Chapter Text
“Sweetheart,” John murmurs, “I think you need to see someone.”
I look up at him. I’ve been resting in his arms in bed. Dear John. I can’t get enough of him. But still, a frisson of annoyance runs through me. I’ve been so good. I told him everything. About my father. The case.
I did something unprecedented. John and I—well, we dropped the case. Mycroft is taking care of it. And he promised me he wouldn’t tell me what he finds out.
And we didn’t go to Mummy’s birthday. I couldn’t cope. I kept having anxiety attacks.
This hasn’t happened for a very long time, the not-coping.
Then, one day, when John was out, I took a handful of sleeping pills and half heartedly drank a tumbler of rum. Then I called him while drinking a coffee—I’d thought maybe cocaine wouldn’t help the pull downwards. By then my chest was hammering and I'd thrown up.
Daddy, I had cried over the phone.
Sherlock?
Daddy help. I slurred, I fell down trying to get up, like a spider trying to pull itself up from the sink slowly filling with water, then slumping down, one leg already flattened out dead.
Daddy, come home. Daddy, where are you?
Sherlock, my sweet boy, John had said, his voice strained—even then, I could hear the strain— can you get on your side?
Uh-huh, I mumbled. It’s cold. And hot.
Sherlock, what did you take?
Um. Ativan and zolpidem anddddd. Uhmmm.
Sherlock, did you take lots?
I whimpered. My heart was pounding itself out of its chest. I thought I was going to explode. No, this wasn’t fun at all. What possessed me? I could have had my heroin or my cocaine. I could have had it. But I took a “ladies’ cocktail”.
Sherlock, Daddy needs to call 999.
Noo. No. I just want to talk to Daddy. I started to cry, then, horrible, slurred sobs. I’m tired. I’m TIRED!!! No, I want to talk to Daddy!
Oh Christ—Sherlock, love, Daddy is coming. It’s just, Mike and I went to a pub in Hampstead, so the tube is going to take me twenty minutes to get home.
No Mike! I howled. I only want Daddy!
Oh, sweetheart, you need—you need IV fluids, you need an EKG. You need—my smart boy, my very smart boy, I’m running to the tube stop. But I am going to have to call 999 my darling boy. I don’t have everything I need at home for this. Mike, can you—oh my god—Sherlock, love, are you still there?
Daddyyyy!!!
I remember in the background, Stamford’s calm, male voice. Overdose. Baker Street. Paramedic team now.
Then, and it wasn’t because of the drugs, it was because I was in pain, emotional pain, I blacked out.
***
I came to in Bart’s Hospital. Daddy’s drawn face above mine. I was hooked up to a few machines and that was scary, I don’t like needles.
I told the scary blonde nurse that it was just a mistake. That I had just been very tired. Daddy had clenched his jaw and that was scary too.
They let me go. They slid the needle to the IV bag out of my skin and then Daddy led me out by hand and one of Mycroft’s cars took us home.
In the dark, cool, leather car, I slipped my thumb into my mouth and let myself cry.
Daddy pushed me away and said, Sherlock .
And I cried harder because I didn't understand why he was being mean to me. Daddy, are you still my Daddy?
Daddy helped me up the stairs to 221B. And he helped me into bed and then he got under the covers with me. He held his hand over my sore, tired eyes. He tipped a bottle with cool water into my mouth and I suckled.
Of course, I’m still your Daddy, he gritted out. It was odd, like his voice was wheezing. There wasn’t any air. It was a hiss. But you scared me Sherlock, and you’re still scaring me now.
I cried at his words. I cried at how lost I was and how I had lost everything. He held me until we both fell asleep, but my sleep was fitful, and I was aware, in my dreams, as I slept, that I was alone.
***
I feel weak and shaky most days.
Even now, my chest is hammering too strongly, hurting.
I can hear John, my doctor, Daddy. It’s because of your history with Drugs, Sherlock. The overdoses. The suicide attempt.
“I’m fine,” I say.
John shifts. “This has been going on for—well for a few months now—I haven’t worked and neither have you—”
“I don’t want to see anyone besides you!”
If I had any pride left, I would have cringed at the way my hand fisted in Daddy’s jumper and the whine in my voice.
“I’m not—I’m not giving you away, Sherlock, my love,” Daddy says. “But… I'm concerned.”
I lean up and put my mouth against Daddy’s, but he puts his hands on my face and pushes me back.
“Sweetheart, no. Not right now. I want to talk to you.”
“This is helping me, John. Being here with you. I need this. I don’t want to see anyone.”
“You haven’t taken any cases. You barely leave the flat. And Sherlock. I’m—I'm scared I won’t be able to help you. With what you actually need. Because this—and I love this—it isn’t a full life for you.”
John looks at me, but I look away. I can’t do eye contact right now. I don’t know what to tell him. It was a very bad and scary thing that happened. “I need you more than anything. I need you more than before.”
“Sweetheart.”
“I don’t want any more cases. I don’t want to go outside the flat. I just want to stay here with you. I want—I want to stop working. It’s always been too hard to work, to keep it all together, and now I’m tired.”
The lines around John’s eyes tighten. “I know. You said.” He’s referring to that day. To what I said over the phone. “I’m scared I’ll lose you though, baby. I’m scared—you’ll die. And if that happens, we’ll never see each other again. And I want to keep seeing my sweet boy and my big Sherlock for as long as possible.”
I shrug and burrow back into him. His warmth. “I need to use the loo, Daddy.”
He pats my bum and helps me to the loo where I sit down and pee. I’m wearing pull ups with a pirate pattern. When I'm done, Daddy helps me flush and pull my pull ups back up and wash my hands. I don’t look into the mirror. I don’t want to see the thin, gaunt man that I’ve become.
We go back to bed and I let a few tears slip out. “There’s something wrong with me,” I say.
“Oh, love,” Daddy says. “My sweet Sherlock.”
“I think there’s a dark part of me you don’t understand.”
“Oh, Sherlock. Yes.”
And then I’m crying, and then Daddy is feeding me his thumb and holding me very tight and the baby in me holds onto him even tighter, sucking and crying, scared and lost at sea.