This is taken from the RP I am currently doing with InvisibleBlade. She is not only co-author but has given me permission to publish our story. Go give her some love! She deserves it!

John: Me

Sherlock: InvisibleBlade

Warnings for this chapter: drug use (implied), angst, unresolved sexual tension, and did I mention angst? Oh, and swears. Ye have been warned.

Chapter 1 – Pixie Dust

Do you see all the pretty fairies? Or is that just me? –SH

Sherlock, are you alright? –JW

Yes. Just wondering if I'm the only one who can see the pretty fairies. They said they came round for tea. –SH

Sherlock, what did you take? –JW

Take? Nothing. Might have sniffed a few chemicals. But I haven't taken anything. Still, these fairies are nice little folk. :) –SH

You're using emoticons. I'm coming home. –JW

Why? :( Me and the fairies are having plenty of fun on our own. –SH

Because you're seeing things, and acting strange and I'm worried about you. –JW

Oooh Watson's worried. My dear John, why's that? –SH

Because you're saying things like that. You're acting… I don't know. Look, I'm almost home. –JW

Awww :( Are you going to punish me? You always punish me when I get the chemicals out. The fairies won't be too happy. –SH

They might even try to attack you. –SH

Sherlock, there is no such things as fairies, and I'm not going to punish you. What the hell did you sniff? –JW

How could you say that! Every time you say that a fairy dies! How dare you! –SH

Sherlock, I'm coming upstairs. Just try to be calm. –JW

I'm as calm as a unicorn who has just had a fight with a leprocorn. –SH

A leprocorn. Right. Okay. I'll be up in a second. –JW

John sighed and made his way up the stairs to 221B. He wasn't sure what he was going to open the door to, but he knew it wouldn't be good. He got upstairs and walked in the flat.

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock was currently trying to fly. All his fairy friends could fly but it seemed he didn't have the capacity to do so. He'd tried every method possibly known to man. He'd even taken all his clothes off so that he would be lighter but he still hadn't been successful. John walked over to Sherlock and crossed his arms over his chest.

'Sherlock, what are you doing up there?' he asked, trying not to laugh at the state of his flatmate.

'Isn't it quite obvious?' Sherlock squeaked happily. 'I'm learning to fly.'

'Oh, yeah. That's what I thought. Why don't you come down and we can try again later?' John desperately wanted Sherlock to get down so he wouldn't hurt himself, but the sight was still quite amusing.

Sherlock frowned and huffed. 'No,' he said stubbornly. 'Make me.' John rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sherlock could act like such a child, and the effects of whatever this was wasn't helping.

'Come on. If you get down… I'll make you some hot cocoa. Does that sound good?' It was worth a shot.

Sherlock grinned. 'Will it be your own special blend?' he asked, huge puppy dog eyes pinned to John. John chuckled and nodded.

'Yeah, I'll make it special. Like I did when you had the flu. Now, go at least put some trousers on and sit on the couch. I'll be back in a minute.' John walked into the kitchen, which was a mess, and rummaged around the cabinets for the cocoa. Sherlock followed John, ignoring his plea to put trousers on. He tiptoed behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

'Do you want to know a secret?' he giggled childishly. John continued making the cocoa, finding a mug to put it in.

'Yeah, sure. What is it?' he asked, only half listening.

Sherlock pressed himself up behind John. 'I wuvv you.' He then exploded into more giggles. 'Wuv you John.' John blushed and cleared his throat, trying to act normal, reminding himself that Sherlock wasn't exactly coherent at the moment.

'"Wuv" is not a proper word, Sherlock. And what did I say about trousers?' John wiggled himself out from Sherlock's grasp and handed him the mug of cocoa. 'Here, try not to spill it. Go sit on the couch,' he demanded, making his tone firmer than before.

'Trousers are no fun John. They make things so dull.' Sherlock took the hot chocolate and began sipping at it. He then frowned. 'Will you come and sit with me?'

'Yes, I will come and sit with you in a moment. Now go.' John pointed towards the living room and sighed. He went into Sherlock's room and grabbed his dressing gown and a pair of pants. He then walked back into the living room and handed them to Sherlock. 'Here. At least put something on.'

Sherlock pouted but did as John asked. 'Better?' he questioned John, looking an awful lot like a child who had just been scolded firmly.

