleeping with Ed's girlfriend or how the man sitting diagonally behind them had just come back from a nasty road trip, or how Sebastian's sister was having a particularly hard time at school at the moment. He listed every single thing he had noticed that day and when he was finally done, Sherlock was heaving at the table while everyone stared at him wide-eyed.

It was only then, that Sherlock realized what he had done. He grabbed his coat and darted out of the pub and out into the hard cold rain. He can't remember what happened after that. It was quite blurry. He remembered running down the street and ducking into the alley way. He didn't know where he was heading but he just wanted to be alone, where nothing would make his head whirr. He roamed around in the cold wet darkness for nearly an hour before he somehow managed to arrive near his flat.

Sherlock lied down on the dry carpet floor on his stomach ad closed his eyes. Why couldn't he just stop thinking? All that hard effort to make friends and blend in had disappeared into nothing. He blew everything away that night. Stupid, stupid. He told himself. What is wrong with me? He dragged himself toward his bedroom. He was so cold and so tired. Why can't you just empty your mind? And just then, he realized that he had an extra stash of morphine kept in the shower room. He pulled off his coat and stumbled into the shower room…

…

Sherlock opened his eyes again as another figure that approached him swiftly and shook his shoulders violently.

Wake up!

He barked. It was the logical Sherlock gazing down at him.

Come on, we don't have much time, get yourself together.

The logical Sherlock wrapped his arms around Sherlock and heaved him to his feet. Sherlock slouched against the drawer and collapsed his head against its cool surface. The other Sherlock shook him again.

Sherlock, listen to me. We don't have much time. Moriarty is going to come back anytime now. His control of the mind palace is weakening but it's still strong enough to be fatal.

The internal Sherlock grabbed the exhausted consulting detective by the scruff of his neck and shook him again.

We have to find that file, remember the plan?

Sherlock slowly lifted himself up and nodded. He stumbled sideways and opened a different drawer as the logical Sherlock supported his body. Sherlock shook his head and closed it. Then, he dragged his feet heavily toward the next aisle. Sherlock was sweating heavily by the time he reached the other end of the aisle.

I can't find it.

He wheezed and gulped for air.

It must be here somewhere. Think, where did you store that file away? I know it's a long time ago but we need to narrow the area down or we'll never-

What file?

The logical Sherlock snapped his head toward the voice. Jim had reappeared, but this time, he wasn't wearing his usual Westwood suit. He had the exact same attire as Sherlock's usual one, with the velvet shirt and a slim cut black jacket and rousers. They were all tailored to fit Jim's size. Jim pinched the front of his shirt and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

How do you like it?

Suddenly, Sherlock felt nauseated from the grotesque view.

Fashionable

The logical Sherlock replied in a sour tone.

So,

Jim boomed his voice and looked back and forth at the two Sherlocks.

We're all back now are we?

The logical Sherlock stepped in between the sweat drenched consulting detective and the ill-dressed consulting criminal. Sherlock closed his eyes and frantically tried to remember where he had left that file.

Get out of here, Moriarty.

Oh I don't think that's something I can decide. It all depends on what Sherlock wants.

Jim shrugged carelessly. Sherlock tried to block Jim's voice away and racked his head for some kind of a hint to help him fulfill his search. He dragged himself toward the next aisle. Jim took a step toward Sherlock but was shortly blocked by the logical Sherlock. Jim flashed a cheeky smile. Then, he struck.

The logical Sherlock had promised Sherlock that he would buy time until Sherlock found that file. Sherlock couldn't believe that after all the time he had used to organize this place; he couldn't remember the location of one damned file. It was such a long time ago when it happened, and he was too weak to use his brilliant mind fully. When did it happen again? Sherlock asked himself. He remembered that it was before he met John, but shortly after he met Lestrade. Lestrade. Of course, how could I have forgotten about that man? Sherlock's eyes widened as he dived for the aisle located on the far left. It was the very last place he would want to go in the current state, but he would have to risk it.

…

John monitored Sherlock's pulse and temperature once in every fifteen minutes as he watched the consulting detective groan and mutter gibberish in his sleep. He flinched and kicked in bed violently in times. He let out a couple painful screams and made John worry about Mrs. Hudson coming upstairs to check on them. Just when the doctor leaned forward toward Sherlock to wipe the sweat away from his forehead, Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped open and his hands flew toward John and wrapped his long fingers around John's neck.

…

Just when Sherlock reached the aisle on the very far side of the mind palace, he heard a yelp from a distance. Jim was losing his control over the mind palace but that still didn't mean that the logical Sherlock could over power him. Jim grabbed the logical Sherlock's shoulders and slammed him against the drawer. The logical Sherlock kicked at Jim but the consulting criminal felt like he was made of steel. No matter how hard he struck, he didn't budge. He tried lifting him away but he was too heavy. Sherlock knew that it was only a matter of seconds before Jim knocked his internal self out and came running after him.

