Chapter 4

Author's note: Hey guys! I apologize for the slow update, I've been struggling with some mental health things lately. Thank you so much for your patience! I hope you enjoy the new chapter. Please favourite, follow, and most importantly, review. I appreciate your feedback so much, and love to hear what you guys have to say. Any suggestions or corrections, or anything will be truly considered. Thanks y'all. Have an awesome day.

"Christ," John muttered to himself, kneeling beside the bed. He reached out to shake Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock. C'mon, love. You've got to get up." He grabbed Sherlock's hand, taking his pulse on his wrist. A little slow, but nothing too concerning. Next, John's hand moved to brush under the detective's damp curls.

As he was trying to decide if Sherlock's temperature was a problem, or if it was just his hands that had gone cold in his moment of panic, John was lazily swatted at. Relief washed over him. Never had he been so glad to have an annoyed Sherlock trying to get rid of him. Maybe he wasn't doing well, but he was responsive.

"Jesus, Sherlock. You had me scared for a moment there."

A mumbled, "Go away." Was the only response that John received, and it brought back a hint of the previous night's anger. He wanted to be caring, and affectionate, and encouraging to Sherlock, but it was hard. He loved that man— more than anything he'd ever loved before. He couldn't lose him. Not again. There had been far too many close calls throughout their relationship, and it was a pattern that needed to be put behind them. He had a right to be upset with the detective and his blatant lack of care for his own wellbeing. It needed to change, and John couldn't be the only one putting in the effort.

John sighed, and took a seat on the bed beside Sherlock. Slowly, he moved his hand to rest on the brunet's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. It was evident enough that Sherlock wasn't comfortable. Despite the circumstances, John hated to see his boyfriend in pain. It happened more frequently now that they'd spent so long together, but it was still a rare sight to see Sherlock in such a vulnerable position.

"List. Where is it?" John asked, his tone firm, but not unkind. "Or are you willing to tell me what you took, and how much? I need to know what to anticipate, and how vigilant I need to be in the immediate future."

"It— it was cocaine. Mostly,"

"Mostly?" John raised an eyebrow.

"When I went to," he paused, swallowing. "When I went to pick it up, they were all doing speedballs and… You know, the mix would help the- the crash from the cocaine. Brings you down nice and slow…"

"Refresh my memory," the doctor said, voice low. The thought of a bunch of crackheads influencing Sherlock's decision in what he took seemed preposterous. 'They were all doing speedballs.' It didn't seem very much like the person he knew, bur then again, surprises were many with the detective. "What exactly, is a speedball?" John knew the terms for many drugs, along with a handful of their street names, but this sort of lingo was certainly not his forte. He'd heard the most of it during his time in Afghanistan, but this particular one he wasn't familiar with.

"Mix of an accelerant and an opiate. In this case, cocaine cut with heroin." He explained, tone rather dull.

"Jesus, Sherlock. Heroin?" John's words were't as incredulous as they were tired. With one hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose. That was new to him. Sherlock's depressant of choice had always been Morphine. Whatever. At least to his knowledge, Sherlock had at no point in his life become dependent on that drug, which was good news. Heroin was extremely addictive, and came with brutal withdrawals. John hoped that he'd be able to prevent Sherlock from going back to it. The idea of him getting into that drug… He didn't want to imagine it. Sherlock would be ruined. "How much?"

"Y'know…" Sherlock mumbled, his words still thick with sleep. "Enough."

"I know you keep track, how much?"

"About 60mg of Cocaine. 10mg of Heroin. Happy?"

"No. Not the word I'd use to describe how I'm feeling at this moment," John grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But relieved. A bit. I know you've got a high tolerance. How're you feeling?"

Sherlock rolled onto his front and let out an exaggerated groan into the pillow. John didn't need to hear any more. The withdrawals wouldn't be a good time, but they wouldn't be as bad as they could've been had this been going on longer.

"You know I'm going to take care of you, but in the same beat, you've entirely earned the consequences. I hate it when you're not feeling well, but don't expect any pity. You can't blame me for not being the happiest with you at the moment." John said, arms crossed.

Another groan came from Sherlock. "Yes, yes, I understand, now shut up and leave. Close the curtains on your way out."

"Sherlock. Now I don't expect you to be Mr. Sunshine, but at least sit up and have some water. I can get you some paracetamol as well if you'd like."

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I don't want anything," he failed to suppress a shiver as a chill coursed through his thin frame. "Either get me a case, another hit, or let me go back to sleep."

John sighed, shooting the brunet a pleading look. "Just some water then. Please."

With a huff of frustration, Sherlock pulled himself into a half sitting position. "Fine. Some. Not all of it." He took a couple slow sips, everything about the action begrudging.

"Thank you," John replied. "Now," he said, getting to his feet. "I'll leave you to rest, because I know this is the only time you'll willingly sleep. At least not without either bribery or threats," He leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's curls. "I'll be here if you need anything."