Edit: I hadn't realised it was Benedict Cumberbatch's birthday today so HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO HIM 🎈🎁🎂🎁🎈
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After Sherlock had disappeared into his room, their mini celebration quietened down rapidly. Lestrade and Molly left for their homes, Mrs Hudson had popped downstairs to her flat, Jeanette remained cuddled on the couch with a worried John and Elizabeth lingered in the kitchen, fiddling with the ring on her index finger as she considered whether to try and talk to Sherlock again or not.

Even the thought of Irene being dead shook her. What if it had been her fault? Irene had said that she was supposed to persuade Elizabeth to join Jim again and had said that he had threatened her. What if, in turning Jim down, that had gotten her killed?

And she had been doing so well over the past few months only to be met with the stress of overthinking once again.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock was the one to appear from out of his bedroom. He moved like a ghost but everyone could see him.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" Elizabeth tried asking him again.

But she was ignored as he walked with purpose to the coat stand. He put on his coat and scarf. Elizabeth placed a hand on his shoulder but he didn't react to it. He didn't even tense, didn't shrug it off, nothing - like he couldn't feel her that at all. He just continued to put on his gloves.

"Mate, you know you can talk to us." John tried to speak to him also.

But the doctor was also met with silence. The detective just made his way down the stairs and out of the flat, slamming the front door behind him.

Elizabeth shared a troubled look with John. Mrs Hudson even made her way upstairs to enquire about what had happened and they had simply explained how he left so abruptly.

John's phone buzzed and he shuffled beside Jeanette to get it from his trousers pocket. It was a text from Mycroft:

~Danger night. Check the flat. - M.H.~

John apologised to Jeanette as he got up quickly, "Mrs Hudson, can you check Sherlock's usual spaces in his bedroom?"

"Oh, are you sure, dear?"

"Yes," John affirmed, "Mycroft's said."

Mrs Hudson quickly made her way into Sherlock's room to check for any mysterious substances that could or could not be drugs.

Elizabeth frowned, "Danger night? Usual places? What are you talking about, John?"

A look of realisation hit John as he realised that Elizabeth was still clueless. He looked back at Jeanette as well, whose arms were crossed as she expectantly awaited an answer alongside. Looking back to Elizabeth again he sighed.

"This won't be how Sherlock will want you to find out. In fact, he probabaly didn't want you to know at all but - he has a drug problem."

"Sherlock? A drug problem?" Elizabeth looked at John as though he were speaking in tongues, "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not. He says he is a 'user' rather than an 'addict' but it's essentially the same thing. He does well not to but tends to have bad relapses after an - emotional shock of sorts."

"Knowing Irene's dead..."

"Yeah. He has usual places round the flat where he keeps his stashes."

"Jesus..."

"Yep. And I found out the day after I met him."

"Where do I look?"

"Anywhere and everywhere. He could have new places or he may stick to old ones, you never know."

"O - okay." Elizabeth was in more shock, "And he wasn't planning on telling me?"

"Well, I don't honestly know but Sherlock tends to keep that fact mainly to himself. He hasn't willingly told anyone before so who knows." John shrugged as he went to check the kitchen.

Elizabeth stood in the lounge for a moment just processing what John had said. A drug problem? Stashes? Usual places? Danger nights? She shook her head, getting to work on searching the living room. She could ask more questions later.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

After around twenty minutes of searching and finding nothing, John got a call.

"No. Did he take the cigarette?...Shit," He looked to Elizabeth and Mrs Hudson, "He’s coming. Ten minutes."

"There’s nothing in the bedroom." The landlady said.

Elizabeth agreed, "Nothing in the living room either."

"Looks like he’s clean. We’ve tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight’s a danger night?...I’ve got plans...Mycroft? M..."

John chewed the inside of his mouth as  he wondered how he was going to break the news to Jeanette, who John had said didn't need to worry about helping them look for anything. He sat down beside his current girlfriend.

"I am really sorry."

"You know," Jeanette perked up, "My friends are so wrong about you."

"Hmm?"

"You’re a great boyfriend."

His eyebrows raised at the unexpected statement, "Okay, that’s good. I mean, I always thought I was great."

But Jeanette added as she looked at her watch, "And Sherlock Holmes is a very lucky man."

John groaned, knowing exactly where this was headed, "Jeanette, please."

"No, I mean it." She said with all the composure she could muster as she pulled on her shoes, resentfully, "It’s heart-warming. You’ll do anything for him – and he can’t even tell your girlfriends apart."

"No, I’ll do anything for you." John stood and followed her to the door, yet his tone even spoke of a losing battle, "Just tell me what it is I’m not doing. Tell me!"

"Don’t make me compete with Sherlock Holmes!"

"I’ll walk your dog for you. Hey, I’ve said it now. I’ll even walk your dog..."

"I don’t have a dog!"

"No, because that was...the last one. Okay..."

"Jesus!"

"I’ll call you."

"No!"

"Okay."

Irritated by how his relationship just ended, he turned back to the room and stared off sullenly.

Mrs Hudson spoke with a sympathetic tone, "That really wasn’t very good, was it?"

Elizabeth walked over to John, kindly commenting that she was sure he could do better and that he would find 'the one' eventually.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

Shortly after the lovers' argument, Mrs Hudson retired downstairs, seeing no further use of her help. Elizabeth was lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as Sherlock so often did. John was sat in his chair, reading A Christmas Carol with a glass of mulled wine near by.

Hearing the creak of the stairs, both the thief and doctor's attentions were brought away from their respective activities and to the figure in the doorway.

Sherlock was back.

Elizabeth sat up like a meerkat and stood faster than one's eye could blink as Sherlock seemed to analyse his surroundings.

"Oh, hi." John greeted, "You okay?"

Sherlock continued to look around the room until his eyes landed on Elizabeth who looked at him softly. He knew she knew about the drugs now but his face remained stone-cold emotionless. Sherlock didn't want her to see him like this.

He turned to walk through the kitchen door, making a beeline straight for his bedroom, "Hope you didn’t mess up my sock index this time."

And with that his door slammed shut once again. John sighed.

Elizabeth stood there like a forgotten toy, coldly thrown to the side.

She blinked, feeling little drops of emotion prick at her eyes. She didn't know why. She didn't know what she had expected - perhaps anything other than the distant look she had just received from the detective. She moved a miniscule step forward. Should she go?

"I wouldn't." John mumbled.

She looked to the doctor, subtle lines forming on her forehead.

"He'll just snap at you."

Silence.

Elizabeth's gaze moved to the mistletoe above the door, "We - we were going to tell everyone. I thought we were getting somewhere."

"Sherlock is - "

"Sherlock. Yes. I know."

"I was going to say human."  John paused as he set his book down on the table beside him, "He just doesn't like people to see. I think that he is afraid that his actual emotions will - scare us away. The irony is that his default to original factory settings pushes us away a lot more than by actually opening up. But because he is human, he doesn't realise his mistake. So we just have to wait. We have to be there for him for when he does. But for now, we should let him try to process this the way he wants. Otherwise, we could end up scaring him away. Because just like every other human on this planet, Sherlock Holmes is a very complex human being."