Sherlock went limp and his breathing evened out slowly, Lestrade held him until he was sure he was really asleep before gently placing him back on his pillows. His fever was still climbing which was bad, the detective was practically radiating heat. Lacking any better ideas he grabbed a damp flannel from the bathroom and placed it over Sherlock's forehead. Damn this was really John's territory.

He wondered how the doctor was doing in the time he'd been gone, it had passed so quickly without him even realizing. He'd better give the man some news.

"Greg!" John answered before the first ring had even finished, "How is he doing? Have you managed to get him to eat or drink? His body needs all the help it can get to fight withdrawal and Mycroft said he was malnourished and dehydrated-"

"Woah, slow down." Greg replied, "I couldn't get him to eat but I managed to get him to drink some water and keep it down. Though at this rate he'll probably just sweat it out within the next ten minutes."

"His fever is bad then." John muttered, "Try to cool him down."

"John, Mycroft has nurses here to take care of him, he'll be just fine."

"But he's not fine at the moment!" John insisted.

Sherlock groaned and turned over in the bed.

"What was that?" John asked, Greg could practically feel the panic through the phone, "Is he okay?"

"His fever is climbing I should get Mycroft." Lestrade explained but apparently he was heard because no sooner had the words left his mouth then the man himself had entered followed by a nurse and drip.

"You might be able to get a drip into him if it's been a few days since his last use." John continued, unaware that this was no longer a private conversation.

Before Greg could reply the phone was away from his ear and in the hand of the elder Holmes.

"This are under control, Dr. Watson." He said simply, "You services are no longer required."

He hung up without another word.

"Mycroft!" Greg scolded, "The man is a mess you could at least be gentle with him!"

Apparently despite being unconscious Sherlock disagreed with the new amount of noise in his room became he moaned again and twisted himself further into his sheets. The nurse managed to get him to hold still long enough to take his temperature, just.

"He needs to be cooled down and he needs liquids." She reported, "He's not sweating enough."

It took her some time but eventually the IV line was hooked up, John was right then. Unfortunately it did nothing to stop Sherlock frantic twisting and turning.

"We'll have to restrain him." Mycroft sighed reaching into his pocket and bringing out four thick leather ties with buckles, "Hold him down, I'll do it."

Greg hated it when Mycroft was right but he had no choice. Sherlock really was going to hurt himself at this rate, he'd almost pulled out his IV twice in the short period since it had been placed. The leather circles were placed around his wrists and ankles and the fastened to the sides of the mattress, essentially pinning Sherlock's arms beside him but that didn't stop him from pulling and struggling all the more.

"Let me go!" He growled deliriously, "Let me go!"

Lestrade was amazed at how quickly things could turn to shit, only fifteen minutes ago he'd had Sherlock asleep in his arms.

-oOo-

He was hot.

That was really all his brain could deduce. He was hot and he wanted to not be hot. He felt like he was being smothered by blankets inside an active volcano!

Then there were voices and he was being held down.

No! How dare they!? He struggled but his limbs had turned to cooked spaghetti and soon he was completely pinned.

"Let me go!" He growled, "Let me go!"

They were going to try and get information from him. But he wouldn't break no mater what they did. He wouldn't tell them anything!

-oOo-

Sherlock continued to writher and groan in obvious pain but they found they could do nothing. Mycroft had tried to calm him but it had resulted in Sherlock screaming and trying his best to wriggle away from the man.

"Stay away from me!"

"Sherlock-"

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes! He's dead!"

Lestrade and Mycroft shared a glance bother thinking the same thing; Sherlock had never mentioned that he'd been tortured in his absence.

He stopped talking after that for a while, he didn't stop whimpering though and tugging at his restraints.

"Please Mycroft?" he pleaded, this time with his eyes open. It seemed the delusions had cleared momentarily.

"In two days time you will be yourself again." Mycroft sighed, "You are not getting another fix."

"Please?" He rasped again, "I can't do this, I'm sorry I can't. Please!"

Sherlock Holmes was begging for mercy, Lestrade thought he'd never see the day.

"We should get John to come and see him." Lestrade spoke up, "They both want to see each other, it's obvious and John will help him to stay calm."

"It is John Watson's fault for letting his emotions get out of hand in the first place." Mycroft growled, "Had he better control my bother wouldn't be here right now."

