Look at that, two updates in one day! I think I'm trying to motivate myself to finish this story before S4 can have a chance to alter it. I'm so close to finishing everything!
This chapter is a bit longer than the previous ones, it's probably the one I'm most proud of and enjoyed writing the best. I wrote it first from Lestrade's POV when I was still drafting this story, then had to put it in John's perspective. Maybe I'll do a spin-off of one-shots if you guys are interested?
Again, I'd greatly appreciate any feedback you may have. Were the Mystrade hints too obvious? Leave me some comments! :)
Trigger warnings: self-harm and drug addiction.
John wakes up before Sherlock does. It's still very early, since the train wreck of the day before happened in the late afternoon they must have fallen asleep around 7 or 8. The sun is just coming up. John takes in his surroundings and finds that Sherlock had rolled over in the night and is now huddled against him, his face pressed into John's chest.
What am I doing? I'm married and I've been cuddling in bed all night with Sherlock? I TOLD HIM THAT I LOVED HIM. Oh fuck.
It doesn't have to mean anything. He's just a friend that needed comfort.
And Sherlock's... what? Asexual? Aromantic? It's not like I've ever gotten a direct answer.
It doesn't matter. This is wrong, isn't it? But it feels... indescribable. Wonderful? Perfect? Like I've found a missing puzzle piece that's been under my nose the whole time. I shouldn't want this... but I do. God, I am so confused...
He stays where he is, not wanting to wake the man beside him. He watches the sun rise through the window and tries to sort through his thoughts and feelings for a while.
I have enough on my plate right now, I'm being so damn selfish. Sherlock tried to fucking kill himself last night and I'm worrying about my relationship with him. I should be looking into rebab centers or the best mental health experts in the area. Maybe I should call Mycroft today...
Sherlock starts to stir and to Johns surprise he snuggles into him further. He wonders if he's aware of what he's doing, or if he's still mostly asleep.
"Stop thinking so loud."
John's heart skips a beat. Now that Sherlock's awake he really does have to deal with this dilemma.
But wow, how his voice sounds first thing in the morning! Sleepy and hoarse goes well with that sexy baritone of his...
STOP STOP STOP WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?! Jesus, I've completely lost it.
"Um, good morning."
Sherlock doesn't say anything or move a muscle.
"Sherlock... We really need to talk about a few things. You can't keep on ignoring me or telling me to go away, what happened last night was... a bit not good. Very not good actually."
John can't see Sherlock's face but is kind of glad, he feels pretty awkward being in this position with him in a bed now that he's awake. They haven't addressed it at all.
Sherlock surprises him yet again and nuzzles his face into John's chest, wraps his arm around his middle. He sighs.
Suddenly John understands. Sherlock is letting him in, he's given up trying to hold up his emotional barriers.
They've always had an unspoken connection between them, they've known it all along but have never let themselves act on it before. They don't have to talk about it, it's just always there. They live with it every day, make themselves miserable by not acknowledging it. John doesn't feel awkward once this clicks in his mind, he finally gets it.
"I can't do it anymore John. Please don't make me... Let me have this for just a moment longer and you can go."
"What do you mean? Why do you keep telling me to go?"
"They all leave me at some point, it's inevitable. Better to get it over with now."
"Who's they? What are you talking about?"
"Everyone. Any person I let get close enough to see what I really am. They all leave."
John's heart breaks. He pulls Sherlock into a tight embrace.
"I told you before, I'm not leaving. I accept you for everything that you are, you should know that by now."
Sherlock stays silent as if in disbelief, they stay like that for a while until John relaxes his hold on the other man.
"I need you to be honest with me, when did the cutting start? And the drugs? Why would you do this to yourself?"
Sherlock doesn't answer right away, but eventually opens his eyes, looks up at John and then down again.
"Age 11, the day before my twelfth birthday. The other boys at school had beaten me and Mummy and Daddy weren't due to come back from a trip for another week. Mycroft was supposed to be looking after me but wasn't home either. I'd experimented with hair pulling and scratching myself before, but that day I found out what a blade could do.
Age 16. I had tried various different legal and illegal substances up until then. A man who had been selling me cocaine shot me up for the first time. I stuck with heroine, morphine, and occasionally cocaine after that.
As for why, I'm not sure myself. Boredom? A way to feel numb? Something to feel again when the numbness was too much? I've been doing both for so long I don't know anymore."
John doesn't know what to say. Sherlock had never told him much about his past and now he knows why.
No child should feel he has to turn to things like that. That's just... insane.
"So no one was really around to look after you?"
"No, I practically raised myself. There were nannies but they never knew about anything, I made sure of it. They were basically just our housekeepers anyways, I never interacted with them much."
"Sherlock, that's terrible. I thought your parents seemed like decent people... You should have told me earlier."
Sherlock goes silent for a moment.
"I deleted most of it."
John is about to respond when Sherlock interrupts him.
"John I, um, I really don't feel well..."
