"John, you're hiding something from me. What is it?" Sherlock looked over at John who was hiding behind the newspaper.
"You tell me what you're hiding, and I might tell you what I'm hiding." John promptly relied, hoping to get an honest response from Sherlock, for once.
"You first."
John sighed, knowing he'd never win. "Fine." He set down the paper, and looked at Sherlock. "I love you." He was silently praying that Sherlock would return the sentiment.
Sherlock frowned thoughtfully. "Well…. Um… I care about you. But love… It's a strong word and I've never felt it before. I just don't know." He stammered, unsure of what to say.
"Oh… Ok. I'm sorry I said anything. Just forget it." John stood up and looked away, tears already streaming down his face. He could literally feel his heart breaking. He had been prepared for rejection, but he could never have imagined it hurting this much.
Sherlock could see he had hurt his friend. He got up, and put a hand on his shoulder. "No, don't take it the wrong way. You're the most important person in my life. It's just that I… I'm afraid of commitment. I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Please don't cry. "
John pulled away and ran up to his room. He was already on the edge of sanity, having to live with Sherlock, and all it took to push him over the edge was that tiny bit of rejection.
He curled up on the very edge of his bed, and started sobbing. From there, he started muttering about his past girlfriends. He doesn't care if Sherlock comes up. In fact, he left his door open, hoping Sherlock would come in.
Sherlock ran up to John's room, slightly panicked. HE didn't know whether to try and comfort him, or let him cry himself to sleep. "John…?" he asked cautiously. "I… I didn't mean to hurt you…"
John ignored him, and continued to have his mental breakdown. He felt like he was suffocating. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't even form a coherent thought. He pulled out his pocket knife, flipped up one of the blades, and stared at it dully before lowering it to his wrist.
When John pulled out his knife, Sherlock knew something was wrong. So when he lowered it to his wrist, Sherlock was immediately on top of him, trying to snap him out of this.
He threw the knife on the floor, and forced John to look at him. "Stop this! Stop this right now! You will /not/ hurt yourself in any way."
John looked up at him, eyes wide, totally shocked. "But… I don't have anything to live for. It hurts. Let me die. Please?" Desperate tears now filled John's eyes.
Sherlock was horrified by John's pleas. And it didn't help that he thought it was his fault. He wished he could turn back time, and change everything.
"John." His tone was softer. "Don't ever say that again. You have so much to live for. If not for yourself, then for me." He was trying not to cry himself. He didn't like seeing John like this.
He got off of John, and pulled him into a hug. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Please, calm down?" Sherlock whispered into John's ear.
In turn, John collapsed against Sherlock, totally defeated. "I can't… I don't wanna… It hurts. I can't breathe. Make it stop, Sherlock." He clung to the taller man like a child would to his mother.
"Make what stop hurting?" he asked, trying to sound calmer than he actually was. Sherlock rubbed John's back softly in an attempt to calm him down.
"My heart. It's breaking. It never hurt this bad. Why does it hurt so much?" He gripped Sherlock's arm staring up at him with innocent tear-filled eyes.
"Oh my sweet, precious John, what have I done to you?" He muttered to himself. Then, to John, "I don't know why. I wish I did. Is there anything I could do to help?"
John shook his head and curled up on Sherlock's lap. "Sleep…" He muttered before closing his eyes and drifting off to some unforeseen dreamland.
Sherlock didn't want to wake John, but he didn't quite feel comfortable. He knew John had nightmare, he heard them every night, and he didn't want to deal with that. But then he looked down at John. The blonde man looked so peaceful. Finally, Sherlock decided he owed it to John. He let him sleep.
Eventually, Sherlock fell asleep. Thankfully, neither of them had any dreams.
The next morning, John woke up in Sherlock's lap. He panicked, remembering last night. "Thank you." He whispered. "Thank you for everything."
Sherlock shifted, but woke up, feeling the extra weight on his legs. "John?" he mumbled, not fully awake yet. "Are you all right?" Sherlock gently brushed a few strands of hair out of John's face.
"No, but I'll cope. I won't do anything stupid, I promise." John let his head rest on Sherlock's shoulder "I'm really sorry about last night."
"What's wrong?" Neither of them wanted to talk about the previous night. At least not yet.
"Nothing… It doesn't matter." He took a few deep breaths, and closed his eyes. This was as close as he would ever get to Sherlock, he figured, so he might as well enjoy it.
"It does to matter. It obviously upset you greatly, you can tell me." Sherlock stroked John's back with his thumb, hoping to calm him enough to get an answer.
"Well," John began, determined to keep his emotions under control. "The one man I deeply, /truly/ loved rejected me. And I don't know if I'll ever get over it." He bit his lip, trying not to cry.
But John! It wasn't a rejection. If I was capable of love, I'd love you. I really would."
"Whatever you say. And now I'll always be a lovesick puppy to you! How could I even think you would love me back?!" He started to get up, but then Sherlock grabbed his arm.
"Let me go! What are you doing?!" John demanded.
"You need to shut up." Sherlock pulled John into a rough and passionate kiss. "I love you." He muttered.