Sherlock
I took another rattling breath before leaning over the toilet bowl, again. More acidic stomach fluids forced themselves up my throat and out of my mouth, leaving a sour taste. This was the fifth time in only a minute. My body heaved again, trying to expel any nonexistent fluid. I collapsed, exhausted, onto the cold tile floor, body quivering slightly. My abdomen was sore and my throat burned. Shakily I reached for the sink, only to run out of energy before I was halfway up. I slumped to the floor again breathing heavily. I shivered on the cool white tiles and curled up into a ball. Hopefully John would find me soon, and find some way to make this all go away. He was a doctor after all he had to have something. I knew that dabbling in those drugs had been a bad idea, but I had to know what it was like, how it would feel to mix them. Inwardly I moaned, hoping that I wouldn't die before John could come back from Sarah's. I looked up at the early morning light that peeped through the gently wafting curtains and cursed silently. When I had recovered enough energy I stood and peered at my reflection in the mirror. I studied my pale face, taking in every detail, noticing the sweat that dampened my curly dark hair. I ran a glass under the tap. I pressed the glass to my forehead before looking at myself again. I never got to drink the water and get rid of the horrible taste that lingered before the world started tilting dangerously. The glass fell from my hand as I tried to remain upright by gripping the polished granite sink. Faintly I heard the creak of the door as it opened, and the slam that quickly followed after it shut, and I managed a loud croak of fear as it closed in on my heart. 'Bad bad idea Sherlock. Never again.' I counseled my self before falling to the floor. I hit my head hard on the bathtub and my eyesight started to fade. John entered looking scared. I allowed my face to twist into a sly smile before sub-coming to the darkness.
John
"Oh bloody Hell," I cursed quietly, gazing down at the smugly smiling Sherlock. You know, when he's not being a prat he isn't so bad. "What have you gotten yourself into now?" I squatted down to look at his face, trying to determine what he had done. Something not good apparently. Then I saw that his left sleeve was rolled up and a small puncture wound on his arm. Of course. The tiny glass syringe had rolled under the bathroom cabinet and it was empty. "Bugger. Of course you would. You! Of all people!" He had looked fine only a few hours ago, he had told me that it was ok if I went out with Sarah, he said he had other plans. With a loud sigh I gathered his slight form in my arms and took him to his room. I stretched him out and pulled the untidy blankets over him. After taking his temperature I got a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. He was going to need it. I rolled the syringe between my fingers, supervising Sherlock as he slept.
Sherlock
My head was pounding so hard I couldn't think straight. It took an enormous effort to try an open my eyes, and immediately I regretted the decision to try. Light flooded my eyes and caused a sharp pain between the eyelids. It took a moment to recall everything that had happened and when my vision adjusted I was pleasantly surprised to end up in my room. John was here. I could hear the steady, even breaths of an army man dozing, and his chair creaked noisily. I started to sit up, but thought better of it when my sides ached and my vision started to go again. My head hit my pillow with a soft thud and I sighed again, this time in aggravation. My mouth was so parched I am sure that you could use it for sandpaper. I found it funny that I hadn't noticed it before. It burned and I wanted water desperately. John stirred slightly in his chair and mumbled a little bit, adjusting his position, distracting me from my thoughts of 'woe is me'. This moment was crucial. The point where the human body wakes, just slightly, shifting in the sleep. I tried to shout out, rouse him further, but my words made no sense and came out as raspy and broken sounds. At least it was enough. John woke up, jumping slightly and looking around, on red alert. 'Poor soldier.' I thought with a smile. His eyes caught on me and his face fell into a look of displeasure,"YOU BLOODY IDIOT! What the HELL is wrong with you? Meth and cocaine? TOGETHER? You're lucky you didn't kill yourself! Do you know how stupid that was?" His voice softened slightly as he continued, "Of course you did. That's why you did it. Of course." I looked reproachful as if trying to make him understand how thirsty I really was. A dance of light caught the corner of my eye and I spotted a glass of water on my bedside table. I eyed it longingly. John followed my gaze and sighed heavily. Tipping the glass to my cracked lips he shook his head, although I could tell he was slightly amused by my experiment. The water moisturized my dry mouth and throat, flooding my body with a sense of rejuvenation and I held back a sigh of relief. He set the glass down and looked at me again,
"Why? Why me? Why in the whole bloody Earth did you choose me to look after you? Don't you have other friends? Your brother?" he asked exasperatedly. I looked at him for a moment,
"You're all I've got."