Johnny searches about, but can't find the front man anywhere. He expected to find him on the bus, but it was completely empty so he heads off to join the after party figuring he may be there. Sherlock wasn't there, from what John could tell; but that Moriarty bloke was. He was in the corner chatting with Molly who was blushing like a school girl; needless to say there was something off. A certain malicious glint in Moriarty's eyes that just rubbed Johnny the wrong way. Quickly procuring a drink he chatted with a couple roadies before saddling up to Ia for a quick word.
"Haven't seen him," Ia states knowingly.
"Don't know what you're on about," he sips his drink.
"Mhmm…" she hums, eyeing him.
"What ya think about number one fan there?" Johnny motions across the room to Moriarty.
"He's an infant," she informs him simply, "Wanting to play with the big boys."
"That's one way to put…"
"God help the world if someone's foolish enough to sign him."
"That creepy sod…who'd sign him?" Johnny chuckles.
"He's got Molly under his spell," She points out with a look, "He only needs to charm people who can be useful."
"Hmm…" he glares thoughtfully at the man. "Molly's a smart girl, surely she sees something."
"Oh she does," The Woman assures, "Every woman loves attention once in awhile…Don't fret Johnny boy," She pats his cheek, "He'll be gone tomorrow… then this will be nothing more than a bad dream." Ia strides off to greet some other people.
The night progresses, John keeping an eye out for his seemingly absent band mate; as well as the Irish man. It's more of a laid back after party tonight, people drinking and chatting calmly instead of raging. Johnny's pleased; he didn't much feel like getting too off his head tonight anyway. This leg of the tour was shaping up to be a bit busier, which was becoming tiring. He had wedged himself in a corner chatting up a couple groupies and getting to know a couple roadies.
"It was such a mess… I ain't lying, it got everywhere," The one girl giggles, telling a story that John had zoned out off.
Across the room, Moriarty was slipping out of Sherlock's room brushing off his sharp outfit. Johnny and the Irish man make eye contact; a smug smirk twisting the man's face as he raises a brow in a challenging gesture, John hardening his gaze never breaking eye contact as he takes a sip of his drink. Moriarty scuttles off into a group of people and virtually disappearing.
"Needless to say the whole beat thing weren't for us," the girl ends, everyone chuckling as John seizes the opportunity to excuse himself.
Taking a roundabout path, he ends up at Sherlock's door hesitating before slipping into the room. Sherlock's on the ledge of the winged back chair with his knees drawn up, the familiar thrumming coursing through him as he stares blankly a head as his mind whirls.
"Sherlock," Johnny calls stepping cautiously closer, "Alright?" he asks, noticing the sheen of sweat clinging to the man's sallow skin. For a second Sherlock looks like he's about to answer, his lips quirking as he trembles. John's there with the bin as soon the dark haired man begins to retch, the tremors getting worse. "Sherlock what happened?" he asks, keeping his voice steady as he dreads the worse. The younger man whimpers a bit, clutching onto John after being sick, John catching sight of the glittering letter M scrawled on his pale neck.
"Come on, to the toilet," Johnny instructs, hoisting the slight form up, "Christ you're shaking like a leaf… did Jim do this?"
The question earns him a weak head motion that he can't tell if it's a shake or a nod as Sherlock's eyes start to flutter. Luckily Molly chooses that moment to come in.
"Sherlock, I," She stares doe eyed at the sight before her.
John's grip slipping desperately toward the floor as his band mate starts to seize. "Get Lestrade now," Johnny orders the costumer urgently.
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