"Oh, Sherlock, I was hoping you come and play," John's voice came out unclear and slightly slurred.
Sherlock stood over him, unsure what to say or do. John was laid across the couch on his side, with his legs bent at the knees. He was smiling sweetly at Sherlock, but his eyes were unfocused. Sherlock knelt beside the couch and touched john's arm. He was shocked to find that it was cold. John's normally full face was gaunt and haunted looking. His limbs were extremely thin and his clothes hung off of him, as though they were several sizes too big.
"John, I'm sorry I did what I did," Sherlock whispered, "wait. Aren't you surprised to see me?"
"Sherlock," John groaned, "That's so boring. I don't want to do the speech again. Let's just skip to the good part."
"Again?" Sherlock questioned, raising an eyebrow.
"Jus' hush, Sherlock," john put his hand on Sherlock's mouth.
This was the moment that Sherlock noticed that john's pupils were dilated. He saw that one of his feet was constantly moving and his hands were shaking. Suddenly he realized that john was high. And looks as though he's been using for a while. He's all pale and sickly. Why? Why would he do this? Sherlock roughly grabbed john's arm and jerked up the sleeve. He saw the tell-tale marks and dropped the arm as though it suddenly caught fire. Pure panic was building up in his chest. He never imagined that when he finally came home, he'd find John strung out on cocaine.
"John we need to get you to a-," Sherlock was interrupted by a rough pair of lips.
John's mouth pressed hard to his, silencing every thought he had. John leaned back slightly, still centimeters from his face.
"I said hush," John growled.
His lips were back on Sherlock's pressing him hard with an enthusiasm only drugs could create. John pushed him backwards onto the coffee table, breaking the rough kiss for only a moment. He straddled Sherlock and pressed his tongue past those pale lips. He didn't wait to ask Sherlock anything and he didn't hesitate for a moment. His hips ground viciously into Sherlock and his mouth sloppily attacked the warmth of Sherlock's. Sherlock finally came to his senses and pushed john back. John snarled in a feral way and tried to attack Sherlock again. As he came forward, Sherlock did the only thing he could think of; he punched John square in the face.
Apparently john was very weak, because it only took the one punch to knock him out. He fell half backwards and half sideways, landing half on the couch and slipping to the floor. Sherlock pressed his palms into his eyes trying to stall the tears that were threatening to form. He swiftly swooped down and pulled John up by his underarms. He sat him on the couch and managed to get him into his arms. He shuffled to the door and walked carefully down the steps. There's no way that he was always this light Sherlock thought as he hit the last step. He made it to the door and after several moments of struggling, he managed to twist the knob and open it. He debated for several moments before trying to hail a cab. It was fairly easy, considering he had no arm to wave. A cab pulled over and the cabbie hopped out.
"Let me help you," the cabbie shouted, "Is he ok?"
"He will be," Sherlock muttered, as the cabbie opened the door.
He managed to awkwardly push John inside and slip inside himself. He rearranged John, trying to be as gentle as possible. He told the cabbie the address and told him to step on it. The cabbie went as fast as possible, weaving through traffic and Sherlock sat back to look at John. The man looked younger and older at the same time. The sleep made him look peaceful and yet lines ran across his face everywhere. Sherlock's eyes began to pour as he looked at his john. This wasn't how it was supposed to be he dared to whisper in his mind. But what did I really expect? To come home to a loving john who would hug me and hold me and say he missed me and be mad, but happy at the same time? That's what I wanted, but how could I believe that that is how it would be? Did I do this to him? Sherlock didn't even try to stop the tears rolling down his face as he pulled John's unconscious body close to him.
"We're here," the cabbie called to the back seat, "But don't you think the hospital would be better?"
"No," Sherlock stated simply.
The cabbie shrugged and hopped out to open the door. Sherlock gathered John into his arms and stepped out of the cab. It was awkward and he had to be careful not to bump John against anything, but he managed just fine. He walked to the door and it opened before he reached it. He stepped inside without hesitation.
"Pay the man," he spat at his brother, through his tears.
Mycroft quickly handed the cabbie far more than the fare was. The cabbie grinned and shuffled off to leave. Sherlock merely walked in the house and laid John carefully onto the couch. He kneeled next to him, burying his face into John's thin, tight stomach. He sobbed into the familiar jumper, wishing he could go back and change a thousand things.
"What happened to him?" Mycroft asked cautiously.
"He was on DRUGS!" Sherlock stood and whirled on Mycroft in one fluid movement, "Why didn't you watch him?! Why didn't you check on him?! Didn't you CARE?! He was my best friend! He was my ONLY friend! And you just LEFT HIM ALONE! All your infinite power and you couldn't watch him?!"
"Sherlock, I thought he would be fine-," Mycroft started to defend himself, only to have Sherlock lash out again.
"You thought he would be FINE!" Sherlock screamed, "He had PTSD, he had NIGHTMARES! What is WRONG WITH YOU?!"
"I'm sorry," Mycroft murmured, "He was so steady and strong. I thought he would keep it together."
"You didn't even check once, did you?" Sherlock asked, "DID YOU?"
