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It was 4 pm on a Saturday and Sherlock was bored out of his fucking mind. He couldn't even relieve his boredom by conversing with his living room skull- John had confiscated it after he found out Sherlock had been using the cranium to hide cigarettes.
Though despite his annoying and almost parental protection over him, Sherlock was.. well.. he was quite fond of John Watson.
Life was pretty dark before Sherlock met the soldier; going from crime scene to crime scene became less of a joy and more of a routine drill to try and convince people his life still had meaning, even if he didn't believe it himself. No one tells you that once you become known for something and people expect it out of you, the shock value dwindles rapidly, along with any pride and appreciation.
Even small things started to get to him- Mycroft not coming around as often, Molly moving on with boyfriends she truly cared for, spending less time in the Barts lab with him...
It all hurt. But it didn't hurt in the way it hurts to get the worst lolly as a child, or to fail a big test, break up with a lover... the way it hurt was like fire flowing through his veins. Burning him from the inside out. It hurt in a way that he could see no future, feel no alternative than what his mind tells him must happen. Sherlock was lost.
The only things that even felt real to him was the pain, everything else was like he was drifting through a fog, having no control of what happened in his own life. Existence appeared to be an illusion where the only things that mattered were the things that hurt,... and yet no one noticed.
Over the years Sherlock had built up a way he chose for people to perceive him- a veil, not letting anyone see inside. So when it came to really needing help, needing comfort, love, he had no way to show it, and no one knew him to act any other way so they didn't suspect anything was wrong.
But of course there were the drugs.
When all you know is how to go through life numb to the pain and hurt and then you find this way to harness it, and control what you feel and how you feel it,...you’re going to do it. So Sherlock did. He only thought of it as a drug “habit” of course, because by admitting what it really was, an addiction- Sherlock would be in the same spot as he was before, hopelessly succumbing to events in his life he can't control. He would be alone again.
So he had this little thing he kept to himself to make him feel, to make him have control over one thing in his whirlwind of a life.
Then one day in walks a short little funny looking oddly tanned army doctor that changed Sherlock's whole view.
It almost felt like something changed in the air when he walked in, even with a gun to his head sherlock wouldn't be able to explain the feeling he got, it was better than a high, stronger than the worst he's been hurt, but in another sense, one of the lightest feelings he'd ever experienced.
John Hamish Watson, he would eventually learn was the gentleman's name. Watson,...John Watson,... even his name brings a smile to Sherlock's face, though that's nothing compared to what it's like being in a room with the man. Being around and talking to him makes Sherlock feel as if he's floating on air. It's not that he forgets the pain he's suffered or the loneliness he’s endured but John makes him confident in the fact he will never have to go through it alone again.
It truly is like nothing Sherlock has ever experienced nor thought he deserved to or ever would. He finally knows what it truly feels like to have someone in his corner, a supporting, loving companion to be with him until the forces that be set them apart. Sherlock is completely and utterly in love with John Watson.