AN: So I wrote something...it was supposed to be something good. But then the S3 soundtrack was released and I started listening to the song 'Addicted to a Certain Lifestyle' and I just let the story flow. Sorry if somethings might not make sense! And do listen to the soundtrack when you are reading this. Enjoy!
Twice Upon Death
"There are limits to everything you know."
"Yes, of course," Sherlock answered, smiling.
"You'll be fine on your own then?" Mary asked lightly touching his arm.
He nodded, "Go on. I've trained John well," he said with a smile directed to John. If only John knew how bad all this was hurting him.
"I really appreciate that Sherlock," John answered as he swirled Mary away.
"I don't," he murmured as he watched the two dancing. How had he fallen so hard for this man? Ordinary John Watson. He weaved his way through the crowd searching for Janine now, but she was already with someone else.
Alone.
He folded the score and placed it in an envelope before he quickly took his coat and left the party. He wasn't wanted here. So he walked, back to the main street he went and then he took a cab to Baker Street.
Sherlock climbed up the stairs to their apartment, shrugged out of his coat and pulled on his blue robe. In a storm, he rummaged around in the kitchen looking for the bottle of pills. He wouldn't be able to get to sleep without them. He poured several out onto his hand and filling a glass of water he gulped them down. His hands were shaking as he poured out a few more pills onto his hand. Once again he gulped them down with water.
When he was done, he staggered over and fell onto the couch, curling up on his side. Quite shockingly, he felt the tears falling from his eyes. He had never known that anything could hurt quite as badly as this. Losing John to another. He reached under the sofa for the stash of nicotine patches that he kept but swore never to use for John's sake. Pushing up his sleeve he ripped the plastic open and was about to stick the patch on his arm when someone cleared his throat from the doorway.
"What do you think you're doing?"
It was Mycroft.
"It's none of your business," he muttered as he stuck the patch on and took another out. He followed through the same motions and ripping the second packaging stuck it onto his arm.
Just as he was reaching for a third one, he was roughly pulled up.
"Don't you dare Sherlock," Mycroft growled, glaring at him.
"Don't tell me what to do," Sherlock replied snatching his arm away from his brother.
"I know what you're feeling…towards John. But you don't have to do this."
"I never asked for any of this!" Sherlock snapped, "I didn't ask to fall in love with someone – someone like him! A stupid, awful, doctor like him… But I did and this, this is where it's got me!" He yelled at his brother blinking back the tears as he shook with rage, "And I can't even tell him! So now he's gone off with Mary and here I am…alone…" Sherlock whispered as he looked to John's chair once more. He flopped onto his side, back to Mycroft as he shut his eyes tight, "Just leave me alone Mycroft. I don't want to see anybody."
Mycroft stared at the back of his little brother. He was caught between going to comfort Sherlock and leaving his dark haired brother alone. He took a step closer, about to put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.
"I said leave," Sherlock repeated again, coldly.
Mycroft retracted his hand, nodding to himself, "As you wish brother mine. As you wish."
When Sherlock next turned back, he was once again alone in the room and the very thought of it hurt. "John…" he muttered eyes trained on the doctor's empty chair. "John…come back…come back…" he sobbed, reaching a hand towards the chair, it was somehow just out of his reach.
"Please…" he rasped his eyelids were getting heavier now, heavier and heavier. Sherlock tried to blink the sleep away. Once. Twice. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. From the corner of his eye he could see the yellow smiley staring down at him. He blinked, trying to focus.
Something wasn't right, why was he tired? Oh right, the sleeping pills.
Sherlock smiled, blinking once again.
How many had he taken?
He couldn't quite remember.
It was getting harder to think now. The thoughts just seemed to float around in his head.
"John…" he whispered. As if calling him would make the doctor appear at his side.
"John!" he struggled to open his eyes and for a moment he thought he saw John, in the corner of his eye. He struggled to turn, lying on his side. There, John was sitting in his chair reading the papers in his warm snuggly jumper. John. His John looked to him, smiling, "Sherlock, are you alright?"
His heart clenched and he struggled out of the couch, tumbling to the floor in a mess. Sherlock wanted to get to John. He needed to get to John. He crawled over, reaching for John. But he seemed to always be out of his reach. Then he doubled over, a sick retching had him spewing out the contents of the last few hours over the floor of the apartment.
The sour taste in his mouth didn't go away though as he spit once again and then swiped a hand over his mouth. Sherlock slipped on the mess and lay there, staring up at John who sat in his chair, smiling at him. It wasn't long before his body began to convulse on the floor, the pain wracking through him. And all the while he couldn't think of any thing, of any one but John.
Still he struggled, pulling himself to John's chair, slobbering and shaking, he made it to John's chair. It was a struggle to pull himself upright and lay his head on John's lap. When he did, he stayed there. Closing his eyes, letting John's scent fill his nostrils. Sherlock felt the tears running down his face as the doctor's warm hands combed through his hair.
"Sherlock what have you done?" John whispered.
"I…you…" Sherlock tried to say, but the words couldn't come out. He tried again, looking up to John, "Love…you…" he rasped, struggling with the words as he his body convulsed. "John I love…you."
And he passed out. Never to speak again.
John found it strange that after his wedding, he never saw Sherlock again. He tried calling the apartment but there was never any reply. He'd gone in search of Mycroft but Sherlock's brother had declined to see him. Mrs. Hudson too wasn't around to answer her phone. It was as if the whole world had gone and forgot all about him with the honeymoon over. And when he went to visit 221B, he saw that it was abandoned.
Almost two weeks had passed since the wedding, he'd gone on his honeymoon and now he was back. Where could Sherlock have gone in that time? Something strange had to have happened. Something that people were trying to keep from him. He stared up, looking to the window of their apartment. Sherlock used to love to sit there, watching people go by. The window that once held red curtains now stood bare.
Maybe Sherlock had decided to take a holiday too. But why the empty apartment?
That's when he saw Anderson coming up the street, holding a bunch of flowers.
He should know.
"Anderson," John said running up to the man. He seemed to freeze as he approached.
"John."
"You look like you've seen a ghost," John said laughing, "what's with the flowers? Have you seen Sherlock?"
Anderson just stared blankly at him. Eyes wide like saucers his mouth hanging open. John got the feeling that there was something off.
"Anderson?" John prompted seeing the man gulp.
"I…um…hasn't Mycroft told you?"
John furrowed his brows in confusion, "Told me what?"
Anderson averted his eyes, looking at his feet, not knowing how to break the news. He took a deep breath and then looking John in the eyes he spoke.
"Sherlock Holmes is dead. He overdosed on sleeping pills."
-FIN-
AN: ASHKDLFDASDFKJ I don't know what I've gone and done. I hope you liked it and do leave me a comment to let me know how you found this story!