"John," A tired voice mumbles from the doorway.
John turns in the desk chair to find a rough looking Sherlock wrapped in a blanket.
"Yes, Sherlock?" John asks gently.
"Why is it so cold?" He asks, "Its 25 degrees, I should not be this cold."
John stands up, and places the back of his hand on Sherlocks forehead.
"You're burning up!" John exclaims simply.
"So?" The taller of the two asks.
"You're sick, Sherlock." John rolls his eyes.
"Oh, if that's all I think I'll go then."
"Sherlock! This very well could be from your addiction!" John says, trying to persuade the other to rest.
"I'm not addicted if I'm in control," Sherlock reminds John.
Sighing, John puts power and authority into his voice, "You are going to rest and I am going to take care of you. And that's final."
With a more than slight blush on his face, Sherlock agrees.
A lovely little story where Sherls Morphine addiction comes back to haunt him. Along with a ghost from the past.
Don't come at, I'm not British. But I am trying to do research(for this story) on the sickness you can get from Morphine addiction, it can be very serious and sometimes fatal. I would not suggest being addicted to Morphine. IM BY NO MEANS AN EXPERT! DONT QUOTE ME! "but that one author on Wattpad didnt mention that symptom in their story! So obviously I'm not addicted and dont need help!" NO DONT DO THAT! I dont mean to copy anyones ideas, sorry if you think I am. And sadly, I dont own the Sherlock characters. I found the cover on google, it's not mine and I dont know who's it is but it's awesome so im using it. If anyone knows who made it or can find out or did make it, just let me know. I hope you enjoy my story!
[Sherlock x Female OC]
The thing is, there is an empty, gaping hole at the base of John's throat where his overwhelming guilt and periodic bouts of torturous grief used to be. It would be so easy to... to be angry and punch a hole through the wall, through the foam of his pillow -- drive his fist through Sherlock's heart. But he remembers; in the most tragic and inopportune of fashion, remembers how angry he had been when Sherlock had jumped, how furious he had been at his funeral, and how it hadn't stopped him from breaking down at his grave nonetheless.
The thing about his anger is this: it does nothing but leave him behind in the end, a bundle of nerves and frailty in his bones and an unsteady sway to his gait. It does nothing at all, but reduce marginally the constant, suffocating oppressiveness of his days bleeding into one another with a burst of adrenaline.
The thing about his anger is this: it doesn't give him back Sherlock.
So he gets a new flatmate- a woman named Holland. They were great friends at school and in fear he would be lonely again after Sherlock died he started to meet up with her, and soon, she moved in with him. They're just friends, though. No one could have a bond with John like Sherlock did. Sherlock was his best friend.
But then Sherlock returns, and John is more furious than ever at him. Also, Sherlock and Holland seem to bond quite well, which is something Sherlock finds too complicated to explain itself.