Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock!
"Come back, Sherlock."
"Stop it. Stop it." Sherlock yelled. "Why are you always in my head?"
There was an arm around him and it was helping him up. Sherlock's eyes opened and he was greeted by Lestrade. Mrs Hudson was stood nearby looking emotional as usual.
It had been a month since Sherlock had first seen the therapist, and things weren't getting even the slightest bit better. Mycroft tried to visit Sherlock every day, Mrs Hudson was sent to check on Sherlock every hour or so, and Lestrade tried to check up whenever possible.
"You're alright Sherlock," Lestrade said, heaving him up onto the couch instead of the floor he had been lying down on.
"What happened?" Sherlock asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Have you been eating properly?" Lestrade asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed how much thinner the man had become recently.
"I don't remember."
Lestrade got his phone out immediately, walked into the kitchen and called Mycroft, who hadn't been able to visit the previous day, and the day before that was only brief. He guessed Sherlock hadn't eaten anything for more than forty-eight hours.
"Mycroft, he's not been eating and I've just walked in to find him screaming on the floor." Lestrade's voice was as angry as a shout but as quiet as a whisper. "I thought you said this therapy would make him better?"
"It was meant to. He just cannot be helped." Mycroft sounded truly sad at his own words.
"Maybe we're not doing enough, I really think we should put him in hospital where he can be monitored properly..."
"I fully agree with you." Mycroft stated. "I will get him into a hospital today."
"Good, I'll speak to you later then."
"Goodbye Lestrade."
"Bye Mycroft."
All of the people who could have been considered a friend to Sherlock worried about him. He went to the hospital as requested by Lestrade without hesitation. He was not the same man as he used to be.
A short, blond haired nurse came into the room once Sherlock had been there for an hour and tried to get him to eat something.
"Hello Sherlock!" he greeted happily. "How are you feeling?"
"Like dying." He replied miserably.
"Right," the nurse replied with wide eyes. "Well, maybe some food will make you feel a bit better-"
"I can't be bothered to eat."
The nurse walked over and put a glass of orange juice and a sandwich on the table next to Sherlock's bed then glanced hopefully at Lestrade, who was leaning against the wall, and Mrs Hudson, who was sat in a big chair next to the bed, then left the room without another word.
"Come on, dear," Mrs Hudson said in a motherly tone. "You must eat something or you'll make yourself ill."
Sherlock didn't say anything to her and just crawled down into the bed and turned his back to her.
"Sherlock," Lestrade sighed. "Jo-"
"Don't tell me what John would want me to do because it isn't going to help the situation, Lestrade."
"Okay then." Lestrade felt defeated. He decided to change the subject. "Got a nice murder case in the other day."
"Oh, did you hear that Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson said happily. She knew how much Sherlock used to love those.
"I need to sleep now," Sherlock wanted them to shut up. "I'll eat when I wake up."
"Alright then," Lestrade replied. "You have a good sleep and we'll come back in an hour to see you again, right?"
"Of course." Sherlock shut his eyes to fall asleep.
"Goodbye Sherlock. I'll be back soon."
"Bye dear," Mrs Hudson said as she closed the door behind her and Lestrade.
Sherlock waited for a few seconds before sitting up again. At least he hadn't lost his acting skills. A smile played on his face for a half second before he resumed his usual expressionless emotion.
He had become used to hearing people sound like John so he had lost his usual shocked response to it. He knew it was Lestrade speaking, not John. It would never be John. Because John was dead.
Sherlock pulled at his own curly hair for a second before throwing his legs out of the bed and staring disgustedly at the sandwich on his table. He hovered by the door before opening it slowly and peeking his head out, looking for any doctors who may have been roaming nearby.
He closed it behind him and then walked the corridors calmly. He had to blend in.
"I've come to see Sherlock Holmes?"
Sherlock paused. That was a voice he hadn't heard in a while. Molly. She had not responded all too well to Sherlock's breakdown over the past few months. It upset her too much.
"He's in room 21, down the hall."
"Thank you," she answered in her usual chirpy voice.
Sherlock flung a bathroom door open and rushed inside. Good job nobody was in there.
He waited until the footsteps passed then looked out again, seeing no sign of the girl anywhere. He found his way to the staircase soon enough, and off he went.
Sherlock had lost the little bounce in his step, an extreme lack of energy. His coat had become a lot bigger on him too, but he still wore it a lot because it smelt of home. The man had much paler skin, his cheekbones even more prominent on his face than they previously where. His ribs and hip-bones stuck out far more than they should have to be considered healthy, and his hands were always very cold.
Soon, Sherlock reached his destination and took his phone out of his pocket, calling John's number and reaching the answer phone.
"Mycroft, I know you're going to check this phone and John's phone, and this was the only way I could do it. I just wanted to say..." he hesitated for a few seconds. "Thank you, brother. Tell Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly I say goodbye."
He ended the call and dropped the phone onto the rooftop of the building, and stepped until he was on the edge. His heart was racing slightly, but he told himself to calm down. Everything would be okay because soon he would get to be back with John and he'd be happy.
He took a deep inhale of air.
"See you soon, John."
Then Sherlock fell.
A/N: I'm so sorry for this. I made myself really sad writing this, so I hope I haven't ruined your mood too much :c Reviews are very much appreciated! Please do leave one if you have the time x