A/N: first: I'm not a medical expert, but google is my best friend. There will probably be some things that are incorrect, but i'm doing my best :)
Second: I'm really to like writing this fic! Didn't know i would have so much fun. And the best part is hearing from you guys in the comments, It makes me so happy! So please, let me hear some more! :)

Chapter 8: Long, Long Way

Long, long way to the top
Long way down if you fall
And it's a long way back
If you get lost

Long, long way – Damien Rice

John suddenly woke up from the hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes, still without focus, and it took a while before he realized where he was and what had happened. When the realization hit, he shot up and was alert immediately. He looked behind him and saw that Mycroft had woken him up. Mycroft gestured that he should say nothing and that he had to follow him to the hallway.
John's eye stuck on Sherlock, who was still vast asleep. Only now could John see what the many tubes and devices were for. A gastric feeding tube, two drains, a catheter, a central line and an artery line. His heartbeat and blood pressure were constantly monitored. For many people this would be a frightening sight, but John found it reassuring. As a doctor, he knew that this meant that Sherlock was being closely monitored. The fact that he had survived the first few hours without complications offered a good perspective on full recovery.

Mycroft was waiting for him outside the room. He looked like shit. He was pale and his eyes were small with deep, dark circles underneath them. He hadn't shaved in days, showing a stubble on chin and jaw. His hair was tangled and his clothes were wrinkled. In other circumstances John would make a remark about it, but he probably looked just as bad.

Mycroft tried to suppress a yawn. "I've scheduled an appointment with doctor Wilson at 11:00. I'd suggest we use the 2 hours we have to eat something and fresh up a bit."

John hesitated. It didn't matter how attractive a shower was right now, he didn't want to leave Sherlock alone. But he also knew he had to take care of himself as well.

Mycroft saw the hesitation in John's face and continued. "I could order someone to bring you some clothes. I expect they have a shower somewhere here and there is a cafeteria downstairs."

"That would be nice, thank you." John said, his voice still sounded a little rough from sleep.

Mycroft nodded in response. "I'll be back in two hours. Do get something to eat." And with that, the older Holmes brother walked away from John.

John watched him walk away and decided to get back into Sherlock's room. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair again and continued to look at Sherlock.

He realized it was the first time he was alone since Mycroft had picked him up, apart from the brief moment in his hotel room yesterday when he had read Sherlock's note. And all of a sudden, he felt exhausted. It felt like his world was upside down again, and he wasn't able to control it.

In the last 72 hours, he had returned to London to see his best friend again, who was supposedly dead, and had to see him giving up. He had read Sherlock's farewell letter to him, of which he had absolutely no idea. The words of it had touched him deeply and had triggered some very new and raw emotions of which John didn't even knew he had. He then had to rush back to the hospital to make a decision on which Sherlock's life had depended on. He had to sit there for hours and wait for setback after setback, in the hope that he had made the right decisions and that Sherlock would survive everything. And he almost didn't.

Joh ran his hands across his face. He suddenly had no idea how to handle all of this and he knew this was just the beginning. The hardest part might even have to come.

His attention was drawn to the sudden movements that Sherlock made. His heart rate spiked. John immediately got up and hurried to the bed. He put a hand onto his shoulder. "Are you awake? What's wrong?"

"It hurts," Sherlock groaned and his face twisted in a painful grimace.

"What hurts?"

"Everything!" Sherlock spat venomously.

John immediately came into action and pressed the alarm button. Within seconds, a nurse came into the room. She saw what was wrong and acted quickly. She walked out of the room, came back with a injection and put it into Sherlock's IV. It took only a couple of minutes before Sherlock relaxed slightly.

"What did you gave him?"

The nurse gave John a small, knowing smile. "Tramadol. We were told not to use ketamine or morphine unless it's absolutely inevitable."

John let out a small sigh. "good, that's good. We don't want another relapse." He returned his attention to Sherlock. His chest was still heaving, but apart from that he looked a lot calmer. His head snapped at John and the look in his eyes told John he was about to pick a fight with him. John knew it was best to walk away now.

