Author's note: Bipolarity is different for everyone and this is based on how I experience the disorder. This isn't meant to glorify bipolar disorder or to make someone upset. If it does, I'm sorry. Also, some knowledge about bipolar disorder is required to understanding this, so I'm suggesting that you google it.

Trigger warnings for this chapter:

The morning after Sherlock's little relapse, there was one more person than there usually was in 221B. Per usual, Sherlock was on the couch, John was in his chair, but there was a third man in Sherlock's chair. Mycroft Holmes had graced them with his presence. The older Holmes brother had his arms crossed over his chest, his umbrella was resting against the chair. John had the same position and they were both looking at Sherlock with a rather cross look on their faces.

The detective himself was clutching a cup of tea and staring at his knees, avoiding the eyes of his brother and his best friend. When he had sobered up from his hit, he had been encountered with a very disappointed and very angry John. The doctor had told him that he was calling Mycroft and then left Sherlock in his room, after confiscating everything.

"You have been clean for so long, Sherlock..." John was the first one who broke the silence. His voice was filled with disappointment, anger and... Was it sadness?

There was no reply from Sherlock, he simply stared into his tea and let out a quiet sigh. This whole situation was strangely familiar. All in all, he had now relapsed four times. Every time, Mycroft had been watching him with that disappointed, annoyed look on his face as he scolded him for his substance abuse.

"I'm glad to see you're getting treated for your disorder, but I would prefer it if you stayed with the legal drugs." Mycroft said with a cold, hard voice.

Once again, Sherlock was completely quiet. If it had just been John and himself there, Sherlock maybe would have talked. But, he wasn't too interested in opening up to his brother. The Holmes brothers never talked in that way. Never had they talked about feelings. And, Sherlock wasn't interested in starting now.

"Do save us some time. Where have you hidden it?" Mycroft spoke again, voice a bit louder this time.

"I don't have any. I bought one dose, that's it. It's a one time thing." Sherlock said before he took a small sip of the tea. It was warm and calming.

Both Mycroft and John let out a snorting sound.

"We're not stupid." Mycroft said with an almost hurt tone in his voice. "Of course there's more."

"There isn't any more!" Sherlock growled and slammed the cup into the table. He was disappointed in himself, he was angry, he was... He was confused.

"Talk to us, Sherlock. Why?" John asked as Mycroft leaned back and looked over his brother.

The brunet bit his jaws together and ruffled his hair. It had been to escape, of course it had. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to feel. He just wanted to disappear, to not feel.

"I don't have time for your teenage-like moping. Where should we be looking and how long will it be until you make another attempt to take your life?"

Both John and Sherlock looked at Mycroft with raised eyebrows. Sherlock let out a tiny huff before looking back into his cup of tea. John, on the other hand, seemed to take this quite badly.

"Maybe you should just go, Mycroft. That is not going to help. Do you know anything about bipolar disorder? Do you know anything about depression? What Sherlock needs right now if for us to be supportive. He does not need to be ridiculed and made feel like he's just wasting our time."

Mycroft wasn't used to people standing up to him, except for Sherlock, but he always expected that. He was used to people following his every lead. So, when John snapped at him, he looked rather shocked. After opening and closing his mouth a few times, like a fish on dry land, Mycroft just stood up.

"Have fun fixing this." He gestured towards Sherlock. "Since I'm apparently of no use here, I am going to take my leave."

After Mycroft had left, Sherlock stayed on the couch. He was staring into the opposite wall, with the thoughts spinning in his mind. None of the Holmes boys were too caring, but this was a new low, even for Mycroft. Sherlock had thought that he was something more to his bother than just trouble. But apparently, he wasn't.

"Sherlock..." John sat down next to him and placed a hand on the detective's shoulder. "You've just been sitting there all day. Please talk to me. Talk to me about something."

All day? What did John mean with all day? Mycroft had just left... Sherlock looked around the flat and realised that the flat was indeed dark. It had happened again. Once again, he had gotten lost in his mind palace.

"I promise there is no more. I just got one dose." Sherlock muttered. There was a relieved look on John's face when Sherlock answered.

"I know, I checked." The doctor an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. "But it was fucking stupid. You're going to have a lot of trouble keeping yourself from slipping back into abuse. I'll help, of course, but you'll have to do your part."

"I am sorry."

"Yes, you better be. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You weren't supposed to know."

"And, I'm sorry for calling Mycroft. I didn't know he'd be like that. I'm rather disappointed in him. I thought he'd be a bit more... Caring." John said with a shrug and withdrew his arm.

"Not your fault." Sherlock sighed deeply and placed his head in his hands. "I'm a fucking mess, John. I have no control over anything any more. My thoughts are out of control and so are my emotions. It's like a storm."

"You have to talk to me about things like this, Sherlock. Before you resort to sex with countless of men and drugs. I want to help and I'm able to help, but not unless you let me. You need to talk to me."

"I need help."

"That much is obvious, yes. Don't worry. We'll fix you."