The consulting detective opened two drawers at a time and rummaged through the files. He hadn't visited this section in a very, very long time. They were bitter memories, the ones he wanted to throw away but were too large to be disposed. They were the type of files that Jim treasured the most. It was the memory of Sherlock's life as a complete junkie. He skimmed through some of the contents and winced. Unpleasant words popped into him like "over dose", "rehabilitation", "multiple charges", "fine", "excused", "daily monitoring", "danger night", "mixed addiction"… He shook his head and tried not to remember the details of each file.

Being a naughty boy?

A voice chimed from the distance. Sherlock ignored the footsteps closing in. Jim had gotten rid of logical Sherlock faster than he had anticipated. Sherlock littered files onto the floor and didn't care to put them back in chronological order. Jim's footsteps stopped.

What are you doing there, Sherlock? Refreshing your memories?

Sherlock opened another file near the end of the aisle and let out a sigh of relief. He found it. The title said 2004 September-December. Sherlock opened the file and flipped through the pages. Yes, he knew it. It must be here somewhere…

Just then a hand clasped onto Sherlock's shoulder. He tensed his body and turned around.

Did you find it?

It was logical Sherlock. Sherlock let out another sigh of relief and turned back to the file.

Yes, yes I did, it must be here somewhere…

A drop of sweat traveled down the side of his face and splashed onto the file. Another seeped into Sherlock's left eye. He blinked the stinging sensation away.

It was in mid-November I think. That was when I met Lestrade and…there, I found it.

Sherlock tapped the page and handed it to his internal self. The other Sherlock narrowed his eyes and reached for the file He craned his neck as he scanned through the contents and looked up at Sherlock, who was panting heavily. A smile broke across his face. Suddenly, Sherlock knew something was wrong. Logical Sherlock never smiles like that. Sherlock never smiles like that unless…

The file fell to the floor, and Sherlock was pinned to the floor.

…

John gawked and tried to pry himself away from Sherlock but the skinny, ill man was stronger than he had expected. The grip tightened. John pressed his hands against Sherlock, careful not to hurt his face.

"Sherlock…!" He wheezed and grasped at Sherlock's hands. Sherlock's eyes were covered in a veil of confusion and fear. "…It's me!" John lifted himself away from Sherlock and rolled off the bed. Sherlock didn't let go and the two toppled to the floor. John landed on his back with Sherlock on top. His hands were still gripped around his neck. The final breath of air in John's lungs escaped him when he hit the floor. His head pounded and his legs kicked the air frantically. He tried to wriggle out of Sherlock's weight but the consulting detective had his knees straddle around John and refused to let go. John looked up at Sherlock. Everything was becoming blurry.

…

Sherlock found himself face to face with himself. Their faces were merely an inch away from each other. His shoulders were pinned firmly onto the dark floor. Sherlock felt his strength seeping away, but he fought hard to keep his eyes opened.

You don't have to keep pushing yourself.

I'm not…

You're afraid.

No…

You're afraid that no one will look at you if you stop. Isn't that why you have to keep working?

Sherlock barely had the strength to shake his head weakly. His fingers twitched. He slowly reached for the discarded file on his right, careful not to attract Jim-in-disguise-as-Sherlock's attention.

You worry that the only reason John or Lestrade or anyone else is there is because you're useful.

That's the truth.

The other Sherlock seemed mildly surprised by this reply and blinked down upon him. Then, he smiled.

Trying to be tough are you? If you're with me, you don't have to do any of that anymore. You can just be yourself.

Sherlock's fingers brushed against the corner of the file. He tugged it toward him slowly.

You're tired. You want to be ordinary. That's what you always wanted.

Suddenly, a smile broke across Sherlock's sweat drenched face. The other Sherlock furrowed his brow. Sherlock started to chuckle mockingly at his copy and the chuckle gradually grew into a cold laughter.

Ordinary? Who wants to be ordinary? Oh Jim, Jim, how can you not understand the beauty and the joy of all of it?

His reflection's face darkened.

What?

Sherlock grinned back at Jim. His eyes became manic.

You really think that I work for a cheap reward… like acceptance, acknowledgement, and recognition? I don't care about John, or Lestrade, or the victims or my clients, or fame. No, no, what drives me to work is far greater than that, Jim. It's pure joy, the thrill of being above others.

Sherlock snarled coldly at him.

It's something no ordinary man can experience.

…

"What did you just say?" Lestrade gaped at the young, skinny man with an incredulous look. Sherlock Holmes, who was now frequently coming in and out of the drugs division, had suddenly darted from the other side of the office and stormed into the homicide division. His eyes were droopy and he swayed, he was intoxicated and looked like a complete drunk, but what tumbled out from his mouth was incredible. Sherlock tapped Lestrade's forehead with his long index finger and leaned over Lestrade's desk.

