To the Ends of this Earth

Chapter Six

Sherlock wasn't sure how long he'd laid on the gravelly asphalt, but he hoped it wasn't long. He'd lost track of the time while he laid there, perfectly angular face squashed up against the pebbles, his body shaking uncontrollably and his cries coming out so forced that they were mostly silent. He sat up, his head was aching and his eyes felt like roasted marshmallows, they were so hot and puffy. Sherlock felt a bit like he had just woken up from a very realistic nightmare, his mouth coated in saline, stomach aching from crying so much, and a distinctly queasy feeling in his stomach. He needed his head to clear, and he knew one or two things that could help him with that.
John had made him promise to throw out all of his drugs after they had gotten into one of their biggest fights. John had caught Sherlock reading his emails, text messages and keeping tabs on where he went. They hadn't spoken for nearly two months. John eventually had felt guilty and came back to find Mrs. Hudson locked out of her own house. Sherlock, on the other hand had been a wreck, track marks all up his arms, unshaven and living off the sad remnants of their pantry. In fits of withdrawals Sherlock had made John promise never to leave him again, and John had made Sherlock promise to throw out all of his stuff. Of course Sherlock threw it out, but not all of it.
Sherlock made to stand up, he got a horrible head-rush and was temporarily blind for a few seconds. He stumbled a bit, but was eventually securely on his feet. He made to leave, knowing what he had to do if he was going to save John. He had just resigned himself to the fact that he had to walk home, when something caught his eye. It was a piece of expensive stationary, and Moriarty had clearly left it behind on purpose, Sherlock knelt to pick it up. The handwriting was elegant and sprawling, it flowed across the page, the note read:

Come and save your damsel from the dragon...
xo
-Jim

Sherlock's stomach clenched, this was just a game to Moriarty, he had nothing to lose, and Sherlock had everything to lose. Sherlock stuffed the note into his jacket pocket, as a small logical voice in his head told him that he didn't have a very good chance of getting John back to him alive.

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The walk back to a place that had access to a taxi was long, but it helped clear Sherlock's head. His head might have been slightly clearer by time he was back at Baker Street but his body still felt like it had been run over by a bus. He stumbled through the front door, silently thanking the stars that Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, he didn't want to have to explain this predicament to anyone.
The stairs felt like Mount Everest, and Sherlock's feet felt like lead. His brief clarity was fading just as quickly as it had came. He felt weak, he felt like he was nothing more than a wisp of dust in the air, and he suddenly remembered. He hadn't eaten for days!
Sherlock hobbled into the kitchen, hardly able to standup straight. He threw open cupboards, he opened the pantry and looked in the fridge but all he found were some long expired pickled onions, a few mouldy crackers and a frozen head. John had taken all that they had with him in his pockets so that Sherlock could eat in the taxi, but instead all they had done was stare at each other. He silently cursed, and gave up, Mrs. Hudson's fridge downstairs had been emptied a while ago as well. It wasn't so bad Sherlock supposed, the lack of food would increase the high that he was about to get and his head would be clear at last.
Stumbling his way to his bedroom, he practically fell against the half-open door and crashed into the room. His mind set was gradually changing from shocked grief to violent, explosive anger and Sherlock needed to control himself. Somehow he righted himself and walk-tripped over to a picture of him and his brother. They were smiling in the photo, both clearly uncomfortable but seemingly accepting towards the fact that the picture had to be taken. Sherlock regarded the picture for an instant before knocking it off the wall, it smashed everywhere and glass shards skittered across the floor. Sherlock knelt to the ground, not caring or feeling the pain as a few sharp-edges pieces of glass stabbed into the palms of his hands, and his knees. He cleared the remaining rubble, revealing a small white plastic bag, half full with white powder. It was cocaine.
It took Sherlock only a short amount of time to find a bank note, and make a line. He hesitated before leaning in to snort it, John wouldn't want this, I told him I'd never take drugs again, his head swam. This was bigger than John, this was the only way. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, I'm not an addict, I'm a user. Sherlock plugged one nostril and stooped forward.

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!!! So I guess I should have warned you guys about the drug use beforehand but I didn't want to spoil the surprise! Hope this chapter turned out ok.

This chapter is dedicated to dobeeeee for being such an enthusiastic follower and leaving such a nice comment! <3 Thanks, it keeps me going.

xx
-Johnlox