7. Promises (First Time Johnlock)
Eighteen year old Sherlock is scared. The urge to use has consumed his thoughts for withdrawal has weakened him. All he would need to do is stick in the needle, letting the pain go away. The only problem was that he promised John he would never use again.
I don't understand why you're so pissed at me. SH
You promised you wouldn't use. JW
It's difficult. And it was only a little. SH
Still, you lied about it, JW
Because I knew you'd do this if I told you. SH
Sherlock, I would have tried to help if you told me you needed a fix. Going behind my back made it worse. Can't you understand that? JW
You wouldn't have helped. You would have tried to talk me out of it. SH
Isn't that helping...JW
No, I need it to think. Not thinking is not helping. SH
You don't need it to think! You use as a way to escape. Don't lie to me, or yourself. JW
Fine, I use it as an escape but when I escape, it makes thinking easier. I'm not lying. It was a half truth. SH
Or half a lie. Are you going to use again? JW
(delayed) I don't know. SH
Want to talk about it? I can come over. JW
Yes. SH
I'm on my way. Thank you. JW
For what? SH
For letting me help. For trying. For being my friend. JW
(delay) Just - hurry. SH
I'm outside now. Anything wrong? JW
Door's open. Come up, my room. SH
Okay. JW
Sherlock sat at the base of his bed, his hands shaking as he stared the needle lying inches away from his outstretched foot. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to grab it and jab it into his arm but he resisted, twisting his neck and wrenching his gaze from it. If John didn't get upstairs soon, he was going to weaken. He knew it. He could feel the sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead, sticking his curls to his face as he fought against it. This was withdrawal. He knew it well. He despised it.
John raced up to Sherlock's room as fast as he could, not knowing what to expect. He entered to see Sherlock and knew what was going to happen. John carefully picked up the needle and threw it in the trash, just trying to move it far away from Sherlock...Sherlock, he looked terrible. Sweat clung to his skin, he looked as though he hadn't eaten in a while and his eyes almost looked dead- signs of withdrawal. John knew from his medical studies.
"Thank you," he muttered quietly, staring blankly down at his lap. He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to distract himself from the shivering that wracked his body. "I - couldn't do it," he admitted. "Needed you to."
"It's okay." John said quietly, moving to sit next to Sherlock. He reached a hand up to feel the boy's forehead. A fever often came with withdrawal.
"S'fine," Sherlock drawled, moving his head away from John's hand petulantly.
The slight movement took nearly all the energy he had left and he sank further back against his bed, sliding a few centimetres down the frame. John gazed at his friend with a sad look in his eyes. He left quickly to get a wet towel for Sherlock's forehead, his eyes never leaving the brunette. When he returned he placed it gently on Sherlock's skin and sat next to him. Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head droop on to John's shoulder. He didn't have the energy to hold it up himself any longer.
"Shoulda taken it," he murmured, mostly to himself. If he had just grabbed the needle and stuck it in his arm, he wouldn't be feeling like this. He would be free to think instead of feeling so ill that he couldn't keep his eyes open.
"You did the right thing. Just rest." The blonde whispered.
He took a risked and pulled Sherlock closer, wrapping his arms around him. Sherlock screwed his face up, clenching his jaw shut so that he wouldn't whimper or groan or something equally stupid. He lay his head against John's chest, enjoying the warmth that surrounded him. It felt safe. Slowly, John rubbed Sherlock's arm and ran his other hand through the boy's hair. Despite his efforts, a low whimper escaped Sherlock's lips and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the entire world. If it would all just leave him alone, he would be fine but it seemed determined to shatter his illusion. He shivered violently and turned his face into John's chest, grabbing his shirt. John held him tighter, wanting to shield him from the world, but he knew he couldn't. It hurt him to see Sherlock like this.
"Jo-hn, I'm - s-sorr-y," Sherlock managed to stutter out. It took a lot of effort to form any words now but he needed to let John know that he was sorry. He hadn't meant to put his friend through this but he had needed someone to take that needle away from him.
"Shhhh. I know. I know you are. Try to relax." John ran his fingers through his hair again.
Sherlock gave in and let his body drape against John completely, becoming deadweight as he gave up all control over his muscles. He lay as still as he possibly could, shutting his eyes and allowing everything else to wash over him. Deep down John was scared. He didn't know what to do. What if Sherlock needed to go to hospital? John shook his head. He just needed rest, besides he would get in too much trouble over the drugs.
Sherlock lay unmoving for about ten minutes or so before he felt brave enough to peek out through one eyelid up at John. Gingerly, his other eye opened as well and he looked up at John.
The blonde smiled down at him and knew….
They would get through this.