Sherlock knew what it was like to fail, to lose everything you thought you had and suddenly end up on the bottom of the world as he knew it. Ever since he was a kid, life had been like a ladder and he only went up. All through his schooling he climbed, all through college he climbed, through life and marriage and family he continued to ascend. Oh but if he had only known then that there would be something waiting for him at the top, if only he had known that there would be someone waiting him there to kick him square in the forehead and send him tumbling back to ground floor. Yes there was a mistake, an error in the ladder, a bend in the rung. As he had gone up he had ignored the weight that was beginning to grow on his back, the weight that would pull him down until he could simply climb no farther. Until he could not come home and kiss his wife hello, until he could not drive to work every day in that snazzy Cadillac, enjoying the luxuries of life all while missing out completely on the joys. Was it his own ignorance that had caused him this pain, was it his blind eye that he kept turning? It was one mistake; it was really all it took to get him falling down the ladder. One too many drinks, one too many glances, and one too many skipped heartbeats. He wasn't supposed to have gone to the bar; he wasn't supposed to have noticed that stoic gentleman in the corner. All his life he hadn't noticed the men, for he had never known he wanted to until that fateful night. Oh and the aggression of people these days! The lack of manners may have been the very thing that caused him such pain, simply because once your eyes meet with a strangers it's not too easy to take them away. Not until of course, you knew them much better than from a single glance. You knew them from kisses, and touches, and words breathed through breaths, words that were exchanged in the heat of the moment, when they had no meaning. A mistake, that was all it had taken...one bloody mistake. Back at the bottom now, that was what that gentleman had caused him. Sherlock was staring up at the life he used to lead, with pockets empty, fingers barren of any rings, and children long since said goodbye. In some ways it was freeing, for Sherlock was able to look back on his life and realize that great gaping hole that had been there waiting for him to realize it. The stranger in the family portraits, the lingering cloud that was hovering just above his eyes and around his head so as to keep him in the blissful expected paradise. A wife, children, domesticity...well of course this was not what Sherlock was made for! The ladder he had been climbing turned out to be the generic ladder, the one most every man was expected to climb if he wanted to go anywhere. The preassigned latter that arrived right when you were born, and distinguished as either being a girl or a boy. The girls went up one ladder, getting their education, meeting the man of their dreams, having a job and having children. The boys went up another, getting their education, meeting the woman of their dreams, having a job and children. There was hardly any separation between the two, and yet Sherlock realized that despite this miniscule detail the ladder he had climbed as a child, as a teenager, and now as an adult, well it had been the wrong one. The ladder he thought might lead him to happiness just led him to the feeling of forever incorrectness, the hallow feeling that comes with being lost in a place that had been so familiar. The confusion that arrives when you have everything you should want yet nothing all the same. Sherlock was supposed to love women, for that's how it had been with every person classified as a male thus far. He was given a goal and told to reach it for as long as he could live, and being the persevering champion people had reminded him to be, he had achieved it. He got himself a wife, had a child, and made an empty, subpar little family for himself. He was supposed to enjoy it, and so no one ever thought to ask if he did. No one except the man in the bar, the man that noticed the frown on his face and the ring on his finger and immediately diagnosed the problem with being at the top. Maybe Sherlock didn't mind having fallen down the ladder of success, simply because he could get on another and climb to the top of a world he would much rather gaze down upon. This time with a life he deserved to lead, and no temptations that would lead him astray. On this ladder he would find himself, not lose himself, he would find the man of his dreams as he was supposed to, had people not cut his pathway for him. And so yes, maybe he did lose his wife, maybe he did lose his child. Maybe his boss had fired him and his house had been taken in the divorce. There were still things intact, his heart for one, his looks. He had not yet aged enough to be considered undesirable; he had not yet aged enough so that men would turn a blind eye. He was still young enough to start anew, with new goals and new aspirations and new purpose in life. Sherlock wanted not to find success at the top, he would much rather find happiness. And maybe that fall had reminded him of the fact, reminded him of the necessity of pursuing what you thought desirable, and not what other people thought necessary. Yet this life was suited for Sherlock, and he felt almost as if he was suited for himself only. It was hard to see other men falling into the trap, especially those who seemed happy with life. When Sherlock sat at the bar, spending what little he had on alcohol to clear his mind and sitting waiting for someone to notice him, he had plenty of time to notice others as well. There were the regulars, and there were the drifters. Sherlock had frequented this place long enough to know the difference, those who smiled, and those two didn't. The regulars sat over the bar all hours of the day, and while they sang, drank, and laughed like all the rest, Sherlock knew enough to tell when their happiness was a mere façade. A side effect of the alcohol, for when they dragged their feet in and when they stumbled out, their true colors began to show. Their scowls, permanently plastered across their unshaven faces, all men who were returning to or from the world, never seeming truly happy unless they were hidden away from it for a while. Sherlock knew this purely because he was a regular; he was a miserable man even before his affair! Now he tried to be happy, now he knew at least what it would take to achieve true happiness. He knew the feeling of wanting to hide away, never to be spoken to, never to be approached again. Only one man had been able to get him into euphoria, only one man had achieved what might have been believed to be impossible ever since Sherlock had trapped his finger in that miserable ring. It had been life, nothing of love of course, for once that man had entered into Sherlock's life just as soon did he leave it. Yet Sherlock felt the first ever breath of happiness he had gotten in a long time, he had cherished the moments where instead of feeling miserable with a partner he had to tolerate, he began to feel exhilarated with a partner he wanted more and more of. A man that could hold him down, a man that could control him, a man that could caress him and kiss him and tell him that he was beautiful. That was what he needed, not some woman to which he had to show the same luxuries! Sherlock didn't like to admire other people, he liked to be admired, and that was what made that stranger so perfect. Perfect enough for Sherlock to file for divorce. Yet Sherlock saw in the faces of the drifters a sort of happiness that should not be pared with the same inconstancies, with the same carelessness. He saw the men, half drunken, falling over each other and laughing with legitimate emotion. He saw the wedding bands on their fingers, the group of friends who had probably all met during some backyard social party in their block. Sherlock noticed the legitimate joy they had in their lives, in their wives, in their work. Good men, just like Sherlock had been, who would be so hard to control when their consciousness and self-control had been washed away with multiple mugs of beer. Sherlock had made mistakes, just as these men seemed to be prepared to do now. Like the man with the golden hair, who was sitting next to Sherlock as he waited for his next round. He was staggering already, yet he was leaning against the countertop and admiring Sherlock from where he was. His wedding ring was especially obvious against his finger, almost as if he was trying to display it somehow, yet all the same he kept on staring.
