A/N: Hello there all! This is my first attempt at a fanfiction ever in my life and I have worked hard on it. It is Johnlock and is about Sherlock getting back into drugs and bad habbits and John helping him through it and coming to realize his feeling for Sherlock as well. Also, I am from NY and not the UK but I tried my best! I really, really hope you enjoy! Sorry if this chapter is too long also!
Chapter 1: It was only a dream
He was floating, blissfully floating away from the world of the living and rising slowly into the abyss. He did not see a white light or any of those ridiculous things that ordinary people have described, but what he saw was blackness which would be frightening to most people yet somehow to him it was bliss.
His whole body felt phenomenal and his brain felt the most amazing feeling of euphoria that he ever thought was possible to feel. He felt himself allow his eyes to roll back into his head as he floated even higher still, but suddenly he heard a familiar and desperate sounding voice calling out to him. It sounded dull and faded, but it seemed to be getting louder by the moment. That's when he felt them, hands. There were hands pulling him back down to the earth. He felt he was panicking, but felt stuck in state of ominous bliss that made him incapable of fighting off these strange hands. He was still being pulled back down when he heard a voice saying, "No, not again! Stay with me! I will not lose you again, Sherlock!"
Everything went still for a moment and there was not a single sound, he was just suspended in nothing but pure blackness. The stillness did not last long. Suddenly he felt that he was falling and he could swear that he heard the wicked voice of the infamous James Moriarty whispering softly in his ears, "You owe me a fall, Sherlock…" And at those very words he was somehow able to move his arms and brought one of his hands shakily to the back of his head and felt warm liquid seep onto it. His head was gushing blood. This is when he knew that he was, in fact, dying and the bliss was over.
He knew this was strange because, even in the state he was in, he knew that he had survived The Fall and that it had happened two years ago, something else seemed to be claiming his life he just could not remember what exactly. All he knew was that there were hands pulling back down to earth very quickly now, and he did not know how he was supposed to feel about it, but he did know one thing, he knew that all he wanted at this very moment was to holding John Watson tightly before he was gone completely. Everything faded away into blackness again and all he heard was the sweet sound of his flatmate's voice saying, "Just hang on, Sherlock. Can you please just do that for me…please…"
The brightness of the florescent lights burned the consulting detective's eyes practically out of their sockets as he slowly allowed his heavy eyelids to part. Everything seemed to be spinning wildly around him as he attempted to scan his surroundings without vomiting. Everything looked blurry, and his body felt weak and tired. When things finally began to come into focus he rolled his tired eyes in response. He was in a hospital and he was not happy about that at all.
Immediately he tried to sit up using the little strength that he had, but immediately fell back onto the white pillow that almost matched the colour of his sickly complexion. He put his slender, white hands over his eyes trying very hard not to be sick, but he could feel it coming. He felt around his face and noticed that he had some sort of breathing tubes in his nose and immediately, and almost angrily, yanked them out. The awful taste of bile was slowly and menacingly creeping its way up his throat. He felt so helpless and vulnerable that as much as he tried to be strong he could not fight what came out of his mouth.
"John", he croaked feeling the bile in his throat rise up even more as much as he was fighting it.
John Watson, luckily, was peacefully sleeping on a chair right at the foot of the hospital bed, his sleeping face painted with worry. It had been six months since Sherlock had revealed to John that he was, in fact, alive after two years of painful longing on John's part, and John was not about to leave his side right now, or ever again. It should not have been a shock to see John there, but Sherlock was almost hoping he was not so that he didn't have to look at him and feel that strange 'feeling' that people called 'guilt'.
Sherlock tried to sit up again using every ounce of strength that his body had, and he finally succeeded. When he saw John he felt relieved, but horribly embarrassed at the same time. He had not felt this way in many years since the last time he had overdosed, but even then he had not had someone in his life like John, someone who cared so much, or rather, someone he cared about so much. He felt so much shame and guilt that he could hardly contain himself. His whole body began to sweat and he could feel chills going up his spine like ants creeping up a tree branch.
"John", he whimpered, his hands curling tightly around the sheets as he felt he could no longer fight the vomit he could feel rising up quickly now. His pale blue, almost grey, eyes darted around the depressing looking hospital room for a bucket or bed pan to be sick in, but to no avail. The consulting detective's brain seemed to be going mad because he could swear he could hear an old, almost haunting, sounding song ringing in his ears and bouncing off the walls of the dreadful hospital room. The song was one he had heard when he was a boy and he remembered what it was called, too "Tonight you belong to me" by Patience and Prudence. It was making his skin crawl, but it only seemed to grow louder as if it was taunting him with unpleasant memories. He could not take it anymore.
