Warning. Mention of drugs.

(Y/n) threw open the door of the cab, throwing money at the cabbie before she raced to the door of Baker Street. She knew that the driver had done his best to get there as quickly as possible. But the journey, for her, and she was sure John too, had felt like it had taken a lifetime. So, now that she was here, she wasn't going to waste any more time. John had done the best he could to try and tell her what to expect. To prepare her for the worst. But she had to see it for herself. She had to see him.

The large door to the house sounded as if it had almost broken from its hinges, as (Y/n) forced her way inside the address. It all just a blur as she ran up the stairs. Her heart pounding so violently in her chest as she got to the door of the flat, that she was sure that at any moment it would fail her. Her eyes growing wide as she saw Misses Hudson, and Greg. Both of them looking more concerned than the other. Greg slowly placing a reassuring hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

"Mycroft is in there with him. I know that it might not be the best idea. But I know that he wouldn't let Sherlock do anything stupid. He said for you to just go in when you got here." Greg told her, as he slowly opened the door to the flat. Misses Hudson giving her a kissing on the cheek, before she made her way inside.

"He is in a disgusting heap on his chair." Mycroft told her, as the door was closed behind her. (Y/n) doing her best to look around the older Holmes to the Holmes that she had come to see.

"It isn't a pretty sight." Mycroft continued, as his grip on his umbrella tightened a little. The older man finally moving out of the way, as he made his way to the door. Stopping at (Y/n)'s side.

"Bring him back to us, won't you.........(Y/n)." Mycroft added. A small, worried smile cracking his icy outer shell, as he nodded to her before making his way to the door.

As (Y/n) moved further into the flat, she finally realised that the whole place smelt. No, strike that. It stunk. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but she was sure that it was a mixture of terrible things. Of rotting food, and probably rotting bits of body. But that was not her concern at the moment. Her concern was Sherlock.

As she saw him, she couldn't help but gasp. She had never seen Sherlock Holmes look like that before. He was filthy. Dishevelled. A heavy stubble kissed his cheeks, and his hair was revoltingly greasy. He seemed thinner too. His cheeks hollow, his eyes dark from the shadows that lay beneath them. And (Y/n) couldn't help but want to run to him. To take him into her arms and tell him that everything would be alright. But first she had to fix this. She had to make him see that drugs were not the answer. That if he did love her, he would have to show it by promising that he would never touch the vile, detestable stuff again. So, she would have to be cruel before she could be kind.

With a deep breath, (Y/n) took a seat in John's old chair. Brushing away the tears that she had been unable to keep from falling, before she spoke.

"You look like shit. And you smell even worse." (Y/n) said. Her tone a little harsher than any that she had ever used for Sherlock before. The consulting detective's eyes flying open as he heard her voice. Sherlock slowly sitting and trying his best to straighten his jacket.

"That is all a matter of opinion. And as your opinion no longer means anything to me, I do not care what you think." Sherlock replied sarcastically. His reddened eyes doing their best to focus on the woman across from him. Sherlock sure that despite his clouded mind, (Y/n) had never looked more beautiful.

"Yeah. I had a feeling that you might say that. You know something, you are a petulant little shit, Sherlock Holmes. You think and care about no one else but yourself. If it isn't something that you are interested in, or doesn't concern you, then you don't care a jot. And despite all the things that amazing mind of yours can do, I swear that you have to be the biggest idiot I have ever met. I hate to burst your bubble Sherlock, but whether you like it or not. Whether you think you are above all that sentimental rubbish that cloud the minds of everyone else. There are people out there that love you. There are people that don't want you to kill yourself. That want you to be healthy and happy. And I am one of them.........."

"Yes. But you left me.................."

"I left you, because I love you. Because I need you more than I have needed anyone in my life. And it hurt to see you not give a damn about me. For you not to see that it was killing me, that you felt nothing. That you repaid my love with apathy and heartless indifference. I can count on the fingers of one hand, how many times you came to bed with me without complaining that you had far more important things to do. The times that you seemed to care just enough to touch me. And I cannot begin to tell you what that did to me. How it was destroying me. So, for my own sake, I had to leave. I had to get some space. To evaluate what we had. And believe me, it would have been easier for me to just forget about you. To pretend that you don't even exist. But I couldn't. I realised that no matter what, I would always love you, even if it killed me. Yet, if my opinion doesn't matter to you, then perhaps I should just leave again. Perhaps I should just go and let you descend back into your addiction. Because it would be easier, than having to admit that you are just human like the rest of us, wouldn't it? And eventually, you would have taken just a little too much, and Misses Hudson would find your bloated corpse on the floor one morning. I don't care if you don't love me, Sherlock. I have come to terms with it. But for John's sake. For Misses Hudson. For Greg and Mycroft. But mostly for yourself. Please, please don't let yourself fall back down that hole. Don't let the drugs take you from them." (Y/n) sniffed, as she fought back the tears. As she got to her feet and made her way over to a stunned Sherlock. Placing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes. I always will." (Y/n) added, as she turned to make her way back to the door.

"NO!" Sherlock exclaimed, as he jumped up and raced over to her. Falling to his knees before her and wrapping his arms around her waist. Burying his head into her stomach.

"No........stay. You must stay. Come home, please. Come back to me." Sherlock managed to say. (Y/n) shocked by the emotion in his voice. Able to feel the tears that were rolling down his cheeks, as they soaked through her shirt.

"I........I need you, (Y/n). I can't think without you. I can't work without you here. I needed to think. To figure out what to do. How I could get you to come back to me. So, I ............I.........I know I shouldn't. That its only made things worse. But I began to no longer care. To think that it would be better to be dead than spend another day without you. Because.........because I love you, (Y/n)." Sherlock confessed. (Y/n) no longer able to hold back the tears. Her knees giving way, as she joined him on the floor. Sherlock letting out a sigh of relief, as (Y/n) pulled him close. As she brushed her fingers through his dirty, unkempt black curls.

"Well, if you put it that way." (Y/n) chuckled through her tears, as she felt Sherlock's grip on her get tighter.

"How could I refuse. But you have to promise me a few things." (Y/n) added, as she placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead. His head slowly moving up so that he could look into her beautiful eyes.

"Anything. Anything you want. Just name it............"

"Well, no more heads in the fridge would be nice for a start. No explosions for a little while. And you have to promise to clean up whatever is causing that atrocious smell." (Y/n) began, as she placed her hand on Sherlock's cheek. The detective nodding his head in agreement to all her demands.

"But most of all, you have to promise me that you will never ever think about using drugs again. Not even in passing. And you have to tell me at least once a day that you love me. Just so that I never forget." (Y/n) concluded, as she smiled down at Sherlock. As he reached up and placed his own hand on her cheek.

"I promise." Sherlock replied softly, as his fingers found her hair, the detective pulling (Y/n) in for a kiss. Neither of them seeing John as he poked his head around the door. A small smile coming to his lips, as he realised that (Y/n) was coming home. And so was Sherlock.