John knew that it wasn't right to let Sherlock go out like that, it that state, in that mood, but in his resentment, he couldn't bring himself to follow. He went about the evening like a robot, his mind full of thoughts of Sherlock, and as he lay down in his bed, he knew that he was not going to get any sleep.
(—-—)
Mycroft Holmes had been monitoring his brother since he had been back in London, and was currently furious with two people. Namely, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. How dare that man hurt his brother so, and after he had finally opened his heart to someone. Just wait until he realises what he has done. And Sherlock... He had been hurt, but that was no excuse for running off like that, and overdosing himself with morphine indeed! Mycroft day on a chair beside his brother's hospital bed, and strokes his hair fondly. Despite what people thought, Mycroft DID care about Sherlock - in fact, Sherlock was the only person who Mycroft loved above his work. Sherlock may hate him- and with good reason, and allowed and even encouraged his parents' abuse of Sherlock - but Mycroft had never forgiven himself, and has since taken pains to be a proper big brother. One who knew who Sherlock was in love with. Opposite him, was Greg Lestrade, one who he now owed a huge debt to, for discovering Sherlock before it was too late. He was currently arguing with the doctors, trying to convince them to let Sherlock go home soon. Suddenly the door burst open and a figure ran in.
(—-—)
For the past 10 minutes, John's phone had been ringing, and, finally he decided to pick up. Molly Hooper. "What now? I suppose you've called to say that you've got Sherlock?" he asked, irritated, it the reply made his blood run cold. "No, Greg phoned me a few minutes ago. He's found Sherlock, but he overdosed,and may not make it through the night. I'm on my way there now...apparently they don't think he will make it. He's gone into a depression and they say he's lost...the will to live." Molly's voice was trembling and put of worry, and John's stomach lurched as he cut the call. He had to get to that hospital.
When he found the right hospital room and opened the door, the sight made his heart drop into his stomach. Greg, Molly and Mycroft were conversing loudly and anxiously in the corner, but he didn't notice them as his eyes were focused on the prone figure on the bed. Sherlock was attached to at least five different machines, his skin was chalk-white, his dark curls were damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead, his wrists were bandaged and his breathing was laboured. He rushed to Sherlock's side, collapsed in the chair beside him and grasped Sherlock's cold hand, oblivious to the other people in the room, who were now aware of his presence and staring at him with mixed expressions of anger, desperation, fondness and pity. All of that went unnoticed, as Sherlock opened his eyes, sensing his presence. "John?" he cloaked pitifully, and the sound made John's heart twist painfully, as he realised he had done this to this beautiful creature... his beautiful man. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry. I should never have let you leave in that state. I never meant all of those words, I was just so hurt that you left me when I loved you...still love you." At that, he saw a tiny flicker of hope in Sherlock's eyes as he attempted to sit up,with all of the machines still attached. "Stop Sherlock, sleep now, you need your rest, I am not going anywhere. I need you to get better for me. You WILL NOT leave me again." John assured him firmly, his eyes suspiciously bright. He began stroking Sherlock's hair as the !an drifted of to sleep, and then pressed a small kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well, my love"he murmured.
Then he turned to the other people in the room, each demanding an explanation.
A/N: Sorry! This is my first fanfic and I forgot the disclaimer! All characters and stolen parts of plot belong to the creator of 'Sherlock', who is, sadly, not me.
