John was both praying for and dreading a call from Mycroft. Praying for one because it meant that Sherlock was found. Dreading because he had no idea what condition his friend might be in. Lestrade had finally seen John cracking himself and come to stay a few nights, he even took the time of work. It was a good thing he did because by the time the call actually came John was nearly at the end of his rope with worry.
"Mycroft!" John exclaimed into the phone, "Is he alright? You have found him right?"
"He is currently at my house." Mycroft replied cooly, "He is severely dehydrated, malnourished and sporting so many track marks the nurse couldn't find a good vein to use for the IV."
John squeezed his eyes closed in regret but he could feel Lestrade's eyes on him, they were burning into the back of his skull.
"He has begrudgingly agreed to get clean but I am still locking him in his room at my manor to be safe, the serious symptoms have not yet emerged but they will be within the next few hours."
"I'm coming to see him." John replied quickly with determination, "I'm a doctor I can help and I need to apolo-"
"He does not want you here." Mycroft interrupted, "I am inclined to agree with that decision."
"What?" John breathed.
"He has told me very specifically that you are not to come here." Mycroft replied cruelly, "He wants no more to do with you."
John felt the phone drop from his hand as he blinked back tears. Well of course Sherlock didn't want him around after what he said but he'd hoped he could at least explain in person.
"Jeez Mycroft what did you say to him?" Lestrade demanded, having apparently picked up the phone where the doctor had dropped it.
He listened for a few seconds.
"Well, could I come see him?" Lestrade asked finally, "I helped him the first time, I can do it again and I think it will give John peace of mind."
A few more hums and the inspector hung up.
John flopped down on the couch filled with so much self loathing he was surprised he didn't just burst into tears. It was all his fault.
'He did everything possible to keep you safe and you rejected him. It's all your fault!' The dark thoughts jabbed, 'He could of died!'
"John?"
"I'm fine." John replied before he could stop himself, "I just...go make sure he's okay."
"I'll do my best to calm him down, once the worst is over he might let you come and see him." Lestrade supplied laying a hand on John's shoulder, "Once you guys can talk everything will be fine."
"You've been saying that for days." John moaned, "It's all my fault he's like this."
He placed his head in his hands. He was a solider for Gods sake he was supposed to protect people! He'd spent three years punishing himself for failing Sherlock the first time and making him jump but this was even worse.
"John..."
"It is. I swear, I'll move out and let him be as soon as I know he's healthy." John mumbled through his hands, "Now go help him."
"You wont have to. He'll see sense." Lestrade smiled, "Look after yourself okay, I'll be back in a few hours with news."
-oOo-
Lestrade was ushered into Mycroft large home, why a man who lived alone needed so many large rooms was beyond him. The whole place was quite heavily guarded with his people watching him from behind tinted glasses. The politician himself greeted him stiffly and lead him up the stairs to Sherlock's room.
"I'm afraid he's in a bad way." Mycroft sighed, "I'd not let anybody in but you were the one who convinced Sherlock to get clean the first time, perhaps he will find your presence soothing."
-oOo-
Sherlock hated his brother. He hated everybody, especially himself. Why had he agreed to this? This torture all over again, it wasn't worth it. His entire body was screaming! His muscles felt as if they were twisting and tearing inside his body and no matter how he moved it was agony. His head pounded and his stomach churned, it was like his entire body was being beaten over and over again and he just wanted it to stop!
And he could make it stop if only he had some cocaine and his needle! That was all he needed to make this pain go away and his brother wouldn't let him have it! He'd tried to escape an hour ago but now his body's aching had become too much and he was twisted up in the thin sheet on the bed.
He heard the soft click of somebody opening and closing the door as well as the dull thunk of the locks being replaced. He looked up, hoping to see Mycroft admitting that he was wrong and returning Sherlock's needle to him with some of his much needed drug but instead he saw Lestrade.
He meant to give a scathing remark but no witty words could get past the pounding in his skull. Instead, much to his mortification, his voice came out weak and raspy.
"Please." He begged, "I swear, just one more, tell Mycroft I promise I'll stop after that."
Lestrade sighed, he sounded disappointed. Sherlock hated that sound. He hated a lot of things at the moment.
"Why did you have to do this to yourself again?" Lestrade asked sitting in the chair by the bed where Sherlock was currently entangled.
Sherlock wanted to turn his back but found it too painful so he had to settle for turning his neck to face the other wall. He tensed when he felt the back of the inspectors hand on his forehead, he let his eyes close to enjoy the sensation. It was the first kind move anybody had given him in three years.
"You're burning up." He muttered, "Have you taken any paracetamol?"
"Threw it up." Sherlock croaked. God he just felt awful.
He heard Lestrade get up and grab a glass and fill it with water from the bathroom.
"Here, drink." He ordered, Sherlock groaned.
"I'll just bring it all up again." He mumbled, then winced as his head gave a particularly bad throb.
"Come on don't make me force you." Lestrade said wearily lifting Sherlock's head with one hand and lifting the glass to his lips with the other and gently pouring the liquid down the man's dry throat.
He got through most of the glass before he began to cough and splutter and Lestrade took it away. He curled up in a ball on his side and groaned.
"If you hadn't filled all your veins with cocaine they might of been able to use an IV drip." Lestrade scolded and Sherlock winced.
"You know, I've been staying with John the last few days." Lestrade added when Sherlock didn't reply.
Sherlock gripped his head tighter and groaned at the sound of John's name, the aching seemed to increase tenfold. Especially in his chest. He stifled a sob, God he was a mess the withdrawal was messing with his head, making his emotions bubble to the surface. What he wouldn't give for John to be here now looking after him. But at the same time, he didn't think he could handle the hatred and disgust that would be on the older mans face when he saw Sherlock in such a state.
"He wants to come and see you." Greg added, that made Sherlock scramble upwards into the sitting position.
"He does?" Sherlock breathed.
"Of course." Lestrade smiled moving to sit on the edge of Sherlock's bed.
'He wants to rub it in your face how weak you are.' his brain reminded him, 'You don't deserve him anyway. He is better off without you, he thinks so too.'
Sherlock whimpered and closed his eyes.
"He hates me." He whispered, "Everybody does eventually, nobody ever stays."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open in shock when he felt warm arms pulling his back against Lestrade's chest in a hug. If he weren't so addled and pain stricken he'd of rejected the act but it felt safe and warm so he stayed. Still wide eyed.
"You idiot." Lestrade sighed softly, "John's been worried sick, he's been looking for you for weeks. He was crushed when Mycroft told him he couldn't see you."
"I don't want him seeing me like this.' Sherlock hissed, "he'll be...angry. Disappointed in me. Just like you and Mycroft."
"Trust me, he hates himself more than he could ever hate you." Lestrade reassured him.
Sherlock was trembling, whether it was because of the withdrawal or the emotions Lestrade didn't know but he knew better than to comment on it.
"You should eat." He said finally, "I swear it's like I'm holding a xylophone in pajamas."
Sherlock shook his head.
"Come on, I know your stomach hurts but just try some of the soup Mycroft put in the room."
He shook his head again, slower this time and closed his eyes.
Not that he would of ever admitted it to Lestrade but he'd always had a sort of parental bond with the man. His parents had never been around, especially his father. He was always out of the country and his mother was always to self obsessed to pay any attention to her offspring. Until Lestrade, Mycroft had been the closest thing he had to a father.
He knew once he was himself again he'd be mortified knowing he fell asleep in the inspectors arms but right now it was just enough to distract him from the pain.
Finally the comfort is coming in :P
I've got the next chapter all planned, cookies to anybody who can guess right!