"John!" he finally cried out, throwing his pride out the window in less than a second. He was really losing it.
John immediately awoke, and without a single breath went to his flatmate's aid. Sherlock was confused because John seemed to be smiling. What he did not know was that he had been in a drug induced coma for almost three days, and John was just happy to see he was finally awake.
"Sherlock, thank God you're awake!" John cried, almost in tears, hugging him tightly, without warning.
"Don't squeeze me, I'm about to vomit", Sherlock feebly croaked.
"Oh, sorry about that" John said, letting go of him immediately.
Sherlock's face quickly made John aware that his flatmate, though awake, was far from being alright. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put a caring arm on Sherlock's trembling shoulder.
To John's shock, Sherlock placed his shaking, slender hand on his and held it tightly. "Make the music stop, J-John", he pleaded, his usually calm, smooth sounding voice now broken and full of terror like that of a lost child.
John put his other hand softly on top of Sherlock's and held it caringly. Sherlock's eyes darted around the room as if looking for some unknown terror.
"Please, John make the bloody music stop" he said as his voice almost cracked.
John looked around for a moment almost as if he had heard the music as well and said to him gently, "Sherlock, there's no music, now just lay back down and rest while I fetch the nurse"
Before John could say another word Sherlock turned to him, his eyes flaring with a sudden anger and said to him in an almost demonic tone, "Fuck the nurse!"
Only a few seconds later Sherlock was like a frightened little child again. He became eerily silent for a moment and just looked down at the floor breathing heavily. "John", he said hoarsely as his thin, pallid arm (which had a few track marks on it) reached for John's shoulder for balance.
"I'm sorry, John…but I'm going to be s-sick" he finally said, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry, John" he repeated.
"No need to be sorry, alright?" John said, placing his hand on Sherlock's dark curls. He then looked around the room for something for Sherlock to be sick in, but there was nothing, not even under the bed. Sherlock was attached to an IV which made it a bit difficult to get him to the bathroom.
"John, hurry" he whimpered, covering his mouth and swallowed down some bile.
"Sherlock, it's okay just let it out and I or a nurse will come and clean it up alright, love?" John immediately realised what he had said and blushed in embarrassment, hoping the consulting detective did not hear.
"L-love?" Sherlock said looking into John's eyes with his glazed over gaze.
"You're delusional, Sherlock" he quickly said to cover his arse.
Sherlock was too sick to care right now though, and he gripped tightly at John's jacket as he felt he was just about to be sick. John rubbed Sherlock's back caringly as Sherlock began to violently dry heave.
Seeing Sherlock like this was tearing John Watson's heart right out of his chest. The man that he knew as brilliant, strong, and truly valiant was being destroyed by addiction. His mind then flashed to his sister, but he stopped himself and focused on the pressing matter at hand, which was helping his best friend like the many countless times he had helped him.
Sherlock let a few more painful dry heaves before he started to vomit up yellow bile onto the floor. It seemed to be endless. John felt so helpless. He just wanted to take the pain away, but he could not. This was something Sherlock had to go through.
Finally Sherlock was finished vomiting and was now just coughing, and spiting up what was left. He was sweating all over and shaking like a leaf.
"John…I'm s-sorry" he said, looking at John with the most pitiful expression possible. John didn't even think Sherlock was capable of making such a face.
"No need to be sorry, you'll be alright…I promise" John's words echoed through Sherlock's fevered brain and seemed to make the haunting music he was hearing in his head subside at last.
John grabbed a tissue from the trey by Sherlock's bed and wiped Sherlock's mouth with it, and faintly smiled at him with sympathetic eyes gleaming into Sherlock's.
"Feel better?" John asked.
"Not r-really" Sherlock answered, still trembling.
"Get back into the bed and rest, Sherlock while I find the nurse, okay?"
As soon as John began to get up from his flatmate's side he was stopped by Sherlock's shaking hand on his. "P-please d-don't go, John." He said weakly, swallowing hard.
John looked at Sherlock's face, and was almost close to tears seeing him in such a state.
"You'll be alright, Sherlock, I promise" John said softly as he assisted his sickly friend in getting back into the bed. Sherlock actually fought him a bit, but was too weak to do much at the moment so he just laid back and tried to close his eyes. His head was still swimming, but at least the music had stopped finally.
John waited a bit until Sherlock seemed to at last be resting then he started to get up, but yet again he felt the clammy touch of Sherlock's hand trying to stop him. John looked at Sherlock, and saw him lazily looking at him through half lidded glassy eyes, his breath quacking a bit. "John" he murmured looking like he was on the verge of tears.
John sat back down on the bed and scooted closer to his ill companion and said softly, "Yes?"
