It didn't take Sherlock long to assess the situation.
His brain was, after all, scratching itself raw from the sheer, crippling boredom he was facing, and had switched into hyper drive, trying to notice every little thing that might be just the slightest bit interesting.
He was ignoring Nancy, yes, but that didn't mean he didn't notice things.
Aversion to touch on her left arm, but not the right.
Wearing a long sleeve sweater, when yesterday she'd been more than keen to show off as much skin as she could.
Occasionally scratching the arm in question.
Withdrawal symptoms obviously more advanced, and yet in some ways more in check.
Interesting.
"Did you figure they wouldn't check your arms?" Sherlock didn't look up at her, instead waiting patiently for her answer, knowing it might not come.
"Oh, you're talking to me now?"
Sherlock said nothing, letting the question hang there between them.
Nancy shifted in her seat. "Well... They haven't so far. Should I even ask how the hell you knew—?"
"Don't bother. The point is, I did notice. I don't think you've ever done it before, so it was probably a last resort to deal with the withdrawal. It's simple, really... When the body feels pain it releases endorphins to soothe and calm itself, which, to somebody who's suffering from withdrawal, is probably a welcome relief. So you manufactured that pain. Let me guess—broken glass? Thumb tack?"
"...Safety pin. You really shouldn't be sticking your nose in other people's business, you know."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow as she stood up. "Really? I had no idea. Obviously I should have taken your example and done exactly as you did, which obviously wasn't nosey in the slightest. Go on, I'm sure there are some other sinners you need to go preach to. I'll be right here."
Nancy frowned at him, and seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to say something else—but finally she turned and stalked out of the room.
Sherlock's self-satisfied smile slowly slipped off his lips, and he settled back into the chair with his hands linked over his chest, staring up at the ceiling in silence.
Interesting...
"And just how many times have you thrown up this morning?" John had his arms crossed in an annoyingly doctorly sort of way.
All business.
"Does it matter?" Sherlock snapped, twisting about to look at him and instantly regretting it as another firework exploded inside his skull.
"Headache's getting worse, then?" John had crossed the room and laid a hand on his forehead, pursing his lips. "It's all part of withdrawal. This wouldn't be happening if you weren't addicted in the first place."
"I WAS BORED!"
"Jesus—I know, I know. They said mood swings might be one of your symptoms... Suppose it's going to be one hell of a roller-coaster ride, knowing you."
Sherlock scowled and reached up, taking a handful of John's collar and staring him straight in the eyes, his words hissing out through clenched teeth. "I. Need. It. Get me some."
"Sherlock, no. You're in rehab. Rehabilitation. That's what that means—quitting. I know it's hard, and the withdrawal hurts, but you're doing it. That's why you're here."
"I DON'T WANT TO BE HERE!"
John took a deep breath, looking down at him. "I know. But you don't really have a choice. Those drugs were killing you."
"NO THEY WEREN'T! YOU WERE KILLING ME!"
The doctor paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. Sherlock was nearly delirious. He'd say anything. That must be it.
Delirium.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry. Life happens, okay? And I thought you were dead, and that was your fault, too. You don't think that killed me? Think again. But now…" He carefully detached his shirt from Sherlock's grip, trying to be gentle as he noted the slight tremor in the detective's hand. "Now I have a wife. That doesn't mean I don't care about you anymore, but you have to come to terms with it. What that means. Okay?"
Sherlock was still scowling, but John thought he might have imagined his lower lip tremble just a little… But then he set his jaw and turned away from him.
"Leave me alone."
John stared at his friend's hunched shoulders for a minute, biting his lip, but the detective didn't turn around.
"…Okay. Alright. If that's what you want, I'll go. But I'll be back. There's no way I'm leaving you alone in here completely. So… see you later, then."
He waited a few more moments for a response, but it didn't come.
John sighed quietly.
Roller-coaster ride indeed…