'Yes, much,' John sighed, sitting down next to Sherlock. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with nudity; he was a doctor after all. But with Sherlock in this state especially… it was different. 'Alright, now are you going to tell me what happened before the fairies arrived?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know. I can't remember. The fairies just appeared from nowhere. They said that I'd invited them round for a lovely roast dinner. I said I'd only cook for them if they'd teach me to fly.' He then proceeded to drink the rest of the cocoa in one gulp.

'JESU- SHERLOCK!' John cried, prying the mug from his flatmate's hands. 'That cocoa was fresh and probably scalding hot! You probably just burnt your tongue and throat!' John sighed and took a deep breath, reminding himself that the cocoa was the least of his worries. 'Now, Sherlock, fairies don't just come out of nowhere. You sniffed something to trigger their presence. And since when do you know how to cook?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Cooking is a simple art form John. And it would have been rude to say no to our little friends.'

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was one of the worst accidental experiment-induced highs he had seen. He knew that it would be best to play along, at least until Sherlock sobered up or passed out, whichever came first. Taking another deep breath and sitting up straighter, John said, 'Okay. Okay, fine. The fairies want a roast, I'll make a roast. But you have to put clothes on first.'

'Alright,' Sherlock slurred, attempting to get up but ending up face planting the floor with a painful sounding thud. John sighed and ran a hand over his face. Yep, definitely one of the worst, he thought to himself. He stood up and went over to Sherlock, who had begun to giggle against the carpet.

'Come on, up. Use your arms Sherlock. Let's get you dressed and then I'll start on dinner.'

Sherlock flipped himself over, still in a fit of giggles. He grabbed at John in an attempt to get up. This unfortunately only ended in Sherlock pulling John down. He yelped as the older man's body crushed him. John landed on Sherlock with an 'oof.' Sherlock had gripped his arms too tight and had pulled him down, causing him to land face-to-face with his flatmate. When John looked up he was staring directly into Sherlock's eyes. His pupils were blown so wide from the chemically-induced high that his eyes were almost black. John swallowed and moved to sit up but Sherlock's tight grip on his arms prevented him from moving very far.

'Um, Sherlock? Do you think you could let go?'

'No,' Sherlock snarled. 'I don't want to let go of my blogger.' The detective's overly happy mood had switched to a far darker one. John's eyes widened. He knew Sherlock was possessive, but he had never seen him like this before. Trying to steady his quickening pulse he took a deep breath and licked his lips. He needed to calm Sherlock down. He placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and squeezed gently.

'You don't have to let go, Sherlock. I'm here.'

Sherlock's grip loosened. 'Mm sorry John.' His mood had taken yet another turn. He leant his head on John's shoulder and began to shake. Tears were quick to fill his eyes and quite soon the doctor's shoulder was soaking wet. John swallowed again. Although he was used to dealing with emotional people at the surgery, dealing with Sherlock's emotions was another story. They were rare, and only popped up when he was drunk, high, or he hadn't slept in almost two weeks. But he knew what to do in those rare situations.

John sat up and pulled Sherlock against him, wrapping his arms around his friend and stroking a hand through his curls. He laid his cheek against the top of Sherlock's head and just held him. He didn't speak, he just rocked gently and held his friend, letting him know that he was there, he would always be there, and he wasn't going anywhere.

Sherlock sniffled. 'Wuvv you John,' he whispered into John's ear for the third time in less than an hour. Sherlock's shaking stilled dramatically but the tears still flowed freely from his deep blue eyes.

'I know you do, Sherlock. I know.' John held him tighter, his hand stilling from stroking Sherlock's hair to grip the back of his head. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, resting his forehead against Sherlock's. When he opened his eyes he saw Sherlock's were staring right back, bright with the tears that were still falling. Before he could stop himself, John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

Might as well say it since he won't remember it anyway, he told himself. Taking another breath to steady himself, he looked directly into Sherlock's eyes as he whispered,

'I love you too, Sherlock.'

Sherlock grinned and laughed loudly. He brushed his nose against John's and wriggled beneath his flatmate like a hyperactive four year old. John couldn't help but smile. While Sherlock's mood swings, chemically induced or not, gave him what felt like whiplash sometimes, John really did love the man. He still wasn't sure he was in love with him, but he loved him all the same. He laughed when Sherlock pushed his nose against his again and returned the gesture, moving to kiss the tip of it. Sherlock moved his head to the right slightly. It was a tiny move and would have been completely insignificant if John hadn't moved as well.

His lips landed quite heavily on John's. He pulled back, unblinking, and in a slightly frightened fashion wriggled out from underneath John. It was as though despite being quite heavily drugged up the old, terrified of anything intimate and anything that involved feeling anything other than numb Sherlock was still eating away at his surface.