"Come closer, John"
John of course did what he said. "Yes, Sherlock?" he repeated, leaning in close to his flatmate's fevered face.
Sherlock looked as white as a sheet, and almost resembled a vampire. His face looked sunken in and looked like death. John stared at him blankly for a while almost in disbelief of what he saw. He looked like he was already dead, but yet his chest moved up and down and his eyes blinked slowly indicating that he was still among the living.
After a few seemingly long moments of haunting silence between the two companions Sherlock's pale lips slowly parted, and with his eyes almost closed he said, "John…"
"I'm right here, Sherlock" John was swallowing hard, fighting back tears again.
"I…have to tell you, John…before it's too late"
"Tell me what, Sherlock?" he said, leaning in even closer to his close companion to hear him better.
Sherlock tried to speak again, but his voice seemed to be broken for a moment. His Adam's apple quivered from beneath his thin white flesh, and his half lidded eyes began to shine. He was about to cry, and it made him almost feel sick again. He looked away from John feeling like a complete pathetic fool. He wanted to tell John something so badly, something that he hadn't said to anyone since he was just a small child, but the words were being smothered by his pride.
John reached his loving hand out and gently turned Sherlock's head back towards him and said to him softly, "It's going to be alright, Sherlock"
Sherlock's eyes locked onto John's. He felt he was in a trance and could not look away this time. Suddenly, against his weak bodies will, he sat up and drew his face closer to John's.
John was completely still, his heart pounding in his chest. So many racing thoughts were running through his mind, but yet he could not move as long as Sherlock's captive gaze was fixed on his. Sherlock's nose was practically touching his at this point. He felt he was paralysed.
Oh, God what the bloody hell is going on? John thought to himself.
Sherlock continued to look into John's eyes for a few more short moments, then without any warning he began to nuzzle John's neck like a cat. While he did this, John was completely frozen and his eyes were wide in disbelief as they looked up at the ceiling as though they were looking to God himself for guidance. Sherlock's eager lips began planting tiny kisses on the side of John's neck.
John was in shock, but soon enough his body began to relax and embrace his hidden desires. He closed his eyes and nuzzled Sherlock's hot, moist flesh on his neck as well. John wanted to kiss him so badly.
Sherlock continued to kiss John's neck for a bit, and then he stopped and just looked deeply into John's eyes and said to him, "John, I-I"
John placed the tips of his fingers onto Sherlock's lips and said to him, "It's okay, you don't have to say anything, Sherlock. Please, just close your eyes and rest"
Sherlock still had something to say to John, but he was feeling dizzy again and was very exhausted. He allowed his tired head to rest on John's chest and he closed his eyes.
John ran his fingers through his flatmate's moist, dark curls and embraced him tightly, and he knew he never wanted to let go, not this time, not ever.
"John" Sherlock said from beneath John's embrace.
"Yes", John croaked, his head stepping back into reality again.
"I think I have to vomit again" he groaned, completely breaking the mood.
John quickly loosened his embrace, his eyes blinking rapidly as if he was in a dream for the past few minutes. He felt as though he was just on the planet alone with Sherlock, and there was no one else in existence. "Oh, right then…I'm sorry, Sherlock"
"I wish I was dead, John."
John was actually offended by that statement. He didn't want to hear such a thing from his closest companion in the world. "Don't say that, Sherlock" his voice was breaking again.
Sherlock looked at John for a moment then he turned away and began to get sick again, adding to the vomit that was already on the floor.
John once again rubbed his back and this time he even caressed the back of his head to comfort his sick friend.
"I have to get out of here, John," Sherlock breathed, after he finished retching, his voice sounding almost angry. He suddenly got out of his bed and yanked the IV out of his arm, and began to make his way to the door, but he crumpled to the floor like a marionette without its master. He held his head in his hands and began to yell like a maniac about music in his head.
"Sherlock!" John shouted, getting up and trying to grab his feverish friend from behind to get him back into his bed.
Sherlock fought him a bit, but wasn't strong enough to put up much of a fight, so he became limp like a rag doll as John forced him back into his bed.
Sherlock began to mumble a song incoherently as John carefully put the IV back into his arm.
"Although we're apart you're a part of my heart, and tonight you belong to me" Sherlock sang softly to himself.
"John, John please tell them to switch it off!" He yelled.
John was beginning to become aggravated with his flatmate. "You, Sherlock Holmes need to lie down while I fetch the nurse"
Sherlock swallowed hard and stared blankly at his angry flatmate for a few moments before he made a little scowl and got back under the blankets like a child that didn't want to go to bed.
"I just wish the music would stop, John" Sherlock said, his voice much softer now.
