Be My Starlight

I'm an Otter!

     POV- John

"Mycroft?"

"What?"

"He's going to be okay, right?"

We are driving away from Sherlock, leaving him where he can get help at the rehab centre. His near fatal overdose last night caused a hospital trip which ended in Sherlock going crazy.

"He'll be fine, he comes home next week anyways. After that, he may have to move in with me in my flat."

Mycroft's cell buzzes, he takes the call immediately.

"Bloody hell!"

"What's wrong?"

"He already found a way out. And now we need to find him."

He drops me off at my flat after a few hours of searching, telling me he'll call me as soon as he finds Sherlock. I rush through the flat to get to my room, slamming the door shut in frustration. My room is dark, I turn on the lights quickly. Sherlock is sitting upside down in my armchair, staring blankly at the doorway.

"Hello. Sherlock?"

I walk over and sit on the floor next to him, getting no reaction when I lie my head on his shoulder. He falls asleep soon after, snoring softly. I pull out my cell and dial Mycroft, wincing at the sharp tone of his voice.

"Why is he there?"

"I don't know. He is sleeping right now, I just found him in my armchair when I walked in."

"Ill be right over. See if you can get him to move or respond to you."

He hangs up, promising he won't be long. About ten minutes later, I am dragging an uncooperative Sherlock through the flat. Mum's at work, thankfully, so she doesn't see the commotion. He literally goes limp, plopping down in the front room. Mycroft runs into the house to help, just picking up his brother and taking him to the car. Sherlock is crying again, close to screaming at us. I hold my arms out to him and he falls into me, trembling.

"Where are you taking him? Please don't take him back to the centre Mycroft."

"I don't intend to. We are heading to my flat, hopefully he can calm down before I take him home."

"No. He can't go back there either."

"He needs to."

Sherlock is shaking visibly now, Mycroft notices this in the mirror and speeds up. We stop in front of a large, upscale flat. I drag Sherlock out of the car, pulling him into the flat.

"Set him down on the couch, let him lie down."

He lets me carry him into the room, not complaining when I lie him down on the couch.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

I look over and see how pale he has suddenly turned, he is about to puke again.

"Need to... washroom. Now."

He groans again, stumbling as I help him down the hall. Thankfully he remembers where everything is, so finding the washroom isn't that difficult. I stay with him as he throws up again, cursing. Mycroft runs in, no doubt making sure Sherlock isn't puking on his floor.

"Is he...okay?"

"He will be. Withdrawal is horrible, and he just overdosed. He isn't getting much rest for a few days. We need to keep him hydrated."

Sherlock heaves again, groaning. I rub my hand across his back, trying to calm him even a little bit. He stands shakily, leaning on me for support. I help him back to the couch, where Mycroft has left a few water bottles and a note saying he will be back soon. Sherlock collapses onto the couch, dragging me down with him. His skin is dangerously hot, I need to cool him down somehow. He lays his head on my chest again, falling asleep soon after. Mycroft comes back a few hours later, disappearing into the kitchen. He asks me if I want anything to eat, which I accept. Sherlock wakes soon after Mycroft brings the food out, mumbling something about hedgehogs. Nothing he is saying makes sense, mostly asking about the small woodland creatures. I manage to convince him to lie back down against me, shaking again. Mycroft looks worried, lying his hand across Sherlocks forehead. He tries to convince me to go home, only relenting when Sherlock wakes again.

"John?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Stay? Please."

"Of course. I'm not leaving you, I swear."

He relaxes against me, whispering something to me. I lean closer to him, trying to make out the incoherent ramblings of Sherlock Holmes.

"You look like him."

"I look like who?"

"The hedgehog from the forest."

"Oh."

Mycroft loses it, laughing so hard he can't breathe. Sherlock's voice came out a loud whisper, again repeating the stuff about me and the hedgehog.

"Yes. You really look like him."

His face is straight, not sign he is joking.

"You see it too Mycroft? JOHN IS A HEDGEHOG NOW! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE REAL JOHN YOU RODENT!"

Mycroft is doubled over laughing, the first time I have ever seen him smile let alone laugh. He manages to say something in response.

"Y...Yes Sherlock. I see it too."

"JOHN! THE WEASEL IS BACK AGAIN! HELP! GET IT OUT!"

Sherlock has a straight expression plastered on his face, staring at us as if we were the crazy ones. He points to Mycroft, rambling on about a weasel in the forest. I, still laughing, pull Sherlock against me. He doesn't protest, instead giggling about the hedgehogs again.

"It tickles."

We sit laughing, unable to pull Sherlock back to reality. Its funny honestly, to watch someone as serious as Sherlock lose his sanity like this.

"I am an otter John. Look at me!"

He slips out of my arms and falls onto the ground.

"Sherlock, please sit down."

"Shhh! The weasel is going to find me. You need to hide too little hedgehog."

He jumps on top of me, shoving me under a blanket. I don't protest, wholly amused by the situation. Sherlock curls up next to me, trying to fit under the blanket with me. He wraps his arms around me again.

"Dont move hedgehog! The dragon already took John and Mycroft and the little otter, it cant get us too!"

His voice is slurred, jumbling his words together. He passes out in my lap, muttering still about the forest creatures. Mycroft gets up off the floor, still laughing hysterically, and tries to pull Sherlock off of me.

"Hes fine, Ive got him."

He lets us stay together, both of us laughing about what just happened.

"So..."

"What?"

"You're a hedgehog now? And he's an... Otter?"

"Better than being a weasel."

We laugh together as Sherlock snores. I fall asleep with Sherlock, smile still on my face. Mycroft sits back on the armchair and passes out there.

I wake up to the sound of Sherlock groaning and wriggling around on top of me.

"What's wrong my little otter?"

He stops moving, glaring up at me in confusion.

"What are you talking about...otter?"

I bust out laughing again, waking Mycroft. Sherlock rubs his temples, groaning again.

"Will you two stop it? My head hurts."

This only makes us laugh harder, trying to suppress it.

"Did the hedgehog and weasel make it back home okay?"

"Bloody hell you two! What are you talking about?"

"You don't remember anything?"

"Anything about what?"

I dont respond, instead start laughing again.

"You... You where completely insane! Some huge hallucination about woodland creatures. And... And a dragon, for some reason."

"I dont know what you are talking about."

"Nothing at all, my little otter?"

He glares up at me again, shaking his head. Mycroft smiles down at us, struggling not to laugh again.