"What's wrong?"
"Searing headache, extreme nausea, a few trace symptoms of blood loss. I believe it would be best if I headed to the bathroom."
"I don't understand how you can hide so much pain Sherlock."
Sherlock doesn't miss the double meaning.
John feels such sadness for him as he untangles himself from him. He doesn't want to let go of the man. He guides him to the bathroom, leaves the door open, and then heads towards the kitchen.
He can hear Sherlock vomiting through the thin walls as he prepares coffee. He doesn't know what to feel after last night or about what Sherlock had just told him.
He wants to know what Sherlock has to say about all the physical contact they just shared. He decides there are more important things at hand and starts making breakfast. He searches for medicine that will help Sherlock in the bags Anthea left.
John peeks his head into the bathroom, finding the other man slumped over the toilet.
"Sorry, I had to make sure you were okay."
Or that you weren't trying to harm yourself again.
"I'm afraid you're not going to get much privacy anymore, for the time being I don't feel safe leaving you alone for very long."
Sherlock doesn't move or open his eyes, just nods slightly, "I understand."
"Please work with me on this. I can't help you if you don't want to get better. I can't imagine what you've gone through and are still going through, but please just try Sherlock." The other man opens his eyes and nods again.
"I'm making breakfast, which you're going to eat. Then you'll take some meds to help insure you don't puke it back up, and some for your headache too. Oh and some vitamins. Sound good?"
Sherlock just grunts.
When John returns Sherlock is sitting up in bed. He makes a face at the plate of food but takes it into his lap anyways, taking very small bites. After he eats about half he shoves it back at John and shakes his head.
John gives him the pills and gets up when he notices Sherlock start to shake again. He goes up to his old room and comes back with a heating blanket. John tells him to lie down and rest for a bit and goes to try and shower as fast as he can.
When he steps out of the tub his phone goes off.
I'm coming over in a bit. I was told by Mycroft that you're in need of some help. Care to tell me what's going on? -Greg
John is relieved. He was starting to feel so overwhelmed. And Lestrade had mentioned Sherlock's past drug-use before, maybe he knew how to help him.
I'll tell you when you get here. -JW
He putters around the flat while he waits for Lestrade, checking on Sherlock every ten or fifteen minutes.
He looks awful again. He looks like he has the flu, but worse. Sometimes when John peeks his head in the door he is staring off into nothing, a look on his face like there is a battle raging on inside his mind palace.
When Lestrade knocks at the door he ventures out of the flat for the first time since he had arrived. He unlocks and opens the door to the street, letting a very confused-looking Lestrade inside. They shake hands.
"Going to fill me in?"
"Um, I'd invite you up but Sherlock's awake. We can't leave, so I guess we'll have to talk in the hall here for the time being."
Lestrade looks even more confused, but nods. John decides to dive right in.
"Sherlock's back on heroin. I've been trying to help him detox for the past couple days."
Lestrade sputters. "Wh-what the fuck was he thinking? He's been doing so well the past few years! Should we talk to Mycroft about sending him back to rehab?"
"Greg, there's more. He... uh, he tried to commit suicide last night. And he's... self-harming. Not for the first time, either."
"No, definitely not the first time."
John is taken aback, "So that doesn't surprise you? You knew about it? Am I the only one who didn't?"
Lestrade sighs, "John, I've known Sherlock for a long time. Longer than you think. I've been aware of his demons for years. I thought he was so much better, especially after, well..."
"What?"
"Especially after he met you. It was the happiest I'd ever seen him. He was... different, after you came along. I thought he'd never go back to his old ways after you came into his life."
John stares through him, thinking.
"How am I supposed to help him?" he whispers.
A look of understanding comes across Lestrade's face.
"Oh, it's happened, hasn't it? You've finally come to your senses, I can tell just by looking at your face."
"What are you talking about Greg?"
Lestrade leads him by the arm to sit on the stairs. He takes off his gloves and scarf, runs a hand through his hair.
"You two are idiots. I've known since the first time I saw you together that you loved each other. It's so damn obvious, especially with how long I've known Sherlock. He's never looked at anyone the way he looks at you."
John's ears turn beat red, he has no idea how he's going to respond to that.
"John, I don't think you know this, but I met Sherlock when he was only about 20. I was nearly 40. He was just a kid, basically homeless.
I've picked him up off a few floors in my day. I've had to get him to the hospital on multiple occasions, whether it was because of an overdose or major blood loss. I've seen him bleeding out on a dirty mattress in an abandoned warehouse, seen him covered in his own vomit and shit when he's overdosed.
If anyone really knows Sherlock Holmes and his past, it'd be me, or Mycroft."
John nods, lets him continue.
"Rehabs, relapses, I've seen it all. A fair amount at least. He hasn't really had a slip-up since about a year before he met you."
John tries to take in this information, not sure what to do with it. He doesn't know what to say, so he waits for Lestrade to say something else.