"Sherlock was the one who pumped drugs into his veins, not John." Lestrade reminded him, "He regrets what he said, he wants to see Sherlock."

"John." Sherlock moaned.

"See?" Lestrade waved a hand at Sherlock who had slipped back into semi-consciousness.

"If he says something to upset Sherlock again he could give up completely." Mycroft argued.

"No, 'm not sick, John." Sherlock mumbled stuck in the world of dreams once more, "lemme out of bed..."

"Just give him a chance." Lestrade sighed, pushing back Sherlock's sweaty curls so they were out of his face causing Sherlock's eyes to flicker open.

"'strade?" He muttered, "where'd John go? He was here a second ago..."

"John wasn't here, Sherlock." Mycroft sighed, "You're fever is confusing you again."

"Oh." Sherlock's face screwed up, "That's right, the drugs...John doesn't like me anymore..."

"He does." Lestrade insisted, "We can bring him here you know."

Sherlock looked conflicted but then again, he couldn't really think straight with his body roasting at 39 degrees Celsius. He moaned and tried to roll over but yelped when the restraints cut into his skin. He reminded the inspector of a child. Despite the fever fogging them, Lestrade could see the fear and desperation shining in the mans eyes. Finally the fever won the battle and Sherlock sunk down once more.

-oOo-

Sherlock was back in Baker Street and it was hot. It was very hot. Why didn't John turn on the air conditioning? Sherlock watched as the wall paper began to melt all around him in the extreme heat. He went to turn on the ac or open a window but found he couldn't move, he discovered why when he looked down at his feet, which were submerged in the sticky melted carpet. Wait, that didn't even make sense!

"You okay there Sherlock?" John asked from the doorway.

"John!" Sherlock smiled, "John get me out of here, I'm stuck!"

The ground began to sink further and further like quicksand, he was up to his knees now.

"Why should I?" John asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because I'll suffocate if I sink under all this!" Sherlock replied feeling slightly panicked, "I'll die!"

"So?" John shrugged, "You've been dead to me for three years now Sherlock, it wont make much difference."

He was stuck up to his waist now. He struggled but that only made things worse, the goo was going from a mix of different colours from Baker Street to inky black.

"John, please!" The heat was really getting to him now and the goo was almost at his neck, "Just pull me out!"

"Can't you look after yourself for a change?" John sighed, "I'm sick of being your keeper."

"I thought we were friends, please." Sherlock begged, it was getting hard to breath now with the black goo clinging to his face and the oppressive heat weighing down on him.

"We were never friends, who'd want to be friends with a freak like you?" John sneered, "Just die already!"

The black goo completely submerged him and he could feel it seeping into his mouth, he couldn't breathe! He opened his mouth to yell but nothing came out.

"Just die already!"

-oOo-

Lestrade had decided to stay the night with Sherlock since Mycroft still refused to allow John in to see him. He was about to nod off in his chair when Sherlock began to yell and writhe on the bed, shocking him awake.

It was a good thing he was still restrained or he would of hurt himself struggling the way he was now. The yelling was terrible, he was practically screaming.

"Sherlock! Sherlock wake up!" He yelled trying to hold him down by the shoulders, "It's just a nightmare!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he jerked as if he were going to sit up but the restraints held him down. In his fever driven half awake state this seemed to make things worse because he kept struggling until Lestrade finally managed to undo the leather around his wrists and he was able to sit up.

The poor guy looked panicked, his eyes were blown wide, he was panting like he'd just run a mile and he was trembling terribly. The worst of the withdrawal symptoms were at their best right now, another day or so and Sherlock would be fine but it pained Greg to see him this way.

He let Sherlock rest his head against his shoulder, he could hear him whimpering and trying not to beg from his cocaine again.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to bring John here, no matter what Mycroft says, is that okay?" Lestrade asks softly.

Sherlock tensed and for a moment Greg feared he was going to reject the offer but eventually he nodded.


I meant to upload this yesterday but I got busy, I spent the last 16 hours having a movie marathon and then we all went for laser tag. My bad :P

One of my friends told me to ask if it's true only Australians have Tim Tams? It's chocolate covered chocolate! I though America would have them! My mates and I always play the Tim Tam Slam when we have them!