A/N: WARNING: Some Strong Language

Chapter 9: Breaking Point

The silence in the room was unbearably awkward. It was so quiet that John was almost certain that Sherlock could hear his pounding heartbeat, or at least deduce that he was extremely nervous and uncomfortable. But, when John looked into Sherlock's eyes, all he saw was a blank stare; no quizzical look, no manifesting curiosity that came with his normal demeanor. Just emptiness and that sure as hell was scaring the crap out of John.

Does he remember anything from the day before? If he does, is he disappointed with the outcome of his su… John could not even stand to finish that thought. Just the slight idea of Sherlock just giving up hope on everything kills him inside.

John wanted to break down and cry; go on his hands and knees and beg for Sherlock's forgiveness. He wanted to proclaim his ever burning regret for everything horrible he has ever said to his best friend. But all John could do is stand there and look like a fucking idiot, while Sherlock just stared at him, waiting for him to say something.

xXx

Sherlock blinked his tired eyes slowly, focusing them on the person standing opposite of him. Do not get him wrong, he knew who the person was; faintly at least. His brain was not functioning as quickly as he would like. Whatever was put into his system (his mind not being able to process it at the moment) was making his memory and cognitive processes very foggy. If he was not so tired, he would care enough to be irritated by the whole thing.

Sherlock shifted in the bed, which he sooner than later found out was not a very smart idea. Sharp pain shot through his whole spine, causing it to spider out through his nerves in his neck and back. There was a pounding in his head that synchronized with his fast heartbeat. His breath hitched, and then, much to his annoyance, he softly let out a sob.

Pull yourself together, Sherlock; stop showing so much weakness. Be a man for once in your life! His father's angry, drunk voice echoed inside his mind. But the thought was gone as quickly as it came, being pushed out as his pain sensory neurons flooded the synaptic gaps between every single nerve of his body.

Sherlock opened his eyes that he never realized were being squeezed shut. He saw as the man in the room (J-John? Yes, John. His John.), quickly rushed over to the wall and pulled the help call string. John came and stood over him once more, one hand softly brushing away the wet curls that were sticking to his forehead from sweat, and the fingers on his other hand place over the pulse on Sherlock's wrist. He was speaking soothingly, but Sherlock could not comprehend anything he was saying as his ears continued to ring loudly.

A nurse-looking woman entered the room. John turned and started to inform her about something Sherlock could not hear. The nurse nodded and walked over to the IV drip on the other side of the bed.

Sherlock whimpered, not caring anymore if anyone heard it leave his throat. He was utterly terrified, especially because he did not understand what was happening or where he was. He tried to say something, but he could not get anything out. He was panicking as he saw the nurse begin to fill a syringe with a clear liquid. He tried again, forcing out what he hoped sounded something like a plea for her to stop. He wanted to be able to think clearly again, he did not want to sleep. He did not want to dream.

The nurse looked at him and spoke, but her voice continued to be drowned out by the pain and the roaring. She turned back to the IV and administered the drug into the valve that was connected to the tube.

Sherlock shifted his gaze back to his flat mate. The drug burned through his veins and compressed against his chest. He began to slowly feel more tired and weaker as it spread throughout his body. After a few minutes, Sherlock's eyes began to droop. He tried to keep them open, not wanting to submit to unconsciousness; it was useless, though. Sherlock caught a final glimpse of his friend's sad, watery eyes before darkness filled his vision.

xXx

John stood very still, looking down at Sherlock from the end of his bed, staring into his unnerving, greyish-blue eyes. He had been standing like that for a while, neither him nor Sherlock averting their gaze.

Sherlock was looking very uncomfortable in the hospital bed and started to try and shift his body to a more comfortable position. He stopped in mid shift, and John watched as his friend's face quickly contorted into an expression of complete pain and anguish. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sob that was loud enough for John to hear. The sound made John's heart break, especially since he had never seen or heard Sherlock express any form of hurt or pain, ever. Sherlock's breath came in with quick gasps of air, as if oxygen was being sucked out of the room. The pain seemed to increase as the beeps on the heart monitor began to be sound closer together.

