Error in Judgment

Author: Lady Sam Mallory

Disclaimers: Boys not mine; I just borrow them from time to time when the muse moves me.

Special Thanks to my Beta Queen, Zoe, without whom I'd be doomed to a life of grammatical inaccuracy. For my beautiful friend, Heather, whose incredible command of the English language allows her to provide me with individually needed words at a moment's notice.

Warnings: H/C, Angst, Smarm, Some violence, and usually a bit of colorful language.

Spoilers: Scandal in Belgravia

Author's Comments: I felt the compulsion to finish this little scene to my satisfaction. Plus, it made my beta very happy as well. Must keep my beta happy. Cranky beta bad.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, stay with me," John asks as he examines the syringe very carefully in an effort to determine its contents.

Sherlock fights the drug's effect. He bucks up from the floor, groaning loudly, a stormy ocean rising in his ears.

John leans over and checks his eyes, then panics slightly when they start to close, "Open your eyes, Sherlock. Bugger it! You have to stay with me."

John closes his eyes as Donovan walks into the room. "Shut it!" He demands when she opens her mouth to take a breath.

"Is Lestrade downstairs with the body?" John asks, his mind reeling with the complications that could set in. She nods affirmatively. "Get him up here. Send the paramedics too!"

John pats Sherlock's shoulder. "I need to turn you. Sherlock, I need you to listen to me. I need to turn you onto your side. I don't want you to aspirate," John informs him as he rolls him onto his left side, three quarters prone, into the recovery position.

"That's good, Sherlock," John praises as he tries to make the moaning detective more comfortable. "Won't be much longer."

The paramedics, one woman and one very large man, enter the room with Lestrade on their heels. "What the hell happened, John?" Lestrade demands taking in Sherlock's shaking form as he still attempts to fight the drugs.

John holds up his hand to forestall Lestrade momentarily. "Listen guys, he was injected with an unknown substance. My best guess would be Rohypnol. No emesis as of yet. His respiration is 20 and shallow, pulse rate was 72 at last check," John reports looking down at his watch. "Three minutes ago."

The paramedics roll Sherlock out onto his back, and he starts to gag from the movement. "What's his name?" The female paramedic asks as she pulls out a penlight and checks his eyes.

"His name is Sherlock," John answers as he watches her pull out a syringe. "What's that?" he demands. "Look, I'm a doctor. More importantly, I'm his doctor, so answer the question, please."

The young paramedic looks startled, but answers, "Usually in a Rohypnol overdose, we give the patient Flumazenil to counteract the effects."

"Stop. Stop right there. Flumazenil acts as an antagonist to the Rohypnol, true, but it has some very nasty side effects. He's losing consciousness, and he's a former addict. Not the best combination for adding a new drug to the mix. How are his vitals?" John demands quietly.

"Slightly elevated, but within normal limits. BP's 138/82 and his pulse rate is 75, but he's fighting the effects of the drug pretty hard, which would account for that," the large paramedic answers.

John rubs his forehead, sifting through the information in his medical mind. "Pulse strong, negative for convulsions, negative for emesis, vitals stable," he runs through before coming to the decision that Sherlock will probably be fine resting at home. He turns toward the paramedics to inform them of just that when Lestrade steps forward.

Lestrade interjects impatiently, "John, just let him sleep it off. It's not like it's the first time…"

John stands up abruptly, turning toward Lestrade, his anger readily apparent, "Are you bloody kidding me? I know it's not the first time, but I don't give a good Goddamn if it's the hundredth time. He did not take drugs willingly, Lestrade. She drugged him. Do try to remember that!"

Lestrade retreats a step in the face of the compact doctor's anger and raises his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

John pats Sherlock's shoulder when he groans still struggling to maintain control, "It's okay, Sherlock. Let's see if we can get you home."

John turns toward the paramedics, "Look, I know that this is a bit unusual, but he's going home, so let me sign what you need me to, so we can get this done."

After signing and initialing and signing once again, John Watson is allowed to take his flatmate and friend home. "Lestrade, give me a hand getting him up. Easy, Sherlock. Here we go," John comforts the trembling detective as the two of them begin to heave the dosed man to his rather unsteady feet.

John groans a bit at his uncooperative shoulder as they lift Sherlock carefully off the floor and looking over at Lestrade tensely says, "Almost makes you glad he hasn't had a bite in three days."

Sherlock, still fighting the effects of the drug, mumbles intensely, "I…I," His blue eyes flutter and roll as his head pitches forward.

"Wish I could say this is the first time I've had the pleasure…" Lestrade complains as they lead him to the top of the stairs.