"There is no music, Sherlock you're just sick, okay?" John replied as he sat down beside him again.
Sherlock, feeling defeated laid back down onto his side and curled into the fetal position and hummed quietly to himself, hoping with all his might that this would pass so that he could get some sleep.
Sherlock was so jumpy that he flinched when John touched his forehead. "It's alright, Sherlock."
"No, it's not, John I-I messed up, and I'm s-sorry" he whimpered.
As John had his hand on Sherlock's forehead he was quickly aware that Sherlock was burning up a bit. "Sherlock, I'll be right back okay?" he said as he slowly caressed Sherlock's back.
Sherlock didn't want his companion to leave, but he was just too worn out to stop him at this point and he just nodded his head innocently in response.
John was very fast and returned almost in a matter of seconds; especially because he did not trust Sherlock to stay in bed, but was glad to see he was still there when he got back. His eyes were closed and he was mumbling something to himself that John could not make out.
"What are you on about, Sherlock?" he asked his sickly flatmate.
"I said…my bloody parents are here aren't they?" he said, his voice sounding annoyed.
John looked down for a moment and cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Sherlock they're right outside"
"Oh, bloody hell" Sherlock groaned into his pillow.
"They know you're awake, and they want to see you, Sherlock"
"Oh, God" he whined. "Mycroft?"
"Yes, he's here as well"
"You should have told them I was just dead, John" Sherlock said as he slowly sat up, his eyes wide with anxiety.
Before either one could say another word a nurse came into the room smiling brightly at Sherlock. "You're awake now" she said still smiling.
Sherlock looked her up and down looking almost disgusted. "Don't smile, please" he said flatly.
The nurse simply ignored his rudeness and came closer to his bed and said to him in very cheerful voice, "You must have friends in high places, love"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and fell back onto the pillow groaning.
"You are very lucky my dear" she continued.
"Please, make yourself useful and clean my vomit"
"Sherlock!" John said looking at him with eyes of disapproval.
"It's alright, dear I'm used to it" she laughed as he she grabbed a few things to clean the floor with.
Sherlock couldn't help but notice that John was looking at the young nurse with eyes of a school boy as she bent down to clean the floor. His eyes narrowed in disgust, and deep inside his callous heart there was a twinge of jealousy burning in him. He shot her a look that seemed to be saying "back off he's mine"
"What is it, love?" she asked, her expression vacant.
Sherlock was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Leave us" he said coldly.
"Sherlock" John said, looking at him through narrowed, displeased eyes.
The nurse ignored Sherlock once more and focused on John for a moment.
"You're John Watson, right?" she asked, smiling flirtatiously at him. She couldn't be more than twenty five years of age, and was quite fit.
"Yes, I am" John said, holding his hand out to shake hers.
"I read your blog and it's brilliant" she said with an unnecessary giggle at the end while her hand reached out to shake his.
John's face became all lit up like a bloody Christmas tree, and laughed nervously with her. "Thank you" he said smiling like a foolish teenager.
"Your girlfriend must love reading it" she said, looking down coyly for a moment.
Sherlock sat on his bed with his arms crossed over his chest, and rolled his eyes again. He sighed loudly on purpose to get John's attention.
John looked over at the pouting consulting detective and said, "Something wrong, Sherlock? You need to vomit again?"
Sherlock shot daggers at him with his piercing, pale eyes and said, "No, John I don't have to vomit again, but can't you see that I am bored"
"You were just in a drug induced coma, Sherlock, and now you're complaining about being bored?"
"Yes" Sherlock simply said, then proceeded to get out of his bed again.
"You need to get back into bed, love", the young nurse said, walking over to Sherlock.
"Why would I do anything you say?" Sherlock growled at her.
John walked over behind the nurse and glared at Sherlock and said sternly, "You better get back into bloody bed now, Sherlock Holmes. I mean it"
Sherlock's eyes stayed resentfully fixed on John's as he reluctantly got back into the bed.
"Good boy", the nurse said happily, as she changed Sherlock's IV.
Sherlock shot her an evil look, but allowed her to do what she had to do; anything to get her out of the room.
The nurse looked at Sherlock for a few moments and smiled, but soon enough realised that she was clearly not wanted there by the grumpy patient.
"I should go now" the nurse said, handing John a small slip of paper before exiting the room.
When the nurse began to walk to the leave the room she turned and looked at Sherlock for a moment before she exited. It was quite odd; she actually looked strangely sad and looked deeply into Sherlock's displeased eyes as if she knew him somehow, but then she was gone, having disappeared down the hallway.
Sherlock snatched the paper out of John's hand and quickly tore it up and tossed the little pieces into the air, his eyes coldly fixed on John as he did this.