As soon as he felt Sherlock's lips on his John's pulse began to race, he felt his cheeks heat, and his breath actually got caught in his throat. For a brief second he wondered if Sherlock had moved on purpose. That thought was quickly defeated as Sherlock all but shoved him away and retreated away to a corner of the room.

'Sherlock,' he said softly, trying not to spook his friend. Sherlock looked very much like a deer caught in the headlights. John stood up slowly and held his hands out in front of him, the universal gesture of 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

'Sherlock, it's ok. I didn't mean to do that. It was an accident.'

Sherlock began to pull at his hair, furiously twisting his hands around his locks. It was causing him pain but he just couldn't work out how to communicate with John. John made no move to approach Sherlock. He could see the inner turmoil going on inside his head.

It must be pretty bad if he's trying to rip out his hair. He only does that if he's especially distressed, John thought to himself.

'It's alright Sherlock,' he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. 'It's alright. I know this wasn't supposed to happen, I know you're struggling with the unexpected feelings. Just please, try to relax. Let go of your hair and say something, anything. I don't have to understand what you mean. Just start talking.'

'Where have all the fairies gone?' Sherlock questioned John, narrowing his eyes and moving his hands from his hair. 'Did you scare them away?'

'The fairies?' John asked. Then he remembered. 'Oh, right. The fairies. No, I didn't scare them. They... They had somewhere else to go, so they left.'

Sherlock's bottom lip trembled. 'Why did they leave so soon? Didn't they like me ?'

Oh shit, wrong path, John mentally cursed himself. 'No, Sherlock. It was nothing you did. The fairies loved you. They just had... a party to go to... in fairy land.'

'Fairy land? John that is a lie. It is common knowledge that the unicorns of the east destroyed fairy land a long time ago.' Sherlock felt outraged.

John slapped one of his hands onto his face, running it down his face. This was not one of those hallucinations he would be able to lie his way out of. And quite frankly, the whole ordeal was beginning to grate his nerves.

'Fine, Sherlock. You want the truth?'

'Yes, naturally,' Sherlock replied, walking to where John was standing.

'The fairies aren't real. None of what you have seen is real. You did something that got you so fucking high and you have imagined everything. There were no fairies, there was no roast to be cooked, the unicorns didn't destroy fairy land. None of it is real!' John found himself shouting near the end. He didn't know why he was so emotional, why this time was different. Then it hit him: Sherlock had said that he loved him, three times, John had even admitted that he loved Sherlock too, they had embraced, kissed even, and Sherlock wouldn't even remember any of it. And that fact had John's chest aching like he'd been shot.

Sherlock clenched his fists together and took one last step towards John, closing the space between them. His whole body tremoured. He was perhaps the angriest that he had gotten in the entire time he and John had been flatmates. His eyes were huge and even his unruly dark brown locks seemed to quiver in fury.

'Do you think this has been easy for me?' Sherlock hissed like a snake about to pounce on its pray. 'Do you think I fucking want this?' Sherlock rarely swore at John. In fact this was probably a first. He had sworn around John about everyday things such as how annoying Anderson was or because he couldn't figure out a case, yes, but he had never directed a swear word at him. It was a sure way to tell John he was truly pissed off.

'You think this is easy for me?' John countered. 'You think living with you is easy? You think putting up with your experiments is easy? Playing the violin at all hours of the night, your sporadic eating and sleeping habits, your experimental explosions in the kitchen are all easy to put up with? Do you think I want to put up with your insane experiments? Do you think I even want to put up with this experimentally induced high right now? No, Sherlock, I don't. But I endure as much as I can because you are my friend and I know how fragile you are even though you would never admit it. And do you know why I endure all this? Because I love you. I fucking love you more than you will ever fucking know and you don't even fucking care. So you think you have it hard? Try looking at this from my perspective and then tell me how fucking hard this entire thing is.'

Sherlock lunged forwards, pinning the doctor to a wall, grasping the man by the wrists, coiling his fingers so tightly around them they were leaving marks. He began to grind his body against John in frustration before smothering his hot and fiery mouth onto John's. He said nothing. His actions were angry enough to get across his fury.

John let out a small yelp of surprise as Sherlock pinned him to the wall, covering his entire body with his own. This was the angriest John had ever seen him and he didn't know what to expect. The hot, angry kiss was definitely not expected, causing him to gasp slightly, opening his mouth just enough that Sherlock's tongue was able to plunge inside. John tried not to moan, he really did, but the noise of pleasure came anyway and he kissed Sherlock back fervently.

