A/N: Hey, ya'll! RainyDays-and-DayDreams signing in. School is a bitch (as I'm sure those of you who have experienced know/remember). I'm trying to write as much as I can, but I have an insane amount of work and other fanfictions I am working on, so I'm sorry I always update slower than the dear Jcasclcgaiwd, but I try to update as frequently as possible. Anyhoo, enough with the excuses and onto the story! *dramatic music begins* And I apologize if Sherlock is OOC. He's been through a very traumatic experience, and I'm trying to keep him as in-character as possible, but I'm not sure how successful I'm being. I hope you enjoy!
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Sherlock only cried for a few minutes, but it was enough to break the good doctor's heart. Seeing this once proud man fall to pieces in front of him was devastating. He kept himself together, though. Sherlock needed him, and he would be his anchor.
Sherlock felt disgusted with himself as he stopped crying. He was a Holmes, and Holmes never cried. But he had shown his weaker side in front of his flatmate, and it was embarrassing. He noticed the man's arms were still wrapped around him. Shame-facedly, he tried to turn away. "Sorry," he muttered. But John held on tighter. "No," he said, gently. Sherlock hated the note of gentleness in his voice. He was already broken. He didn't need to be treated like a fragile glass sculpture.
John pulled his head up again, and looked into his eyes. He wiped a few stray tears off his face. "Sherlock, I'm sorry you had to go through that. But I'm here now. I can help you through this."
Sherlock didn't respond, but he slowly let John embrace him again. He didn't do anything, he just sat there. He felt a surge of brotherly love for the man holding him. He'd never really had a friend before. He supposed that John was his friend before he was kidnapped, but he couldn't see him doing this for him before the kidnapping. Or maybe he would've, and he'd just never had a reason to. Either way, he mused, as much as he hated to admit, the feeling of him holding him was nice. Not in that way, of course, but it was nice having someone hold him. It made him feel… secure. For the first time since his capture and subsequent rescue, he allowed himself to feel something a little akin to hope. Maybe he would get better, he thought. Maybe he wasn't as much of a freak as he thought he was. He sat up a little straighter, but let John continue to embrace him.
After what felt like an eternity, John slowly let him go. "Better?" he asked. Sherlock nodded. He didn't feel like speaking. John stood up. "Good," he said. He poked Sherlock gently in the ribs. "Let's see if I can get some food into you first. Then I can see if you need to go to the hospital." Sherlock didn't object, but felt nauseated at the mention of food. He would try to eat, though. For John.
He heard someone walking up the stairs as John busied himself in the kitchen. It wasn't Mrs. Hudson's usual soft, slow steps. It was heavier, clunkier, and it sounded as if he was carrying something that would tap the ground every few seconds. Mycroft, Sherlock thought. He seethed. He stood up, consequences be damned, and made his way to the door to chase away his overbearing brother. He paused for a second and leaned against the wall to stop the dizziness before continuing. He reached and opened the door just as Mycroft arrived. "What," he hissed through his teeth, "do you want, brother dear." He sincerely hoped his brother wouldn't notice how hard it was for him to breathe, or how he had to lean on the door for support.
Mycroft frowned when he saw his brother, but that action in itself spoke volumes. "Just stopping by to see how my little brother is doing," he replied, making a show of swinging his umbrella and looking down, when he was really looking at his brother. He was alarmed at how thin the man had become, and he tried not to notice the sickly pallor on his skin that he hadn't seen since… well, since Sherlock had last been using drugs. "I should know that it isn't a crime to look after one's own brother- I write most of the laws, after all." He smiled a sweet, fake smile at Sherlock, who scowled in return. What's happened to you? Mycroft worried. I thought you were doing well, I thought John was taking care of you…
Sherlock actually growled at his brother. "I am fine," he hissed. "No need to show off. Now leave, please." He flew out his arm in an expansive gesture that he hoped wouldn't use up too much energy. He knew he was going to collapse if he didn't sit back down soon.
John wasn't expecting for Sherlock to be gone when he reached the living area again with the food. He turned around, and saw Sherlock standing at the door, blocking the way of someone who John could only assume was Mycroft. He sighed, and began to make his way to the door to help chase Mycroft away, and lead Sherlock back to the sofa. The man shouldn't even have been standing up in the first place, and John was worried he might collapse in his weakened state.
Sherlock could hear John and Mycroft talking, but he could no longer understand what they were saying. His vision began to go black at the edges. Oh, he thought. I'm about to pass out. I should probably go sit down. Not hearing the two men beside him's objections, he tried to move back to the couch, which just made his vision begin to go black at a more rapid pace. His vision was now half gone. He still wasn't panicking, though- he knew he could make it to the couch. He still moved, but picked up the pace. His vision was now completely gone. He used the last image he had in his mind as a guide, lunged wildly forward, fell in the direction he thought the couch was, and felt himself hit the table as he completely lost consciousness. "Sherlock!" was the last thing he heard before he faded into complete oblivion.
A/N: Haha, a cliffhanger! Mwahaha! Sorry for leaving another one of these, I just thought I should point out that Sherlock's passing out is based on my own experiences with losing consciousness. I have "health issues", and am therefore used to passing out. Not fun. Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed, and please review!