"I'll come back in a couple of hours, okay? Try to rest," he simply said while he tried to keep his tone as composed as possible. Sherlock was about to make a comment, but John turned towards the nurse. "If there's something wrong, just call me. I'll be around."

"We have a lot to discuss and I don't have much time, so let's get right to it, shall we?" Doctor Wilson spoke immediately when Mycroft and John entered her office. She didn't look up from Sherlock's file. John sat in front of her and waited patiently, but Mycroft didn't even bother to sit down.

"First things first. The surgery went as well as expected. I was able to spear the upper lobe of the spleen. There were some complications, of which you are aware. It wasn't a large pneumothorax and the drain should prevent it from happening again. I think we can remove it in a couple of days. The rest will heal in time. We should be able to start with solid food tomorrow so we can remove the feeding tube, and I will order to remove the catheter by the end of the day."

"And what about the fact that you had to shock him? Twice? I don't think that that's part of the normal procedure, is it?" Mycroft snarled.

Doctor Wilson stayed completely composed. "It isn't. But we think it wasn't due to the stress of the surgery, but due to drugs withdrawal. Which brings me to the second thing I'd like to discuss. I strongly advice against stopping cold turkey. I am aware that is the wish of the patient, but as we've seen, his body cannot handle it. We've still provided him with Gamma Hydroxybutyrate, but I think it would be best to start detoxification right away."

John shifted in his seat. He felt slightly uncomfortable discussing this. He knew Sherlock was an addict and that drugs always would seem attractive to him. They had talked about it and John had helped him get through his bad days. But he had been clean for at least four years. Now it felt like they had to start all over again from the beginning. Even if he hadn't administered the drugs himself, something John was convinced of, he still had to go through the terrible stages of withdrawal.

Doctor Wilson continued. "There are different treatments regarding detoxification. I'd like to present three options to you. All three of them have good results, but only you can decide which is best for Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft decided he had to sit down for this and took a seat next to John. "Last time he detoxed with Methadone," he stated.

"Yes, that's used most of the time with a heroine detox. However, It will not work on GHB." Doctor Wilson smiled sweetly at Mycroft. "The first, classic, method is to start detoxification with Diazapam. We'll switch to a schedule to decrease the dosage until we reach zero. The downside to this treatment is that there will be some withdrawal symptoms from Valium as well.
The second method is quite the same, but we'll use pharmaceutical GHB instead of Valium. We'll decease the dosage to zero in approximately twelve days. The downside to this kind of treatment is that we don't treat the psychological issues such as hallucination and psychosis, but we can monitor that and treat it with other medications.
The third method is an rather unknown method, mainly used in America. It would require bringing Mr. Holmes in a medical induced coma for about two weeks. That way, his body can recover and get through the detox without experiencing withdrawal symptoms."

"No," John said abruptly. "That's not going to happen. I'm not putting him in a coma ."

Doctor Wilson narrowed her eyes and looked at John for a second. "Doctor Watson, I know you have to deal with a lot right now. But as a colleague, I'd like you to advice to put aside your personal opinion and look at this professional. My advice would be to go for option three."

"No. End of discussion. If you put him in a coma so he doesn't have to experience the withdrawal symptoms, he will relapse. He needs to feel this, needs to know what it's like."

"You are aware of the fact that you will put his body through a lot of unnecessary stress?" Doctor Wilson now snapped. She sat down straight in her chair, her eyes hard as steel.

John started to lost his patience. Why was it that everything had to be a discussion? "And if you put him in a coma he has to go through that again when he relapses. Can I already reserve a bed? Because he will be back here in months.

Mycroft intervened. "Doctor Watson is right. My dear brother will, unlike every other human being, be best off when he experiences the detox. Only that will keep him from slipping. And I'm not going to pick him up again if he falls down."

Doctor Wilson let out a frustrated sigh and looked at Mycroft sharply. "I thought I was the one in charge of your brother, Mycroft."

