Too Close to Holmes - 13/?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13 - Withdrawal
Sherlock began his detox from the cocaine immediately. After giving John specific and determined instructions not to leave him alone or let him out of the flat under any circumstances and to inform Mycroft of what he was doing, Sherlock threw himself down onto the sofa, wrapped tightly in his silk Harrod's bathrobe, and waited for the crash.
They didn't have to wait long for the symptoms to become noticeable. Within an hour, not long after Mycroft's arrival at Baker Street, Sherlock had taken to alternating between lying listlessly on the sofa, his face buried in his favourite Union Flag cushion, and restlessly pacing the room, rubbing his hands repeatedly through his hair in frantic frustration.
"Sherlock." Mycroft said. "Maybe you should consider doing this in a specialist clinic. I have several available to -"
"No!" Sherlock barked angrily, spinning around to glare at his brother. "I'm doing this at home. I just... I want..."
"We know." John said, standing up and leading Sherlock back to sit on the sofa. "But you can't."
Sherlock stared at John, searching his face. "I know." He sighed sadly, before rolling over and once again hiding his face in the cushion.
Things quietened down soon after this, as Sherlock fell asleep on the sofa, curled in on himself, his features, paler than usual, marred with a pained frown.
"He will get worse, you do realise." Mycroft told John quietly as the doctor walked him to the door. "Last time, he became very aggressive, sometimes viciously violent. The nausea and spasms mean he will require constant supervision, and I imagine the depression this time will be much more severe. If you change your mind about placing him in a private clinic, or if you require any assistance at all, please don't hesitate to contact me. Any time."
"Thank you, Mycroft." John said politely. "We won't change our minds about the clinic, but I will call if we need anything."
After seeing Mycroft out, John walked back into the living room and crouched down next to Sherlock. He watched as the other man rolled over onto his back and pulled his robe more tightly around him, cringing in his sleep as his weight fell on his injured back. John's eyes fell on Sherlock's wrists, where the lacerations from the handcuffs still stood out, angry and red against his pale skin.
"I'm sorry this happened to you, Sherlock." John whispered, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from his friend's forehead. "I'm so sorry."
*
Sherlock slept almost continuously for two days after this, and John, unwilling to leave him alone, was forced to request a single mattress and sheet from Mycroft so that he could sleep on the floor in the living room. Sherlock's blunt refusal to leave the sofa unless it was to go to the bathroom had put paid to any ideas John had had that they could share Sherlock's bedroom.
On the morning of the third day, however, John was forced to face the fact that this had merely been the calm before the storm.
John was making tea and breakfast when Sherlock stumbled slowly into the kitchen. He was ghostly pale and shivering so much his whole body was vibrating with violent tremors.
"John." He whispered, staring desperately at the doctor. "John, I can't do this. I'm so cold." He stepped forwards, stumbling as he did.
John rushed towards him as Sherlock started to fall, toppling forwards towards the floor. He caught him under the armpits, hoisting him up and starting to drag him towards the living room.
"You can do this." He said firmly. "Let's just get you back to the sofa, and we'll see if we can warm you up."
John lowered Sherlock onto the sofa and dragged the duvet from the mattress on the floor to wrap around him. He hurried back to the kitchen and brought back the toast he had made for his own breakfast.
"I need you to eat this." He said, pushing the plate into Sherlock's trembling hands. "You haven't eaten for days."
Sherlock nodded, and John watched, horrified, as he grabbed an entire slice of toast and forced it into his mouth whole. He chewed for a minute, swallowed, and then did the same again with the second slice.
"Tea." He said, after swallowing the second piece of toast.
John stood quickly and walked into the kitchen, flicking the switch to reboil the kettle. A couple of minutes later, he walked back into the living room with a hot mug of tea, and promptly dropped it at his feet.
Sherlock was crouched on the floor in front of the sofa. He had pulled off his robe, and was now, wearing only his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt, clawing viciously at the scabs littering his arms.
"Jesus!" John cried, lurching forwards and dropping to his knees next to his flatmate. He pulled Sherlock's hands away, pinning them to his side as the detective fought and yelled to be released.
John glanced up at a piece of paper pinned to the fireplace. They had come up with a rota while Sherlock slept, so that, if John needed help, he only had to call and a team of two of their friends would come immediately. A quick glance at this rota told him that it was Donovan and Anderson's turn.
John quickly turned Sherlock onto his front, sitting on his flailing legs and pinning his arms behind his back with one hand as he reached into his own pocket for his mobile phone.
"Sergeant Donovan!" He cried, once his call was answered. "Get over here! Quick!"
*
Sherlock was still fighting when Sally and Anderson arrived. He had briefly succeeded in breaking one arm free, so John was now sporting a split lip, which throbbed viciously and bled whenever he moved his mouth.
"What's going on?" Sally asked as soon as she took in the scene in front of her. John was still straddling Sherlock's thighs, pinning the face-down detective's hands to the small of his back.
