Chapter 21: The Dilaudid Incident

Sherlock had been gone for nearly a year. He came back maybe once every couple of weeks but in-between his sporadic visits I didn't hear from him. Mycroft told me where he was supposed to be but more often than not he ended up somewhere else.

I sat in Sherlock's chair fingering the vial of Dilaudid that he had given me on his last visit. That had been over two months ago. He gave me a new vial whenever he came home so that I would never run out, at least not until he came back. When he had given me the first vial he had been very clear on when and how I was supposed to use it.

"You have to promise that you'll use this only if you really need it," he said as he held out the vial to me.

"I promise," I replied, reaching for it. He held it out of my reach.

"I've left enough syringes to last you for at least three months should I be delayed in returning," he explained. "I've marked each one with the exact ideal dosage for your body weight. Promise me that you won't go over that limit."

"Uh-huh," I agreed quickly but he held it even further out of my reach when I tried to grab it.

"And for god's sake, don't let John or Mary find out about it!" I rolled my eyes.

"I won't," I snapped. "Now give me the vial!" Sherlock placed it into my hand and closed my fingers around it.

"Only when you really need it," he repeated softly…

"Well I really need it now," I muttered. John and Mary had spent the last few weeks at her place, Sherlock was still gone, and Mycroft wasn't giving me any information on where he was or when he was coming back. I was lonely. I needed to take my mind off of it. Carefully, I extracted the Dilaudid from the vial with a syringe, stopping when I reached the line Sherlock had marked. I winced at the pinch that came with inserting the needle into the vein at my elbow. The familiar burning settled into my shoulders before there seemed to be a 'pop' and everything relaxed.

"Oh thank god," I sighed as my head lolled back against the chair. My mind went comfortably numb and I drifted off into the fog.

I could hear Sherlock's violin music playing softly. A creak came from the stairwell and the music stopped…

'Moriarty!' I panicked and scrambled out of the chair. The room spun and I tripped over the small coffee table. There was another creak from the stairs. I had to hide! The door to our room had a lock on it…but no…that's the first place he'd look for me. I couldn't get to John's room with him in the stairway. My only other choice was the bathroom. I stumbled down the hallway to the bathroom and locked myself inside. There were footsteps moving through the flat. I wedge myself in the gap between the sink and the toilet. As the footsteps drew closer I covered my mouth and held my breath. The footsteps moved past the bathroom, heading for the bedroom but they returned quickly. The doorknob rattled and it took all of my self-control not to start crying.

"Reilen?" That was Sherlock's voice. He had the door unlocked by the time I had gotten out of my hiding space.

"Sherlock!" I cried rushing over and throwing my arms around him.

"What're you doing?" he wondered.

"I thought—I thought you were Moriarty," I muttered. "I was dreaming and—"

"And you'd taken a dose of Dilaudid," Sherlock finished.

"Well...yeah," I mumbled. "That too."

"Did you really get that desperate?" He gave me a disapproving look that I found annoying considering the fact that he was an ex junkie.

"I didn't know you were coming home," I snapped. "Mycroft didn't say."

"I wasn't sure I would be able to make it so I asked him not to say anything," Sherlock said as he led me back into the living room. I flopped onto the sofa and smiled at him.

"Welcome home," I giggled.

"You knocked over the coffee table," he scolded as he righted said piece of furniture. "How many doses have you taken today?"

"Just the one," I answered truthfully.

"And this week?"

"Four."

"That's one per night!" He didn't look happy. "How long has this been going on?"

"About three months," I admitted. "It helps me sleep." Sherlock's frown deepened.

"Reilen, what did I tell you about—"

"I need it for the nightmares!" I cut in. "I can't sleep otherwise."

"They're that bad?" he asked. I nodded, shuddering at the memory of the dreams I had had when I hadn't taken any Dilaudid.

"How long will you be home this time?" I questioned to change the subject.

"About two weeks." I perked up at the idea of having him home for a whole two weeks. However, we would be confined to the flat since Sherlock couldn't go out as he was still "dead".

"Where's John?" Sherlock asked looking around the dark flat.

"At Mary's," I answered. "You honestly think I'd take a dose and sit in the middle of the living room if he was here?"

"How long has he been gone?" A look of concern flashed across his face or it could have been annoyance. Either way it was gone as soon as I noticed it.

