A/N Hello again my beautifuls (no really). Here is a brand new chapter for your pleasure. This actually took up seven word pages. (I AM NOT USED TO THAT AMOUNT OF WRITING ARGGGG) But again THANK YOU so much you amazing, brilliant wonderful REAL people.

I had a day off of school today so i spent the whole day trying to write this. It was not easy, writers block plus seven very long pieces of homework kept stopping me but i got through it. I have the whole weekend free now so i will try and get a head start on the next chapter. I want to say thank you again for the response i would really love it if you reviewed.

But enough of my pointless boring babbling, Here is a new chapter of Emotions! I really hope you enjoy this.

Everything is passing by in flashes.

John is running, his feet blurring as he rushes towards his home, to Sherlock.

Lestrade is shouting, his hands trying desperately to get Sherlock's heart beating.

Sherlock is dying; his mind is a blur of memories. Then he hears distant shouting.

John reaches the front door to 221 Baker Street and fumbles for his key. His heart feels as though it's trying to escape from his chest and his brain is pounding inside his head. He starts panicking when he can't find his key. When he finally finds it after checking the same pocket three times he shoves it into the door, in the back of his head he realises his hands aren't shaking. When the door flies open he can hear Lestrade cursing from above, he pushes himself and practically flies up the steps that lead him to 221b. The door is already wide open and when he arrives at Sherlock's door his heart shatters.

He has seen a lot of things in his time. He has seen people getting blown to shreds and shot. He has seen Sherlock himself hurt countless times but none of that prepared him for the site of his best friend sprawled lifelessly across the floor while Lestrade tries to push the life back into him. The rest of the room blurs out and all he can see is Lestrade and Sherlock and John realises that this is the moment that defines his future. This is the moment that Sherlock either lives or dies.

John takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the next few minutes. Just as he's letting out a breath he sees Sherlock fingers twitch. Then he sees Sherlock shudder. John sees a bit of life burst into him as Sherlock whole body starts twitching.

Sherlock is sucking in breaths and his chest feels like it's on fire. His whole body feels like it's on fire, there is an inferno in his veins and he tries to throw off the weight on his body. His limbs feel heavy and he swears he can feel the gravity pulling him down, like it's trying to take him through the floor boards. He can hear a buzzing and whining in his ears and it gets louder and louder.

John watches as Lestrade's tense body sags and hears him breathe out "Thank god. Jesus. Jesus". John switches into doctor mode right there; he knows Sherlock isn't out of the woods just yet.

"Lestrade help me get him into the recovery position" Lestrade lifts his suddenly heavy body off of Sherlock and helps John carefully push Sherlock onto his side. Sherlock is still twitching and his eyes are shut tight. John ignores the scratches he can see littering Sherlock's skin and feels around for Sherlock's pulse.

He can hear the sirens in the distance and he lets himself have a little hope that Sherlock will be okay. He only allows himself a little and he knows even if Sherlock is fine after all this that this scene will haunt his nightmares for years to come. John can feel some of his self-hatred churning in his stomach but he stubbornly pushes it down. He knows that won't help his best friend get better.

He can hear the paramedics coming up the stairs; can hear their footsteps running into the house. He can hear Lestrade shouting to the paramedics who are undoubtedly rushing straight through the open door.

"In here, In here" John feels like everything around him is a dream and that slowly he will wake up in his bed shouting and sweating. He sees the paramedics run into the room and pushes his back right up against the wall. John knows that he should leave the paramedics to their job. He hears Lestrade speaking quickly to them.

"He took a vial of this morphine, neither of us is sure when but it must not have been that long ago. If I had to guess it was probably around an hour ago"

One of the paramedics, a short brown haired man, starts questioning Lestrade while he straps Sherlock onto a stretcher, "Does he have a history of substance abuse?".

"Yes, from what I can remember cocaine and heroin. I can't remember him ever mentioning morphine. He's overdosed twice before."

"Has he got any mental health problems and does he take any pills?"

Lestrade gets up from the floor and runs a palm over his face before answering. "From what his brother told me I think he had to take pills when he was younger but I don't think he does now. Bloody hell. His doctors never got a real diagnoses on him, I just. I don't have enough information to tell you exactly." In the time it took for Lestrade to say this, the paramedics had gotten Sherlock onto the stretcher and were making their way to the stairs.

