When The World Disappears
Description: With months of no cases to solve, what will happen between Sherlock and John? (no sex, heavy drug use, torture, abuse, and overdosing)
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or BBC Sherlock this is purely fanmade.
I would also love to thank my beta reader M.L. She is awesome and amazing and I wouldn't be posting it if she wasn't betaing this!
Chapter – 1 I'm not an Addict
The deeper you stick it in your vein
The deeper the thoughts, there's no more pain
I'm in heaven, I'm a god
I'm everywhere, I feel so hot
He was starting to drive him mad. The proclaimed genius slash consulting detective was going up the walls like a cat in heat due to no cases in months. John had done his best to try and get cases from the Detective Inspector, but nothing that terrible had happened in three months, at least nothing anyone could handle without Sherlock.
John even did his best to get fake cases; wild goose chases if you will. Though, the consulting detective always seemed to figure it out one way or another. Of course, at first Sherlock would be incredibly excited when he got the call for something, but once they were out in the field, he would realize it was a fake and get just as upset. So upset, Sherlock was starting to throw tantrums. His tantrums were normal but these were getting worse: increasingly so. Even when he played his violin, things seemed to be going wrong. The once beautiful notes that came from the expensive violin were now harsh, loud, and off-key.
"Would you just knock it off already you git!?" John groaned as he came from the kitchen with their take away meal and some tea. Sherlock was in the midst of running the bow roughly over the violin. It was apparent he wasn't even trying anymore, and god knows how many sets of strings he had broken. Thankfully, Sherlock's brother, Mycroft was nice enough to buy replacements.
"Knock what off John? The playing the violin or do you mean the need for a case?" Sherlock shot back as he glared with icy eyes. He slowly sat the violin down and started to pace. "Three months, two days, 20 hours since my last case to solve! Unless you count the wild goose chases you were trying to pull off. Honestly John, do you really think I am that dimwitted? Of course I would figure out they were a farce!" He snapped.
The last ditch attempt to help get Sherlock's mind off of no big hits was just the other day, and Sherlock was still pouting and grumbling about it. "Oh come on now, come eat." John grumbled as he pushed the food towards the man. Sherlock stopped and looked down at the food curiously. His favorite Chinese take away. They always got the same thing, but he never really saw any issue with that. He got the beef and broccoli while John preferred orange chicken and white rice.
"I do not need substance. I am merely not hungry. What I need my dear, Watson, is a case!" He then went back to pacing in front of the table as John idly picked at the orange chicken and rice.
"Sherlock, when was the last time you had a decent meal? I haven't seen you eat anything more than a biscuit or crumpet in weeks!" John said hastily, "Now, stop with this rubbish of not needing to eat. Come on now," John, always the worrying, motherly type over him. It made Sherlock smile on the inside to know someone cared for him like he did.
To be honest, Sherlock could feel the hunger deep in his stomach, the rumbling and grumbling, telling him he did need to eat. "Fine," he sighed out with defeat as he settled down and took two huge bites, and chewed as he watched for John's approving nod. John smiled fondly around his food and kept eating in their comfortable silence. Sherlock ate about half of his meal, a normal thing for him, before he stood "I am going out, don't wait up." He stated calmly as he grabbed his signature wool jacket with the flipped collar. This was becoming a reoccurring thing with him, leaving and not returning sometimes for a day or two.
"Out? It is 9 pm on a Tuesday night, and its raining. Why do you feel the need to go out?" John asked, a bit perplexed.
"Do not ask such funny little things, John. I need to go, out. Get some sleep, don't wait up" At that, the detective had grabbed his things and was out the door in a flash. John sighed, a bit worried on what he could be doing.
Unbeknownst to him, Sherlock had picked up a nasty little habit. A habit he had formed long before he met John, and had just gotten over when they were introduced. Mycroft was partially to blame for them living together, though Sherlock could not complain. John dealt with the strange quirks, his experiments, not talking for days on end, and the need to play the violin at all hours of the night.
Sherlock's body was itching, itching for that release and pleasure he got from the sensation of drugs. Thankfully, he had a few contacts still in the business and was able to score some, normally for cheap or even free depending on if they wanted to utilize his certain set of "skills". Sherlock soon made it to the small, run down strip club where he normally got his stash. It wasn't exactly a place he liked to frequent but beggars could not be choosers.
Once inside, he moved swiftly to the office and opened the door, ignoring the strung out stripper between the man's legs, behind the desk. "Hello, Stephen." Sherlock said with a cool tone. The male smirked as he sat forward, shooing the girl away as she got up, cleaning herself off as she moved out the door. "You are becoming more frequent. This is the third time in two weeks, Holmes. What happened to the last bit I gave you?"
"What do you think? Now, you still owe me an 8-ball." Sherlock said casually.