"'Bout a month." I shrugged. Mary usually checked in with me about once or twice a day, John usually more so. They had dinner at the flat about twice a week and every so often I would go over to Mary's flat for dinner. But I liked the time alone. It meant I didn't have to try so hard to hide my Dilaudid use.

Sherlock sat down in his chair and looked over at me.

"You're not eating," he observed. "You've lost nearly five pounds since I was home last."

"Almost ten, actually," I corrected him. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and frowned.

"Nine and half exactly," he mused. "Why?"

"Not hungry." I shrugged. "Does Mrs. Hudson know you're here?"

"Of course not," Sherlock snapped. "I can't have her knowing I'm alive. She wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. Now, I think you ought to eat something." He headed into the kitchen and returned several minutes later with a sandwich and a glass of juice. Knowing that it would be useless to argue, I accepted the meal and ate every bite.

"Has Mycroft been keeping your account full?" Sherlock asked as I finished my food. He and Mycroft had an arrangement when it came to money. Mycroft usually kept Sherlock's bank account full but since he was "dead" the money Mycroft normally gave to him was given to me. It allowed me to stay at Baker Street and also meant that I didn't have to go back to work. After everything that had happened I seriously doubted my ability to return to work like everything was fine and normal.

"Yes," I answered. "It's been really nice, not having to worry about money or anything. He takes care of the bills too."

"At least he's good for something," Sherlock said seeming annoyed with his brother for some reason. Although he was almost always annoyed with Mycroft so it wasn't surprising.

"I feel sort of bad about it," I mumbled. "I mean, I'm just mooching off of him. I'm not you. I'm not related to him. There's no reason for him to take this much care of me."

"You're my girlfriend," Sherlock said sharply. "And I want to be sure you're taken care of while I'm away." I felt a surge of love for him and launched myself off the couch and into his lap.

"I love you," I sighed as I cuddled up to him. Sherlock put one arm around me and patted my head.

"I know," he responded with a chuckle. "I love you too."

Sherlock had left after his two weeks were up and I went back to missing him and waiting. I tried my hardest not to use any Dilaudid but I always ended up needing a dose. After Sherlock's departure I didn't get any news from Mycroft even though it was nearing the two month mark since Sherlock had last visited.

"Do you want to go out to eat tonight or get a takeaway?" John asked.

"I'm fine with either," Mary answered. I responded with a shrug. I didn't mind either way.

"I suppose a takeaway would be easier," John mused. My mobile rang and I snatched it off the coffee table. Mycroft's number glowed up at me.

"Mycroft," I said by way of greeting.

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you," he replied. "But I'll be at your flat in approximately two minutes. There is something we need to discuss." He hung up before I could ask him what the bloody hell he was on about.

"What's going on?" John wondered.

"Mycroft's coming over," I answered. "He said there was something we needed to discuss."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" John demanded.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I said. A moment later the front door opened and shut before the sound of footsteps came from the stairwell.

"Hi Mycroft!" I called just before he walked into the flat.

"Good evening Reilen," he responded in a tight voice. "Ah, John and Mary are here as well, that's—fortunate." His face was a mask of polite smiles but something felt off.

"So, what's going on?" I asked slowly. "Why are you here?"

"Reilen, you're going to want to sit down," he told me. I studied the way he was gripping the handle of his umbrella, the way he didn't relax, the way he had stopped smiling as soon as I had asked what was going on. I knew what this was about.

"It's Sherlock, isn't it?" I asked my voice coming out thin and quiet but surprisingly steady. John came to stand beside me and I felt his hand settle on the small of my back.

"Is he coming home for good?" John asked. "Is everything over now?"

"No, John," Mycroft responded though he never took his eyes off of me. "He's not coming home."

"Is he okay?" John asked. I saw the answer in Mycroft's eyes and I felt my body go cold. Not again. This could not be happening again.

"I'm afraid not." Mycroft gestured to Sherlock's chair. "You really should sit down, Reilen."

"He's dead," I choked out. "Isn't he? For real this time." John went still beside me and I heard Mary suck in a breath.

"I'm afraid so," Mycroft replied softly. "Of course, I will continue to provide you with funds and you can continue living in 221B as per my brother's wishes. You don't have to worry about money."

"I'm going to lie down," I forced out as I moved away from John.

"Reilen, wait," John called quietly. He sounded broken. I felt him reaching for me but I moved further out of his grasp.

