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My New Addiction (Johnlock)Sherlock stood by the fireplace, playing his violin with a fervour bordering on violence. He was trying to drown out the constant need in his head, like bees clamouring for nectar, that was telling him that he needed nicotine. It was an insistent pull, almost a survival instinct within him. Unfortunately, he had misplaced his nicotine patches and his destruction of the flat had heeded no results for either the patches or the secret stash of cigarettes. Apparently John had gone out again, seeing as he hadn't appeared to yell at Sherlock as he trashed the flat.
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Meanwhile, John trudged back from doing the shopping, two large bags in his hands. Thankfully, this time, he had not shouted abuse at any self-service machines. It was a warm night, but stuffy - just the sort of weather that John hated. Brilliant. He stopped outside the flat, put one bag down to wipe his forehead with his sleeve, before picking it up and walking in. "Sherlock? I'm back."
Despite the violin, Sherlock could hear Joh
Hot chocolateSherlock ushered John out of the flat, calling over his shoulder to a bemused Gregory Lestrade that they’d be back around midnight and that Hamish still hadn’t had his juice. As the door slammed behind them, Greg turned around, faced with a two year old Hamish Watson-Holmes, sitting on the floor, fist in mouth, staring up at him expectantly.
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“Well then, Misha.” He entered the room properly and crouched next to the child. “Your fathers have gone out for a meal, and now you’re stuck with Greg. Sorry about that.” Lifting Hamish up, he took him into the kitchen, wincing as the boy tugged on his hair. “Let’s find your juice, hm?”
“Daddy?” Hamish asked.
“Nope. Afraid not. I’m uncle Greg.”
Greg nodded and picked up the cup of juice and handed it to Hamish, who instantly started drinking, staring at Greg as though he had two heads, silently assessing in a way that was so accuratel