Sherlock plopped down on the couch, there no other way to explain his inability to concentrate, he needed sleep. The whole thing with Magnusson and Moriaty's re appearance were taking their toll on him. Sherlock felt the black mood coming on him again, as he began to smoke a well-deserved cigarette. Sherlock then began to rummage around his desk for the secret phone he kept hid. Pulling the phone out Sherlock checked his texts, they all mostly junk, however, there was one that caught his eye.
"Having a spring clearance sale. Come to the warehouse and be surprised at the low prices." Sherlock leaned back, fingered the phone for a moment, and then made up his mind to go to the warehouse. The text was code letting potential users know that a new drug shipment was in. Sherlock's heart beat a little at the prospect.
The warehouse was down by the river, it was a dark dismal place, and yet if reflected Sherlock's mood perfectly. Sherlock went in and concluded his transaction quickly. On the way back to Baker Street Sherlock he took comfort from the morphine vile and the crack crystals in his pocket. Once in the flat Sherlock put on some loud blaring music and sat down to contemplate his purchases. Sherlock hadn't meant to let things get out of control, yet somehow they did.
John sat drinking his coffee, making casual conversation with Mary. The shrill ringing of the phone jolted them both.
Mary picked up the phone. "Hello? What? Okay he'll be there right away."
John knew something was terribly wrong from the stricken expression on Mary's face. "John that was Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft is on the way to pick you up. John, she says that Sherlock is playing some kind of game with a gun. She said that Sherlock had the gun in his mouth."
On the way to the flat Mycroft and John didn't speak. The limo barely came to a stop before John leaped out, ran past a tearful Mrs. Hudson and up the stairs. The flat was immersed in darkness; the only light was coming from an overturned lamp. The room was more chaotic than usual. Books and papers were strewn everywhere, shattered glass from broken beakers lay over the floor, and Sherlock's violin was lying on the ground unprotected. The worst offense of the room was the odor, it smelled like rotten take out, vomit, urine, and some other foul odors that John couldn't identify.
"Oh, God what smells so retched? What in…Mycroft's voice trailed off when he noticed Sherlock lying face down in his own vomit, a gun lay at his side, and he wasn't moving.
John rushed to Sherlock. "Sherlock, oh God, what have you done this time?" John rolled Sherlock on his back and was relieved when he got a faint pulse. Sherlock was naked underneath his robe; the bottom of his foot had a piece of glass wedged so far in that John could barely see the tip of the glass shard. Blood was spattered all over Sherlock's legs from where he must have fallen into the piles of glass from the broken beakers. Mycroft was totally silent as John began to work on Sherlock. Sherlock lay staring up at the ceiling; his blue eyes were glassy seeing nothing.
John turned around. "Mrs. Hudson, get some towels and a basin of water, leave them outside Sherlock's bedroom.
John then picked up Sherlock, slung him over his shoulder military style and took him up stairs to Sherlock's bedroom. Gently John laid Sherlock on the bed. God he was so thin, just a bag of bones. He looked like a concentration camp victim. John wiped a tear that was starting to run down his cheek. "Sherlock, what have you done to yourself?" he whispered.
Mycroft stood in the doorway watching John hook Sherlock up to and IV, he then pulled out a portable ventilator and began to pump air to Sherlock.
John motioned to Mycroft. "Mycroft come over here and pump the ventilator." Without a word Mycroft came over and did as John instructed. When John was satisfied that Sherlock was stable, he grabbed the towels and the wash basin. He gently slipped off Sherlock's robe and began to wash the vomit from his face, John then sponged Sherlock's entire body. During the whole process John spoke softly to Sherlock.
"Sherlock, it's me John. Everything is going to be okay. Sherlock, just rest I'm here I won't leave you." John then walked over to Sherlock's dresser and pulled out an electric blanket and wrapped Sherlock up in it. John motioned for Mycroft to stop using the ventilator, and then John walked over and kissed Sherlock on the lips.
Sherlock stirred slightly. "John?" he slurred then his head fell back against the pillow. John readjusted Sherlock's pillow and pulled out something from underneath it. It was his stripped shirt. Sherlock had been keeping it under his pillow. John smiled. "Softy," he thought.