"Goodbye Mycroft," I said as I walked past him. I walked down the hallway to my bedroom feeling like everything had floated away from me. There was nothing but an abyss and I was only moments away from falling into it.

"Reilen, stay with me!" John's face floated above me. There was a light overhead so bright it made my head hurt. John's voice seemed like it was coming from a long tunnel.

"John you need to let her go now," Mary's voice called worriedly. "They have to take her." John leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"You're going to be fine," he insisted. "Don't you dare die on me." He vanished from my view and I felt my body racing along while orders were being called out all around me. I closed my eyes and sank back into the abyss.

I sat in my room staring at the vial of Dilaudid clutched in my hand. With Sherlock dead was there any real reason for me not to take more than I should?

'If I die John will be devastated,' I reminded myself. 'It would destroy him.' But Sherlock was gone. He was never coming back. I couldn't make myself keep going without him. My gaze strayed to Moriarty's initials. I wanted them gone.

Quickly, I filled a syringe with Dilaudid and injected just enough into my vein so that cutting into my skin wouldn't hurt so much. Without allowing any time to second guess myself I grabbed my pocketknife off of the bedside table and dug the blade into my wrist. Even with the Dilaudid in my system it still hurt and the sight of my blood flowing over my wrist made me dizzy.

"Can't stop now," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Just get it over with." I kept digging and slicing until the pocketknife was slick with blood. I kept digging and slicing until I couldn't see the initials anymore. The pain lanced up my arm set everything on fire. I dropped the pocketknife to the floor and filled the syringe completely with Dilaudid before jabbing it into the vein at my elbow. The blood loss on top of the extreme dose of Dilaudid would fix my "problem". My eyes blinked shut and everything went black…

I woke up to the beeping of machines and the whoosh of a ventilator. A second later my mind registered the tube in my throat and I started to choke and thrash around.

"Rei don't struggle!" John's voice cried. "It's all right! Just calm down." I stilled and let out a pained gurgle as I tried to breathe past the tubes. John's face appeared above me. One of his hands held one of mine while the other stroked my hair, brushing it off of my forehead.

"Mary's gone to get the nurse," he told me. "We'll see about getting that tube out." John looked exhausted. Dark circles showed under his eyes which were bloodshot as if from a combination of crying and a lack of sleep. The sounds of several people hurrying down the hallway reached my ears and I tried to turn my head to see the door but the ventilation tubes prevented this. A moment later, Mary appeared beside John and Dr. O'Hare and a nurse appeared on my other side.

"I'm glad to see that you're awake," Dr. O'Hare said brightly. "And you seem ready to start breathing on your own! That's very good news. Martha, let's prepare Miss Turner for extubation, shall we?" She nodded and moved so that I could see her more clearly.

"I'm going to lower the level of oxygen that the machine is putting out," she informed me. "Over the next hour or so I'll keep lowering it to make sure you can really handle breathing on your own, okay?" I nodded slightly and she moved away to begin working on the machine.

"We'll give you some privacy," Dr. O'Hare said when she was done. "Martha will be back every fifteen minutes to lower the oxygen level."

"Thank you," John replied quietly. When they were gone he let out a heavy sigh and sank into the chair beside my bed.

"Do you have any idea—" he began his voice rising slightly. "Do you even have a clue as to what you put me through? What you put Mary and Mrs. Hudson through?"

"John," Mary chided him softly. "This can wait, can't it?" John huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at the wall.

Over the next hour John didn't say a word. He sat and stewed in his anger until Martha came in and announced that it was time to remove the tube. John helped me sit up and Martha made quick work of suctioning out the tube.

"All right, now as I pull it out I want you to cough as hard as you can for me," she instructed. I nodded and coughed and gagged as the tube was pulled from my throat. My throat felt raw and a tentative swallow proved painful. Martha noticed when I winced and gave me a sympathetic smile.

"Your throat will probably be sore for a while but it'll go away fairly quickly," she promised. "Now, your oxygen levels are still a little low so I'm going to hook up a nasal cannula just until your levels are back to normal." She hooked a thin tube around my ears and positioned the prongs in my nostrils. A moment later I felt oxygen begin to flow through them. Breathing through my nose made me a little dizzy but it was better than being on the ventilator.

"Let me know if you need anything," she said giving us all a kind smile.

