John was nothing but a ball of nerves by the time that they reached hospital and found Sherlock's room. He just kept replaying the awful scene from his office in his mind despite Mary's consolations that this was not his fault. John felt terrible; he had assumed that Sherlock was an emotionless machine. He certainly had behaved that way. After finding out that Sherlock kept his death a secret for two years, causing John unimaginable pain and suffering, it had just added to his notion that Sherlock didn't have feelings like other people and didn't care about exploiting others. He'd been so busy trying to bury his anger and resentment over Sherlock's mistakes that he hadn't taken the time to appreciate that Sherlock was different now than when he had jumped off of the roof of St. Bart's. His acceptance of Mary, his help in all the wedding preparations, his best man speech, the song he made for them…..they were all things that John would have never thought possible of Sherlock before. He cared; to what depth John didn't know but this act was enough to tell him that he cared much more than John had given him credit for.

John was brought out of his own tortured thoughts by the sound of Mary crying softly beside him. John thought he must be imagining it until he turned around and saw Mary with her hand pressed over her mouth, tears on her cheeks. "Hey…..it's going to be alright" John tried to encourage her, putting his arms around her. He really didn't know if it was but one of the worst things to watch in his opinion was a crying Mary and he wanted to fix it if he could.

"I did this…it's my fault he's here" Mary said in a loathing voice, the same one John had used at home.

"Mary, there's no way this could possibly be your fault" John said, wondering why she was putting this on herself. "Didn't you just tell me that it wasn't my fault? It's not yours either."

"But…..it…..is" Mary said, taking breaths and trying to get her cries under control. "I lied to you the other day about what happened with Sherlock and me when we were at his flat; why he was mad at me."

John pulled back slightly so he could look at Mary, a strange dread filling him. "What do you mean?" he asked calmly as he could, knowing deep down that Mary wouldn't do anything intentionally to hurt Sherlock.

"He was using drugs again and I knew it" Mary said, wiping her red eyes on the back of her hand.

John felt a weight crash on top of him; it had been so long since Sherlock had used. What kind of turmoil must he have been in to be using again. "Why didn't you tell me?" John asked. He didn't want to be angry but so many what ifs were filling his mind. Had he known Sherlock was actively using drugs he would have taken better care of him and he wouldn't be here right now. It must have been the same thoughts Mary was berating herself with at the moment.

"I was trying to be his friend…..I knew he'd hate me if I told you" Mary said and John's heart hurt because she sounded so young when she said it, just like a mate trying to protect another. "I had my suspicions but seeing him that night confirmed it. I confronted him about it and he tried to deny it but I know he was using again. I told him if he didn't get clean I'd tell you but I should have known he couldn't do it on his own. I had no idea he was suicidal."

John wanted to be angry; how could Mary have kept something like this from him? But she was so sad, so miserable that he knew she was in enough pain. "You have to tell me things like that" John said, calmly, pulling her in for a hug.

Mary was quiet for a long moment, nestled in his arms before she said, "I know you think that he doesn't feel things like other people…..but its killing him."

"What?" John asked, feeling like he knew the answer but not wanting to accept it.

"Us…being together, leaving him…all of it" Mary said.

John didn't know what to say; there wasn't much he felt like he could say at the moment of the multitude of things that could be said. "Come on…lets go get this over with. We'll figure this out" John said, carefully detaching himself from Mary and taking her hand to lead her into Sherlock's hospital room.

It was worse than John had imagined; he had seen Sherlock on drugs and he had seen him in the hospital close to death but it still didn't prepare him. Sherlock was asleep, curled in the middle of the bed, looking smaller and younger than John had ever seen him. He skin was pale grey with a sick greenish tint; he looked like a corpse. The sunken state of his eyes and cheeks John had noticed earlier seemed worse now with him unconscious. The worst part of it all was the state of Sherlock's exposed arms in his hospital gown. They were a patchwork of blue, purple and yellow bruises. It was obvious that Mary was not only right in assuming that Sherlock had been using since the wedding but long before that as well. Out of nowhere, John was assaulted by the image of pale skin contrasted with blood on pavement, the feel of cold lifeless hand in his own that used to haunt his dreams…

"Quite a sight, is he not?" Mycroft's undistinguished tone of a voice pulled John's eyes away from Sherlock and to him sitting in the chair next to the bed.

"What happened?" John asked, urgent to know that Sherlock's state wasn't quite as bad as he thought it was.

"Obvious, isn't it?" Mycroft asked, in his slow, infuriating way. "My delicate brother has gone and had an overdose."

Anger rose up inside John; couldn't Mycroft act a little more concerned? Ever? "You had no idea he was so bad off? Don't you watch his every move?" John accused angrily.

"I have been taking every caution to limit his access to getting drugs for weeks" Mycroft said, heat beginning to tint his words. "I imagine that's why he felt the need to take every single pill in the medicine cabinet of your old flat. It's a wonder that it didn't do him in; it was only the nosiness of his landlady that kept him alive. A few more minutes and it would have been too late. You obviously don't watch his every move anymore"

John pushed aside his anger at Mycroft's jab at him; he wasn't going to take all of the blame for this. He already had his fair share of blame. "What did the doctor say? Is he going to be alright?" John asked. The only way that he could get through this was to stick to the cut and dry facts.

"They pumped his stomach; they feel they got to him before most of the drugs made their way through his system" Mycroft said, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "His vitals are stable but he hasn't woken up yet; they're keeping him under observation."