John smarts from the comment, realizing that Lestrade has probably seen Sherlock like this or even worse from his previous drug abuse, but those were a choice. "Again, not a choice, Lestrade," he huffs, taking the brunt of the Sherlock's weight as they all stumble down the stairs.

"Phone…" Sherlock mumbles in the car, fighting to keep his eyes open, bucking occasionally.

John turns towards the struggling man and whispers, "I know, but there's nothing you can do about it now, so let it go." John pats Sherlock on the hand, using the gesture to take his pulse and respiration rates again. "Sherlock, it's gonna be okay. Stop fighting it or you'll give yourself a nasty headache."

"Sats…factry?" Sherlock slurs, his agile mind not missing the vitals check.

John smiles and nods affectionately. "That brilliant mind gets us into almost as much trouble as that mouth," he whispers and is well pleased when he sees Sherlock's lips twitch in a near smile.

"Sh-shouldn't…t-trust," Sherlock stutters, his body rejecting the toxins it had lived so long without. "Error," he whispers sadly.

John lays a hand on his shoulder, "It was an error in judgment, Sherlock. Nothing more. Settle down, right?"

Sherlock nods jerkily, his head lolling to the side.

The car stops smoothly in front of 221B Baker Street, and Lestrade exits and comes around to open the door.

John gets out then leans into the sedan to maneuver his friend out.

"Up you go, Sherlock," John commands as he gently finesses him towards the door of the flat with Lestrade's aid. John rests a bit before dragging out his keys.

"Here we go," Lestrade puts his phone back into his pocket and levers the man into the building only to stop suddenly at the stairs when the detective actually loses consciousness.

"Sod it," John curses. "I was really hoping we'd make it up the stairs first."

The two men together lower Sherlock to the floor, so John can establish that his vitals are still going strong. He nods to Lestrade, and they manhandle the unconscious detective to a standing position.

"How do you wanna do this?" Lestrade asks John, breathing a bit heavily from the effort of maintaining balance for two people.

"Bugger me. I'm going to carry him. Just make sure we don't take a header down the stairs," John answers then draws the unconscious tall man up across his shoulders in a basic fireman carry.

John strains a bit under the man's weight. It's been quite a while since he's had to carry a downed man. He makes it up the stairs with a lot of effort and little grace, grateful to the Detective Inspector when he opens the door for him.

Sherlock slides down off his shoulder at his prompting, and the two men together wrestle him to the bed and drop him there rather unceremoniously when their strength begins to fade.

John reaches forward and performs one last vitals check before tucking a blanket around his sleeping friend.

Lestrade dismisses himself to the other room to wait for John and looks up as John reenters the sitting room.

"He okay?" Lestrade asks his voice riddled with concern for his friend.

John nods before replying, "Seems to be. I'll be checking on him every hour to make sure that no surprises pop up. Thank you, Greg. It would have been very difficult to get him home without your help."

Lestrade returns the nod and reaches out for John's outstretched hand, "You're welcome."

John strides into the kitchen to make some tea and put together a broth for Sherlock. Pushing fluids will flush his system faster than anything.

"Come on, Sherlock, just a bit more," John coaxes as he spoons a bit more broth into an unsurprisingly more cooperative Sherlock.

Sherlock's blue eyes, still glazed with the effects of Rohypnol, turn towards John's gratefully. "Thanks," he slurs almost affectionately.

"You're welcome," John replies quietly before helping the younger man slide down into the beckoning sheets.

"How?" Sherlock's drug addled brain allows as the sheets are pulled up over him.

John puzzles at the question. "How'd you get back here?" John interprets finally to an eye roll from his flatmate.

John growls a bit at the eye roll then smiles knowing that his next answer will surprise Sherlock, "I carried you."

Sherlock's eyes widen fractionally as John knew they would. "Stairs?" Sherlock forces out, even though thinking and speaking remain a bit difficult.

"Yes, stairs too," John informs him with a smile.

Sherlock's eyes close little by little, but he forces them open once again.

"The Woman?" He asks a bit pleased that he's managed to string two words together this time.

"Gone. Go back to sleep, Sherlock. You need the rest," John orders him lightly then pauses when he catches a fleeting glimpse of shame on Sherlock's face.

"Sherlock?" He questions quietly before understanding exactly where Sherlock's thoughts have turned.

John lays a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, "It wasn't your fault, so you can get that right out of that agile brain of yours. You did not relapse. Mycroft will understand that you did not break your promise, okay?"

Sherlock's eyes close with exhaustion, and he smiles very slightly.

John always knows what is going on in his head when it really matters.

The End