Sherlock's hands were shaking, it made it hard to keep the syringe straight. Hell, it made it hard to keep his mind straight. It had been three days since John had thrown out his old supply, since then his flatmate hadn't made a move against him. Sherlock's fevered brain thought that maybe he'd scared John away. He only paid this thought a fleeting glance, in fact all his thoughts seemed to float by quickly and when he tried to stop and think it felt like dipping his hands into a massive river and trying to stop the current. Eventually he just let himself drift in the water, and didn't even spare the thought of shame at what he had done to his mind, his greatest tool...
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and immediately met with John's. The look on the doctor's face said anger but his eyes said concern.
"...Yes?" Sherlock pushed himself up so that he was in a sitting position on the bed.
"Here. Drink." John thrust a glass of water into Sherlock's hands and then proceeded to take the detective's pulse. "I figured you'd be a bit dehydrated, you haven't been out of your room since Monday." John snipped, clearly not pleased. "And you'll need to eat something too later."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, sipped meagerly from the water before placing the cup on his nightstand. He then pulled his knees up to his chest and placed his chin on his knees, averting his eyes from John's gaze.
"...I think we need to talk." John began, and though Sherlock's eyes seemed half closed John knew that he had his full attention. "I know that you don't think it's important but I do. I also know when I'm done talking you're going to have some sarcastic remark to throw in my face to make me look like an idiot, but as a doctor and someone who cares about you I'm sick of seeing you like this."
"Oh dear me, an intervention." Sherlock put caustic feeling into those words.
"See there's that sarcastic remark. Sherlock, I'll tell you right now the one thing that could make you quit. You're wasting your brain. That knowledge that you're so proud of, I can't see you ever being able to brag about it again if you keep up like this because your drug robs you of your mental capabilities."
Sherlock sat quietly listening, John could see an array of emotions playing out on his face.
"You can't deny it either, even in this drugged state you know that you're getting more and more paranoid and that you couldn't tell a victim from a villain anymore."
"I know..."
John stopped, Sherlock's voice sounded so quiet and defeated. He leaned closer..
"What?" he asked, seeking confirmation of what he had heard quite clearly the first time.
"I said I know." Sherlock turned his eyes on John, and the doctor shuddered to see the dilated pupils and the thin face that spoke of illness. "And I can't stop."
"You could. Tell me where you're keeping it and I'll get rid of it for you." John coaxed as if talking to a child. Sherlock chewed on his lower lip for a moment, adding to that image of a child. He sat there considering it and then sighed and pointed to a heavy looking dictionary sitting on a pile of papers some ways away across the floor.
"Open that."
John opened the cover and if it hadn't been drugs nestled in that book he would have laughed at the drama of it all. Only Sherlock Holmes would hollow out a book to hide something in it, only the master of presentation himself.
"I'll get rid of them. Then we can focus on recovery, okay?" John said moving slowly as if one movement could spook the pale man.
Sherlock nodded, his eyes seeming distant and full of daydreams. John paused, and then found himself walking up to Sherlock and staring down at that snow white face. Maybe it was because Sherlock looked so vulnerable sitting there in his pajamas and bathrobe with his eyes staring at the ground or maybe it was because he was so relieved that Sherlock wasn't putting up a fight, for whatever reason John leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the forehead.
The movement seemed so natural that neither man thought to question it until John blushed, and making a grab for the deceptive dictionary he fled from the bedroom leaving Sherlock pondering the motion.