DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN ANYTHING

So anyways, this is a very dark oneshot. May/may not continue, depending on reviews.

Warnings: Drugs/Hurt/Comfort

Idk... Haha ENJOY!

Sherlock held himself hostage within the confines of his flat, still in hiding after his "suicide." Currently he was alone, completely alone, in that cluttered small prison-like apartment room; He could barely afford to keep it. Mycroft, his irate older brother, had been worrying more and more frequently about him; seeing that Sherlock had completely lost his mind in his drug addictions and cut off connections from the outside world a year after his staged death. He'd fallen into a relapse of his addiction from years before, ceased to answer his phone, and locked himself in his chilly abandoned apartment to be with just his drugs. He hesitantly lifted a syringe to his arm, yearning to feel something other than anguish. His heartrate quickened as he brought it close to his vein. Sherlock craved all the drugs dreadfully. He needed it. His favorites just happened to be cocaine and cigarettes, as he'd certainly been around and tried his fair share of separate drugs.
Suddenly the detective's phone buzzed off with a text. He didn't bother to even check his vibrating phone across the room, to engrossed with his drug conflict. His pupils dilated as he focused on the needle going into his arm and he sighed in relief, sweet relief. He felt better, much better. The guilt came back stronger than ever, if he could resist it once maybe recovery would be easier. He didn't want to recover. Since he'd abandoned all outside activities and shut himself within the flat, he'd truly deteriorated. His form was entirely too skinny, cheekbones jutting out more so than they should from his gaunt ghostly pale face, his ribs were concave and clearly visible, there were scars lining all up his arms from injections and so forth. His eyes were blank now, staring at the wall as he shook. Dark circles had built up underneath them, so shady they nearly matched his disheveled black curls. It gave him a skeletal appearance. He rocked back and forth, guilty about returning to the drug after he promised he wouldn't, and he fumbled with the syringe in his wildly trembling hands. The apartment was freezing, he hadn't paid the heat bill or bought food in order to obtain his drugs... He stayed like this for the longest time. He took more and more, but his condition only worsened. This. This was the breaking point. Sherlock saw the world before him go completely black...

He dreamed. He dreamed of John. He dreamed of 221B Baker St, and of all the crimes that kept him busy. The people who kept him from relapsing on his old habits of drug abuse. They had been gone. 3 years and he was believed dead, shunned for being who he truly was. While in hiding, things had taken a turn for the worse. He dreamed he was in an empty graveyard then, the people he loved before him facing a gravestone. His friends who all thought him dead. "I miss him so much." John mouthed, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks; his expression stony. Mrs. Hudson put her wrinkled hand delicately on John's shoulder. "He's in a better place, love. Or at least, I hope he is..." Sherlock then suddenly found himself running to the edge of St. Bart's hospital, on the top of it again. John stood with his back facing Sherlock, at the edge. "JOHN!" Sherlock cried, but he was getting nowhere. He closed his eyes and kept running, he wouldn't let John jump. When he reached the edge no one was there, only a lingering feeling of hollow loneliness. He stared down at the edge, it was neverending as well. He turned, looking for where John could've gone. He stepped back and went off the edge. He was falling for real this time. Falling. Down. Crashing.
"JOHN!"

"John..." He murmured in his sleep. Finally coming back to consciousness. His eyes bleary as he heard a soothing woman's voice vacantly state "It's alright. You're in the hospital." Sherlock's icy blue eyes shot open; he was in the hospital. His skin was sweaty and his curls clung to his face, he was a complete wreck. Due to his drug overdose, he was admitted here. To a hospital. Far, far, away from everyone and everything. "W-w-" He began, not sure where he was going. The nurse placed a comforting hand on his leg, as she was at the edge of the hospital bed in the small bleak room "We'll call for your friend. What is his last name?" Sherlock was entirely too removed to even think. "Watson." He squeaked out, pain making his vision fuzzy. Everything had been spinning the night before, everything was hazy, and everything was a blur. His head pounded and his body ached, he felt as empty as he looked. Sherlock was attached to many breathing machines and IVs. "Don't worry, everything is okay. He'll come." The nurse attempted to reassure her traumatized patient.
"No." He breathed.
"No?" She was clearly confused.
"He won't." Sherlock then felt his body convulse, he felt emotions he'd suppressed for years brew within the pit of his stomach and overtake his body. He curled up and began to cry powerfully, rocking back and forth in a state of absolute misery.

...

She'd been forced to sedate the grieving junkie, who was a complete wreck. It was for the best that he slept, he'd be in the throws of drug-cravings soon enough; and rehab was necessary with this one. The woman watched him solemnly, she'd never been so compelled by a patient. He must've been in that state for quite some time, his body was about ready to shut down. Thank God for landlords going to request rent, or this man would've died. He lay entangled in the flimsy white sheets, a few tears still on his pale sullen face. He was entirely skeletal, so frail that she assumed he weighed less than her. There were many scars up and down his arms, clearly he'd been an addict in previous years and for quite some time recently. The nurse sighed wearily, calling someone she knew could help.
"Hello, Dr. Watson... Go to room 331 C. Someone requested you... No... Yes... It's an emergency. Who? ... We don't know, maybe you could identify him? ... Yes... He asked for you."
"I'm on my way." The doctor replied in an all-business tone, unaware of the shock he was about to encounter...

..
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So what did you think? :D