Aftermath

23~Sherlock's POV

I am not dead.

Those are the first words I think when I wake up. I didn't die. I didn't fail John and leave him alone.

The next thing I think is how badly I need to throw up. I shoot up into a sitting position and vomit over the railing of the bed. Twice.

"Sherlock!" someone yells.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"What are you apologizing for? It's completely okay to throw up," I hear the same voice say. Wait... I know that voice...

"John?" I turn as I say it and see him. "John!" I grab him around the neck and pull him to me. We're already close together, but I close the little distance there was. 

"Um, Sherlock? You're getting vomit all over me."

"Sorry," I blush and pull away.

"Mr. Holmes?" A small feminine voice asks. I turn towards it. "How are you feeling?" The nurse squeaks. 

"Terrific. I mean I feel like I am going to vomit again, but my boyfriend is here. I'm on a roller coaster that only goes up.  Uh-" I lean over the rail and throw up again.

"Sorry," I mumble again. 

"It"s okay Sherlock, stop apologizing." John says. 

"Sor-" I almost apologize again, but am cut off by a new wave of vomit. I notice that the nurse has run out of the room.

"And there's the withdrawal setting in," a drawling voice says. I look up.

"Mycroft. What are you doing here?"

"Oh I just came to ask why there is so much blood around your flat. But the cuts on your wrists speak for themselves."

I blush and look away. Which is good, because I have to puke again. Well, dry heave.

"It can't be withdrawal," I mumble.

"Really? And why's that?" 

"Because no one was here to tell them I'm a morphine addict when I came in. Look what I'm hooked up to." I see Mycroft's eyes travel up the tube coming out of my hand to the IV bag hang on the pole beside me.

"Oh for God's..." He turns and storms out of the room.

I lie back and close my eyes, trying to slow the spinning in the room.

In those few seconds, I lose consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~

I wake up again sometime later. I can hear whispering, and I can tell it's about me, so I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady.

"- you see the note?"

"Yes."

"What 'flashbacks' is he talking about?" That's John.

"I don't know." Mycroft.

"Yes you do! You lived with him for how bloody long? And your a goddamn genius!" John's voice is rising in volume now. He's getting angry.

"All I know he's been a drug addict for a while. And apparently suicidal."

"Don't make jokes!"

"I'm not! My brother just almost died! Again! This past month has been awful!"

"Well you must know something!"

I can't pretend to be asleep anymore, because I need to throw up. Again. But nothing comes out except bile. Someone has cleaned up from the last time I vomited and put a trash can next to my bed. How thoughtful.