John stared with wide eyes as Sherlock started shivering and muttering under his breath. He heard Lestrade swear from behind him and John suddenly remembered something.

"Greg, we need to tell Mycroft about this."

"Bugger, I know. He probably knows all about this already though. I think I have his emergency number but I can't exactly guarantee it will work. I haven't used it in over a year." John just nods and follows two steps behind the paramedics. John realises he had only come home less than five minutes ago and he had found out more about Sherlock's past than in the whole he's known the man. While they loaded Sherlock into the stretcher John started panicking. He couldn't let Sherlock out of his sight; he knew something bad could still happen. Lestrade saw John frozen scared and awkwardly patted his back. He awkwardly cleared his throat and waited until one the men looked at him.

"Can I ride with you, I'm a doctor?"

"Are you family?"

"Yes" John figured one little white lie wouldn't make a difference and he definitely couldn't ride in a cab while god knows what went on in the ambulance. To his left Lestrade cleared his throat and when John faces him smiled grimly.

"I'll take a cab mate, I'll see you in the hospital" John just nodded and hopped into the ambulance and hoped with all his might that nothing would go wrong in the short ride to the hospital.

Five minutes into the ride John started fidgeting; it was taking longer than he expected to reach the hospital. John checks his watch for the first time and realises its rush hour. He swears repeatedly in his head. He looks at Sherlock's blank face, the shivering hasn't stopped and it almost seems as though he's vibrating. His face is paler than he's ever seen it and his cheek bones look as sharp as glass.

John thinks back to the past few days and realises that he hadn't seen Sherlock actually leave the house, or sleep, or eat. Sherlock had been ignoring him for a whole week and when he did speak to him it was only to insult John. This time John swears out loud. He wonders how he could have possibly missed his best friend slipping further and further away from him. He had become so irritated he had just said the most hateful thing he could think of and caused Sherlock to do this. He can feel tears springing to his eyes as he watches his friend increase his shaking.

John reaches out and takes Sherlock's hand and strokes across the knuckles. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry. You're my best friend and I wish I could take it all back. Just, please. Don't leave me, don't leave any of us. We need you. I shouldn't have said any of that to you, I was so wrong. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. You are not a freak, you are human, and you are a good man. Sure you can be a dick sometimes but that's just you Sherlock. I'm sorry, just get better. Don't leave. Don't leave me."

John genuinely doesn't know what he would do if Sherlock wasn't with him. Everything John said was the truth, and he really was very sorry. He had tears in his eyes but he stubbornly kept them there. He would not cry now.

Just then Sherlock opened his eyes and stared straight at John. The other paramedics didn't notice, they were too busy trying to figure out the quickest route. Sherlock's eyes were stormy, impossibly piercing even though his body was weak. Then Sherlock opened his mouth and uttered four words that not only broke John's heart but shattered it.

"I want to go"

John stopped breathing. He sat there or what felt like eternity staring into Sherlock's eyes. Those unbearably sad eyes. John realised that this was Sherlock with his guards down; the drug was probably still ripping its way through his body. It was leaving Sherlock defenceless. Sherlock smiled the saddest smile on earth as one tear dropped from his eye, shuddered once, and then fell still.

John felt his whole world stop and stutter, and then he could hear the nothing. He couldn't hear Sherlock's heartbeat. His best friend's heart had stopped. He watched as the paramedics blurred into actions, John knew they were qualified for this and that this was their job but he had to force himself to sit down and not slip into full doctor mode.

Sherlock's whole body was limp and lifeless.

"He's arresting, we need to defibrillate. Charging to..."

John watched as electricity surged through his friend's body before it fell lifeless again. John didn't usually pray to god, he didn't normally pray to anything but right now as he watched his friend's body turn paler he prayed to any and all god that would listen. He repeated the same thing over and over again.

Please, just let him live. I'll give anything, just let him live. Please, he's my friend. Please give me a miracle, anything. Please, just let him live. I'll give anything, just let him live. Please, he's my friend. Please give me a miracle, anything.