"We will," John answered. "Thank you." As soon as the door to my room closed he rounded on me.

"What in the bloody hell were you thinking!?" he demanded. "Mrs. Hudson nearly had a heart attack when we took you from the flat! Molly's a wreck! You parents are beside themselves!"

"John," Mary insisted. "I don't think now's the best time to do this."

"Well we're doing it!" John snapped at her. "Reilen, you died again! Where in the hell did you even get Dilaudid!?"

"Sh—Sherlock," I rasped. John looked ready to explode.

"Of course!" he fumed. "Of course he'd be the one to let you stay hopped up on drugs! How long has this been going on!?"

"Since he left after his funeral," I muttered. John let out a disgusted snort and began pacing around the room.

"How could you do this!?" he cried. "Less than an ten minutes after Mycroft comes and tells us that Sherlock's dead you decide to join him!?" Tears spilled from my eyes and I stared down at the blanket.

"I'm sorry, John," I uttered in a tiny voice.

"Yeah," John seethed. "You're sorry that you're still here." I flinched at the anger in his voice. I had never thought that I would ever make John this angry at me. I'd only ever heard him use that tone with Sherlock and even that was reserved for serious incidents.

"I—I just couldn't bear it," I whimpered. "I couldn't go on without him. And—and thinking about the fact that Moriarty's initials would always be there to remind me why Sherlock was gone…it—it was just too much." I looked at my wrist and noticed for the first time that it was wrapped heavily with gauze.

"You were in a coma for almost a week!" John went on, his anger still not spent. "I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you die." I looked up at him, his eyes bright with anger and unshed tears. I took several painful swallows before I spoke.

"I'm sorry, John," I said again. "I—I just—I just need Sherlock. I don't know how to exist without him anymore." A sob burst painfully out of my throat and I covered my face with my hands. John's arms encircled me and held me against his chest.

"Reilen," he murmured. "I know it seems—impossible. I know how much you're hurting. But we'll get through it, together." I clung to him and sobbed wishing with every fiber of my being that I had succeeded in joining Sherlock.

"I don't understand," Mum said flatly. She, Dad, and Carlisle stood in my hospital room. Mary had taken Octavia and Talon down to the cafeteria for a snack.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," I disagreed.

"How would you even know where to get that kind of drug?" Dad demanded getting the tone that Carlisle and I called "the voice of authority" the no nonsense tone of a father.

"From here," I answered. "I took Molly's ID badge and used it to get into where the Dilaudid was kept." John didn't even blink as I lied to my parents and brother. Luckily, none of them knew that Molly didn't have the clearance to get into the medication storage rooms.

"Molly allowed that!?" Mum cried, enraged at the idea that my friend would supply me with drugs.

"No." I shook my head. "Molly didn't know."

"Why would you take drugs like that?" Dad wanted to know. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since the day Sherlock—since the day he died," I replied my voice breaking on Sherlock's name. "Moriarty drugged me with it. I got hooked." A look of shock passed over my mother's face.

"Wait—Moriarty?" she gasped. "You—you were up on that roof? You were there?" I nodded.

"I've been using for a year," I explained. "I just—I couldn't take it anymore. I've been so—so alone without Sherlock." Mum looked like she was going to cry.

"You're coming home with us," Dad decided. "As soon as you're well enough to leave."

"No!" I argued. "I'm going back to Baker Street."

"You need to be with family," Dad went on. "We'll fix this—this mess."

"Now wait a minute," John piped up. "Reilen is an adult. You can't force her to come home with you."

"I'm her father," Dad barked. "It's my job to protect my daughter, even if it's from herself."

"Dad, why don't we talk about this outside for a minute," Carlisle suggested. "I think you need to calm down a bit." Begrudgingly, my parents left the room with my brother. I turned to John.

"Call Mycroft," I ordered. John whipped out his mobile and dialed Mycroft's number. He quickly filled the elder Holmes in on the situation.

"He's on his way," John said as he hung up. My parents and brother returned, my father looked like he had calmed down.

"We spoke with your doctor," Dad said. "He said you can't leave the hospital for a few more days. That'll give us time to arrange everything." I pressed my lips together to hold back the flow of angry words. Under no circumstances was I going back to my parents' house. I wanted to stay at Baker Street and that was exactly what I was going to do. The five of us fell into a tense silence.

