Chapter Eleven: Pain
Author's Note: This chapter is for takemitsu, to help stop the tears... or make more, because this chapter is sad! So yeah, warnings for major sadness, at least I think it's sad... I should stop saying sad, shouldn't I? Anyway, enjoy!
Lestrade's body was on fire. No, it was being dunked in ice. Scratch that; a million ants had been let loose and were slowly chewing on his skin. He groaned and shook, muscles twitching and aching and bending and FUCK!
The cell door opened but Lestrade didn't care; he just wanted the pain to stop.
'Greg?'
He couldn't answer; his teeth were clenched together. There was a warm body pressed against his suddenly and he was dragged up. Lestrade whimpered as Sherlock Holmes pulled him in close, long arms wrapping around the DI.
'You'll be fine.'
Lestrade shook his head.
'Everything will be fine; trust me.'
Lestrade didn't. He didn't trust anybody. Why did everything hurt? Why did his heart and gut and skin and head hurt? Why... why...
Lestrade felt tears spill down his cheeks and he didn't have the strength to stop them. He'd been barely stumbling through life before that night... now he was drowning in his own hurt. He fucking hated it... he hated himself.
He hated everything.
Greg got home to find Myc sitting on the couch, humming loudly and tapping at his legs. There was a syringe on the coffee table and Greg smiled.
'Hello, beautiful.'
'Mm,' Myc mumbled.
Greg didn't expect anything else; when Myc got high he just wasn't there anymore. His brain shut down, just like he wanted. Greg didn't care, as long as Myc was there.
'I work too hard,' Greg complained, kicking his shoes off and sitting on the couch beside his boyfriend.
'Should quit,' Myc slurred. 'I'll take... care of you.'
'Really?'
Myc nodded.
'Ah, my knight in shining armour.'
Myc smiled.
'I got some more,' Greg said and pulled a packet from his trousers. He set about cutting the powder up and pushing it into lines. Myc watched carefully, smiling whenever Greg looked at him.
Greg grinned and left the coke and straw there. 'Have some if you want,' he said and stood, stretching. 'Gonna grab a beer.'
He went into the kitchen and heard a snort, smiling as he twisted the bottle cap free. He chugged down half the liquid and cracked his neck, hand wet from the bottle. He stood in the kitchen staring at the wall, letting his body relax after a thirty-two hour shift. Scotland Yard really worked him too hard.
There was a loud gurgle and a thump from the living room. Greg turned to see Myc on the floor, his body twisting and the man making loud, painful noises.
'Myc?' There was no answer and Greg stepped into the living room. 'Myc?'
His body was convulsing, his hand thrashing out to hit the table. Magazines and drugs went flying as Greg flew across the room, dropping his beer to slide to the floor.
'Myc? Myc, talk to me.'
His eyes were rolling into the back of his head and his body got jerkier, spasming uncontrollably.
'MYC!'
Greg groped for his phone, dialling triple nine as he rolled his boyfriend over.
'Hello? I need an ambulance, my boyfriend's overdosing!'
Greg dropped the phone and looked down at Myc, panic setting in when he realised Myc wasn't moving.
'M-Myc?' he whimpered, nudging his boyfriend carefully. 'Myc?'
He'd stopped breathing.