Lost Girl 🔍 (Sherlock x Reader) [EDITING]

Chapter 54: I Need You Back

Heh... 69 parts.

Sherlock come home still going through Withdrawal and needs Morphine to help him with the pain.

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Your POV

This position was all too familiar to me by now. Sitting in his chair, knees tucked to my chest, hair falling into my face, tears rolling down my cheeks, and overall not caring about anything anymore. Also, the glass filled to the brim with whiskey in my hand, taking huge gulps every few seconds. Ever since Sherlock started up on drugs, I started up on alcohol, without him knowing of course. If Sherlock was going to slowly kill himself, so was I.

I heard the door open, hitting the back of the wall violently as he stumbled up the stairs. That was never a good sign.

"Sherlock?" I asked as he stumbled into the room, limping a bit in his step as he greeted me with a tight-lipped smile. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and I noticed the girl hat he left with wasn't by his side now. Jealousy isn't a good color on you darling. My inner voice smirked at my pity, so I pushed it out and stood up, examining Sherlock carefully.

"(Y/N)." He greeted back, strain in his voice. I quickly stood up, and he tried to walk over to me; he didn't get two steps before crying out in pain and collapsing towards the ground.

"Sherlock!!" I cried out, running towards him and kneeling next to him on the ground; he was on his knees, hyperventilating and clutching his stomach in agony. "Oh no, what have you done now?" I asked, lifting his face up with his hands and wiping the forced tears streaming down his face. The answer was clear in my mind: Withdrawal. Though I'd never seen it this bad, he'd always told me what to do if I could bare it, which I couldn't right now.

He shook his head and cried out in pain, shuddering in his breaths; this made my eyes shut and tears roll down my already sticky cheeks once more. Seeing Sherlock in pain always made me cry. "Alright... alright..." I whispered soothingly, throwing his arm around my shoulder and using all of my strength to try and get him off the ground. He leaned on me for support, so much so that I kept stumbling and tripping before laying him down onto the bed. His hands were violently shaking, and his lips were pursed, barely able to breathe as he cried out in agony.

"M-Morphine." He stuttered, gripping onto the sheets with one hand and squeezing my hand with the other, making me whimper a bit as tears pooled down my cheeks.

"S-Sherlock I..."

"P-please... (Y/N)." I couldn't do it, my hands were shaking too violently and my vision began to get hazy from the tears. Unable to resist, I nodded sharply and pried his fingers from my hand and ran to the living room. He'd told me where his secret stash was, just in case this kind of thing happened; so I rushed towards the crystalline box hidden in the ashes of the fireplace that we never lit anymore. A few empty syringes lay in there, but few were left, which would cause a problem later. I grabbed one with a dark fluid in it as I heard Sherlock's anguished cry for my name and rushed into the room.

His face was scrunched up, hands now occupied on his head as it pounded and pounded violently like a drum. I rushed over to him, and rolled up his sleeve and saw the many injections in his arms, some of them fresh and most of them purple and bruising. "Please." He groaned, shoving his hand up closer to me to show me what he wanted. I started hyperventilating, unable to do the task at hand. I screamed through gritted teeth and screwed my eyes shut before injecting him with the needle and pushing the button down. His screams subsided and turned to slow twitches and whimpers of pain by the time I took the needle out. His pupils dilated and his body relaxed as the morphine started to take its full effect.

I collapsed on the bed next to him, trying to cry silently but failing to do so and sobbing into the pillow. After a few minutes, Sherlock takes notice and reaches over to touch me, grimacing from the effort. "No." I croaked. "No, Sherlock, just don't."

"(Y/N)-"

"Sherlock, don't. I know it may seem like I'm okay with this, but I'm not. You're breaking my heart. And making me do this... this was it for me, Sherlock. I can't do this anymore." I grimaced when the words came out, because I knew that I made a promise not to leave him when he got like this. From the stiffened body language of Sherlock, I could tell he wasn't particularly enjoying the conversation either.

"(Y/N)."

"Just... let me finish... please." I snapped, not taking the time to look round at him as my sobs subsided and warm tears streamed down my face; I knew he wasn't going to listen. "I know you probably think I'm being inconsiderate and everything, but I can't. I can't handle this. I know I promised that I wouldn't leave you when you did this, and I'm keeping that promise, I just can't deal with this-" Without giving me much time to finish, he cautiously wrapped his arms around me, making me stiffen but relax after a few moments.

"I know it's hard. I've been a complete twat to you as well; I'm trying to work on it, it's just hard, love." He gently kissed my neck, and I melted to his touch, resting my back against his chest. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"I know... but Sherlock. What if this doesn't work? What if you die..."

"Hey... hey... shhhhh..." He stroked my hair lovingly and kissed my cheek. "Don't worry about me, I should be worrying about you."

"What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly getting nervous. Did he find my stash of whiskey? If he finds out, he'll be madder than expected. I didn't want him to know.

"The way I'm treating you. How I blackout like a frat boy at a party after a drink. I wouldn't know what I did if I did something to hurt you." He whispered, his words starting to slur together as he shut his eyes, his breathing slowing and returning to a steady pace. I knew what he was implying, but I tried to push it out of my memory and get him to sleep.

"Don't worry about that." I whispered, stroking his hair slightly to get him to sleep faster. "It's going to be okay."

"I love you." He mumbled, faint snoring coming from his lips a few minutes later.

"I..." I started, but I knew I couldn't say it to him, not this form of him. Not the drug-induced version. This wasn't him, this wasn't the real him. So why should I say I love you to someone...

Someone who wasn't the person I loved.

So experimentally, I wriggled out of his arms without him stuttering in his sleep and placed my feet against the cold wood floor. It was too cold to go outside, I didn't want to call John (I had before and he never picked up) and I didn't want to bother Molly. So I walked down the stairs of 221B Baker street and knocked on 221A, a smiling Ms. Hudson coming to the door. Her face fell when she saw my expression and my sticky cheeks.

"Hello deary, did you and Sherlock have a little domestic?" Ms. Hudson said, lowering her voice a little,

"No and yes. Can I just..."

"Say no more." Ms. Hudson said, putting her arm around me and leading me into her living room. "How about a nice cuppa and some telly?" She asked sweetly, giving your shoulder a little squeeze.

"That sounds great, thanks Ms. Hudson." She gave you a quick nod and walked into the kitchen, having the tea already ready as if she knew you'd be coming over. She handed you a steaming cup of mint tea, making you smile and take a sip of the minty water.

"You can stay in the guest bedroom for as long as you'd like." She said, taking a sip of tea herself and sitting next to me on the couch.

For the rest of the night we talked. We talked about how worried we were about John, how neither of us had much contact with him in the weeks that  passed by. How Sherlock is surviving with all of these drugs. About how I was doing, about how she was doing, about everything.

And we both fell asleep, empty cups of tea in hand.

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MAMA HUDSON!

Hope you enjoyed the part!

Have a great day my lovelies xx