Greg entered John's hospital room with some trepidation. He had been warned of the doctor's anger and senseless denial of his suicide attempt. He had also been warned that John had demanded quite vehemently that Sherlock come see him, something that had, as of yet, not happened, though it was in the works. "John," the DI said in greeting.

"What do you want?" John asked, his voice sounding bitter. "Are you here to talk some sense into me, because it won't work." He didn't want to talk to anyone that wasn't Sherlock, not even the DI.

"I can see that, mate," Greg said as he pulled up a chair and sat facing the doctor.

John shook his head. He could see in the DI's eyes that Greg believed he had tried to kill himself. "If you believe the crap that everyone is saying, you're not my mate. You're nothing more than a copper on an investigation." He knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn't help it. Did no one have any faith in him?

"You sound like Sherlock, you know that?" The DI crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the chair. "Look, we're just worried about you." He paused a moment before continuing. "If you weren't trying to kill yourself, then explain how the meds got into your stomach. They didn't just materialise there."

The glare that was shot in Greg's direction was tempered by confusion. John hadn't thought of that. No wonder everyone was convinced. He'd had to have swallowed those tablets on his own. He thought back to the night before. He had gone out for a pint just to get away from Sherlock's latest experiment which had taken over most of the flat. He remembered talking to a few people, but he didn't remember coming home. Everything was a blur after that. It didn't make sense. "I don't know how they got there," was all he could offer the DI in reply. John felt completely defeated. Even he would have thought the worst. Sherlock was his only hope and he still hadn't come to see him.

Greg sighed at the doctor's denial. He didn't know what could have driven John to take such extreme measures, let alone deny it in the face of such strong evidence. Maybe Sherlock would be able to sort it, if he would calm down enough. "Look, I didn't come here to argue and I am here as your friend. Mycroft is bringing Sherlock here as we speak, but you should know he's... upset would be too mild a word. He's angry with you, furious, even. That's why he's stayed away."

The doctor stood, looking down at Greg in shock. "Sherlock is angry with me. That... that self righteous prat! After allthe things he has done! Shooting up God only knows what all for all those years, each time taking his life in his own hands. And the way he lives. You've seen it, Greg, risking his life for the thrill of the chase, for the game. And he's angry with me?!" If the monitors had been hooked up to him, they would have been sounding their alarms, he was so worked up.

"John-"

Sherlock was angry with him for something he hadn't even done. Where was the concern? Where was the support? Shouldn't his boyfriend be offering those instead of staying away in a snit? The doctor sat back his chair and dropped his face to his hands. Suddenly, he felt exhausted. Why was he fighting everyone anyway? They didn't believe him and wouldn't. He'd try to make Sherlock see the truth. If he couldn't make him, then he had to find a way out of here and find out who had tried to kill him and how.