"Sherlock?" Ngh. The fuck? My head is like a gong being tossed down an elevator shaft. Piercing bright lights blind me- when did the lights get replaced. It finally dawns on me. This is not my room. Tubes threaded through my arms and a pipe shoved down my lungs do my living for me, I've already given up it seems.
"His vitals are holding steady and his breathing has evened out nicely… This does seem like an accidental overdose but we can get you a psych referral if you'd like, Mr Holmes."
"That is not necessary, thank you. Can you get us the discharge papers, Dr?"
"Of course"
I feel my brother staring at my soon to be corpse in dismay. He is disappointed, obviously. Even I am, how strung out could I have been to OD like this? I really am pathetic.
"Obviously close surveillance isn't working…"
"Maybe you should handcuff me to a minder…" I mumble around the breathing tube half asleep, too tired to think of a wittier retort.
"Sherlock. This relationship is getting to a point where it is too easily foreseeable that our bond is going to end abruptly…" I roll my eyes as my brother tiptoes around the concept of death. So mild. "I now this is the last thing you want. I know you'll be upset but I see no other way to make sure that your heart stays beating…" he trails off guiltily. He wouldn't… He can't…
"Mummy and I have phoned… him. He's on the next flight over… I'm sorr-"
"WHAT THE FUCK"
"Please don't make a scene—"
"Mycroft! You called my fucking dad!"
"I know you're still upset about her but—"
"Upset? Upset? I think you understand, brother mine! This piece of shit killed my sister!"
"Sherlock…"
"My twin is dead because of him." My voice shakes.
"Sherlock. It's not my fault mum and dad split up. It's not my fault that Sheridan decided to go live with him. It's not my fault that his prison friends decided to break in that night… No-one knew"
"I knew." I rip the tube from my throat, the burning sensation is a small deposit in the way of paying for my crimes. "She texted me the day before that she felt scared and unsafe. I got on train over… I went to find him… He left me in an alley with a broken eye socket unconscious and went to a bar as he knew full well that his 'mates' were breaking into his house looking for their money. He was a a greedy egotistical maniac…" I jump out of bed and slip my narrowing legs into my tatty jeans.
"Sherlock! We don't know what else to do! Dad knows about drugs and getting hooked. Please just let him talk to you!" His ashen face pleads, genuinely. Creases of worry hook under his eyes that I've never seen before.
Tossing the hospital gown on the floor and ripping out the IV makes me dizzy. I don't want to move. I want to get better here. But I can't. I need to leave before my past sneaks up behind me and strangles me anymore. I throw on a t shirt and run unsteadily towards the door. I can't listen to anymore. I can't think about my twin or our father without feeling an aching pain that floods my senses, overrides my brain. I need the drugs. I need to dose myself and pour water on the fire. Extinguish the feelings that make me want to scream. I need numbness. Why can't anyone understand me? I fling my exhausted body out of the doors to St Bart's Hospital into the road.
I can't find any air. I gasp for breath but an inferno suffocates me. My fingers are kindling, crackling beneath me as I collapse into the road. My heart beats so violently that I feel that it'll crack open my ribcage and spill all the carefully concealed feelings of worthlessness and depression out onto the asphalt for the world to see. People shout out me. I can't hear. I'm underwater. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I taste nothing. I smell nothing. I feel empty. My senses shut down and the last thing I sense is the cool metal grill of the speeding car that ploughs into my frail corpse.
I lie on the tarmac. Locked in my body. Perfectly still. How it should be. Blood caressing my ears, the crimson parade covers me in a veil. Calming. Erasing. And my heart is put to rest.
