Four Weeks Later-London
"John, you can stop fussing. I can make it up the stairs on my own," I say as I weave on the walk just outside 221b Baker Street.
"Sherlock, don't be stubborn, just lean on me," You say as you open the door.
A wave of dizziness assails me and so I relent and lean into you. Feeling the warmth of your body makes me want to purr and then I am ashamed for Mary is dead. The stairs seem to yawn into infinity as I look up at them in annoyance. Then right on cue Mrs. Hudson comes down and begins to fuss over You and I like a mother hen.
"Oh John, I'm so sorry," She says as she dabs her eyes.
You nod, pat her on the shoulder and then turn to me. "Come on, Sherlock. Let's get you to bed."
Sweat collects on my upper lip as I nod in ascent. You settle me in, check my wound and then you look down at me in concern. "Sherlock, how much pain are you in?"
I'm too tired for subterfuge. "I need something more than an NSAID, John."
You suck the skin of your cheek in as you say, "Sherlock, I can't give you any OxyContin."
I look over at you in desperation as you continue on. "Because you're an…"
I grasp the sheets, not from passion but from frustration as I reply, "Go ahead say it. SAY IT…"
You grind your teeth as you say, "Fine, you're an addict."
I lean back against the pillow, your words hurt. "I'm clean, you know that, John."
You sigh and sit down beside me on the bed. Your gaze intensifies as you smooth a lock of damp hair from my forehead. "Sherlock, you know once an addict, always an addict."
I don't argue as tears spring to my eyes. You then reach over and give me two useless NSAID'S and then you hand me a pill I don't recognize. "What's this?" I ask with a note of hope.
You smile and press your forehead to mine. "It's a non-addictive sleeping pill. Now swallow it like a good boy."
I do as you request and then look at you in concern. "John, you've lost too much weight. Let Mrs. Hudson fatten you up."
You stroke my forehead until my eyes grow heavy. "Go to sleep, Sherlock," You whisper.
When my eyes open you are curled up at my back in the fetal position. You used to sleep with one leg draped around mine, your head on my shoulder, with your hands wrapped around my torso, your fingers resting on the trail of hair underneath my navel. I used to complain of the closeness, now I miss it. I miss you.
I am amazed at the effectiveness of the sleeping pill, for it is morning. I can hear you on the phone arguing with some official about the details of Mary's urn. "How bloody hard is it to burn up a body and get the ashes back to London?" You shout.
I slip on my robe and walk into the main room. You have just thrown down the phone and have put your face in your hands. "Oh, John," Mrs. Hudson says as she wraps her arms around you. I back away tears are not my territory.
Days pass, Mary's urn comes home to rest and with each passing day I can feel you slipping away from me. I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to keep you close. I don't know how to comfort you for I am grieving myself. So, it is no surprise when one day you come to me and say, "Sherlock, if you don't mind I'm going back to sleep in my own room. It's just that I'm having trouble sleeping and I don't want to disturb you."
I look up into your blue eyes and I want to beg you to stay in bed with me but instead I just look away and say, "Whatever, John, you know it makes no difference to me."
I think my answer surprises you for you grow quiet for a moment. "Right then, I'm get my things out of your room as soon as possible."
I wave you off pretending to look through a microscope that I have set up in the kitchen. "Take your time, whatever."
After you've left the room my hands start to shake. "Sherlock," a voice says and I turn with a vengeance on the person who has seen my weakness.
"What is it Mrs. Hudson?" I shout.
She ignores my tone and gestures towards the door. "Go after him, Sherlock, go on."
I shrink within myself. "No," I reply and then turn my attention away from her. After a few moments she gives up and I am alone.
A drip from the faucet claims my attention. I listen to it obsessively for a few moments before I decide to go out. The noise of the city consumes me and I am happier for it. I make contact with an old acquaintance. Shadows grow into human form as I make my deal with the devil. I give money for a package. A package with a needle. A package that will take the pain away. "Hello darkness my old friend," I whisper as I plunge the needle into my vein.
I am calm and sedate as I walk through the streets and back to Baker Street. "I will beg John not to move out of our bedroom, if I have to," I think as I whistle tune from Mozart's 'The Marriage of Figaro'. I open the door, spin Mrs. Hudson around and then look around the empty flat.
"Where's John?" I ask.
Mrs. Hudson smiles a sad smile as she walks over to me. "Sherlock, your timing is terrible. John's gone out. He said he'd be back in a few hours."
The drug I have infused into my vein backfires on me. The cozy feeling has been replaced by fear and anxiety. "What if John, doesn't come back?" I think. I race up to our room in a blind panic. I am sweating. My collarbone is throbbing. But those things are nothing compared to the anxiety that grips me when I see you've moved your things out of our bedroom. "What if he moves out altogether?" I think as I sit down on the bed and rock. It's been around 8 hours since I last used. My bottom lip sticks out. "I'm not an addict," I whisper aloud.
It feels as if the nerves in my arms have caught fire. John is still not home. I grind my teeth together. I creep down the stairs and walk out into the night. Like an undead creature I make my way across town. I withdraw enough money from my account so as not to arouse Mycroft's suspicions and then I get the rest from a secret account no one knows about. With money in hand I buy enough substance to last for a few days.
As I count out the money, I am appalled at the increase in price. The weasel of a man looks at me and shrugs. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but everything is going up. The whole world is going to hell in a hand basket."
I smile as I take the package from him. "Yes, isn't though."