"Good afternoon, Reilen, John," Mycroft said as he strode into my hospital room ten minutes later. "Reilen, I'm glad to see that you are doing well."

"Hi Mycroft," John and I greeted him. Mary turned to Octavia and Talon and gave them a brilliant smile.

"Girls! Why don't we go get another snack?" she suggested brightly. "Maybe we can explore a bit!" My sisters jumped up enthusiastically and followed her out of the room.

"You must be Reilen's mother, father, and elder brother," Mycroft said turning to the rest of my family. "I'm Mycroft Holmes; it's a pleasure to meet you." He shook hands with each of them, offering them a smile as false as the one I had seen Sherlock give Molly the first time I had meet him.

"What brings you here, Mr. Holmes?" Mum asked.

"I was informed that Reilen's condition had improved and I thought I should see how she was doing."

"Why would you be informed?" Dad demanded. "You're not family."

"I'm sure you are aware of your daughter's relationship with my late younger brother," Mycroft answered his tone turning frosty. "Before his death, Sherlock requested that I provide for Reilen as I had previously provided for him."

"Meaning what, exactly?" Carlisle asked eyeing Mycroft with suspicion.

"I provided my brother with a monthly…allowance," Mycroft explained. "It is quite substantial and allowed him to afford the rent at Baker Street as well as all of his other needs. After his death I began to provide this money to Reilen so that she could continue living there without having to worry about funds."

"Well that's very kind of you but given the circumstances, we want to take our daughter home." Mum was clearly trying not to lose her patience.

"Baker Street is my home!" I snapped. "I'm not going anywhere else!" Mycroft held up a hand and I fell silent.

"I realize that this is our first time meeting so please forgive my tone," Mycroft said sternly to my family. "You do not know who I am but I have files on each and every one of you, including your places of employment and with whom you choose to associate. I also have files on your younger daughters, their school, teachers, and friends. I can bring your lives crashing down around your ears with a single word. Trust me when I say that Reilen is better off staying at Baker Street than she would be in your home."

"Who the bloody hell are you!?" Dad cried, outraged by the threat. "Some kind of mafia boss!?" Mycroft let out a humorless chuckle.

"I occupy a minor position in the British government," he answered with a thin smile. "I can assure you that your daughter is being well cared for and that I will do everything in my power to keep her from harm." This was the most sentimental thing I had ever heard Mycroft say. I assumed it was because he felt he owed it to Sherlock to keep me alive. My father sputtered and struggled to find a response to that.

"All—All right!" he conceded at last. "She can stay at Baker Street!" Mycroft's smile widened.

"I'm so glad we could come to an agreement," he responded calmly.

"Just what were you thinking?" Mycroft demanded after my family had left. "Did you honestly believe that overdosing would solve anything?" His composure had slipped shortly after my family had said their goodbyes and it was clear that my suicide attempt had only added to whatever else was stressing him out.

"I wasn't thinking," I pointed out. "Obviously."

"Did you think that my brother would magically appear to save you again?" I winced at the venom in his voice.

"No…" I mumbled. "No. I didn't expect to wake up at all." Mycroft took a deep breath and straightened his suit jacket.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade has already removed all the Dilaudid from Baker Street and without my brother to supply you with new vials you'll no longer have access to it." He was right about that. I had no idea where to get any kind of drug and I wasn't the kind of person who was too keen on figuring it out.

"Sounds about right," I agreed. "Anything else?"

"Dr. O'Hare wanted to keep you here to monitor you in case you made another suicide attempt but I persuaded him to let you go home tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"During your coma you were given the medication to help with the symptoms of Dilaudid withdrawal so that is no longer an issue and as for another suicide attempt…I have your word that you will not do something like this again, correct?"

"Correct," I agreed quietly.

"Then it's settled. I'll arrange to have a car pick the three of you up tomorrow and return you to Baker Street."

"Thanks, Mycroft," John sighed. "You've been a big help, really." Mycroft rolled his eyes and started toward the door.

"Do try to keep out of trouble, Reilen dear," he called over his shoulder. "You're becoming almost as much of a handful as Sherlock was." He closed the door on his way out.

When I returned to the flat I expected Mrs. Hudson to be angry with me. After all, Molly still wasn't speaking to me. But she was ecstatic to have me home and insisted on cooking a big meal to welcome me back.