His Little Pill (JohnLock Fanfic)

The Pill-in-the-Pocket

Meaning: (something used as needed)
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It wasn't even six in the morning when Molly and Greg woke to find John missing from where he'd fallen asleep. They found him scrubbing at the carpet in the room he shared with Sherlock, crying and grumbling to himself as he put an insane amount of elbow grease into the work.

"John, are you okay?" Molly asked gently, not getting too close.

The smell of vomit and cleaners mixed was putrid, and as much as she empathized with John, she tended to be a sympathetic puker and there was no point in making two messes.

"Sherlock, the damn imbecile, he had to go and-- shit! Why won't this come out?!" John threw the scrubber down, emotionally exhausted. "Why did he do this?"

"This was before you, John. You had nothing to do with it." Greg whispered, "He's done this before, even before Jim, he has a history of... self-destructive tendencies. You couldn't have stopped it. Even Sherlock couldn't have, he did that to the pills so long ago, he wouldn't be able to tell them apart-- he would have made sure that was the case."

"You knew?" John's voice warped, "Why didn't you do something?"

"What could any of us have done?" Greg urged severely, "You weren't around the last times, Molly and I were kept out of it, but it was bad enough that his own brother won't even let him see their parents.  Their parents used to visit Sherlock at the hospital every time, ask what they did wrong as parents, ask what they could do to help, it killed both Sherlock and Mycroft to watch their parents waste away over Sherlock's attempts, you know. Sherlock hasn't seen them in years. He wants to, but Mycroft and Sherlock refuse to until he's better."

"He doesn't know what better is," Molly whimpered, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Greg and I have been friends with him for years, but with you.... he seems to lighten a little. The road doesn't stop once he gets out, or gets a support system, it's his job to want to find a healthier way to survive and deal with this. Right now, he's better off being away from everything for a while."

"I know," John nodded, picking up the cleaner for another round. "Thanks. I just, I need some time... I'll take him his things today, he'll be able to call and text you then. He'll be restricted to family-only at least until tomorrow, he lied to get me on the list of family. If he doesn't keep you updated, I will. I may see you tonight... or not, I don't know."

Greg and Molly left silently, they sensed the relationship between Sherlock and John had changed, and wanted to respect the distance for now. So, John continued to scrub until the floor came clean, showered, collected Sherlock's things in a bag, packed a few things of his own, and waited until time got closer so he could go to the hospital.

...

Time passed slowly, but as the time passed his nerves began to settle. After arriving at the hospital in a cab, he got the room number from reception, and was met with the sight of Sherlock sleeping and Midsomer Murders whispering on the television. The thought of Sherlock guessing the culprit in the first few minutes, due to his perceptive nature, made him smile.

Sherlock looked less fragile today, the multitudes of IVs reduced to one and some color having returned to his face. His hair wasn't plastered to his forehead with sweat anymore, likely because he had been allowed a sit-in shower at some point while he was gone. Sherlock's mouth was parted, breathing quietly through his mouth in his sleep. John wanted to move a stray curl from Sherlock's forehead but restrained himself.

He set the essentials at point places in the room: toiletries by the sink, phone plugged in by the visitor chair, clothes in the small pantry, a jumper of John's on the ledge of the bed.