A/N: Hi! This is my fieat fic so I chose my longest to post first. This was written as an rp with a friend of mine who does not have a FFN account. I hope you like this. Sorry it's so sad. Happier fics to come.
Hugs and Butterfly kisses,
goodmorning221b
John sat on the couch of 221B Baker Street. He had had all the pain and hurt and sadness building up inside of him for five months now. Tonight that would end.
He squeezed the razor blade in his hand, the sharp metal making small incisions into his palm. After a couple of seconds he maneuvered it so that he was holding it like a pen.
He started to carve letters into his arm, slowly but surely. The beads of blood fell onto his favourite jumper. The name SHERLOCK began to form, it's scarlet letters painting a morose picture on the ex-army doctour's forearm.
Sherlock pulled his coat closer around him, making sure his collar was up. He felt a shiver go down his spine. There was something wrong with John. Sherlock took out his phone and texted Mycroft
'Check on John
-SH'
Mycroft picked up his phone and read Sherlock's text.
'I just did yesterday. He's fine. MH'
John took a deep breath and let his grip on the blade slacken slightly.
Sherlock huffed at his brothers response, typical of Mycroft to not do what Sherlock asked. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right with John, even if his brother said otherwise.
'Brother dearest if you could call him it would be appreciated.
-SH'
Sherlock started walking down the street, waiting for Mycroft to respond with how John was.
Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother but sent a quick text back before calling John.
'Fine. MH'
John jumped as the phone rang. He sighed and rolled his eyes. He knew it was Mycroft. His flatmate's brother was the only one who ever talked to him anymore. And John wasn't in the mood for talking. He picked up the phone and set the ringer to silent before taking the blade back to his arm, this time cutting the initials SH into his palm.
Mycroft was worried now. Usually John at least picked up or texted him as to why he didn't.
'He didn't pick up. MH'
Sherlock read Mycroft's text and stopped in his tracks. John was in trouble. He started running to Baker Street, worry clenching his heart.
Mycroft got into his car and told the driver to head to Baker Street. Something was wrong.
John heard the door open but ignored it. He didn't care. It was probably a friend of Mrs. Hudson's.
Sherlock took the steps two at a time; the heart that he didn't have beating so hard he thought it would jump out of him. He stopped in front of the door to the flat, and righted his breathing a bit. His hand reached out to slowly push open the door, not sure what could be waiting for him. None of the possibilities he thought of were as shocking as the sight he found when the door opened.
Blood was dripping onto the floor. John's blood was dripping onto the floor. John was why his blood was dripping onto the floor. Sherlock blinked and took a shaky breath. Why would John do this?
John looked up as Sherlock entered the flat. He blinked a few times. He must have been hallucinating from the blood loss. He shook his head and went back to what he had been doing, tears in his eyes now.
Mycroft pulled up in from of the flat and slowly opened the door. He could see his brother's form at the top of the stairs. He waited, not wanting to disturb what was going on.
Sherlock was snapped out of his trance when John looked back down to his arm. Sherlock's eyes darted around John, taking note of how small and broken he looked. Sherlock slowly walked over to John and gently grabbed John's hand. "John." Sherlock whispered and took away the razor. "Don't be an idiot," Sherlock tried to lighten the mood, "Only I get to risk my life because I'm bored." His heart broke when he met John's eyes. He wanted to help his blogger.
John looked back up. "You're dead. I'm dreaming. Just leave me alone. Can't you see I want to end it?" He pushed Sherlock away from him and grabbed the razor back, accidentally cutting the tip of his thumb. He swore and proceeded to cut the tips of his other fingers for good measure.
Mycroft heard a struggle and began to silently climb the stairs, he didn't want them to hear him. They needed to figure this out.
Sherlock grabbed John's hand away from the razor and did the first thing he could think of to help them stop bleeding. He licked the blood away from all the cuts on John's fingers and whispered softy, "Please stop, I can't see you like this." Sherlock heard Mycroft come up the stairs but he ignored him, John was more important.
John blinked at the feel of Sherlock tongue. His eyes cleared and he fell against Sherlock. "How are you here?" Sobs wracked his body as he pressed himself to Sherlock's chest.