John looked over at Sherlock in the bed again; Mary was already sitting on the bed beside him, watching him with worry in her eyes. When he turned back to Mycroft, he had stood up and was making his way over to John. "I've always trusted you John to keep my brother in check. If he does this again, he'll succeed."

The dread and sickening feeling in John's stomach grew as he watched Mycroft leave the room and Mary take Sherlock's hand.

…..

John and Mary were going to leave him; that fact was indisputable. It might be weeks, months or even years from now; most likely it would all fall apart about the time the baby came along. He'd been able to deny it all, really, until that. He always had a chance of holding onto them; when he had found out that Mary was pregnant he knew it was all over.

He was not used to caring; before John there had been no one to care for. He faked his death to keep John alive; he'd never once thought that when he came back John would have left him. It wasn't that he blamed Mary for it; maybe initially had wanted her gone because she had stolen John's allegiance. But then she had worked her way into his heart somehow. Soon, any anger he had felt at her dissolved and felt forced because she was charming and brilliant and John loved her so how could he not? Where there once nothing inside his cold heart, there was now a JohnandMary shaped hole.

What were they giving him in this hospital? Bloody making him sentimental….

Sherlock could hear the sounds of muffled voices somewhere as he began to come around; he slammed his eyes shut to keep from acknowledging the waking world as long as possible.

"I'm not someone that you can call who will come running after you like a puppy! I have a job, a wife…I'm going to be a dad! You can't just assume I'm here to do your bidding! I have other things in my life; I can't just drop everything and do what you want. Maybe you should have thought of that before you left me for two years; I had to carry on!"

Not even the pull of a definite eight and multiple corpses could entice Sherlock to forget about that remark. John had better obligations, obligations that had nothing to do with Sherlock. For the moment he occupied a small place in John and Mary's lives but wouldn't last. They had each other and they didn't need him any longer; certainly wouldn't need him once their baby came along.

Sherlock felt a hand in his own, warm and gentle; Mary. They all thought he was still asleep so he could allow himself to soak in her touch for these few precious moments. Envy…..was that what it was? The little nagging sensation in his heart when he watched Mary hold John's hand, when he watched them exchange a kiss, when they came to him smelling like each other's skin…damn drugs were making him lose his mind….

He hadn't tried to kill himself; he knew no one believed that but he really hadn't wanted to die. He'd just had so many thoughts and he wanted them to stop; heroine was completely impossible to get his hands on now thanks to Mycroft. He was weak; he knew taking a mess of pills was a bad choice. It could potentially hurt his mind, the only thing about him worth saving. It was all a blur…suddenly was on the bathroom floor surrounded by bottles and then the seizures started. It was all black after that.

Mary's hand was warm against his own; the rest of his body shivered cold. "Mary…"

"Yes, Sherlock? I'm right here" Sherlock hadn't realized that he'd even spoken out loud but he must have.

Sherlock opened his bleary eyes, taking in the horrible hospital room. Mary sat on the bed next to him, clutching his hand, her eyes red from crying; he'd made her cry. John sat on the other side of him, his face drawn in concern.

"How do you feel, Sherlock?" Mary asked, squeezing his hand tightly. She smiled at him even though he knew she just wanted to cry.

"Like hell…" Sherlock said, his eyes already hurting with the force of staying awake. "So tired…stomach aches so bad…."

"That's because they had to pump your stomach" John said, an edge to his voice. "Dozens of pills they forced out of you. Of course your stomach hurts…..what were you thinking?"

"John, please….." Mary said, shooting him a dangerous look, "he just woke up"

"Yeah and I want to know what he was thinking" John said, his voice rising. "Didn't you even think about the effect this was going to have on the people around you? Poor Mrs. Hudson had to find you; sent her into near hysteria"

"John….."Mary warned him again, looking sad.

Sherlock managed to give her a half smile. "It's okay Mary. It's fine" he told her. He knew this wasn't just John attacking him; it was his defense mechanism. When John was confronted with sorrow he lashed out. He was demanding answers because he'd probably actually felt sad because of him; he really shouldn't have.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself, John. I'm not that dramatic" Sherlock told John who was looking at him with a frown.

"What other reason does anyone have for taking a mess of pills?" John demanded. "Was this some kind of statement? Looking for attention?"

Sherlock felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach; he wanted to be sick but his weak stomach couldn't manage to expel anything more. He looked down at the sheets. "No…..I wasn't looking for attention." He said.

"John, you really need to take it easy on him" Mary said, her voice more forceful.

"No…..I won't take it easy on him!" John said growing properly angry now, captain's voice, red face and all. "Taking heroine for weeks now…..going on like it's all fine and then just decides to off himself? You say you weren't trying to kill yourself but you have a complete lack regard for your own life. Whether you want to or not you're going to end up killing yourself and I…." John looked away, showing sadness in his eyes for the first time. "I can't watch you die again. I've already done it once. How can you make me go through that again?"

Sherlock could hear the catch in John's voice, saw the glassiness of his eyes and was not surprised when John fled the room. Mary, looking startled and upset, dropped his hand and looked toward the door. "I'm sorry Sherlock" she said in a tearful voice. "He doesn't mean any of that….he's just upset. I'll go to talk to him."

Sherlock watched as Mary got off of the bed and practically ran out of the room. He tried to ignore the burning in his throat and the feeling of loss that came with his warmed hand growing cold.