MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS! Again, I do not want anyone to get hurt from this story. It is very dark, and I am kind of worried.
This is also my first story, so, please review, and comment!
John had gotten off of surgery early because someone had cancelled their appointment last minute. John was slightly relieved; it had been a long day, and he was tired and wanted to get home.
He didn't bother texting Sherlock, no need to. Sherlock barely noticed when he was gone, and it's not like they were a couple, even though people always assume so.
John paid the taxi driver and went into the flat, hopping up the stairs. He didn't call to tell Sherlock he was home; he was too tired and just wanted some rest, and maybe some take-out Chinese in front of the telly.
That's why John was shocked at the scene he walked into upon entering the flat.
Sherlock was sitting in his chair, at the very edge of the seat, hunched over a small wooden box sitting on the coffee table.
At first John didn't pay any attention to the younger man, thinking he was working on an experiment, or deep in his mind palace, and thought it best not to disturb him.
But as John looked closer, he saw the razor in Sherlock's right hand, being pressed against the man's outstretched arm.