Mycroft heard John crying and turned to leave. He would come back later., if needed.
Sherlock stroked John's head, trying to comfort him. Sherlock didn't know what he was doing, but he had seen John with his many girlfriends and tried to copy that. "That doesn't matter right now." Sherlock put his arm around John, "Let's get you cleaned up."
John nodded silently and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist. "Carry me." He mumbled against Sherlock's chest. He looked up at Sherlock, his puppy dog eyes sad and forlorn.
Sherlock let out a puff of air but picked John up, surprised at how light he was. He was careful to not let John bump into anything as Sherlock carried him bridle style to the bathroom.
John curled up against Sherlock. Tears flowed from his eyes and onto the other man's chest. "I'm sorry Sherlock."
Sherlock shushed him and kissed his head, it is what John would do right? Sherlock's heart fluttered and and a small frown graced his face for only a moment. He didn't have control of his emotions, but that didn't matter right now. John was all that mattered right now. "You didn't know. It's ok." Sherlock sat John down on the counter in the bathroom and started rummaging around for the first aid kit; his mind locked in on making John better. Making John his John again.
John swayed slightly where he sat. He was loosing a lot of blood. "Do you just kiss me Sherlock?" He couldn't figure out what he was feeling. He had missed Sherlock and he knew that the pain had been more than just friendship, but he hadn't figured out what. His eyes began to slide shut and his weight began to lilt forward.
Sherlock stopped looking for bandages a second at John's question. Sherlock thought did he kiss John? Yes, he did. Sherlock felt his face heat up and he started to wonder if he was getting sick. He shook his head and continued looking for bandages. "Yes." He horsely said and cursed shortly after. "Where is the first aid kit?" He looked up at John to see if John knew where it was and saw John starting to fall. Sherlock felt his heart stop beating. He jumped up and righted John, "Stay with me John, listen to my voice, stay with me. You need to stay awake." Sherlock gave up on looking for proper bandages and grabbed tissues and toilet paper to help stop the bleeding. After Sherlock had wrapped up John's arm he wrapped his hand around it, trying to slow down the bleeding. Sherlock hugged John's weak frame to his chest. "Stay with me."
John nodded and rested against Sherlock. His breathing slowed down and he fell into a light sleep. As he slept he imagined Sherlock. He felt something bit he wasn't sure what. In his dream he saw Sherlock falling. Over and over like a tape on a loop. He shouted out in his sleep "Sherlock!" He thrashed about, trying to catch the taller man.
Sherlock tried to hold John still, "John, I'm here. Calm down, I've got you." Sherlock didn't know where the words came from but they felt right. Sherlock kissed John's forehead again in an attempt to calm him down. Sherlock was afraid of what he was doing, letting his emotions out of their box, but his John was worth it. John, Sherlock corrected himself, not his John, just John.
John calmed a bit at Sherlock's kiss. His breathing steadied out and his flailing died down. "Sherlock." His voice was a husky whisper. "Don't jump. I love you." He buried his face in Sherlock's chest, still fast asleep.
Sherlock blinked down at John, 'I love you', the words echoed in his head. "I didn't know John. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you love such a heartless man." Sherlock checked the makeshift bandages on John's arm. He wrapped more tissues on before carrying John to His own bed. He carefully placed John down, not wanting to hurt him or risk opening up the cuts again.
John blindly grabbed the air. "Sherlock?" A look of terror crossed his face and he sat up, his eyes finally opening. He looked over at Sherlock and down at his arm. "Did- did you do this?" He gestured to the slightly bloodstained bandages.
Sherlock nodded slightly, worried about John. "I couldn't find the first aid kit," He apologized softly. Sherlock reached out cautiously to hold John's hand. "Why?" Sherlock asked as he looked down at john's arm.
John squeezed Sherlock hand. "I couldn't live without you." He looked at Sherlock before leaning in to give him a soft kiss in the lips. He blushed and pulled away, embarrassed.
