We Drown Together

Songs for this fic:

No Death by Mirel Wagner

Arrival of the Birds –The Cinematic Orchestra

Based on this Tumblr post: post/25026299262/au-in-which-john-is-merely-a-delusion-created-by

A small prick of pain- not even pain, not anymore. Normal. The means to the end. The end, of course, being the sharp clearness of the world.

He could feel the effects starting as the drug coursed through his veins, restricting his blood flow, sharpening his vision, dilating his pupils. All of his senses were on high alert.

"You shouldn't do that, you know."

Sherlock smiled a knowing smile.

"John." He whispered, "I knew you'd come."

"I always do." John stood, clearing the cold cups of tea off of the cluttered table in front of the couch and taking them into the kitchen to wash.

Sherlock rolled off of the couch, straightening his ruffled purple dress shirt, and unbuttoning the top two buttons. He flexed his left arm, the preferred injection arm, and ruffled his already messy hair.

John glanced up at him from the sink, flushing a bit at the sight of Sherlock's collar bones.

With a stretch, Sherlock padded into the kitchen and nibbled at a biscuit before tossing it onto the island amidst beakers full of foul coloured substances and stacks of faded, dusty books.

"Sherlock." John scolded, nodding to the trash can.

Resigned, Sherlock picked up the biscuit and threw it away before wrapping his arms around John's waist.

"I'm attempting to do dishes, Sherlock."


"They'll never get done."

"I said later."

"Please." He whispered against John's neck, pressing his warm lips onto John's neck, biting him lightly.

John groaned, turning to face Sherlock, putting his hands on his chest.

"I said later."

"And I said now."




Sherlock growled a guttural sound in his throat, his pupils dilating further.


"Sherlock, don't do this. Let me finish cleaning, please. Later."


He unlocked his arms, slouching back to his place on the couch and closing his eyes, listening.

Water sloshing.

Small bubbles popping.

Dishes clonking against each other and against the side of the metal sink. Grating sounds, setting Sherlock's teeth on edge.

Then nothing.




"Do you know where you are?"

"Home. Couch."

"Try hospital bed."

"What?" Sherlock's eyes fluttered open, the grainy white ceiling coming into focus.

"You overdosed."

I couldn't have. I'm always careful."

"Bullshit. You overdosed."

"But John was there, he wouldn't have let that happen, I'm fine."

Sherlock pulled out his IV and the monitoring patches on his arm. The machine beeped erratically, alerting a group of nurses, who came rushing in.

Lestrade turned to them. "Give us a minute? He's okay." And then back to Sherlock.

"Not this, again, Sherlock. There is no John Watson. There never has been. You invented him."

"Leave me alone."

"Sherlock, you are alone."

"No. I'm not."

He drew a hot bath, pulling off his t-shirt and pajama pants before stepping into the scalding water. He closed his eyes for a minute, soaking the warmth into his cold body, his cold heart.

The needle sat beside the bathtub on a small shelf where the soap was usually kept.

He pushed the tip into his arm, into his vein, and plunged the cocaine into his bloodstream.

A dot of blood bubbled up when he removed it.

He watched as it was diluted into the water. Gone.

John sat at the other end of the bathtub, his legs on top of Sherlock's.

Sherlock smiled at him.

"We drown together, remember?"

Before letting himself slip under the water.

His body seized and began to shake and then was still.

"We drown together." John repeated.