Author's Note:

So... this is my first fic, be nice. If people like it I'll continue it. It was a weird plot bunny that wouldn't go away. I don't think it will make much sense. It's sort of pre-reichenbach, but it could be post, but then John would suspect Molly more.

As their doesn't seem to be almost any record of Sherlock's family history in either the books or the series apart from a few little things which I expanded on, I made it up.

Concerning the drugs. I did some research but not much. Sherlock's preferred drug seems to be cocaine in the books, possibly because it allows you to stay up all night and think quickly, but this drug is also said to make people social and sexually aroused, which will come into play (eventual Sherlolly)... things he doesn't like. He also uses morphine in the books I believe but I made him use heroin because it's more potent. Also I hear it's more of a downer drug compared to cocaine, relaxes people and numbs them which I thought was more appropriate. They can also be taken together to counteract each other's negative affects. Just know I probably took some liberty with portraying the drug use because I was too lazy to research.

Also I have needle phobia, so this was really hard to write, but doing it and slowly thinking about it and imagining helps me desensitize ...eventually. Sorry if I sometimes skip over that part and for not researching exactly how they inject and prepare the drugs. I tried not to.

Sherlock is gone.

At first John doesn't give it a second though, but then an hour passes, than two, than the night, than the next day.

John texts him but as usual bu he doesn't reply. He texts Molly and asks her if she's seen him at the morgue but she tells him he hasn't dropped by. He texts Lestrade but he says he didn't give him a case. On the third day he texts Mycroft as a last resort.

He didn't tell you? -MH

John breathes a sigh of relief. Even if something is wrong at least Mycroft seems to know something about Sherlock's whereabouts.

Tell me what? -JW

This time the phone doesn't ding once but instead rings.

"John, he isn't with you?"

"No, haven't seen him for three days. What happened?"

"There was a fire in our old childhood home. He came by to see the wreckage and then he just left. You have to find him John."

"But he could be anywhere."

"I'll get my people on it, but John..."

"Yes, I'll try."

John hung up. I'll try. I'll try. How could he possibly try if he didn't even know where to begin?

A street light flickered out of existence a street away from Molly's flat.

Sherlock stared.

He wanted to flicker out of existence. In fact, that was exactly what he was trying to do when he just ran off from the old burnt house. But he would never flicker out like the street light, not exactly. Just like he'd dressed up as a pirate but had never really been one.

Sherlock shook his head. He didn't want to think about that. About the old sailboat model that now lay burnt to a crisp, and the pirate hat, equally singed.

He needed another hit, just one more to numb it all away, to flicker off if only for another moment.

He had everything he needed in his pockets, he just needed somewhere, somewhere safe, somewhere to prepare it properly, and most importantly someone he could trust.

Molly.

Sherlock made his down the street, limping slightly as he went, and knocked on her door. No response. He shivered. It was cold. He was tired and dirty from roaming the streets for three days. There was a bruise on his left eye were he'd gotten into a fight and his ribs ached with every breath where they'd probably been broken.

He knocked again and was just about to start looking for her spare key when the door opened.

"Sh-sherlock?"

"Mol-"

"John said you'd gone missing. Where have you been? Oh my god, what's happened to you?"

"It's nothing. I'm okay. I just need someplace to stay."

Sherlock walked in and leaned against the wall.

"You can't tell John. You can't tell him I'm here."

Just then Molly's phone buzzed.

Are you sure you haven't seen him? -JW

"It's John."

Sherlock collapsed against the wall and groaned in pain.

"Molly, please, just- I trust you. I'm sorry I've never... but you count and I've always..."

"No it's okay. You don't need to try and manipulate me."

Sherlock was about to protest when she said, "I'll go get the first aid kit." and walked away.

She came back, tucked the phone back into her pocket without replying, and started to clean the bruise on his eyes where the skin had broken slightly.

"I wasn't trying to manipulate you."

"Yeah, sure." Molly had stopped being bothered by his nature long ago. She couldn't and wouldn't say no whether he was being manipulative or honest. So why put up the fight to try and get him to be honest when that was obviously not going to happen?

"Molly."

"Can you uh get up again?"

"I think."

Sherlock gripped onto her shoulders with one hand and pushed against the wall with the other. Molly guided him to her room and helped him sit on the bed.

"We need to get your coat off and your shirt." Molly blushed at her words, but didn't stammer.

Sherlock noticed, but remained silent and complied. Something was different about Molly. He couldn't quite pinpoint what it was though.

He let her help him though. He took off his shirt, she bandaged him up, offered him some pain pills and left him in the darkness of the guest bedroom.

Sherlock ignored the pills and immediately got up and locked the door.

He set out his supplies and prepared the solution.

He found a vein easily this time.

It only took a few seconds and then he flickered off.

This went on for three days. He made Molly promise each morning not to tell John, and then when she left he took out his supply and prepared another syringe.

On the third, Sherlock had been feeling better and so he took his supplies to the bathroom. The light in the bedroom was always too dim and made it hard to find his vein. He was also out of heroin, his preferred drug these past few days. He used to prefer cocaine but these days he just wanted to feel nothing. Now that he was out of heroin he'd have to settle for the cocaine. He thought he was ready though. He had to stop running away, he had to concentrate, attempt to delete the events or at least analyze them away if he couldn't. He wanted to go back to 221B, to get over all this and go back to John. He was tired of laying about now that his ribs were better.

Yes, he could do this. He'd take this last hit and then he'd go back. John would never know.

He prepared the correct dose and injected himself. Just then the bathroom door burst open.

He hadn't heard the front door in all his anticipation. Molly had forgotten something in the bathroom. Sherlock hadn't known the lock was broken.

"Sherlock! Sorry, I-"

Sherlock dropped the syringe.

"Is that? Omg, you've been... every day and... how could you? I thought... and John he's so worried." Molly eyes watered. "I can't take this. Get out. Just get out." Tears slipped down her cheeks and soaked into her shirt as she pointed towards the door. She didn't look at him. That was the only way she could throw him out. She still loved him, but she couldn't keep letting him hurt her.

Sherlock just stared in shock and then the drug started to kick in. His heart sped up. And he couldn't stop staring at Molly. She was crying and her lips were quivering... oh her lips. Sherlock licked his.

"Sherlock please."

He startled out of his reverie, stuffed his things into his pockets and ran out of the flat.

He hadn't just stared at Molly's lips, it was the cocaine. It was just the cocaine. He'd forgotten about that particular effect having deleted all memories of it's occurrence.

He wondered about for a few hours in shock. Molly Hooper had thrown him out. And when the shock wouldn't fade and he couldn't delete any of his memories as planned, he got more drugs. Fuck his old plan. He found an empty park and almost overdosed on heroin.

And then when night came and the streets lit up he watched from a park bench as one flickered off and jealous he stomped off. But this time he didn't think of the light as just himself and how he couldn't flicker off. This time the light was also Molly, and Molly was gone. Some cruel monster had replaced her. He wanted his Molly back. The one that brought him coffee, let him stay at her flat, and most importantly did not throw him out. But he also wanted this Molly just a bit. She didn't stammer and she had courage and... no he would not think about that. Whichever Molly was available would have to do. He still couldn't go to anyone else.

He needed her.

Edit/Note: Still getting used to the website. Kind of confused by it all. Things didn't format properly where the breaks are supposed to be. Hopefully it's fixed now along with a few spelling errors and minor edits. Also I realize I have absolutely no idea how long it would take Sherlock's ribs to feel better. I highly doubt it's 3 days but as you'll read on my profile I'm writing fanfiction as an exercise in writing (not research, plot or characters). He might just be feeling better because of the drugs though.