Addiction

John had only been in bed for half an hour before his phone vibrated madly. He sat up, and fumbled for the blasted thing, managing to drop it on the floor and had to get out of bed to get it anyway. Who on earth could possibly need him at two in the morning. Sherlock was off on a case, and had been gone for two days, and had conveniently left his phone on the dining room table, so it couldn't be him.

It was Lestrade, which worried John to no end.

Think you'd better get down here. St Bart's, ED.

He knew better than to question him.

The hospital was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night. There was nothing too serious, a boy with a broken arm, a case of hives and an asthma attack being the worst.

"John!" Lestrade called out from the other side of the room.

"What's he done now?" John asked, and Lestrade looked at him sullenly. He knew it wasn't good.

"No..." John trailed off, as he realised what Sherlock had done.

"Yeah." Lestrade said sadly.

"Coke?" John asked.

"Worse. Heroin."

"Fuck." John said, and disappeared off into the bathroom.

"He's alright, John." Lestrade said, following him in.

"Good. Give me a minute, will you?" John asked.

Heroin. The worst he could ever do.

"Why? Why Sherlock, why?" John thought to himself, repeating it over and over again in his head as he stared at his own face in the bathroom mirror, trying to think of what he was going to say to him. He left the bathroom, and Lestrade was waiting in the hall for him.

"He's this way." He said, flashing his badge when a security guard wouldn't let them through.

"Oh God, Sherlock..." He muttered as Lestrade left him outside the small private room.

John had seen it all before and his years at med school taught him to be able to block certain things out, but when it was affecting Sherlock it wasn't so easy.

"Look at me, Sherlock." He said, and Sherlock looked up, his ice blue eyes wide and dilated.

"I'm not hurt." Sherlock said quietly as John checked him over for injuries.

"But I am." He said, shutting Sherlock up.

"I'm-" Sherlock started.

"No." John cut him off before he could apologise, "You're not sorry, so don't say you are."

"John..." He said, eyes planted firmly on the floor.

"Just shut up, would you?" John said almost silently as he picked up Sherlock's pale quivering hand, and felt Sherlock's fast pulse raging. He pushed the sleeve of his long woolen coat, and found the evidence that he was looking for, ugly bruised track marks.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock choked out, unable to meet John's eyes.

John stood there for a moment, staring into Sherlock's ice blue eyes. Tentatively he pulled Sherlock in close, his head against John's chest and after a moment he felt Sherlock hesitantly wrap his arms around John's waist.

"It's alright Sherlock." He said, his tears falling through Sherlock's brown curls.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." Sherlock mumbled, his face still buried in John's chest.

"I know Sherlock. It's all okay now." He said back, stroking the fragile man that was in his arms.

John helped him up and held him tightly, he didn't want to bet on his ability to walk on his own. It wasn't a long drive back to the flat from St Bart's, but it seemed to drag on none the less. Sherlock clung tightly to John the whole way, and didn't let go once.

"Having a good night, boys?" The cab driver asked from the front seat, glancing back at John and Sherlock through his rear view mirror.

"Fine thanks." John said flatly, as they pulled up outside the flat.

"That'll be 10 quid, mate." He said, and John passed him his fare.

"Good lord, are you alright Sherlock?" Came Mrs Hudson's worried voice as John half carried Sherlock inside.

"Yeah, he's fine. Just a bit of an accident. He'll be right." He lied blatantly, no use worrying the poor old woman.

"Oh not this again Sherlock..." She said, when she saw his eyes.

"Don't worry about him, Mrs Hudson, he's fine." John said, and helped Sherlock up the stairs.

"John, I'm sorry." He said his voice shaking, finally breaking his marathon silence.

"I just wish you had told me, Sherlock. Don't you trust me?" John asked, coughing as he tried to hide the lump forming in his throat.

"I do, John. I do. I just don't want you to be disappointed in me." Sherlock said.

"It's too late for that." John said as he helped Sherlock into bed.

Sherlock didn't expect John to stay with him that night, and was surprised to find that John crawling into bed beside him.

"It's alright now Sherlock." He said, and curled up close at his side.

"I love you John, I promise I'll never do this again." He said, turning to face him.

"I know, Sherlock. I love you too." He said, and kissed him.