His Little Pill (JohnLock Fanfic)

Poison Pill

He hated the pills, he hated what they represented: weakness. They gave him these for his post-traumatic stress, the stressed caused by little Jim pitching himself from a roof. The body so splattered that Sherlock, who prided himself on his strong stomach, even felt his face twist in distaste. The memory still gave him gooseflesh. Irritated that the simple memory of Jim drove him to this weakness, he laid on his bed and prepared for sleep.

He did not know how long he slept, but he woke with a start from a dreamless sleep and threw his guts up into the toilet. John, who had come back at some point while he slept, came into the open bathroom and looked at Sherlock's quaking body with concern.

"Are you alright?" John asked, his expression nervous.

"People always ask that, don't they?" Sherlock whispered huskily, spitting bile into the toilet. " 'Are you alright?' Although it is quite clear that I am not 'alright'. I have a massive headache."

"Don't be a prat, Sherlock." John hissed, wetting a rag with cold water before putting it on the back of the boy's neck. "Does this help?"

Sherlock let out a weary, contented sigh, and wiped the acrid saliva from his chin with toilet paper. "Thank you."

"What happened?"

"... Had a stress episode before I fell asleep. Maybe it just hit me late." Sherlock lied, standing abruptly and nearly knocking John on his ass.

"I need to wash my mouth out," Sherlock said more to himself than John, going to the sink to fill his cup.

John, feeling snubbed, threw the rag on the floor with a scowl, "Feel better. I'm gonna check in with Greg, we may be going to the shops. I'll be back soon."

Sherlock swished the water in his mouth and spit in the sink, he nearly caught himself saying 'I won't wait up' before he choked on the air he had breathed and coughed roughly, nearly giving himself a worse headache from the strain.

John left with a spared look of concern in Sherlock's direction, taking his phone with him.

...

Time seemed to pass very slowly with John gone, Sherlock felt his mouth go dry after a while and kept trying to drink water but it didn't seem to help. After a while, the pacing around the room left him unbalanced so he flopped into a sitting position on the floor. His headache began to worsen. He checked his watch, but couldn't seem to grasp the time. In a panic, he called John.

The phone rang five long tones before he answered, "Sherlock? Hello?"

"John..." was all he could get himself to say, before he started shaking violently. "John... JOHN!"

"I'm coming, give me ten minutes!" John yelled.

...

The door opened with a crash, Sherlock collapsed sideways on the floor beside his bed, skin stark white and his eyes dulled as he laid in a pool of his own bile.

"John... You came." Sherlock had a soft smile, one so vulnerable it terrified John at the sight of it. Tears were trickling from Sherlock's eyes slowly, as if of their own accord. They dripped from the bridge of his nose to the floor, eyes brimmed red and puffy. "John... I don't want to die."

"Greg, call an ambulance!" John yelled, Greg's eyes popped out of his head at the yelling. "GREG!"

"Right, right." Greg muttered, hands fumbling as he got on the phone with emergency services. His lower lip shook and his hands tremored, but he patiently recounted his need for an ambulance. He stuttered minutely but kept his head, exhaling sharply.