It had started as a perfectly normal night at 221b apartment in London, England.
All was going well. John sat on his chair as he edited his blog and Sherlock sat sprawled out on the couch, flipping channels on the tv.
He was not yelling at the tv though, which was highly unusual.
Suddenly, Sherlock gasped as he fell to his knees on the floor.
"Sherlock!" John shouted as he sprang to his feet, knocking his computer to the ground.
"What's wrong, Sherlock?" John asked, concern evident in his voice.
John placed a comforting hand on Sherlock's back, but much to his surprise, the consulting detective flinched away as he gripped his head in pure agony.
John watched Sherlock, trying to figure out what was going on.
Without warning, Sherlock promptly vomited all over himself and the floor.
John was about to run to the phone and call an ambulance, but he felt himself being pulled down by the detective himself.
"Sherlock, your obviously sick! I need to call and ambulance." John explained.
Sherlock shivered as he let go of John and wrapped his arms around his thin, pale frame.
John reviewed Sherlock's symptoms in his head.
Vomiting, shivering, teary eyes, runny nose.
All lead to one conclusion.
Withdrawal.
Sherlock only confirmed Johns thought when he burst into tears.
"Please let me get high! I need drugs! I need heroine!" He shouted.
John sighed and pulled the detective closer.
He wrapped his arms around him and whispered comforting things in his ear, hoping to calm him down.
When it didn't work, John knew their was only one person he could call.
Lestrade.
Taking out his phone, he dialed the number.
It was a busy day at work for Lestrade.
He was currently with Donovan and Anderson in his office while doing paperwork.
He had a terrible headache and Donavan and Anderson rambling on about how the "freak" shouldn't be aloud to work with the yard, wasn't helping.
His phone began ringing and he picked it up, finally silencing Donavan and Anderson.
"Hello?" Lestrade answered.
"Greg?"
Lestrade sat up straight, hearing The slight fear in the doctors voice.
"What's going on?"
"It's Sherlock."
Those words always sent shivers down the Inspectors spine.
"What's wrong with him this time?" Lestrade asked.
"He's going through withdrawal. But it's worst then usual."
"What do you mean "worst then usual?" Lestrade asked.
"He's destroying the whole flat."
As if to prove his point, Lestrade heard a shattering in the background.
"Jesus, I'll be there soon, John." Lestrade said, not giving John a chance to say anything else before hanging up.
"What's the freak done this time?" Donavan asked with a chuckle.
Lestrade glared at her before walking out the door with Donavan and Anderson on his heels.
"you 2 aren't coming." Lestrade told them as he began getting in his car.
Anderson tried saying something back, but was cut off by the roaring motor of the car.
It was 5 minutes before Lestrade arrived at 221b. He opened the door, not bothering to knock.
He ran up the stairs and barged into the apartment.
He was not ready for the scene that lay in front of him.
Sherlock Holmes, worlds only consulting detective, was on the floor covered in vomit with tears streaming down his extremely pale face as he screamed.
"Let me go!! I just want to get high!" He yelled in between sobs.
Lestrade ran over to them and knelt down next to Sherlock.
"Sherlock. Calm down, mate." Lestrade spoke calmly, though he knew it wouldn't work.
Sherlock shivered and curled up into a ball with his arms tucked inside his shirt.
"Let me have heroine." Sherlock muttered, barely audible as he looked up at Lestrade with sad, pleading, tearfilled eyes.
"Can't let you do that, Sherlock." Lestrade told him.
"It's for your own good." John added.
Sherlock sniffed as he layed on the floor in a puddle of vomit.
Donavan and Anderson stood in the doorway of the room as they watched in shock towards the scene that unraveled in front of them.
They were told not to come, but did anyway.
Once they got to the apartment, they initially were hesitant to go in, but after hearing the shouting and pleading of Sherlock, they knew they had to see.
Now they stood frozen in the doorway.
Donavan had her hand covering her mouth as her eyes welled with tears and Anderson stood, gaping at the scene, with his phone now lowered and recording the floor.
Lestrade and John had yet to notice their presence, but they knew Sherlock noticed.
He glanced towards the door before shutting his eyes tight and shivering once more.
John and Lestrade stood and grabbed Sherlock, trying to help him up.
They half carried him to the bathroom and helped him in the tub.
Sherlock sat with his eyes wide and terrified as John turned on the warm water and helped strip Sherlock of his vomit stained clothes, but left his underwear on.
Donavan and Anderson left the apartment just before they emerged from the bathroom.
John and Lestrade helped bring Sherlock to his room and layed him down in his bed.
They gave him extra blankets and sat with him until he fell asleep.
"Thanks Greg." John whispered to Lestrade.
"No problem, mate." Lestrade whispered back.
Sherlock whispered something incoherent.
"What's that?" John asked.
"I said, you guys saw Donavan and Anderson standing their looking shocked too, right?" Sherlock repeated.
Lestrade and John smiled.
"Yes." They replied before Sherlock drifted off into a deep, peaceful
sleep.
He still wanted the drugs. And he was still going through withdrawal.
But at least he didn't have to go through it alone.