"No," Mycroft admitted in a small voice.
Sherlock let out a frustrated and strangled yell. He scrubbed his hands through his hair violently. His tears continued to fall and he made no move to stop them. There was a tiny cough behind him and he immediately was at John's side.
"Are you ok? John? Can you hear me?" Sherlock asked gently.
"Go away," John moaned, rolling onto his side facing away from Sherlock, "I can't deal with it right now. You just go away."
"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, pleadingly, "I had to knock you out. You were acting strange and I had to get you somewhere to help. I'm sorry I was gone so long. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm so sorry, John."
"Wait a minute," John sat up a bit, "This isn't my couch. Where am i?"
He turned and laid eyes on Sherlock kneeling beside him. he seemed to deem this normal, as he continued searching. Next he noticed Mycroft, which caused his eyes to go wide.
"Mycroft?" john said in confusion, "Why am I here? Is this your house?"
"Yes," Mycroft answered, "Sherlock brought you here after he found you on drugs at your flat."
"Sherlock couldn't have brought me here," John's jaw tightened, "He's a hallucination. Hallucinations don't take people places. Wait, how did you know that I see Sherlock?"
"Because this one isn't a hallucination, John," Mycroft said, as gently as he could manage.
John's eyes tried to focus back in on Sherlock.
"Sh-sherlock?" he sputtered.
"Yes," Sherlock answered, trying to nod in encouragement.
"My god, it IS you," john eyes widened in shock.
Sherlock smiled slightly and nodded a bit more enthusiastically. John's eyes shrunk to narrowed at him and he suddenly drew back his hand and slapped Sherlock right across the face. Sherlock stared with his mouth opened, slightly stunned at the slap. He turned back to John, hesitantly.
"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered, "I had to do it, to save your life."
"I believe you," John said.
Then he slapped Sherlock again. Sherlock's eyes flashed an angry look, but they softened as he realized he probably deserved a million more slaps and punches and kicks. He clenched his jaw and turned back to John, patiently waiting for the next slap. Instead john leaned forward and kissed his lips lightly. Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed. He loved the soft feel of john's lips on his own. It was nice when John wasn't on drugs. But it was over all too quickly.
"Now take me home," he demanded.
"I think we should have Mycroft set you up in a-," Sherlock was silenced with another slap.
"Take. Me. Home!" John shouted through clenched teeth.
"Ok," Sherlock squeaked.
He stood gracefully and offered a hand to john who took it and rose shakily. He jerked his hand away as soon as he was up and Sherlock took that to mean move. he quickly strode to the door and opened it. John walked out the door without another word.
"Be careful," Mycroft called to Sherlock, "Call me if you need me."
Sherlock paused for a moment and turned back to Mycroft. He opened his mouth to say something, but just closed it. He nodded and quickly left, closing the door with a snap. He stepped quickly after John, who stood with his arms crossed at the curb. Sherlock hailed a cab and john got in without speaking. The whole ride, Sherlock wanted to say many things, but didn't know if he was allowed. At 221B, John stomped into the house and up the stairs, sitting heavily on the couch, his arms still crossed. Sherlock followed him, but instead went to the kitchen. He found that there was barely any tea and no milk. He made a cup anyway and brought it to John.
John glared at the cup as though it offended him and then glared at Sherlock. He knocked the cup from the outstretched hand with a swift motion. He then recrossed his arms and glowered at Sherlock.
"Well?" he snarled, "Clean it up."
Sherlock fell to the floor and picked up the mug, quickly taking it to the kitchen. He found a towel and went back to the living room, quickly cleaning up the tea. Once he was certain it was completely clean, he put the towel back in a laundry bin. He then returned to John and sat cautiously on the couch.
"No," John growled at him, his eyes bright with anger, "You do not get to sit on the couch."
Sherlock suppressed a frown and thought about moving to one of the chairs. Maybe he wants me on the floor? Sherlock wondered. He slid to the floor, sitting at John's feet. John made no sound and Sherlock took this to mean he was satisfied with Sherlock's choice. Sherlock sat patiently awaiting what would happen next. Why am I doing this? The thought popped into his head. This is so undignified….but I want him to forgive me…Sherlock looked up at John, hesitantly, wondering briefly if he was allowed to look at him. John gave him a hard stare, his jaw clenched. Sherlock dipped his head back down to look at the floor.
"Not crossed," John said tightly, "Sit on your knees."
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest and question why, but he thought better of it. He silently shifted until he was sitting on his knees. He put his hands on his legs and kept his head bowed, unsure of what to do now. John shifted and brought his feet up to the couch. He lay down, curled up slightly and rested his head on his arm.
"You better be here when I wake up," he whispered dangerously.
"I will," Sherlock whispered back.
John apparently thought this was satisfactory as he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Sherlock stared at the floor, his hands half curled on his thighs. What does he want from me? Does he just want to make me realize what I've done? Maybe it's some sort of test….I don't understand. Sherlock sighed in frustration, but he didn't move. He resolved to prove himself to John and pass any test he threw at him. It seemed that the tables had turned as now Sherlock had to prove himself to John, the way John had struggled to do for Sherlock.