Theme Prompt - Insanity

'1 year, 5 months, 2 weeks, and 1 day,' Sherlock thought as he sat in the flat across from his old one. The flat that John still stayed in. Sherlock glanced down at his phone, a cheap one he had picked up about a year ago, and wondered. He hadn't gotten a return text all that time ago when he saved John from the pills. He wasn't even sure if John believed it had come from him.

Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his black curls. Moriarty's web was almost completely dismantled, but the time grated on Sherlock. He could feel what he swore was insanity creeping slowly up to him. The longer he spent away from their flat, from John, the worse the feeling became. He felt as if tendrils were creeping along his back, tingling and burning. He didn't know how much longer until the insanity took him over, but he hoped he had enough time.

Movement across the street caught his eye and Sherlock jumped up. He rushed to the window and parted the curtains carefully. It wouldn't do for John to see him. Not yet. Sherlock's heart warmed as he saw the stalwart doctor limp across the room to sit heavily in the red armchair. The doctor looked especially careworn today, his eyes tired and his face drooping. But Sherlock thought he could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Hope that had been there since the text.

Dropping the curtain, Sherlock shuffled back to his chair, a smile lighting his face. John Watson still believed. His John. Sherlock had no idea when the ex-soldier had become his in his mind, but he wasn't going to argue the point. He just knew that having John there had made his life less boring.

"I'd be lost without my blogger," Sherlock repeated to himself, smile still creasing his face. He raised his eyes to look at the window. He saw that John had moved, getting a cup of tea and placing it at his elbow. The doctor held his phone in one hand and the paper in another. His heart jumping, Sherlock picked up his phone. Should he? John was obviously waiting to see if he would receive another text.

Deciding, Sherlock opened his phone and typed out a quick message. His thumb hovered over the Send button, tracing the lettering. There was minimal danger in sending this second text, but still, that was his John. Sherlock shook his head and depressed the button before he deleted the message. Closing his phone, he steepled his fingers under his chin, eyes glued to the tired doctor in the flat next door.

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John jumped when his phone beeped, completely absorbed in the article he was reading. The flat still seemed too quiet without the exasperating detective taking so much of its space. He still sometimes read articles aloud to hear an opinion that was never going to come.

John looked at his phone and realized it was a text message that had been sent. He didn't recognize the number and his heart raced within his chest. Could it be? Could someone he believed dead be texting him? John slowly scrolled to the text in his phone and felt his heart kick in his chest as he read it.

"Soon. -SH"