One Shots

"you need help"

prompt: "you need help"
TRIGGER WARNING: overdosing
Sorry if I get anything wrong in terms of British culture-I'm definitely not British so cut me a little slack please. Thank you.
A big fat Johnlock fanfic, enjoy!

J.W.

I had just gone to Tesco to pick up a few things again when I got a call from Mycroft.

M: Hello John
J: Mycroft
M: How is my little brother doing?
J: Fine, why?
M: I've received some information that says otherwise. I would like you to check on him now. Goodbye.

Of course he wants me to check in on Sherlock. I always wonder why he can't do it himself, but I suppose it doesn't hurt. We do live together, after all. I also imagine it has something to do with sibling rivalry, or something like that.

I catch a cab and ride back to Baker St.  I find myself worried for Sherlock despite how well he's been doing lately, and decide cut my shopping short for today. I figure that the stores will all be there tomorrow, and we can always wait a little while for things like crisps and such. Even though I've found no drugs for four months and a couple days, I am still worried, though that's got to be a record for him. I'm actually quite proud of him as of late.

I'm brought out of my thoughts as the cab pulls to a stop in front of the flat him and I share.

I step out and into the house, greeting Mrs. Hudson on my way upstairs. Something doesn't feel right, but it could very well just be my nerves.

I open the doors, grocery bags lined up my arms, to find Sherlock laying down on the couch, eyes closed. I set my things down on the table in the kitchen. He's really trashed the place.

"Hello Sherlock. Couldn't be bothered to get up, I see? You know it's nearly midday, right?"

No response.

I shout a little louder this time.

"Sherlock?"

This definitely isn't right. He's such a light sleeper. There's no way he wouldn't be up by now, most likely complaining about how I shouldn't have woken him up. How he hardly gets enough sleep as it is.  He says he's always up about cases, but I think it's something else.

I make my way over to him, concerned but not yet panicked.

And that's when I see it. The needles imbedded into his skin. His lips blue. His arms red. His skin pale. His eyes closed. His hair a mess.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

I take action quickly, remembering all that I was taught while in the military.

I know he'll be fine. It's not the first time I've found him like this. But it is the first time in a while, and it brings back memories of worse times.

He's back awake now, throwing up into a bowl I to him on my way over.

"Why are you home so early, John?"

He questions, his lips still bruised-looking and his eyes still glossed over.

"Wait, nevermind" he continues, "Mycroft sent you back early, didn't he?"