A/N: I do not own any of the characters from this fic, nor do i get paid to do it, these characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and BBC. i also no not own the lyrics written below, they belong to starkid productions and DarrenCcriss. please send in those reviews, and feel free to favorite or subscribe.
"John." It was little more that a groan, barely audible from where John stood. It was not the moan that sent the doctor running, but the tremendous crash that followed. He raced down the hall to Sherlock's room, flung open the door- and gasped in shock!
"Sherlock!" bellowed John, rushing to his friend's side, dropping the shopping bags, sending milk and eggs all over the floor. At first glance, it looked like the man had simply fallen out of bed. But John knew better, he was a doctor. He knew what drug can do to a person, particularly his flatmate. Sherlock was sprawled on his back on the floor, arms and legs spread apart. He looked like he might be making a snow angel. His hair was plastered to his sweat covered forehead, and fanned out on the floor around him like a halo. "Sherlock, please, if you can hear me, open your eyes." Nothing, not even the slightest flutter of lashes upon the soft, pale skin. John quickly whipped his mobile out of his pocket and dialled the first of two numbers.
"999 what's your emergency?"
"Yes, my name is John Watson and my roommate seems to have overdosed on some sort of drug, please send an ambulance to 221B Baker st. make sure it has a stomach pump and plenty of cold compresses."
"Okay, make sure you stay with the subject, and try to keep his or her head elevated. Help is on the way."
The second number dialled was to DI Lestrade.
"Greg I need you here with the team. And I need you to search the place."
"what's going on John?"
"It's Sherlock, either he's been drugged by someone, or he did it himself, I need to know what he took. Lestrade, he overdosed, he looks dead, please please please help me, help him…. John had no clue when the tears started, but there they were hot and wet, and full of the fear and dread that he held in his heart.
He reached over and grabbed Sherlock under his arms and hoisted him onto the bed. Normally, this wouldn't be so hard, since the younger man was so slight in weight, but all the dead weight made it harder then it should have been. John hesitated before walking quickly to the bathroom to wet a towel for Sherlock. When he got back to the room, he didn't think twice before clambering into the bed with the detective, propping him up gently, so his head rested on the doctors chest. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock and pressed the cloth on Sherlock's forehead, hoping to bring to color back to the man, who was getting paler by the minute. The hand that was free of cloth, was aimlessly drawing patterns on the unconscious mans hand.
Softly he began to sing:
'When they say you can't love
I think you've got it wrong
They say you can't feel
With a heart made of steel
But you can't say that steel ain't strong'
John almost laughed at the accuracy of the song, knowing full well what others said about Sherlock. He planted a soft kiss upon matted curls and continued:
'Well if that's who you are,
Just a meaningless star in the sky
Tell me what is the meaning
Of what I am feeling if you are the reason why'
John could hear the sirens off in the distance, and he prayed that they would get here soon.
Now I may be dumb But you don't know you the way I do
But where I come from
Folks say they're fine
When I know that they're blue