John could not stand to watch his best friend suffer any longer. He rushed over to the wall and pulled the string that had "help needed" written above it, hoping a nurse would come in as soon as possible. He goes over to Sherlock's side and does everything he possibly can to comfort him as they wait.

"Shhh. It is going to be okay. A-A nurse will be in soon, I promise…" John said as soothingly as he possibly could. He tried his best to keep his voice from cracking, wanting his voice to be a strong iron rod that Sherlock could hold on to through his pain and rely on for comfort. He brushed the sweaty curls from his flat mate's brow. Sherlock's forehead was very warm and clammy. John lifted his unoccupied hand and felt the pulse on the other man's wrist, even though there was a heart monitor in the room. John wanted to check for himself, not relying on any technology whatsoever. Sherlock stared at him with crazed, pain filled eyes.

A knock came from the door and a nurse walked into the room. "Is everything okay?" The nurse spoke, surprisingly with a very serene voice.

John turned to her, a sigh of relief spreading through his body. "I think the pain medicine is wearing off quickly. He is in excruciating pain."

The nurse nodded and calmly replied, "I can give him another dose of morphing to ease his pain."

John thanked the nurse as she walked over the cabinets. She checks the labels of each small vial until she finds what she is looking for. She unwraps the plastic packaging around the syringe, which she quickly discards in the waste bin.

As the nurse begins to fill the syringe with the clear liquid, soft, whimpering noises begin come from Sherlock. John turns his attention back to his friend, seeing and hearing something he never wishes to see or hear ever again.

Sherlock has turned his head toward the nurse, even though the bandages on his neck are badly pulling at his slowly scabbing skin. His weak arm is barely reaching out toward her, as if he is trying to grab at something that is not there. His lips start moving but nothing comes out. He stops and then tries again, except this time something comprehensible leaves his lips.

"S-Stop-p… no… n-no more d-drugs. P-Please… stop-p…" Sherlock begged, his voice cracking almost every word. Warm tears were racing down his flushed cheeks as he let out another soft sob.

John feels his heart stop beating in his chest as he watches his friend beg. A fiery hot guilt begins to slither through John's whole being. He has never heard his friend plead for anything before. Sherlock Holmes was just not that kind of man.

This is my fault. T-This is all my fault... I put Sherlock in this hospital. I caused him to want to kill himself. He just found out that he did not succeed, and now he is begging for no relief of his pain. This was not anyone else's doing, this was all my doing.

John stood, keeping all his emotions hidden from his exterior. He watched the nurse give Sherlock some words of encouragement before she administered the morphing in through his IV.

Sherlock turned to John staring at him, silently pleading for this to all stop. His best friend's features began to relax as the drug's side effects started. After a few minutes, Sherlock's eyes slowly closed, and he was again, fast asleep.

As soon as Sherlock fell into unconsciousness, John could not hold it in any longer. Forgetting about the room's occupants, he fell to his knees and shouted out in pain. Red hot tears streamed down his face as the pain from the guilt was too much for him to bear anymore. Every muscle in his body tensed as he yelled out. He scratched at his face, leaving long, red lines on his skin. He punched the ground over and over again with his right fist, splitting some of his knuckles in the process. He eventually collapsed to the floor and sobbed as he cradled his bloodied fist, blood and tears mixing as they puddled on the floor.

A/N: Ummm… hello… It's been a while. No, I promise I did not die in the duration of the last few months, though my life has been a living hell with working at an amusement park, doing school work, and dealing with my many health conditions. I hope you all are not too terribly angry with me about how long I took to update this story…

Anyway, I know I promised that I was going to have John's questions answered in this chapter, but, as you can tell, it did not happen… At this point in time, I was just trying to write a filler chapter, so you all would not have to wait even longer for a new chapter. And I know it's not my best chapter, but hey, I updated!

Thank you all for reading; I truly appreciate it! I am going to try and write more often, now that life has seemed to calm down a bit. Thank you all for the reviews, they really brighten up my day and encourage me to continue writing!