A/N trying my hand after lurking forever! Reviews are always helpful but ummm enjoy some entertainment.~~

John sat in the apartment and impatiently checked his watch. It was 2:30 am where on Earth was Sherlock. After living with his eccentric roommate for a few months he had become quite accustomed to Sherlock's odd late night activities, as well as the secrecy that shrouded his entire life but these ridiculous all night excursions were getting out of hand. John pulled out his phone. The screen stared back him blankly, no new messages. He groaned and ran his hand through his blonde hair.

Suddenly he heard loud footsteps crashing up the stairs. John swiveled in his chair ready to yell at the much overdue Sherlock, but refrained himself when Sherlock tumbled through the door.

The usually composed detective was shaken and lying on the floor wincing in pain. John rushed over to him, his usual mothering attitude overweighing any malice he had harboured towards Sherlock just seconds before. "Sherlock!" he cried, only eliciting a low moan from the other man's lips. "shit," John whispered to himself. He hoisted the severely underweight detective onto the couch . John checked him for any obvious wounds.

Sherlock's ankle was severely swollen and starting to bloom with purple bruises, his eye swollen shut with an expertly placed punch and his left forearm was littered with tick marks. John looked at his poor companion. He'd have to bring up the matters of the tick marks at a later date, but now he had to work quickly. He monitored Sherlock's heart rate, extremely elevated. John could feel the sweat starting to form on his forehead, and took note of how Sherlock was not starting to sweat, but was instead drenched with it. John cursed his idiot friend. He turned back to the tick marks on Sherlock's arms. They ranged from date but John noticed two that were still oozing small droplets of blood. Suddenly all the blood in the kind doctor's body ran cold. If this was an overdose there was no way that John could treat this by himself. He went to reach for his phone but was stopped by a cold bony hand. He looked back up at Sherlock, the consulting detective's usually sparkling blue eyes were glazed over and hazy.

"You don't have to call Mycroft," he managed to rasp out.

"Sherlock stop being ridiculous, I can't help you on your own," I shook off his weak hand and sent out the message.

Sherlock is on some sort of bender and I think he got mugged, please help but be discreet.

-JH

Sherlock moaned in protest, but John got up to get him a glass of water and shook his head indignantly. How could Sherlock be so damn selfish, God he's such an idiot. John was stewing in his thoughts when he heard the weak shell of a man on the couch rasp out again,

"you're disappointed in me." Sherlock stated. His voice was still shallow and breathy but John could hear the hint of distress in his friends voice. But it still enraged him. He spun on his heel to face Sherlock.

"OF COURSE I'M DISAPPOINTED IN YOU!" The young doctor screamed at his companion. He could feel the heat rising to his face as he continued screaming at the pale figure. "Sherlock you said you were off the drugs, you didn't need them anymore. But clearly you're not!" John was getting more and more frustrated with his best mate. "I mean for godsake, like it wasn't bad enough you were ruining your body," Sherlock looked at him curiously, "don't act like you think all your razors were getting lost, I removed them whenever I saw them littered around the damn place," Sherlock flushed with shame, good, that's what John wanted. "But now you're ruining that brilliant fucking mind of yours with all these drugs and other vices that I can't even imagine." John stopped for a breath and looked at his now silent companion.

Sherlock had no words to defend himself against the onslaught that was an angry John Watson. The shorter blonde man could scream at him until he was blue in the face, but none of his stupid words or emotions would work on the detective. The cocaine and small cuts that littered his body were the only thing that comforted him from the prison that was his ever racing mind. And the only thing that took his mind off of how incredibly alone he was. Everytime John went on a date, or was out with friends it left a hole in Sherlock's heart. He would never admit it but he wanted the companionship that John had, he wanted someone to look at him with all the love and tenderness that John looked at his dates with. Sherlock wanted friends, and loyalty and. John had ceased his screaming so Sherlock looked up just in time to see Mycroft strolling into his flat twirling that stupid umbrella of his. "Brother dear," he drawled while looking over Sherlock's frail state, "what on Earth have you gotten yourself into?"

~~~~~Well that's enough for now :x if anyone reads this I'll add another chapter THANK YOU FOR READING YOU'RE SO KIND~~~~