Johnlock - Grow old with me.

Chapter 12 - Truth and lies

The first one to wake up was Sherlock, he blinked against the sun streaming through the window onto his face and slowly sat up, yawning. He looked down at John, sleeping peacefully beside him and just stayed there watching his best friend sleep for about 5 minutes, when he got the perfect idea. He decided he was going to cook John a breakfast in bed.

He climbed off the sofa, carefully as to not wake John up yet and he made his way to the kitchen, where he pulled the ingredients out of the fridge. He'd never cooked before but he figured it couldn't be that hard. So he turned the stove on and put whole eggs into the frying pan, no fat or oil or butter, just the eggs. Next he pulled out some bacon and placed the bacon, in its packet, into the grill. Lastly he put toast in the toaster on high heat and threw the cheese and butter in with it.

"Perfect!" He praised himself.

John was woken up very abruptly when he smelt what smelt like his house burning down. He scrambled to his feet, looking towards the kitchen where he spotted Sherlock, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, batting at a small fire with a tea towel. John rushed towards him.

"Sherlock! What the hell are you doing?!" John shouted.

"I was trying to make you breakfast in bed, but it for some reason caught fire." Sherlock replied innocently.

John grabbed the toaster that was burning up and threw it out of the window onto the ground below. Then he yanked the frying pan off the stove, dropped the eggs into some cool water and placed the frying pan aside. Lastly he rescued the burning bacon packet from the oven, switching the whole cooker off as he did.

He set the packet aside to cool along with the frying pan, then opened the window to let the smoke out.

"Why didn't the smoke alarm go off, Sherlock?" 

"Because it kept beeping at me so I took it down." Sherlock replied calmly.

"It is supposed to, it is a fire alarm. They beep when idiots like Sherlock Holmes, burn things!" John shouted, at Sherlock.

John left Sherlock standing in the front room as he left to sort out the flaming toaster in the back garden.

This left Sherlock to his own thoughts. He looked around at the mess he had made in the kitchen and it left cramps in his stomach. He felt that John actually hated him now, he'd ruined his last chance and now he couldn't calm his aching body down. He needed something for his nerves and although he didn't want to do it whilst John was here, he needed it.

Sherlock rushed to his room and found a package he had secured whilst John was gone for the several weeks and he sat administering the drugs into his body. He relished in the feeling of calm that swept over him as he slowly lowered himself to sit beside his bed, his head leaning back against it as he took a little more and a little more, until he could no longer feel nervous or down.

What he could now feel though was good. He could suddenly feel everything spinning around him and he felt sick, this had never happened before and it started to worry him

"Oh no" He said to himself, panicked.

"This isn't supposed to happen."

Breathing started to become difficult, he couldn't move his limbs properly and everything was becoming blurry. He looked down and realised there were no drugs left, he had taken them all and this caused him to feel breathless and unable to focus. He tried to get into his mind palace so he could think what to do, but his mind was shutting itself down and his heart was starting to fail. The last resort was to call John, but he would be so annoyed, consequently Sherlock decided against it.