"I said," He slurred. "You got the wrong man, you idiot. Obviously from the ketchup smear on his shirt, you can tell that he's telling the truth. He has an alibi."

"But…you don't even know the details of this case!"

"I've heard enough from the room next door." The young man snapped. An officer approached Sherlock from behind and grabbed his arm. "Let go of me. I still have a few words to say to this idiot." Sherlock growled. Normally, Lestrade would let the security officer escort the young man away and dismiss him as a deranged junkie. Then, he would drop a complaint to the drugs division to keep their eyes on their men but this time, Lestrade held his hand up in protest.

"Wait," he looked into Sherlock's eyes and studied him. "What else have you got for me?" Suddenly Sherlock Holmes's eyes lit up as if something had clicked a switch in his head. He straightened up. He wasn't swaying anymore. The effect of the drug had suddenly evaporated from his system. That was the beginning of Sherlock's life as a consulting detective.

…

The strength in Sherlock's limbs returned as a look of dread spread across the other Sherlock's face. Sherlock pushed the form away and got to his feet. Hi body felt lighter, the pain started to ebb away. Jim took a step away from Sherlock and slipped into the next aisle.

I can't believe you tried to make me believe that rubbish. Though, if it weren't for that file, I would have been completely fooled.

Sherlock called out as he tracked Jim down. He saw a glimpse of a shadow at the very end of the hall.

Me wishing to be ordinary?That was years ago, Moriarty.

He dashed after Jim.

Work is all that matters to me now. The others are just bonuses. I keep them around so that they can ooh and ah at my work.

The lights flickered and the floor started to lighten up. He saw Jim sprinting down away from the bright light. Sherlock smiled He got him cornered. He darted after the man and caught up with him easily. Jim was back into his original form, with his Westwood attire. His hazel eyes were wide with surprise. Sherlock threw his hands at Jim's neck and tightened his grip as the two toppled toward the floor.

…

John's eyesight grew darker and his knees felt like jelly. He couldn't raise his limbs up anymore. He was slipping away. He choked out loud and wished Sherlock would snap out of it. He tapped his fingers against Sherlock's wrist. He closed his eyes. His lungs felt like it was about to explode.

…

Jim was slipping away. Sherlock grimaced as he tightened the grip. Just when he was about to lean his body weight onto Jim's windpipe, the lights flickered violently above and he saw a flash of John's face instead of Jim's. Sherlock widened his eyes and in surprise and his hands jerked to let go but he shook his head and held on tightly. Jim was playing a trick on him. He couldn't fall for it. Not again.

SHERLOCK!

A voice exclaimed and someone grabbed Sherlock's shoulder and violently flung him to the side. It was the logical Sherlock. Sherlock gaped at him and shoved him away.

What are you doing?

He yelled and scrambled toward Jim but froze. He was gone. Sherlock looked around. The mind palace was back to its original sate. The lights shined brightly above and everything was white. Everything was silent.

Moriarty's gone, Sherlock. That was his last attempt to hurt you. You almost fell for it.

…

John wheezed in gulps of air and coughed. His vision returned and he felt a sudden rush of noise in his ears.

"John!" Sherlock exclaimed and jumped off him. "Oh, God, John, I'm so sorry, you okay?" John wheezed for a few more seconds with a red face before he rolled to his side and grumbled,

"Fine, fine…"Sherlock stared down at his flat mate and then at his hands. Then, he started to pace around the bed in a mild state of panic.

"I knew I shouldn't have…I should have…if I haven't"

"Sherlock,"

"The last time I did…"

"Sherlock"

"I've never had a flat mate before and shouldn't have…"

"Sherlock"

"Moriarty knew…."

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled and grabbed his flat mate's long arm. Sherlock stared back at John with a half surprised, half apologetic look. It was almost funny to see Sherlock panic. What was even more incredible was how Sherlock had fretted so wildly when John was harmed. It was good to know that Sherlock had caring feelings after all. "I'm okay." He said. Sherlock blinked. His eyes searched John's face silently. John's neck was slightly red but not enough to leave a bruise. He pointed at it with a blank expression.

"Want me to call an ambulance?" He said jokingly.

…

Three months later, Sherlock treaded down the long lines of his treasured archive randomly, but he stopped his feet when he came to an unfamiliar row.

I decided to make some additions to our collection.

His other self said as he popped into view. Sherlock opened the drawer and peeked inside. His eyes widened with surprise.

That's… very unlikely of you.

The other Sherlock shrugged.

After our most recent events I thought some improvements can be made around here.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. The other Sherlock nudged his chin at the drawer.

Sentiment can be dangerous but having some affection might not be so bad after all. Besides, after all they've done for you, they deserve your respect.

Sherlock grabbed a file and looked at the title. They simply said in bold letters; Friends.