"So, what's happened? Are you leaving Mary? What about the baby?"
"What? No. I-I don't know. Hasn't gotten that far yet. I mean, nothings happened. All we did was... cuddle, if I'm being honest. Neither of us even acknowledged it once it was happening, or after. I was only trying to calm him down after- after he tried to shoot up a lethal amount of drugs..."
"I see, how's he doing at the moment by the way?"
"Not good. He looks terrible, I can't imagine how he must be feeling. Sometimes he looks so empty, like he's turned off a switch in that giant brain of his. Or like there's a war going on in there."
Lestrade stares at the front door, nodding his head up and down.
"Can I ask you something?" John says after they sit there in silence for a moment.
"Shoot."
"No ones ever mentioned -he doesn't seem like the type- I guess what I'm trying to say is has he ever dated anyone?"
The words rush out of John. He's embarrassed as soon as he says them. Lestrade doesn't notice as he starts to feel a bit awkward himself.
"I think you have a right to know the whole story. Only because Sherlock's probably deleted a lot of it. He should be telling you these things himself, but he probably can't, or won't."
Lestrade looks nervous, he's running a hand through his hair again. John waits. He sighs and continues.
"Sherlock and I were once romantically involved, sort of. It was a long time ago, a while after we met. We became acquainted when Sherlock sought me out to offer his detective skills, to help solve cases. Sherlock was too young and inexperienced to be taken seriously back then, but we kind of became friends. While he gained more experience and credibility, the two of us had regular meetings.
I found out about his problems eventually, and then, I don't know, I thought maybe if I told him I liked him, that he would knowsomeonecared about him."
He's lowered his voice almost to a whisper, just in case Sherlock is near. John listens intently.
"We'd always shared a bond, friendship, whatever you want to call it. We get each other. Maybe something similar to what you have with him, but not quite. Far from it actually...
Anyways, one night, I found him cutting up his stomach and sides with a straight-razor. I sat him down and told him that despite his age and his... issues, I cared for him a lot. We kissed, and he walked out after saying how it would never work. That he wasn't ready for a relationship and never would be."
The image of Sherlock and Lestrade kissing keeps replaying through John's head, making him feel something new he'd never felt towards them; jealousy. He tries to push it away knowing it's irrational.
"We never mentioned it again. We stayed friends, or at least, I continued to "bother" him by saving his life a few more times and then Sherlock started helping out at the yard. From there on we became more like family than an awkward what-could-have-been type of thing, especially after Mycroft-" he stops abruptly.
After Mycroft what?
Greg said it without looking at him and seemed to get more awkward once he did.
What was that all about?
"To answer your question, no, Sherlock's never really dated anyone. He's never been capable until about, five years ago I'd say? Whenever you moved in. Admit it, you guys have always been dancing around each other emotionally. Too scared to make the first move."
"I- you're not wrong. It's so complicated, and I'm married now. I've made decisions I can't take back."
"What have you told Mary?"
John realizes that he hasn't spoken to her since that phone call he made when he first found Sherlock. He had barely even thought about her this whole time. He had promised that he'd keep her updated, and he hasn't so far.
"Nothing, yet."
Lestrade doesn't press him anymore. He gets up, brushing off his coat.
"Well, I guess I need to go up and yell at him a bit. And we need to make sure he hasn't done anything stupid since you came down here."
John springs up, a panicked look on his face. He practically hops up the steps.
How long have we been talking? I shouldn't have left him alone up there!
Sherlock is still where he left him, lying in bed going through painful withdrawals. Lestrade barges right in.
"Hey kiddo, what the hell have you done to yourself this time?"
Sherlock groans and dives under the covers.
"Not you again, please get out. Don't you have crimes to solve?"
"Don't you? Okay, here's how it's going to be. You're going to let John help you, you're going to be honest with him and tell him when you feel like you want to use. Or do anything harmful to yourself. It's now his job to distract you while you get better. And you will get better dammit, or else I'm involving your brother. We don't want that do we?"
"Oh, you'd love an excuse to involve him, wouldn't you?"
"Shut up."
"When was the last time he graced you with his presence?"
"Don't make this about me. Mycroft received a box of disturbing items found in your flat and he's concerned. He sent me to check up on things. But I'm also here because I care Sherlock. You have a lot of people who care what happens to you, whether you like it or not. Please, just don't give up this time."
Lestrade leaves the room. He walks past John, who's been standing under the doorframe listening. John follows him back to the living room.
"I have to go, but I'll come visit him again soon."
"I'll walk you out."
They get to the bottom of the stairs and John stops him before he walks out the front door.
"What makes him better? How am I supposed to help him?" he pleads.
Lestrade sighs, scratches his head. "He needs other distractions, he needs support, and he needsyou, John."
John looks away, feeling guilty. Lestrade leaves, and after checking on Sherlockhe was sleeping, or pretending to beJohn settles into the sofa with a cup of tea to think for a while.