"What was it like to lose him?" Sorrow asked.
There was a long pause before I responded.
"It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me - said all at once."

- Lang Liev

The smell of alcohol was thick in the air, an unpleasant sting in the nostrils. When Greg opened the door, he had to hastily cover his nose.

A wave of chinese takeaway, tea and alchohol hit his face. He tried not to gag. As he approached the living room, a wave of guilt crashed over him. I should've come here sooner. He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

"You've seen better days." He muttered. He tried to flick on the lamp on the table, but it didn't work. He lit a match just in time to see the corner of John's mouth twitched, the ghost of a faint smile. He didn't answer.

Lestrade stepped closer, careful not to step on the take away boxes. "You need to get out of this apartment, John. I've seen corpses with healthier skintone than you, and you know I'm not jo- ouch!" He shook his hand, letting the black match fall. He stood in the darkness for a while, rubbing his fingers.

He got a grumpy growl in return. Lestrade tried to grab his arm, but John jerked his arm away, and he actually had the nerve to flip him off.

He sighed. "Look, you ca-" "Leave me alone," The doctor slurred, his eyes focusing on the detective inspector. He tried to get up, but only ended up knocking over all the empty bottles.

"I'm alright, I'm alright," he said, scambling around on the floor. Judging by his voice and how he spoke; he was definitely very drunk. Lestrade finally snapped.

"John, for Christ's sake! It's 10 in the morning and still you're drunk up to your ears! And agha-" he stopped, wafting with his hand in front of his nose. "It really smells in here. Seriously John, when was the last time you took a shower?" He looked around the room, his eyes was finally adjusting. It was a fucking trainwreck. Some of the nastiest places he'd seen, to be honest. But he couldn't help but notice how despite the mess, everything looked exactly as it did before the... incident.

John looked up, tapping his chin. He just shrugged, looking like he didn't care whatsoever. Lestrade sighed loudly, but his dismay didn't reach John. He just sat there, swaying back and forth like a child.

He really needs help, Greg thought.

"Come on John, let's fix you up." He dragged a reluctant John by his arm, giving him support down the stairs. "Where are we going Gavin?" John said with a confused look.

Greg stopped abruptly. Did he just fucking "Gavin" me? Greg fought the urge to smack him. Only Sherlock could go away with that.

"We are going to the yard. Relax, no one will see you, I'll make sure of it."

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Hallo! This is my first fic and I'm Norwegian, so it will probably be dull and have a looooot of bad grammar/spelling. I felt like I had to write it because it's been on my mind a long time. This chapter is quite short. Honestly, I just had to post something to get started.

So um bye

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