"Alright, get back into the bloody bed right now, Sherlock" he demanded. "Besides that, your arse is sticking out of your gown" he added with a slight giggle at the end.
Sherlock did not care too much about protecting his modesty at the moment, but still a tiny splash of red coloured his white cheeks a bit. "I don't care" he growled at John.
"Please get back to bed, Sherlock" John implored.
"No" Sherlock said, coming closer to John making himself seem taller than he already was.
"Alright, I'm getting your parents in here then" he threatened.
"You wouldn't dare" Sherlock said, his eyes narrowing at John.
"Watch me", John challenged, putting his hands on his hips.
Sherlock stood his ground and did not budge until he saw John start to walk away, and fear got the better of him. "Alright, John you win" he said, getting back into the bed, his glance still coldly fixed on John.
"You know, I may have wanted to call her, Sherlock" John said, after a few moments of dead silence between them.
"Oh, stop it, John. She was a child" Sherlock grumbled, lying on his side again trying to get comfortable.
"She was an adult, Sherlock, and a fit one at that" John said.
Sherlock glared at him from his bed and said to him, "You sicken me"
"I sicken you?" John shot back, anger flaring in his tone.
"Yes"
John was beginning to feel a strange and frightening rage rise from within him, and he was not even exactly sure why. He was glad Sherlock was awake, but he was also angry that Sherlock had gotten in this situation at all. He's supposed to be the great Sherlock Holmes, not a bloody junkie. He felt like a child who found out that Santa Clause was not real. He was let down, but most of all John was angry with himself for not noticing. There were signs, but maybe John just didn't want to believe them, just like he never wanted to believe that his sister was an alcoholic. Sherlock Holmes is a bloody junkie, and John simply chose not to believe it even despite warnings he had gotten from other people that new him which included Sherlock's brother. John was the one who found Sherlock on that awful night. Sherlock was found by John on his way home from a 'tedious' date, as Sherlock would call them. It was very cold, and snowing out when John found Sherlock lying helplessly in an alley near their flat. Sherlock was choking on his own vomit when John came to his aid. At first he thought that there was no way that this helpless, pathetic junkie was Sherlock, but sadly it was. John remembered how he held his cold, trembling hand in the ambulance, and how Sherlock looked like death. It was something he would never want to see his best friend go through again.
"John?" Sherlock said, breaking the silence. John was staring blankly at Sherlock who looked a bit perplexed.
"Ah, you're angry with me, John" he said, sitting up to look at John.
"I'm not angry, Sherlock" John said, his tone giving away that he was actually very upset.
"You are a terrible liar, John" Sherlock said, his eyes intensely fixed on John's timid face.
John looked away from his flatmate's captive gaze and stared blankly at the floor almost as if he were trying to hide from him afraid he would see the tears that were welling in his eyes. John swallowed hard and looked at Sherlock almost throwing his feelings of disappointment at him with a single gaze.
"Well?" Sherlock said, his eyes thinning a bit at John.
John was feeling so many emotions all at once and found it difficult to speak without crying. His throat felt as though it was being choked by the very hands of fear.
"You're angry with me, John" Sherlock repeated, his voice stern and serious.
"You" he began, but soon stopped as he began to feel the pain rise in his throat again. "You, Sherlock…have let me down, okay?" he said hoarsely.
Hearing the deep sadness in his loyal flatmate's voice made him immediately feel uncomfortable and his eyes that were so strongly fixed on John's seemed to transform from callous to sympathetic. He hoped John would not see this though, so he averted his gaze quickly, and gripped tightly onto to the sheets fighting back any type of humanity he may feel.
"Sherlock, I wish you would look at me at least", John croaked. He did not care anymore if Sherlock heard him cry, he was fed up with feeling inadequate around him, and he was most certainly fed up with dealing with this fully grown man behaving like a child. "Sherlock, please look at me" he pleaded. His voice was broken just like his heart.
Sherlock looked down nervously at his hands and continued to say nothing. He always seemed to have the last word, but this time he felt he had none. All his clever words, facts, and deductions were useless right now, and so he did the last thing he thought he would ever do, and just let his walls come tumbling down all at once in front of John, and that's when he felt the unfamiliar tears burn his eyes harshly. His throat was tightening, his hands trembling, his heart racing, his entire body seemed to be working against him, but he simply was sick and tired of fighting it all the time. The worst part of it was that he had nothing, not a complex case to occupy his racing mind with, no drugs to silence his anxious thoughts, and not even a cigarette to ease his frazzled nerves a bit. He was completely raw, and exposed. He had nothing, nothing but John, and maybe that was all he really needed right now.
"Sherlock?" John said finally after quite some time of haunting silence between the two.