The tears finally escaped from John's eyes as he prayed. He kept his blurring gaze on Sherlock's face when he suddenly sucked in a huge ragged breath and John's head fell into his hands in relief.

"He's stabilising, what's the ETA?"

"Only two minutes."

"Good, hey mate you okay? Mate?"

John realised the voice was talking to him and raised his head; he was met with the brown-haired man's face. He nodded his head weakly and swallowed.

"Alright, you sure?" John just nodded weakly again, It was clear that he man didn't believe him, "Do you know if his heart stopped before we came"

John thought back to when he saw Lestrade resuscitating Sherlock, the visuals played in front of his eyes and a strangled noise escaped him. "I, I think so. I mean yes, yes" The paramedic smiled thinly in sympathy and turned back to checking over Sherlock.

Absently John noted that his heart was beating rather fast and his breathing was coming in quick gasps. He forced himself to breath slowly and deeply, eyes still glued to Sherlock.

When the ambulance stopped less than a minute later John stayed seated and watched as they eased Sherlock through the entrance. He followed blindly and listened as they explained Sherlock's condition. When a nurse told him he couldn't go in with Sherlock he just nodded and walked to the waiting seats dazedly.

He was still sitting there when Lestrade rushed in. He let out a shaky breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob and put his face in his hands again. He was suddenly aware of just how tired he was. He felt as though a gust of wind could push him to the ground and he would happily stay there.

Lestrade saw John hunched on a waiting chair and stopped his questioning of the nurse. He walked towards him and collapsed onto one of the extremely uncomfortable metal seats. He shifted a bit before hesitantly placing a gentle hand on Johns back. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at Lestrade. He purposely didn't mention that he could tell that John had obviously been crying and just asked what happened.

"His heart," Johns voice broke and he swallowed dryly before starting again, "His umm, heart stopped when we were in the ambulance. I mean, god Greg, I thought I lost him there for a minute." A stinging pain was working its way through John's chest, he coughed to try and get rid of it but it just stayed and grew. In some part of his brain he acknowledged that it was probably the guilt showing its face but John just rubbed his chest through his Jumper.

"Yeah, well from what I hear he's not exactly out of the woods yet. God, I thought he was over this. Me and Mycroft spent so much time, that bastard. What happened mate? I really don't want to think that he got that bored." John was really starting to wonder what had happened in Sherlock's past and how big a part Lestrade played in it. He could still feel the heat of the guilt growing stronger.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't know what to look for. I didn't even know about all of that… stuff before today. I mean if I saw it, I wouldn't have… God. Why didn't anyone tell me about this before?"

"To be honest, we actually thought he would've told you. That was a bit stupid of us, it is Sherlock." Lestrade looked down at the floor and shook his head. He ran two hands down his face and yawned.

"Oh god, Oh god. I mean, this is actually happening. This is Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. And he…" John couldn't finish that sentence, just trying to say it was causing bile to build and he swallowed harshly before carrying on. "Do you think he done it on purpose, do you think he actually meant to…" John sucked in a quick breath to stop the guilt overwhelming him. If Sherlock had done it on purpose with the intention of death, John didn't really know what he was going to do with himself.

"I really don't know. It wasn't like the last time." Johns eyes widened when he heard the end of that sentence.

"The last time. Jesus, Jesus. So nobody thought to tell me that my Sherlock tried to... Didn't anybody think this might be important information?" John was really trying to reign in his anger. He really didn't understand how Mycroft of all people hadn't told him some of this.

"To be honest I haven't really thought about it in a while. You're really good for him John, I mean just a couple of years ago he was… really destructive. Anybody could've seen that from just one look at his face. He was literally skin and bones, it was disturbing. The amount of times I had to drag him back to his flat after someone found him in some alleyway. You would've thought that git would appreciate it. What I don't understand is why it happened now."

"I think it was me" John said this so quietly that Lestrade struggled to hear it.

"What?"

"I mean me and Sherlock we were arguing and I just lost it. I didn't realise, he was in a bad mood and he was just saying things I didn't want to hear. I didn't mean it, I was just pissed off and Sherlock was being annoying and he's right. I don't think. God I'm an idiot." John said all of this in a rush and sucked in a big breath. Lestrade leaned back slightly from John and stared right into his eyes.