"Oh yes, I remember." The strip bar owner replied as he pulled out the small bag and tossed it to Sherlock, who caught it rather easily. "Do you need a room?" Sherlock shook his head and smirked as he walked out without another word. Normally, he would take a back room and do a few lines. Sometimes, he felt the need to shoot it as well. Tonight though, he felt it best to just take it home and do a few rounds in his barely used bedroom. Plus, he knew it would make John happy to know he wasn't out all night and actually came back at a decent hour.
Back at the flat, the minute Sherlock had left, John had called Mycroft. Now, he normally didn't like working with the older Holmes but he was starting to worry about Sherlock's erratic behavior, or at least, more erratic than normal.
"Yes, Mycroft its John Watson. I am a little worried about Sherlock. We haven't had a case in months and he's been crawling up the walls like a caged animal. More or less. He has been gone for days sometimes. I don't know what he is doing and he won't talk to me." Watson said into the receiver, having not even waited for a proper hello.
"Gone for days?" Mycroft said. "When does he leave?"
"Normally at night." John answered back. Mycroft sat back in his chair and pondered. Drugs. That was the only explanation; especially if he was gone for days and left at night. "How does he act when he comes home Watson? Giddy? Hyper?" He asked curiously.
John blinked and thought for a minute or two, "Sometimes he comes back and is more agitated, and others he's giddy and talking a lot about, really anything." He thought carefully. "Normally, when he comes back he refuses to eat for days, which is normal, but more so. He refuses to sleep and once he sat and watched a whole documentary on the telly." He commented. "Very erratic, I have to force him to eat, and bathe, and even dress on most occasions. I get tired of seeing him walking around in just a sheet. More than once he has given Mrs. Hudson a scare."
"I see, and did he leave tonight?" Mycroft was slowly starting to form things in his head and it was not a pretty sight. "Yeah, he left about ten minutes ago and told me not to wait up." John replied casually.4
Mycroft sighed as he shook his head "When he gets back, do not let him leave and please send me a message. I need to have a chat with my little brother and I rather he not know." After the confirmation John would do as he asked, they hung up and John sighed softly.
Mycroft was seething slightly, his hands shaking as he thought about the years it took to get his brother clean. All the money, the rehab, and everything he had done. He knew his brother got bored easily but to go right back to drugs? Granted, he had to admit in the last year and a half, especially since the doctor was around his brother was doing a lot better. There hadn't been any relapses and he seemed to be doing well health wise. Taking care of himself, and doing the things he needed to do on a daily basis, that Mycroft had fought for years to make sure his overtly intelligent brother did. John seemed to had come in and taken over that role, and quite easily had Sherlock doing what was needed to be done with little to no qualms.
No sooner had John put away the food, and was relaxing to watch the telly when Sherlock burst in. "Honey I'm home!" He said and then started to laugh. Now that was incredibly different. John thought to himself with a frown. "What happened to don't wait up?" He asked in a miffed tone.
"Oh now now, dear Watson, I am home. That is all that matters. Please, do not worry I am going up to my room. See you in the morning." Sherlock hung his jacket up and took the stairs two at a time to head to his bedroom. John shook his head and furrowed his brow together as he sat in front of the telly. Now, he really couldn't concentrate on what was going on, nor did he really care.
Sherlock giddily started to sit everything up. He had a small ottoman on his room that he had laid a plate down on. After that, he went to pouring a few lines of the white substance onto it and started to cut it with a razor. He hummed idly as he smiled half-heartedly. A small part of his mind knew he shouldn't be doing this, but the nicotine patches just weren't doing it anymore for him. A sigh escaped his lips as he rolled up a piece of paper and bent down, quickly snorting two of the four lines he had laid out. Once the cocaine hit his system, he was seeing stars and he smiled as he sighed and lay back on the bed. His mind was running, worse than ever but for some reason he could think more clearly. Or at least that is what he always thought. With the drugs in his system, the detective could always feel, and think of things vividly.
After who knows how long, John had decided he just was going to go to bed. He could hear movement and rustling in Sherlock's room so he knew for a fact the male was not asleep. In fact, John didn't know when the last time was taht Sherlock got more than an hour of sleep. Slowly, he stood and turned the telly off before going up the stairs to say goodnight and to see if he needed or wanted anything. "Sherlock, I am going to bed do you want anything? Maybe some tea or the rest of your food?" He asked, knocking slightly. The knock though, had the door opening slowly. It seemed in his haste, Sherlock hadn't shut and locked his door properly. As the door swung open, John looked in; just in time to see Sherlock snorting the last line of cocaine.
"Sherlock, what in the bloody hell!"
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! please leave feedback I love it! BTW All the chapters will be named after songs that pertain or I think fit to the chapter itself. You can find my playlist right here: watch?v=_Qr7_eFQuI&list=PLh6i-lGPDMT1a3OiNxfRoQG7FZRfZ0jHD Next chapter will be called Death of Me thanks again!