Mycroft didn't seem impressed. "You are, if you are capable to see the bigger picture and make decisions not based on what's the easiest option , but on what's best for your patient, Ellen," he told her matter-of-factly.

Doctor Wilson didn't reply. John was sure she was holding back a snappy comment. It seemed to take her every bit of willpower to keep her professional attitude. After a long moment, she continued. "So then, which method will it be then?"

John hesitated for a moment and went through the options in his head. The first method was not ideal, John was afraid that Sherlock would become depended on Diazepam, but to give him GHB in order to detox from said drug felt contradictive. Then again, it was the best option available.

"Let's go for method two then, if you think that's best," John spoke, looking at Mycroft instead of doctor Wilson. Mycroft nodded in agreement.

Doctor Wilson started to write some things down. "Pharmaceutical GHB it is. Now the last thing I wanted to discuss is his mental state. I like to suggest talking to a psychiatrist and to start with EMDR treatment as soon as possible if we want to treat his PTSD."

Both John and Mycroft nodded in agreement. They knew it would take everything to get Sherlock to talk to a psychiatrist. John suddenly felt tired. How on earth were they going to manage that?

"I'll talk to him. I think I have some tricks up my sleeve to make sure he will cooperate," Mycroft said, giving John a knowing look. Then he stood up. "If that's all, doctor Wilson?" He held out his hand and waited for her to shake it. After that he walked away, leaving John behind.

When Mycroft entered the room, he saw that Sherlock was staring at the ceiling. He was tapping the fingers of his free hand impatiently against the mattress. "Don't worry, your next dosage will be here soon."

Sherlock's head snapped up. "You look like shit."

"And you have been looking better yourself, brother mine," Mycroft commented while he sat down in the chair next Sherlock's bed.

"Piss off, Mycroft."

Mycroft took a moment to carefully arrange his words in his head. He knew he had to act precisely, otherwise he wouldn't be able to convince Sherlock. He had a plan: target Sherlock's pressure point. And Mycroft knew his pressure point was John Watson.
"I'm sure they told you how the surgery went. I spoke to doctor Wilson. They'll start your detox tomorrow and send in a psychiatrist."

Sherlock let out a hollow laugh. "And you think I will cooperate?"

Mycroft kept his face completely blank. "Yes, In the end, I think you will. For him, you will."

Sherlock faced away from Mycroft and Mycroft knew he had to push trough. "You know you flatlined? Twice? Even though you eventually decided to live, you almost died."

Sherlock remained silent but Mycroft saw his body tense, exactly what he wanted. This was going to work.

"Listen," Mycroft started, carefully choosing his words. "I know you threw in the towel. That you rather would've been dead than saved. But this is not just about you. I know I don't have much to ask and that my sentiment will not touch you enough. But there is someone here who has not left your side since he knew you were back. Someone who fought for you to make sure you would survive, to make sure you have a chance to fight this. And I know you don't have any problems hurting the people around you. But if you now choose not to fight, you take him with you."

"Oh please, stop with the pity party, would you?" Sherlock snapped, but he didn't sound convincing. Something in his voice cracked and Mycroft knew he had Sherlock right where he wanted him to be.

"How can you tell him to be strong if you can't do the same thing?"

Mycroft saw how his words pierced through the façade Sherlock was trying to hold up. Sherlock's body tensed some more, a slight shiver ran through his spine. He pressed his eyes shut.
Mycroft knew it wasn't fair. He knew it would only take a small push to get Sherlock over the edge. And somewhere deep down, he felt a little guilty. But he knew it was the only way to get Sherlock to cooperate.

Sherlock let out a shaky breath. "I don't know how to be," he said with a small voice.

For a long moment, they were silent. Mycroft gave his brother time to pull himself together a bit. When he had, Sherlock turned his head to face Mycroft in search of some reassurance.

Mycroft stood up from his chair and placed his hand on Sherlocks shoulder for a brief moment. "Then we have to figure that out along the way."