The Road to Ruin
Summary: John is woken in the middle of the night by a call, one he had never thought he'd get. How will he cope with the news? Takes place after the Sign of Three.
A/N: Just a little for warning that this story is slightly AU. There are some hints of Mystrade just a word to the wise although it doesn't factor in a great deal but I still felt that I should put a warning up here. WARNING Drug Abuse and Overdose don't like don't read you have been warned! Sherlock maybe slightly out of character apologizes in advance. Please enjoy my first Sherlock fanfiction and first fanfiction ever!
Disclaimer: I do not in any way shape or form own BBC Sherlock nor do I make any profit from writing this. I also do not own the lyrics used within they belong to Fall Out Boy. The only thing that's mine is the Plot Bunny that wouldn't leave me alone.
John was roused by an assault upon ears; his phone was ringing with a vengeance from his bedside table. Mind cloudy and confused he looked at the caller I.D.
Mycroft, at this time of night, this call could only bear ill news, news undoubtedly about Sherlock. He answered the call with a heavy heart, what could Sherlock have done to warrant this.
"Hello"...
How could he have let this happen, it's not like he had been gone from Sherlock's life that long. A month, that's all it took a month. Then again who could really blame him, with Mary pregnant it shouldn't have been surprise that he would be spending more time at home adjusting to the suburbs. Sherlock was his best friend and he was one of the two people that he loved most in the world, why wouldn't he contact him if he was feeling himself heading down this road.
John was up and dress with Mary sitting in the living room in her dressing gown.
"I'm going to Baker Street to start the search of his flat. God knows what I'll find."
Mary was about to retort when John cut her off.
"Go to the hospital, one of us should at least be there if he wakes Mycroft and Lestrade are already there."
Mary sighed and looked at her husband with sadness.
"Fine I'll go straight to Bart's then, I'll call you when he wakes up shall I?"
John gave her a weary smile and a soft kiss on the top of her head.
"Love you"
"Let's get this show on the road shall we"
One Month Before
Well that was tedious Sherlock thought, did Lestrade really have nothing better to give him.
Oh well, at least he gave a thought to him and tried to help by finding cases albeit, not the most interesting.
Sherlock checked his phone, no calls, not even a text from John.
It's been a week, and he hasn't even found the time to send a text. Then again I could always just text him, no better not he's probably too busy with Mary and the baby on the way. He'll contact me when he has more time.
With an outward sigh filled with loneliness, Sherlock removed his coat and scarf, hanging them on the back of door. Walking the beaten path to his bedroom Sherlock fell into his bed, a feeling a complete exhaustion hitting like a ton of bricks.
John slowly ascended the weathered and beaten stairs up to 221B, a trek as unconscious as breathing to him. Both doors were fully open indistinguishable voices reached John's ears as he reach the landing. He entered through the kitchen door to find Anderson and a few members of his "Empty Hearse" or whatever.
"What are you hell are you doing here Anderson?" John questioned a little harsher than planned.
"Lestrade called me said he needed someone to look through Sherlock's flat, he mentioned something about a drug overdose. It was kind of hard to understand, someone was pacing pretty loudly in the background."
Mycroft, Well there no doubt he's worried, than an again this probably isn't his first tango when it comes to Sherlock's drug addictions. Amazing though that it was Greg who called Anderson, Mycroft usually has the much lever head between the two of them and quite the control freak. This must be hitting him hard if it's thrown him for this big a loop.
"Oh no mentioned it to me when they called. I thought I was going to be stuck plowing through this mess on my own, seems you've beat me to it though so what rooms are left?"
"His bedroom and the bathroom, but so far the only things we found aren't anything interesting, just stashes of cigarettes. Aside from that we haven't found any drug paraphernalia or illegal substances." Anderson stated with a tone of professionalism.
"Well it has to be here somewhere either that or used it all; I'll go start on his bedroom." John grumbled as he walked out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Two Weeks Ago
Oh My God these cases are doing nothing!
Sherlock internally screamed as he paced from living to bedroom and back.
No matter how many I do they are just not enough anymore I just need something a little stronger.