When Sherlock finally turned his head to look at him John was almost taken aback. The brilliant consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes was a broken man. There he was sitting in a hospital bed, IV in his arm, sweat stained hospital gown on his trembling body, and his face pale and shiny with perspiration. Even his usually sharp and observant eyes, were now reddened and shimmering with tears in them, tears that Sherlock had been hanging onto for many years. He looked like he had finally given up hiding, and he knew he could just let these things all go away, even if only for a moment as long as his steadfast companion was by his side.
"Come here, John" Sherlock said, trying hard to hide the utterly defeated sound that his voice was most likely conveying.
John said nothing, but simply walked over to Sherlock's bedside and sat himself down beside him. He could feel a warming sensation in his cheeks as he looked coyly at his disheveled flatmate with eyes gleaming with concern, and his throat burning with a strong desire to speak, but yet he found no words. His eyes seemed to say a world of things to him though, and at last Sherlock spoke.
"John" he began, his melancholy gaze practically screaming at John with an unspoken apology. "I have let you down…haven't I?"
John looked at Sherlock's newly found sympathetic gaze for a while before he could gather up any words to say. "Sherlock" he stopped himself in the middle of speaking so that he could take a deep breath for a moment before continuing. "Y-yes, Sherlock you have." His words, though Sherlock knew they were coming, still seemed to cut through him like a knife.
John reluctantly sat down on Sherlock's bed beside him so that he could be closer to him.
Sherlock shifted nervously in his bed and looked down at his hands again, tears burning his eyes again. His body tensed up when he saw John's hand moving in to hold his, and he looked up to see John staring at him with tears streaming down his face.
"I thought you were going to die, Sherlock" he croaked softly, his eyes practically screaming at Sherlock with an unspoken urge to kiss him.
When Sherlock tried to avert his gaze again he was stopped by the soft, gentle touch of John's hand as it gradually moved his head towards his. Sherlock almost felt faint, but did not move an inch. He could swear that he could see his pride lying pathetically in a corner of the room screaming at him to stop this, but he didn't seem to care anymore.
"You're trembling, Sherlock" John cooed as he drew even closer to Sherlock's bewildered, confused face. "Don't ever feel like you have to hide anything from me, okay?"
Soon enough tears were rolling down Sherlock's pale cheeks, and John's thumb was there to wipe the first falling tear away. "No need for tears, Mister Sherlock Holmes" John whispered into Sherlock's ear, his other hand moving from his face to the back of Sherlock's head bringing his face into his shoulder as he embraced him tightly.
Sherlock was breathing heavily from beneath John's warming embrace. "Have I gone mad at last, John?" he asked, his voice muffled into John's chest. In response John brought Sherlock's face to look at his again and he then said to him, "Yes, I believe you have Mr. Holmes" John was smiling warmly at him as he brought their foreheads together, eyes locked onto each other.
Sherlock was feeling a bit dizzy and faint again, and John could tell. "You want to lay down again, Sherlock?" he asked as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's unkempt, dark curls of hair.
Sherlock allowed his head to lean into John's chest again as he said, "I want to get out of here, John, please"
"I know-I know you do, but you have to stay and get better. Just relax, okay?" John said this as sternly as he could manage, continuing to thoroughly stroke the consulting detective's hair.
Sherlock groaned pathetically into John's chest. He felt utterly defeated and it made him want to scream. He breathed in deep the scent of John and almost felt high. The sensation that he felt when John was holding him was something that he had never felt before in his entire life, and he didn't want it to ever end. He felt safe.
A few minutes passed, and John noticed that Sherlock's breathing was slow and steady now. He was finally asleep. John smiled to himself and tried not to giggle at the fact that Sherlock Holmes was sleeping in his arms purring like a kitten. He hated to admit it, but he felt as though he was in heaven.
The silence in the room was suddenly broken when he heard the sound of familiar voices coming close the room from the hallway. John panicked a bit, not wanting anyone to see him holding Sherlock in such a way. It was not that he was embarrassed, but he felt it was not the appropriate time for this sort of thing, and John didn't want to deal with an awkward moment right now. He had been through enough for one night.
He tried to gently place Sherlock down and rest his weary head on the pillow, hoping he would stay asleep. Just as he was placing a sleeping Sherlock's head down onto the pillow he began to babble. "John, where's my dog? Where's Red Beard?" John had not the slightest idea what he was talking about, but simply shushed him and said in a whisper, "It's okay, Sherlock just rest"
Sherlock's fatigued eyes opened halfway and he murmured, "I miss him, John" he almost sounded drunk.
"Sherlock, just close your eyes and sleep" John said, running the back of his hand slowly across his wet forehead.
