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"I just left your bedroom,
give me some morphine
Is there any more to do?"
Two months, 1 day and 6 hours, since John last saw his best friend, Sherlock Holmes. Since anyone saw Sherlock really. There has been no news, and even Mycroft avoided him, he tried to ask but he got nothing but silence from the older Holmes. John Watson was confused and worried for his dear friend.
"Are you okay?" A voice asked. John looked up and saw Mary's worried gaze, he gives a small smile. "You worried about Sherlock again?"
"Yeah."
"I'm sure he's fine John." Mary sits on the arm rest of her fiancé's chair and wraps her arms around him.
"I hope so, I can't lose him Mary, not again."
John has made it a habit to visit baker street once a week, in hopes of catching Sherlock there. But according to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock hasn't been home since. They go up to his flat, it was covered in dust, reminiscing of a old undiscovered tomb. Mrs. Hudson and John we're exchanging stories when the they heard the door from downstairs slam shut. "What was that?" The doctor merely looked at the land lady, before he slowly creeped down the stairs, then there was a bang, like something heavy dropped. John quickened his pace and the sight of what he saw in the hallway made him stop his tracks. It was Sherlock. It was a shell of sherlock, he didn't look like the put together detective he met and befriended. This Sherlock was disheveled, filthy, thin, pale and heavily perspirating.
"Sherlock!" He kneeled beside his friend and his stomach dropped when he saw Sherlock's face, pale and almost dead looking, but thankfully he was semi-conscious. "Jesus christ Sherlock! what have you done?" He quickly discarded his coat and anything else that contributed to the heat, once he took off his coat, his sleeve was exposed, and dozens of red dots, that we're obviously needle pricks where on his arm. "Sherlock what did you do?" The detective was too out of it to respond.
"Mrs. Hudson, help me take him up?" She nodded and they both took an arm and carried him up the stairs, it wasn't a struggle as he was light as a feather. Once inside, they took him inside his own room and setting him on his bed. They slowly change him out of his filthy clothes, and wash him with a wet warm cloth. Mrs. Hudson eventually had to prepare dinner and so John was left to take look after him. The doctor looked at him, Sherlock looked small, far from the overly confident consulting detective he knew.
John jumped when the door was slammed.
"Sherlock!" Mycroft called out. John came out from the room to find Mycroft Holmes looking composed as ever but he knew he was worried for his brother. "You."
"Me?" John responded.
"You did this."
"Me?" He repeated. "I haven't seen him in two months, how can this be any of my fault."
"You were the reason he left in the first place." Watson looked lost, and he was, very much so. "I warned him not to get attached, and stubborn Sherlock didn't listen, and now look where it got him. Plunging into substance once again. Where is he?"
"In his room but he-
Before John could finish, Mycroft was already pushing him aside to get to Sherlocks room, but once he opened the door however, he halted. He quietly went in and John followed. "He looks ghastly."
"Yeah." John nodded in agreement.
"Oh, brother." He sighed. "What have you done?" Watson watch Mycroft look at his little brother, he looked a bit sad but what Mycroft said, about this being his fault, it replayed in his head again and again. "You're wondering about what I said." The doctor snapped his head up to look at the older Holmes. "It's not my place to say."
John frustrated and agitated, snapped. "Oh, when is it never your place? You always force yourself in the place!"
Mycroft slowly shook his head. "Not this time." He looked at his watch and sighed. "I have to go." And without another word he left. Leaving the doctor with the detective.
John fell asleep on his old chair in the sitting room, once he woke up, there was noise coming from the kitchen, his eyes snapped open and he stood up. Sherlock was dotting around the kitchen. "Sherlock."
"Oh John! Hello. I'm sorry you had to see me like that, you're free to go now." Watson just stood there, gobsmacked at what the detective just said. He noticed John still standing there and he stopped whatever he was doing and looked at him. "I'm serious John, you can go, see I'm alright now." He grinned almost forcibly.
"That's it?"
Sherlock stopped in mock consideration. "Yep, that's it."
That sends John over the edge. "You ass! You disappear for TWO MONTHS! Without a word. And I find you collapsed and most likely high on some drug-
"Heroine." He interrupts.
"I don't care whatever it was. JESUS CHRIST SHERLOCK!"
"I don't know what else to say John." He rolled his eyes, and went back to dotting around. "A sorry? A thank you?"
"An EXPLANATION!" John screamed. "Two months Sherlock, TWO MONTHS!"
"Oh, don't be so overdramatic John, you've spent more time than that without me remember?"
"You're unbelievable." John scoffed and started packing his stuff up. "I thought we were friends."
"Friends." Sherlock spat like it was venom. "Friends just friends."
"What was that?"
"Friend, that's all I ever be. I fill myself up with heroin, foolishly, FOOLISHLY thinking it would shut this up." He angrily points to his head repeatedly. "But it wouldn't. I couldn't think clearly, I couldn't work because, because-
"Because what?"
"Because I could only think of you! Are you satisfied now? You've got your explanation."
"Sherlock what are you on about?" He asked tiredly.
"I- It doesn't matter, it wont change a thing either way."
"Change what?" When sherlock didn't respond, he raised his voice. "Change what? Sherlock answer me!'
The detective looked at him with sad eyes, ones that John has never seen. Sherlock just didn't look like himself, he looked tortured if anything else. He looked tired, worn out, like he's given up. Sherlock breathed out and tiredly said with a stern and his signature composed voice, that was cold in sound. "That I'm in love with you. And you won't choose me, you didn't and never will." Sherlock laughed bitterly, and looks up at the blank ceiling. "Funny isn't it? Falling in love. People were more deranged than I thought. Falling in love. What for? All it does is bring suffering. But for some reason I still do. I still love you John Watson."
John was not expecting that at all. There was a period of time when he was secretly madly in love with Sherlock Holmes, but he never acted on it, nor did he mention it to anyone and denied the people who said otherwise. Did Sherlock love him then? God, that must have been torture, him flatly rejecting the idea of being with Holmes. Was this what Mycroft mean? That it was his fault? Does he still have feelings for Sherlock? Maybe, but he's with his fiancé, and he loves her too, doesn't he? God this was all too much to process in a short amount of time. "Sherlock-
"I take it you're conflicted." He sighed and shook his head in sadness and disappointment. "I understand. Go John, just go."
"I- I just have to thi-
"I know." Sherlock tried to give a smile but it quickly faltered.
"Just give me time."
"Okay."
"Three days. Okay? Give me three days. We'll meet here...and talk." Sherlock nodded. "Until then take care of yourself, no more drugs, please, for me?"
He looked hesitant but eventually nodded in agreement. "Of course. For you."
"I'll be back, I promise."
"I'll be waiting."
"Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door,
Hoping you'll come around,
Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor,
Maybe we'll work it out."