Friends Protect People (Johnlock)

Good to have you back

(John’s POV)

            I woke up late the next morning, my head pounding in sync with the rain from the events of last night. Rolling over, I check the clock on the bedside table. 11:43. Well, I guess it’s too late to go to the hospital today, although I should call in sick. If I got the energy to get out of bed even, those pills that I have been taking have been taking their toll on me. I lounged in bed for a little longer, breathing in his scent before rolling over and shuffling to the bathroom. There, I promptly vomited everything that I have managed to choke down in the past day. After I was done, I rest my head on the cool tile of the bathroom, trying to settle my stomach. This has been a regular occurrence since the fall, even more so since I have started to take those pills.

            “John, are you okay?” I heard Mrs. Hudson’s voice drift from outside the bathroom door.

            “Ngggh” was the only sound I could manage to get out, not bothering to open my eyes. I heard the door open, and I had no time to warn my poor landlady before she saw the mess I was.

            “Oh dear, John are you alright?” I don’t know why she kept asking that question, I would think it was rather obvious that I wasn’t alright for the past 2 years. I would never be alright again.

            “No. I’m not alright. I will never be alright. He. Is. Gone.” I choked out, and leant over the toilet to empty the contents of my stomach once again. Nothing came out, and I crouched there, dry heaving until it subsided. I was doctor, and I wasn’t stupid. I knew that those pills that I was taking weren’t good for me, especially how many I took, yet I could never bring myself to stop. They were my only option.

            “Oh dear, I’ll get you a cuppa, maybe that will help with the sickness.” Bless Mrs. Hudson; she was the only one who put up with me anymore. Even my therapist told me that I was being melodramatic, and that I should just move on. I dragged myself out of the bathroom, my eyes drifting over to drawer, where I kept my gun. The one I killed the cabbie with, on my first case with Sherlock. I should just end my life; it would be easier on everyone if I just put a bullet threw my head. Not my chest, I thought bitterly, it would be too easy for them to save me.

*flashback*

            White, everything was white. It was loud, too loud. Why was it so loud? Where was I?

            “Dr. Watson? Can you hear me?” I turned my head to the vaguely familiar voice. Why was I lying down? I tried to sit up, but a burning streak of pain ripped through my chest. I could hear someone screaming in the distance.

            “Let me go! Let me leave like him… SHERLOCK!” It took me a minute to realize that it was me who was screaming.

            “We are clear for surgery; we need to get it out of there before it causes too much damage.”

*end flashback*

            The high pitched clink of a glass breaking pulled me back up from my memories, and I forgot my pain for a second to make sure that Mrs. Hudson was okay. I don’t know what I would do if she left me too. Why did everyone have to bloody leave me?