No, No I can't if go there... down that road again there is no coming back I can't I just can't.
As Sherlock continued this internal debated he suddenly realized he was standing in front of the wardrobe; His wardrobe where his secret was tucked away, hidden from intruding eyes, a little box containing his drug of choice, cocaine.
I should call John maybe he can help; he has always been able to make me right.
No I can't he's busy, and he's hasn't called once and it's been nearly a month he clearly has more important thing to worry about.
What about Molly or Mycroft or Gram maybe they could help?
NO! Not them definitely not them they wouldn't be able to help they would just worry and get in the way.
Then there are few options left.
"No" Sherlock said aloud. "There is only one"
Sherlock opened his wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of ugly old shoes. In one was his precious relief, in the other his method of choice, a lovely glass syringe in a beautiful glass case. He sat for a long moment staring at the two contemplating his next choice.
Just a little, only a little just to help fill the gap that the cases have been leaving lately, just enough to get me through.
It felt like he had been searching for hours, leaving no piece of fabric unturned. He sighed as he finally reached the wardrobe.
There has to be something in here I've checked everywhere else in this room.
John began ruffling through the shirts and pants hanging inside until he happened upon a pair of very ugly and old running shoes.
Why on earth would Sherlock be holding on to these? He usually carries himself a lot better than this with all his pressed shirts and suite jackets.
John suddenly realized they were much heavier than they ought to be and looked inside. There lay in the end what John had been searching for. He tipped the shoes and out came the wooden box and glass case, but something else fell out of the left shoe; a piece of paper with what looked like Sherlock's handwriting.
At the Hospital
Sherlock had just begun to stir his head filled with confusion. His eyes slowly creeping open.
This is not Baker Street he deduced quite quickly. It's far too bright and blinding and I remember closing the shutter before the fall.
Yes the fall, it must have made quite the sound, maybe Mrs. Hudson's taken me down to her flat.
No that can't be this bed is far too uncomfortable to be her spare. Then where could I possibly be.
That's when it truly hit all at once, the beeping, the footsteps, the anti-septic smell threatening to gag him, the constant feeling of burning veins yet shivering from cold. It had all become all too clear to Sherlock in those few seconds.
I am in the hospital. Damn it all it must have been Mrs. Hudson, she heard me fall alright but the hospital? Really? isn't that a little over kill.
Sherlock outwardly sighed. He knew deep down that the secret was out. There was no hiding it anymore, if he was hospitalized it meant that Mycroft would be informed since he was his health care proxy. If he knew then by default Lestrade would know as well considering the two were living together now and if he knew Mycroft as well as he thought there was no doubt that by now John knew and he would be pissed.
Great, oh how wonderful Mummy and father will be next on his list to tell no doubt. This is not what I wanted, this not the way it was going to end this time.
He fully opened his eyes prepared for what was to come. This was not the first time, but maybe, just maybe it would be the last time.
Back at Sherlock's flat as dawn was breaking; John and the rest of the searchers were starting the trek home. He hailed a cab and was moving slowly in the morning traffic towards Bart's Hospital. While sitting there contemplating his next meeting with Sherlock whom he been told had woken up suddenly remembered the piece of paper with Sherlock's handwriting. Unfolding it he slowly began to read what it said.
"I don't know where you're going but do you have room for one more troubled soul. I don't know where I'm going but I don't think I'm coming home. I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead. This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end."
A/N: If you're reading this it means you have made it to the end and that in itself has brightened my day lovely stranger! I hope you enjoyed this mused that struck me while I was listening to a Fall Out Boy Song Alone Together which is where I got the writing for the piece of paper at the end. I felt that those lyrics just fit Sherlock so well in so many contexts particularly if he was heading down his previous road of ruin. I could possibly see a future little squeal to this story about Sherlock's recovery or something along that line if anyone is interested just let me know. I have also written a sort of prequel that is centred on Mycroft and Lestrade; it helps flesh out this story and gives you a different point of view. If you are not a fan of Mystrade I would not deem it your cuppa. If you're feeling really generous please leave a review it would be appreciated!
-Someday-You-Will-Die