"John, what did you say?" Lestrade this harshly and if they were in any other situation John would've remarked on the fact that Lestrade sounded like he was Sherlock's father.

"I just… I… I said I didn't even know if he was human and I. I called him … a freak."

Lestrade stood up and slowly ran one hand over his face and through his hair a few times. He looked like he was controlling his breathing but little hitches still came through. When he looked at John it seemed as if he was trying very hard not to glare. He started pacing back and forth all the while muttering under his breath. Suddenly, he stopped in front of John.

"Oh god. I… John. I can't, I'm just going to get a cup of coffee. Just, don't move."

John let out a deep sigh and sat back down on the chair even though he knew he would be more comfortable standing. He thought he deserved to be uncomfortable right now. He knew Sherlock was here because of him. The heat in his chest was growing even further now and he put his head between his knees to stop himself from hyperventilating. Any energy that he had left swiftly left his body and he sagged down even more. After about ten minutes of this he was feeling useless so he got up and tried to pry some information from the nurses.

After five minutes of unsuccessfully trying to gain some information about Sherlock's health Lestrade walked back in with two coffee cups in hand. John watched as he carefully placed them on the stained coffee table that stood in front of John.

In hindsight John probably should've expected what happened next but he was too tired and distracted to. Lestrade leaned back and punched John in the face. Hard. He went down like a rock.

John tried to blink away the dark spots clouding his vision and saw a male hand floating in front of his face. He took the offered hand and only when he was stood up straight he realised it was Lestrade with a very serious look on his face.

"I would say I'm sorry but I'm not and you really deserved that." Lestrade nodded once then lent down and offered John a coffee cup.

"If anything I was waiting for someone to do that." Really John was just appreciative that someone cared enough about Sherlock to sock a former soldier. John took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. He saw Lestrade take deep gulps of his and looked at him with slight awe. Lestrade noticed.

"You get used to horrible coffee after you've worked at the Yard for so long." John just nodded and looked down into his coffee cup in slight disgust. He saw Lestrade look at something over his shoulder, saw him nod slightly before looking back at John whispering "Good luck" and swiftly walking away.

John turned and saw Mycroft calmly walking towards him with his ever-present umbrella. John stood up straighter and swallowed. When he looked at Mycroft a bit closer he could see slight panic disguised in his eyes.

"John, how is my little brother"

John had the feeling to reply sarcastically before he realised that this was Sherlock's family and contrary to what both the brothers might say they cared very deeply of each other.

"I don't know. They haven't told me anything since I came in here."

"What happened?" John started explaining from the very beginning how they had come to this. He didn't skip the argument but when he saw Mycroft's eyes harden he looked down at his shoes like a school boy being scolded. When he looked back up he could see some anger in his eyes and saw the hand clutching the umbrella tightening almost imperceptibly. Before he met Sherlock he probably wouldn't have noticed these things but having to deal with a Holmes brother had taught him a few tricks.

"I assume you want to punch me now or have me shipped off to some unknown desert or something".

"Oh believe me John that bruise forming on your face would have been from me but it seems as if Gregory beat me to it. I think I owe the detective inspector." Mycroft shot John a tight lipped completely menacing smile.

John breath stuttered slightly before he cleared his throat and looked Mycroft dead in the eye.

"I want to move out of Baker Street"

A/N I have never In my whole existence written this many cliff hangers. Sorry! (I'm not sorry)

You guys, i have absolutely no idea about how ambulances or hospitals handle overdoses, i could ask my friends but that sounds slightly insensitive. :( No ambulance has ever come for me if i over dose. But anyways... QUESTION TIME. X_X

How long do you guys want this fic to go on for? I promise i wont drag it on but it could end in 2 chapters or like five. It is your decision. Drop a review in or a PM and tell me. (You can even tell me some ideas for the ending.) WARNING-Major angst next chapter.

Please keep leaving reviews *vastly improved puppy eyes* i really do appreciate every single one. I also appreciate every reader who takes their actual time to read this (still haven't gotten over the fact that your real people). :)

The little review box below and me are feeling a little down :( so please drop in some reviews or hugs (or even virtual cookies) to help us feel better.

I bid you ado...

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