"Can I help you?" Sherlock wondered, moving his drink a little bit away from the man just in case he was trying to slip anything into it. The stranger just grunted with a little amusement, as if that was exactly the question he was intended to ask.
"That depends on if you can help me." the man said with a shrug.
"Help you? With what exactly?" Sherlock wondered, raising a suspicious eyebrow to which the man just grinned proudly, as if he knew something that Sherlock did not. As if he assumed that, with such a limited range of experiences and preferences, that he had some sort of leverage over him.
"My name is John." the man said, completely ignoring Sherlock's questions as he held out a hand to shake. Sherlock shook it very apprehensively, noticing just how aggressive John's grip was now that he finally had Sherlock's fingers in his own. He didn't let go, either. He just sat there and held onto Sherlock's hand, as if now that their skin had touched it was officially his own property.
"Good to meet you. Now would you please let go?" Sherlock suggested nervously, looking to see this John's friends all huddled in the back, not bothering to pay attention to their rouge friend.
"Just admiring." John admitted with something of an innocent shrug.
"I would appreciate it if you'd stop admiring." Sherlock growled, yanking his hand away from John's drunken fingers with strength he didn't know he had. John looked somewhat offended, raising his eyebrows as if Sherlock's reluctance had somehow caused him a great dishonor. As if he was accustomed to getting everyone he wanted whenever he chose.
"That's not very nice. I wanted to pay you a compliment, maybe buy you a drink?" John grumbled.
"You're married." Sherlock reminded him with a sigh. What a daring string of words, considered that very reminder would never have stopped him the night he had submitted to all of the feelings that had been bubbling up his whole life! What a jest, when he remembered that he had made the exact same decisions that night as John was making now.
"That doesn't have to matter tonight." John mumbled with a bit of a drunken smile, trying to reach over towards where Sherlock's hand was still sitting on the bar. Sherlock yanked it away forcefully, feeling the need to slap this man out of whatever trance he had fallen into. He was happy already, Sherlock could sense that in him, and so why was he all of the sudden intending on destroying his life? Didn't he know the dangers of affairs, of what they might teach others, and most importantly what they might teach yourself?
"It matters tonight, John. It should always matter, I would know." Sherlock grumbled.
"You're married?" John asked with a bit of a laugh. "I wouldn't peg you as the type."
"I wasn't the type, you're right about that. I'm not married anymore." Sherlock insisted, giving the man a suspicious side eye before trying to scoot in his seat so that he wouldn't have to be so close.
"Well there you go. You're single, and marriage doesn't mean..."
"Don't throw away your life, John. Don't end up like me, like the rest of us! Who can only smile after their pockets are empty and their brains are numb. Don't make the same mistakes I did, I see your happiness, by God you fool! Just live your life! Enjoy your life! Don't crawl about the bars, trying to find relief that you don't need!" Sherlock exclaimed, getting out of his chair with some urgency so as to avoid the lunge John had made over the counter. Sherlock's exclamation had drawn some attention, enough to make both men attempt to stand tall, so as to make it look like they weren't just arguing over something that might be considered humiliating for a man of John's social status. And so, in the eyes of all the onlookers, it was all John could do but take his advice. It was all he could do but nod stiffly, understanding now that in light of Sherlock's daring remarks he really didn't have any choice but to leave Sherlock alone. And so he nodded, taking the beer that had been waiting for him on the counter and starting back over to his friends. HE didn't look nearly as confident, yet at least he would have preserved his happiness for a later time. There were always those men, those who dabbled in beauty of all types before realizing they needed no replacement. Those who got lost in their desires before losing all they had actually wanted when their wife found out. Sherlock would not play a part in someone else's downfall; he would not submit anyone else to the same mistreatment he had dealt upon himself. He would not be the reason for another divorce; he would not be the reason for anymore tears. Maybe John was disappointed at being stood up tonight, yet tomorrow he would wake up and find his life intact, and his ladder continuing to go up. Tomorrow would be the same as tonight for Sherlock. Looking up, with nowhere else to fall. It was lonely at the bottom, but Sherlock would rather be the only one than have to drag someone down with him so as to make it more tolerable. Never had he been that selfish, and never would he be again. Because he was a good man, deep inside. A good man that had made mistakes, as most did from time to time.

A/N: So this is my attempt at a challenge given by my dearest friend, @DrWordsmith , in which to write a story based on the Fall Out Boy song, Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers. To be honest I'm sure I did it wrong, and I probably missed the entire meaning of the song, but I think I like the final result! I told her to do Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen, so we'll see how that works out. She's got a great big book of song fics if you want to check it out! She's an excellent writer :)