3 - johnlock [EDITING]

11

sherlock sat and waited at this point his brother would surly be looking for him i waited for him to come you were so high that the world seemed to be being shown from different perspectives he was tired and sore and hot but cold at the same time and at some point he had gotten drenched and then the next thing he knew it was dark out you know it is best for you to settle and wait even if you will get hell from mycroft i was bored and tired and i was never tired but almost always bored and my head was swirling and everythingwasblurringtogetherabdthecolorsthecolorsweresobrightiwanttoclosemyeyesbutitwilldissapearafterifinishandthedrugshabesetin a n d  n o t h i n g  m a k e s  s e n c e  a n y m o r eandicantdoit

ican'tdoit.

i can't do it.

i c a n ' t d o i t.

andblackness.

john: sherlock! wake the hell up!

a slap across my face. a ringing. sharp. blue yellow and white. yellow?

john: wake up sherlock holmes i know you can hear me!

me: well maybe if you didn't yell i could speak.

but i didn't say that, or at least that's not how it came out. imagine a dog trying to speak. and then add in some drooling. i licked my lips.

me: maybe you should stop yelling.

this time my mouth worked.

john: oh thank god. thank holy f*cking god.

i could hear him walk
away from the bed and put his back up against the wall before coming back to me.

me: can i get out of here?

john: (scoffing, i think) well i don't know you just practically had a drug overdose and your brother hates you. so maybe.

me: good, maybe now, if he hates me, he will stop stalking me.

john: he did, i made him find you. and it's good i did because you would be dead right now if it weren't for him.

i rolled my eyes. everything blurred together more and i couldn't even see john's face.

mycroft: brother mine.

me: you're not john.

mycroft: i should hope not. now. why were you out on a street curb at 1 in the morning with your head higher then the clouds?

me: last time i checked, it was none of your business. can i go now? thanks for caring.

mycroft: do you not believe i care?

i had made him snap. good.

mycroft: i was the one who had to stay up searching for you. and this is not the first time i had to save you from nearly killing yourself, you disaster. and everyone just calls me "fix it mycroft!! pick sherlock up at 1 in the morning! take away that vodka from him, mycroft! pull him out of a pool of his own blood, mycroft!.."

i still couldn't see. it was blurred and bright. but it almost sounded like mycroft was.. crying. or at least breathing heavily. i had never heard nor seen him cry. he is mycroft. he is him and he will not cry.

mycroft: and i'm busy, sherlock. i can't always be taking care of you.

and, before i could help it, don't blame me, it slipped out and i'm guessing it was a little past 3 am.

me: sorry.

it came out like a grunt. barely uttered. barely even heard, but it was enough. i heard mycroft standing up straight and adjusting himself.

mycroft: i'll tell john to come in. don't do this again, or you will be going in a mental hospital. you hated that when you were 17, i doubt you'd like it more now.

sigh.

(me too, buddy. sorry if you hate me for this chapter. lowkey *highkey* sucks.)