The moment they arrived at the hospital, John didn't wait for the car to stop, he opened the door and strode into the building. He walked to the front desk and a woman looked up

"How can I help you today, Sir?" she asked politely

"Holmes." John barked a little too harshly "Sherlock Holmes." The woman typed on the computer and John waited in agonising silence, not noticing Lestrade walk up behind him

"Yes, Mr Sherlock Holmes. Arrived here fifteen minutes ago. He's in room 328. Unfortunately you won't be able to vis- Hey!"
The nurse stood up as John walked away, rushing to the room she stated. Lestrade shot the receptionist a glare and she sat back down, frightened.
John barrelled down the correct corridor and saw Mycroft, equipped with his umbrella, waiting outside.

"Ah, Doctor Watson"

"Where is he?" John growled, in nowhere near the mood for such pleasantries

"He is inside." Mycroft said, calmly, stepping to the side "You had best hurry, my brother isn't reacting all too well to the treatment he is receiving." John clenched his jaw as he threw open the doors of the room. The sight that greeted him chilled the ex-soldier to the bone.

Sherlock was surrounded by doctors and nurses, his eyes were wide and panicked and he was screaming, his curly hair plastered to his scalp in a wet mop of a mess. He was still wearing the clothes he had worn the last time John had seen him except his coat was gone, his trousers were hanging loosely off his hips and his shirt was almost fully drenched in blood and god knows what else. Lestrade and Mycroft entered the room, the DI shocked and Mycroft showing some hints or worry and surprise at his brother's condition.

"Mr Holmes, you need to calm down" a doctor said, stepping forwards. Sherlock retreated backwards into a corner; tears were growing in Sherlock's eyes

"You're scaring him." John whispered, Lestrade giving him a look

"We need to get him sedated" another doctor said and a nurse nodded, exiting the room. She came back a few minutes later. The moment she entered with the syringe in hand Sherlock shrieked in horror. John had seen and heard more than enough

"YOU'RE SCARING HIM!" John screamed and everybody stopped and looked at the blonde in surprise. John moved hastily, nudging nurses and doctors out of the way before skidding to a halt in front of Sherlock's quivering form. He kneeled by the detective and slowly reached out to touch the others shoulder. The moment he just brushed the shirt, Sherlock jumped away, screaming bloody murder.

"Oh please God no! Don't hurt me, not again, not again!" John's heart tugged at the sound of such anguish and terror in his friend's voice.

"Sherlock" he said softly and the taller man looked at him, fear evident in those dark orbs "It's me, John. Your flatmate."

Your best friend

"J-John?" Sherlock whispered like a terrified child and his eyes seem to glint a little.

"Yes, it's me, Sherlock, you know I would never hurt you. Never, Sherlock" John held out a hand again to his friend, coaxing him to show he wasn't going to harm him. Sherlock stared at it as if it were on fire for a few milliseconds before shoving it away and canoeing into John, wrapping his limbs around the blonde's frame and clutching him tightly as if his life depended on nothing more than that.

"John" Sherlock sobbed like a child and John was taken aback for a few moments. Sherlock had never cried in front of anyone before. Not even him. "Please make it stop. Get me out of here. I don't like it here. Stop it. I don't like it. Make it stop!"

"Make what stop, Sherlock?" John whispered gently and gave a look to Lestrade. The DI got the message and shooed all of the annoyed nurses and doctors out of the

"I-it hurts…" Sherlock whimpered

"Where?" Sherlock slurred what seemed to be nonsense, his words lost in John's jacket.

"Sherlock, you need to speak louder for me" John said, rubbing Sherlock's back in an attempt at comfort of the situation

"Everywhere! My arms, my legs, my hips, and my stomach and… and… down there…" John nodded in understanding

"OK, Sherlock" he said, still rubbing Sherlock's back

"John?" Sherlock snivelled and John nearly cried at the sound of such distress and agony dripping from the single word

"Yes, Sherlock?" he choked out

"Don't leave me again."

John's worst fear had come true. Sherlock Holmes, the great Consulting Detective, was truly broken.