John gathered Sherlock in his arms rocking him. Mycroft watched the two of them and realized that Magnusson was right. John and Sherlock were or had been lovers. Mycroft wasn't repulsed by the idea just surprised. "John and Sherlock," Mycroft mused. "One without the other was incomplete." As he watched John and his care of Sherlock, Mycroft thought that perhaps caring was an advantage after all. John walked over to Sherlock's side and pulled back the covers so that he could inspect Sherlock's wounds from the shattered glass. John winced when he saw how deep the shard of glass was embedded in Sherlock's heel.
"Mycroft, there is a flashlight in Sherlock's top drawer. Get it for me and shine it on Sherlock's heel." John's voice was tense and commanding. John sighed. "This really should be done in hospital." He rummaged in his bag found something to pull out the glass; once this was done John cleaned the wound and stitched it up. John covered his face with his hand. "Mycroft, he's going to sleep through the night. You might as well go home." John kept watch over Sherlock through the entire night. Heaviness settled over him, so John sighed and checked his phone for messages. There was only one a video from Sherlock.
Apparently Sherlock had recorded his drug abuse and gun game on his smart phone. John watched in anger and horror as Sherlock smoked crack, drank alcohol, shot up with morphine as he smashed glass beakers into the wall. Sherlock then grabbed his violin and began to play some horribly, dark and introspective melody. John swallowed several times when Sherlock collapsed on the floor ranting. "John, John I can't do this without you. Don't you even have an opinion? Why is it that when I want you to say something you don't. John, oh God John, please forgive me I am feel so bored and empty. I actually feel desolate." When Sherlock began to play the gun game, John turned his video off. John jumped when he heard Sherlock's voice.
"John, I am sorry. I should have never recorded that video, let alone be mailed it to you. I was just so bored."
John gritted his teeth. "Sherlock, when most people are bored they go out, have fun whatever, they don't almost kill themselves and then e mail the video of it to their friends."
"So, that's it John. We're just friends then?"
"Jesus, it that what this about? Our so called quasi relationship?" John could feel the anger building inside and he knew he should calm down, but he just couldn't stop the rush of words that poured from his mouth. The words he yelled at Sherlock were meant to hurt and John felt a smug satisfaction when he saw the stricken look on Sherlock's face. John ignored the pain in his chest and when his left arm went numb he knew it was too late. "Great, I'm having a heart attack," John thought. "This is the last time that…," John knew no more as everything blacked out.
John opened his eyes, the first thing he heard was a hospital monitor beeping. He looked over and saw Sherlock sitting in a chair staring at John's monitor, and Mary asleep in the other chair.
"Sherlock?" John rasped.
Sherlock bounded out of the chair knocking it backwards. The sound of the chair crashing to the floor woke Mary. Mary slowly got up and moved past Sherlock. She took John's hand in hers and kissed it. Sherlock awkwardly moved away from John's bed. Mary saw that John was looking past her to where Sherlock was.
Mary smiled and patted John's arm. "I'm going to get the nurse." Sherlock didn't move until after Mary left the room, he then paced back and forth.
John's voice was stronger now. "Sherlock, stop that pacing and come here."
John had never seen a more heartbroken expression than the one that reflected itself from Sherlock's eyes. "John, I….Oh, God John, I thought I lost you. What are we going to do? I am only half a person without you." John had never seen Sherlock so desperate to convey his feelings. "John, I am no good for you I must let you go."
John shook his head and smiled like an overindulgent adult would at a small child. "Sherlock, my heart is always yours now and forever. I would simply die without you. I cannot lose you again. We are bound together in some sort of bond. With you it is light and darkness. It's like we are locked in some kind of dance with one another. Sometimes our rhythm is great and other times it's well… you know a dark kind of waltz."
Sherlock took John's hand in his. "John, I pledge my heart, my soul, my intellect all to you and whatever you decide I will accept."
John locked eyes with Sherlock's sad blue, green eyes. "If it is a dark waltz that we face then we shall dance it together, Sherlock. I would just as soon put a bullet through my brain if I knew I would never see you again." John then weakly laughed. "God, Sherlock we sound like some couple from a bad romance novel. Dark Waltz etc… Sherlock, I have a wife, I'm going to be a father. Hell, I have no idea how I going to manage. But without you, Sherlock, I couldn't manage at all. So, never think of yourself as a third wheel. Things would be somewhat simpler if we were French."
Sherlock smirked and backed away from the bed as Mary and a nurse came into the room. John looked over Mary's head and smiled at Sherlock. Sherlock smiled back and quietly left.