Help:
It rang three times. John took a sharp breath, waiting for the railing to come delayed.
"J-John?" The voice was panicked.
"I...I accidentally brought your shopping home. Remember I picked it up after you dropped it? I want to bring it back to you. Is there somewhere we...we could meet?" John held his breath.
"You...Could you come here?" Sherlock was suddenly desperate. Pleading. John felt his heart jump.
"Yeah, okay. Where is 'here'?" John held his breath.
"I-The flat...Near St. Thomas. I...I fell...And...Well, I'd come there. But I fell and I won't...I won't get up for a while. Sorry, this is probably not something people do. I mean, you live clean on the other side of town and...If it's too much trouble you can….you can keep those things. I won't mind." Sherlock's speech was slurring.
"No, I'll come to you. You'll need help!" John was already tearing out the door and hailing a cab.
"I...I never told you where...I live because I didn't want you to think you would...you would need to help me…"Sherlock slurred and coughed.
"Text me...Hey, are you listening? Text me your address?" John was in a commanding tone. He was about to start cursing. How had he not realized Sherlock was this sick?
Sherlock hung up in his head. But a few seconds later, a hastily typed, riddled with typos message, appeared on his phone with the address. John felt the time pass in a blur, trying to call Sherlock 3 more times.
He found him at the landing of the stairs. This flat may as well have been here since before London was erected around it. It was substandard, to say the least.
"Sherlock…"John knelt beside his friend. It took him half a moment to realize he was having a seizure.
John had barely begun to administer emergency care when it passed. Sherlock was crying now.
"You know they'll hang you...They always hang you...Get too close. This is more than a bit not good, John. It'll bury you and you don't want that. Go home now." Sherlock rolled onto his side and sobbed into his hands.
John laid down beside him and took his hands.
"Will you tell me how it happened? Who did this to you?" John kissed Sherlock's hands. Sherlock's eyes popped, surprised again. That John was being tender when he had expected his wrath upon his return still did not sit well with him.
"You know who…" Sherlock bowed his head, ashamed by his emotions.
"Please...Please tell me why then."
"You should know why."
"Humor me."
"You."
"What?"
"I agreed to it. An experiment. Until I solved...It doesn't matter."
"It does. Are you saying that...That I am the reason?" John felt like his stomach was being split open. He swallowed to keep from being sick.
Sherlock nodded once. Then, hoarsely_
"Yes."
Silence for a moment.
"Okay, Sherlock...Okay…"John ran his hands through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock gasped.
"I shouldn't ask. I want to. But_I shouldn't. I can't."
"I want you to. I want you to say it."
"Please, John."
"No, seriously. If you say it, we'll both do better…"John held Sherlock's chin for a moment. His bruised and bloodied chin from where he had slipped away and down from the stairs and from himself.
"I...I do need help. I need...I need your help." Sherlock bit his lip. Humiliated, to say the least.
John eased himself to his knees. He scooped Sherlock up then, tucked his arm around his shoulder, and all but carried him back into his shambles-of-a-flat.