Sherlock pulled back and pushed himself away from John. 'Have you ever wondered why I am constantly looking for ways to get high?' Sherlock snarled. 'No I don't think you have. I don't think you've thought about my reasons at all. Dammit John!' Sherlock swung his fist in the air and punched the wall, leaving a large dent only inches away from John. 'I know that none of this is real, but this is so much better than reality.' A bead of sweat hovered on Sherlock's forehead, and tears once again found their way into the detective's eyes.

John didn't know what to say. He hadn't ever thought about it in that way. That Sherlock was trying to escape reality. John understood. He tried to escape reality every time he went down to the pub and tried to pick up a woman, failing miserably, and returning back to the flat to collapse on the sofa if he was too drunk to make it up to his own bed. But it wasn't just reality John was trying to escape from. He was also trying to escape from himself, from his feelings for his flatmate. And he would succeed up until he woke up with a hangover, stumbled downstairs to take a shower, and saw Sherlock sitting in his chair in the living room. But he had never imagined that Sherlock used drugs to escape, he thought it was to calm his mind, allow him to relax just enough so that his mind wasn't spinning out of control.

'I... I'm sorry, Sherlock. I never thought of it like that. But please try to understand me when I say this: when you get high, not only are you gradually killing yourself, but you are also killing me. I don't want to come downstairs one day and find you lying dead in a pool of your own vomit. I don't want you to leave me alone like that, I don't want you to die because you don't like living in reality. If you're going to die it's going to be while chasing down a criminal, doing what you love with your partner. But I will not stand by and let you kill yourself with homemade drugs.'

'That's your problem John. You don't think, do you? You don't think when you go through practically ten women a week. You don't even consider how hurtful it is to blurt out that you're definitely not with me and that we as a couple are never going to happen to anyone you think has even the tiniest suspicion. You haven't ever considered that me playing the violin helps me express how I feel or that it's the only way I know how to. You just seem to think I do it to purposely annoy you. I think sometimes you forget that I am human and yes I do have a heart!' Sherlock was in a feverish temper and he wasn't about to stop there. 'So if that's your love John Watson you can stuff it. I would rather die.'

'You know, for someone who can deduce my military career in my leg and my sister's drinking habits in my mobile phone, you can be really thick. Look at me.' When Sherlock made no attempt to move, John stepped forward and clutched his friend's head in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.

'When I say that I find your playing the violin annoying, I do so because I know it will only cause you to play more often and louder. Because, in all honesty, I really like listening to you play. The music you compose is so beautiful. It speaks to me in a way music never has before, and I believe it is simply because you are the one who composed it. Your music is your feelings and emotions, Sherlock. When you can't put what you feel into words you make it into music and beautiful music at that. You are putting your heart and soul into what you compose and I have never heard anything more beautiful in my entire life.'

John paused to take a breath before continuing, trying to keep his tears at bay.

'When I tell you not to run experiments at night I do so because I know you will defy me and that is when you do your best work. And when you do your best work you're happy, you stop and eat or sleep, and when you're happy and taking care of yourself that makes me happy. I only tell you not to do something because I know you don't like being told what not to do, so you do it anyway and you end up doing your best and most brilliant work.'

Tears were beginning to slide down John's cheeks, but at that point he didn't care. If Sherlock thought John didn't care then damn it all he was going to pour his heart and soul out right then and there.

'And do you know why I do those things, Sherlock? Do you?' he demanded. Sherlock shook his head and a look of utmost upset spread across his features.

'You've been playing mind games with me for all this time. That makes you no better than Moriarty,' he stated sorrowfully. 'And the women you go through daily ... are they just part of your mind games too?'

'Moriarty played mind games with you because he was bored. I play "mind games" with you, as you so eloquently put it, because it lets you do what you love. And I do them because I love you and I want you to be happy.' John paused, his voice cracking at the end of his statement. He swallowed the lump in his throat as best as he could before continuing. 'And these women that I sleep with on a daily basis? Where did they come from? I haven't gotten laid in almost a month, Sherlock. I've found I have no interest in women anymore now that I've got you. Yes, when we first met there was Sarah, the one with the nose, the one with the spots, and the boring teacher, but didn't you notice anything odd about them all? In the end, they were all female versions of you. Tall, dark hair, bright blue eyes, smart in their own way. It took me a while to notice the pattern, but when I did I realized that I had fallen for you and women were a poor substitute for the real thing. So I stopped dating, started playing my "mind games" with you, and focused more on you than I ever had before.