"Okay, John" Sherlock mumbled, his weary eyes rolling back into his head.
Poor darling, he thought to himself, his eyes gazing sympathetically at his delirious, sleepy companion.
When he heard a knock at the half open door to the room, he quickly moved his hand from Sherlock's head and turned away from him to face the door. "Come in" he said.
As soon as the door opened he could hear the sound of Sherlock's mother whimpering. She looked so worried and distraught. "Oh, Sherlock" she cried softly, her eyes seeing her son looking like death in a hospital bed.
Right behind her was Sherlock's father and his brother, Mycroft. While Sherlock's parents quickly made their way to Sherlock's bed side, Mycroft stood at a distance from the bed completely still like a statue, and simply watched as his parents fussed over his little brother.
"Hello, Mycroft" John said stiffly.
"Hello, John" he replied, his eyes fixed on his little brother's almost lifeless body lying in the bed in front of him. He had not a single hint of worry on his face, but John was not surprised.
"How long has he been awake, John?" he asked still not making any eye contact.
"I would say about an hour" John replied.
"He did this to himself you know?" Mycroft said coldly, his eyes finally looking at John.
John was speechless for a moment, but he knew he was probably right. "I wish I could have done something though" John said, as he watched Sherlock's mother kiss his fevered brow. He was baffled that someone like Sherlock Holmes was related to her. She seemed so normal, so ordinary.
"Trust me, there's nothing you can really do in situations like this" Mycroft said, his voice robotic.
"He almost died" John said, then looked at Mycroft seeing if it would possibly trigger any sort of emotion in him.
Mycroft just stared ahead and said, "He's done this before you know?"
"He has?" John asked.
"When he was only 15 years of age, he got into our parents locked liquor cabinet and downed so much wine that he had to have his stomach pumped." Mycroft said.
John was silent for a moment as he tried to picture a drunken 15 year old Sherlock Holmes in his head. "Well, I guess everyone over does it at that age" he said, but what he was really thinking was how sad and lonely Sherlock must have been to do that, and he felt sorry for him for a moment.
Mycroft looked at John skeptically and said to him, "Did you?"
John cleared his throat nervously, looked away from Sherlock's older brother and said, "Well, I never got quite that far, but I smoked a bit of weed and got drunk quite a few times with my mates when I was younger"
Mycroft was still looking at John, his eyes scanning him and said, "No need to defend him, John he may be brilliant at solving cases, but he is still an addict at the end of the day"
John looked at Sherlock sleeping on the hospital bed, and got lost in his own thoughts for a while. He did not know what to say, he wished that what Mycroft was saying wasn't true, but deep inside he knew that it was. He never saw Sherlock drunk or high, but he has seen how compulsive he can be, and at times it did disturb him, but he never imagined it would come to this.
"I think he just needs some help so he can get back on his feet again" John said.
Mycroft sighed and said to John, "I know you must be worried, John but worrying will not help him or anyone. He may have come back from this one, but he can't do it forever"
John felt the heaviness of fear weigh on his heart suddenly as Mycroft spoke, and tried to fight back tears. No, Sherlock is invincible, he cannot ever die, he thought. He kept trying wrap his brain around the fact that Sherlock had faced down a criminal master-mind like Moriarty and lived, but was almost taken out by a drug. He found it hard to comprehend.
"Besides the alcohol poisoning has he ever overdosed before?" John asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.
Mycroft took a deep breath and finally said, "Well, when he was about twenty one is when my parents and I began to notice a change in him. He would disappear for days and come back looking like a zombie. When his mother saw that he had track marks on his arms is when things got really bad. We wanted to help him and send him to rehab, but when the time came for him to go he was just gone again, and he was found 2 days later almost dead from an overdose all alone in a hotel room. After he was released from hospital he still refused to go any rehab because he thought the very idea of it to be ridiculous. He thought it was a temporary holiday for ordinary people. People who he thought were beneath him."
John had to let all that information sink in for a moment before he could say anything. "So, since then he has been clean?"
"Well, since then he has had his relapses, but it seems that is long as that complex brain of his is being stimulated enough he is fine for the most part. It has been years since he has used, that is until now" Mycroft said to John sighing.
John hoped that Sherlock did not hear their conversation, but he seemed to be dead asleep for the moment.
Sherlock's parents watched their youngest son intently, their hands tightly holding onto one another's. His mother reached for Sherlock's limp hand and held on it gently in hers and softly said, "Oh, Sherlock what have you done to yourself?"
She almost jumped out of her skin when she suddenly heard Sherlock say, "Please, no crying. It puts me off"
"Oh, Sherlock" his mother said gasping.
