Ten minutes later, John allowed Sherlock to enter his bedroom unassisted.
It was a stressful situation; the detective was used to solving mysteries and facing murders and kidnappings, but it was Mycroft they were talking about now. Despite the fact that the younger man would never admit it, especially in front of the British Government officer, seeing his brother hurt had shocked him.
John thought he should give Sherlock some time alone to regain his composure. Better not to push him on the subject when he was not ready to talk about it, but wait for him to process the events instead.
The doctor prepared another cup of tea while waiting for his friend to come back to the living room in order to discuss what to do. Fifteen minutes later he started to worry. The detective hadn’t shown up yet. What if Sherlock was hurt?
Stupid stupid doctor you are, you left him alone! What if he fainted, hit his head on the floor? Or worse?
He marched to Sherlock’s door and called his mate’s name. He couldn’t hear any sound coming from inside the room. Putting aside his anxiety, he tried to maintain a neutral tone while calling for Sherlock once again.
“Sherlock, are you ok? If you don’t answer me, I’m going to come in,” he stated.
He waited for a few seconds but the detective didn’t reply.
“Alright, I’m entering now, Sherlock. I swear if you did something stupid I’ll kick your arse for the rest of your life!”
Gripping the door handle with more force than necessary, John pushed the door open; actually, he didn’t know what to expect, but what he saw made him angry and very worried.
The younger man was resting comfortably on the double bed, lying on his back; his chest rose and fell in synch with his breath, and at least that was comforting, but his eyes were open, glassy and unfocused and his lips partly open. He was high on something. ( Read more... )