A/N: Obvious mentions of suicide.

This was supposed to be a drabble but got slightly out of hand.

And yes, the references are deliberate.

Greg wasn't sure why he even kept going anymore. He didn't have a wife, his biological son had been a stillborn, and the man he thought of like a son had killed himself two months previously. His team had deserted him as soon as he went under investigation, and he was on paid suspension for 6 months, and by then the investigation would be finished, he'd either be reemployed or they'd fire him for good. The only people he had left were John and Molly, and even then, his friendship with John was strained, and he'd never really known Molly that well. Not much to live for. It's not that he wanted to kill himself, he just had no particular desire to live, not that he'd mention it to anyone.
The shrill ringing of the landline in his apartment jolted him out of his thoughts, and he immediately got up to answer it.
"Hello?"
'This is Nurse Williams from St. Thomas' Hospital. Am I speaking to Mr Lestrade?'
"That's me. What's happened?"
'John Watson is currently hospitalized, and is currently undergoing treatment. You are down as his emergency contact. We'd like you to come in.'
"Give me thirty – forty minutes. I'll be there."
'Thank you Mr Lestrade. When you arrive please go to Level 3, and ask for Doctor Jones.'
"Will do." He hung up, not wanting to be any later than he needed to be. He went back to the sofa, and grabbed his jumper and quickly putting it on, before putting on his shoes, grabbing his keys and leaving the apartment.
As he ran down the stairs, he asked himself why John was in hospital, and why he was suddenly Johns emergency contact despite their strained relationship.
By the time he got to the hospital, he had too many theories to count, and then decided it was best to just wait and find out.
As he walked through the entrance to the hospital, he scrunched his nose up slightly at the smell, trying to ignore the memories that it produced. After looking around for a brief moment, he spotted the lifts and walked towards it, only for it to shut before he got there. Sighing in annoyance, he stabbed the button, a little harder than he should've with his finger. When it arrived, he got on, and it was thankfully empty and went up to the third level, with no stops.
He stepped out, and looked around. There was no one in sight, except a young woman, in a lab coat, leaning against a wall, the only person available for him to speak to. "Excuse me? Do you know where Doctor Jones is?"
"Right here," She said, with a smile. "Are you Mr Lestrade?"
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't realise. But yes, I am Mr Lestrade." He felt slightly guilty for not checking her name tag.
"Come with me." She started to walk, and he immediately matched her stride. "Are you aware of his condition at all?"
"I wasn't told anything, apart from him being hospitalised, and having treatment. What's going on?" He hated not knowing what was going on.
"Your friend, I presume, overdosed a few hours ago. It seems he was trying to commit suicide." She said, and then stopped walking. Greg stopped a moment later, slightly overwhelmed by the news.
"Oh God. I never thought he'd do that."
"It was unexpected?"
"Well, kind of, his best friend and flatmate killed himself two months ago, so I guess it was always a possibility, but I never thought he'd do it." He bit the inside of is lip, before speaking again. "Can I see him?"
She pointed to her left, and nodded slightly. "He's in there. I can give you 30 minutes. It's not visiting hours so you shouldn't actually be here."
"Thank you, Doctor Jones." He smiled at her before turning and walking into Johns room.
The sight he saw wasn't a pleasant one. John was deathly pale against the white sheets of his bed, and the gown they'd placed him in. He made a mental note to pick up some pyjamas for him when he left.
"John. I'm so sorry. I always believed in him, y'know. He was the son I never got the chance to have. Not that you'd know about that. I lied to you when you asked me if I had kids. Sherlock. He was like a son to me. I loved him like a son John. I did. I never wanted him dead. Not for one second. I swear. John, just please don't do this to me. I don't think I could handle it. No wife, no job, no sons, no friends. John, I think it'd kill me. John, just live for me. Just please. God damnit please!" He took a deep breath and sat down in the chair next to his bed. "John. Please."