Sherlock shakily sat up and then immediately removed his hand from his mother's grasp, and looked suspiciously at his older brother. "Enjoying this are you?" he said, his eyes glaring angrily at Mycroft.
"Was it any more fun this time, little brother?" Mycroft said coldly.
"Nice to see you as well" Sherlock shot back.
John looked at Sherlock, hoping that he would not jump out of his bed and strangle Mycroft. He looked more annoyed than usual, if that was possible.
"Well, it was nice of you all to pop by, but I think it would be best if you left now. Goodbye!" Sherlock said, shewing his parents away with his hand.
"Sherlock, please" said his father, putting his hand on his son's shoulder.
"Goodbye!" he repeated, removing his father's hand from his shoulder.
"I thought you were going to die, Sherlock" his mother cried.
The sound of her crying was like nails on a chalk board to him, and he felt extremely irritated. He sighed and said, "Well, I didn't did I mother dear?"
"Sherlock!" John said, shooting him a disapproving glance.
"Oh, God what is wrong with you people?! I am obviously not dead, so now you can sod off and go about your lives!" Sherlock shouted, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.
Sherlock's mother said nothing, but responded by slapping Sherlock across the face. "You need to stop this, Sherlock…I won't bury my son" she said harshly, her voice trembling.
Sherlock held his cheek where she had slapped him, and looked up at her with rebellious eyes of a teenager, which was a look she knew all too well. It was the same look he gave her when he was 15 years old and in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. Her heart could not stand to see him killing himself anymore, and even though he was a full grown man, when she looked into those cold, pale eyes of his she still saw a little boy who needed guidance, but for now she felt helpless to save him.
The whole room was silent as if they were watching a dramatic play. John thought the silence would never end, but finally Mycroft broke the haunting silence. "Well, this has been quite a show little brother" he began. "I hope you're happy" he said to his brooding brother before turning is back to him and exited the room without another word.
Sherlock's father followed behind Mycroft feeling very defeated, but his mother lingered for a moment staring at her youngest son with tears still in her eyes and said softly to him, "I know you don't want to feel anything right now and you never have, but just remember that you have people who love you, Sherlock. Don't push them all away or you'll wake up one day and find them to be gone, and you will linger alone in darkness"
"I'll take that into consideration, mother" Sherlock growled under his breath, making sure not to look at her.
She was about to leave the room, but as she was walking to the door she returned to her son's bedside and dared to plant a tiny kiss on his cheek and said, "I won't love you to death, Sherlock"
Sherlock was perfectly still in his bed as she spoke, but couldn't look at her at least not until she turned to walk away. He glanced at her walking away for a moment and felt the urge say something, but John shot him an angry look before he could say anything. Sherlock hated not having the last word, but he was just too tired right now.
John followed Sherlock's mother to the door, but stopped when he heard Sherlock's voice from behind him. "Where are you going?" he sounded almost frightened. It was almost a bit odd to John, but he of course turned around. "I'm going to walk you're parents and brother out, Sherlock"
"Why?" Sherlock grumbled.
"Honestly, Sherlock I just need some bloody air" he said to his flatmate with an angry tone in his voice.
Sherlock just watched in silence as John walked out the door. He then flopped onto his back and groaned into his hands as they covered his face in frustration. He was just so tired that he wished he had something to make him pass out, but there was nothing. All he could do was wait it out.
When John got outside with Sherlock's family he waved down a cab for them. As he was saying goodbye to Sherlock's mother and father as they entered the cab Mycroft turned to John and said, "He mentioned Red Beard didn't he?"
John just looked at him in surprise and nodded his head in response.
"I'm also assuming he talked about hearing music as well?"
"Yes, yes he did…how did you know that?" John said as he touched Mycroft's arm trying to stop him from getting in the cab right away.
Mycroft looked at John intently for a moment and then said, "He always mentions those silly things when he's in a state like this. I'm sure one day he will explain why…or perhaps not…who knows with him"
John just looked at Mycroft in confusion and said nothing.
"Good evening, Dr. Watson" Mycroft said to him he then shut the door and was gone.
John watched the cab as it drove off into the distance, his head still swimming with questions. "Red Beard", he said to himself before reluctantly walking back inside.
When John returned to the room that Sherlock was in he saw no sign of Sherlock at all. He put his hands on his head in panic and began calling his name, but got no answer. He went into the hall and asked a nurse that was passing by if they had seen him, but she had not. Damn you Sherlock Holmes! he thought.
A/N: Sorry once again if it's too long or for anything else! If you guys do like it I have quite a few chapters all ready to be posted! This whole story hits close to home because I have had family suffer from addiction including myself, but I am in recovery and am doing well! Once again I really hope you all liked it! Much love! xoxoxo