Sherlock sat stunned, and shocked himself when he leaned forward and gave John a kiss back. "I'm sorry John, I wish I hadn't left."
"I do too." He allowed a small smile to play on his lips. "I should probably eat. I lost a lot of blood."
Sherlock nodded, "I'll make something for you." Sherlock wanted to help John, and so he jumped up and ran to the kitchen. He was rummaging around, looking for something good for John to eat.
John stood and followed, albeit at a much slower pace. Once he reached the kitchen he sunk into a chair and observed Sherlock for a moment. "Are we just going to ignore the fact that we just kissed?"
Sherlock tried to hide his fear at the fact that he had kissed John. 'Sentiment is a chemical defect' His own words ran around his head. He was Sherlock Holmes, he couldn't be defected. Could he? Sherlock turned to ask John what he wanted to eat.
"Do you regret it?" John twisted his fingers together nervously. Sherlock was married to his work. But he had kissed John back. John who wasn't gay. But he had enjoyed the kiss. He was so confused
Sherlock looked at John and swallowed. He tried to get words out but nothing would come out. Sherlock didn't want to mess this up. He sat down and held John's hands. He finally got out a word but it sounded like a question rather than an answer, "No?"
John smiled. "Me either." He blushed and gave Sherlock a quick kiss in the cheek.
Sherlock could feel where John had kissed his cheek even after he had taken his lips away. He didn't know what to do. Well, he knew what he wanted to do so he leaned forward looking at John asking for permission.
John smiled and closed the gap. His hands ran through Sherlock's raven hair. He pulled away after a moment, lightheaded.
Sherlock felt his lips turn up in a smile. He held john's hand, "You need to eat and then sleep. What do you want? I'll make it."
John smiled back. "Tea." He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. "Can you carry me to the couch?"
Sherlock picked John up and carefully put him down on the couch. He looked down at John and grimaced when he noticed that there was still blood on the floor. "I'll be right back, I'm going to make you your tea."
Sherlock came back with John's tea and some toast. "You should eat some food too, so I made toast, that ok?" Sherlock noticed that John was favoring his arm but that was understandable.
John nodded and took the tea in his hands, ignoring the dull throbbing. "I'm sorry Sherlock." He looked down at the blood in the floor.
Sherlock gingerly put his hand on John's cheek, unsure if he was doing it right. "John." He couldn't think of the words that would make any of this better so he kissed John again.
John mirrored Sherlock's movements, returning the kiss. "Thank you." He murmured.
Sherlock nodded and sat next to John putting his hand on John's shoulder. "You promise to never do that again?" Sherlock asked, he almost thought that John wouldn't hear him from how quite be was.
John nodded and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. He accidentally dropped the cup of tea, which shattered and spilt everywhere.
Sherlock blinked, startled by the sudden noise. "Why don't you go lie down? I'll clean this up and then be right in."
John sat up. "It's fine. I'll do it." He stood and went to the kitchen to grab a towel. He returned to the living room and began cleaning the blood and tea.
Sherlock knelt down next to John, he didn't want to have John think that Sherlock thought he was completely incompetent but he didn't want John to hurt himself. "John let me. You should rest."
John shook his head. "It's fine. I can do it myself." He stood up with the broken china prices and walked slowly to the kitchen to toss then into the bin.
Sherlock sat down and waited for John to finish knowing that he wouldn't accept Sherlock's help.
John finished and went back into the living room. He curled himself into Sherlock's lap with a sigh.
Sherlock put his hand on John's head and started playing with his hair. "You should sleep John. Do you want me to carry you to my room or do you want to stay here?"
"Here's fine." He leaned into the touch and rearranged himself so that his legs were off to the side of Sherlock and his head was in the taller mans lap.
Sherlock put his feet on the table and continued playing with John's hair. He closed his eyes and hummed a tune, composing a song because he needed to think.
John slowly drifted off to sleep, soothes by Sherlock's song. This time his sleep was undisturbed, save for a few happy dreams of he and Sherlock.
Sherlock let his head fall back once he knew that John was sleeping. He slowly stopped humming and playing with John's hair as he fell asleep, a tiny smile on his face.