"He completely flipped." John told her. "He started tearing at his arms and then went berserk when I tried to stop him."
"What do you need us to do?" Anderson asked, throwing his coat onto John's chair.
"Just hold him down." John told her. "I need to get some stuff to deal with his arms."
John hurried into the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink. When he returned to the lounge, Anderson was sitting on the floor with Sherlock sitting between his legs. He had his arms held tightly around the thinner man's waist, and each of his legs was wrapped over Sherlock's, effectively pinning them down. Sally was crouching in front of them, Sherlock's hands clutched tightly in her own while she whispered calmly to him.
"We all okay?" John asked, sitting down on the floor beside Sally and taking of of Sherlock's shaking hands in his own.
Sally nodded, smiling, and John started unpacking bandages from the box beside him.
"Sorry, John." Sherlock mumbled, peering at John through hooded eyes, his his head resting lazily against Anderson's shoulder. "I didn't - I hurt you."
"Yeah, a bit." John said with a sigh. "But it's okay. I get it."
He quickly wrapped a bandage around Sherlock's arm, dropping his hand and taking the other.
"This one isn't actually as bad." John commented as he wiped Sherlock's arm with an antiseptic wipe.
"John..." Sherlock said suddenly, sitting up sharply. "I don't feel good."
"What is it?" John asked, grabbing Sherlock's chin and peering into his eyes.
Sherlock shook his head gently, looked up into John's face, and then vomited into his lap.
*
Half an hour later, John came back into the room, freshly showered and wearing clean clothes, to see Sherlock lying on the mattress, with Anderson and Donovan kneeling over him.
"What's happened?" John asked.
"He started shaking." Sally told him, reaching out to try to hold Sherlock still. "Really badly."
John dropped down next to Anderson and pushed Sally's hands away with a muttered "Don't hold him down."
Sherlock was shaking with violent spasms, his whole body seizing up and rattling with tremors.
"Okay." John said, staring down at Sherlock. "All we can really do here is keep him comfortable. Mycroft and Lestrade should be here soon, but can one of you go and get the bin from the bathroom for me in case he throws up again."
Anderson jumped up and ran into the bathroom to get the bin, leaving Sally and John to take care of Sherlock. John carefully raised Sherlock's head and placed his pillow underneath it, smiling down at Sherlock and tried not to cringe at the way his pale face was filled with reluctant, embarrassed gratitude.
"It's okay, Sherlock." He whispered, gently stroking his sweaty hair and hearing the sounds of Mrs Hudson opening the front door, announcing the imminent arrival of Mycroft and Lestrade. "You're nearly through the worst of it now."
"What's going on?". Lestrade asked as he stepped through the door, surveying the scene in front of him.
"Muscle spasms have started." John replied. "We need to keep an eye on him in case he starts seizing but I think he's nearly through the worst."
"That sounds correct." Mycroft said. "The spasms were the last of the withdrawal symptoms he experienced last time he came off cocaine. I would estimate that they will last around a day."
"J-John." John's attention snapped back to Sherlock at the sound of his weak, stuttering voice. "Cold."
"Okay, Sherlock." John said, pulling his duvet over and covering Sherlock with it, right up to his chin. "Let's see if this helps."
Sherlock nodded gratefully, pulling the duvet further up into his face. After a moment, though, he let out a cry of pain, and held his hand out towards Mycroft, who simply nodded in understanding and knelt down beside his brother to take his hand.
The muscles in Sherlock's right hand had completely seized up, leaving him clutching the duvet in a stiff, painful, claw-like grip. John watched as Mycroft gently pulled Sherlock's fingers straight and started massaging the palm of his hand, easing the stiffness away from the muscles.
"Anything I can do?" Lestrade asked, watching the scene sadly.
"Er, yeah." John replied. "Can you just grab a bottle of lukozade and a straw from the kitchen for me?" Lestrade nodded, and walked into the kitchen, bringing the drink back and handing it to John.
"Sherlock?" John said, slipping the straw into the bottle and holding it in front of Sherlock's mouth. "Can you sip at this?"
Sherlock nodded slowly, taking the straw in his mouth and sipping slowly.
"Good." John said with a smile. "Just keep drinking like that."
*
It took more than an hour for Sherlock to finish the drink, but, when the bottle was finally empty, he smiled at John with a mumbled "Thanks", and watched as John threw the bottle in the bin.
"John?" He said after a moment. "It's not working. I'm still so cold."
"Okay." John said, pulling the duvet up and sliding under, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. "How about this? Is this better?"
Sherlock nodded, burrowing further into John's warmth and closing his eyes. John placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, smiling up at Mycroft and Lestrade and just holding Sherlock as he drifted off to sleep.
A/N: Gotta say this.... SO HAPPY!! My sister's boyfriend asked to meet my dad for a drink today... to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage!!! WEDDING!!! YAY!!!!
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