'I'm sorry for not telling you my feelings outright, but this is you we're talking about here. You don't like sentiment, you see it as a weakness, and I didn't want to share my feelings for you because I was afraid you would shut me down like that first night in Angelo's.' John gently ran his thumbs over Sherlock's cheekbones, looking into his bright eyes, an embarrassed smile on his face.

'I do what I do because I love you you crazy git.'

Sherlock froze and began to slowly back away. His head thumped with the new knowledge John had given him. The effects of whatever chemical he had inhaled was taking a terrible toll on him too. Both of which were making him shake, groan, and feel physically sick. John noticed the change in his friend, felt rather than saw him stagger back. Sherlock's face left his hands, moving away from him. Something wasn't right.

'Sherlock? Are you alright?'

Sherlock's legs wobbled beneath him. 'Don't feel well,' he heaved through heavy breathing.

John could see what was about to happen, he should have expected it at some point. Based on Sherlock's track record with homemade drugs it was bound to happen sooner or later. He rushed forward to steady Sherlock, trying to steer him towards the sink before Sherlock vomited on the carpet or passed out and risked choking on his own vomit.

'God my head John.' Sherlock leant his head on John's shoulder. 'It hurts so bad.' He whimpered and upon seeing the sink he found himself wretching, the entire contents of his stomach spilling out, which wasn't much. Sherlock hadn't been eating properly for weeks now. John held onto Sherlock as he wretched into the sink, one arm wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders so his hand could rest on his clammy forehead, the other hand resting on one of Sherlock's as it gripped the edge of the counter tightly.

'I think we should get you into bed, Sherlock,' John said when Sherlock finished. 'You should get some rest, see how you feel in the morning.'

Sherlock sighed but without much choice nodded. He glanced down at his legs, not quite certain as to how much use they would be. 'John-' He winced, still feeling nauseous.

John suppressed a small smile as he bent down to carry Sherlock, bridal style, to his room. Thankfully Sherlock's bedroom door was already open, so John simply walked in and laid Sherlock down on his bed. He ran a hand across Sherlock's forehead again, noting how warm it was and also brushing some of Sherlock's curls off of the sweaty surface. He placed a small kiss on it and made to walk away.

'Don't go,' Sherlock growled as a threat. It was much to his humiliation a rather sleepy sounding threat.

John couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his lips. He toed off his shoes and stripped down to his pants and t-shirt, crawling into bed with Sherlock but avoiding any physical contact in case Sherlock was beginning to sober up and wouldn't appreciate it.

'I'll stay as long as you need me to,' John whispered to his flatmate.

'Don't pop back to fairy land in the middle of the night,' Sherlock whispered.

John chuckled. 'No worries there Sherlock. The fairies didn't seem to like me much anyway. You were much better company.'

'Good to hear.' Sherlock stretched out like a house cat and let off a noise very akin to a purr.

'Goodnight Sherlock.'

'Mmff, night.' Sherlock began to snore softly and was soon in a deep sleep.

John watched Sherlock sleep for hours as he couldn't bring himself to sleep. He wanted to be awake in case Sherlock became distressed or possibly might vomit again, and he didn't want him to choke in his sleep. He turned on his side and faced his sleeping flatmate, watching him as he slept rather peacefully. When he decided that Sherlock wasn't going to wake up any time soon, he made to go to the kitchen and clean up the sink. He didn't want Mrs Hudson walking in on that, and knowing her she would take it upon herself to clean it up. When he completed that task he went to organize the living room, which wasn't so bad except for the books and papers strewn about from Sherlock's attempt at flight. He moved back to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea, spiking it a little bit so it both comforted and relaxed him. The entire experience had been emotionally draining, and he still couldn't believe he had actually admitted his feelings to Sherlock. Not that he would remember much of it anyway, but he would probably play it off as a hallucination. And while John was able to accept that, it still hurt that he wouldn't be able to truly share his feelings for his friend when his friend was so afraid of sentiment and seeming weak. That had happened already with Moriarty and the pool and he never wanted anything like that to happen again. He finished his spiked tea and left the mug by the kettle, heading back into Sherlock's room for the night.

And that is the end of chapter one! Don't worry, chapter two is already finished, I just need to upload it here and have InvisibleBlade read over it. Go give her some love as she is the Sherlock to my John. Reviews are always appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Next chapter will be up soon!

TSA + IB