John was not sure how it even started. He wasn't sure of a lot of the things that happened to him while Sherlock was "dead". Those three years were a haze of pain and barely making it through the day. All he remembered was that one day the pain inside of him was too great and the only thing he could do was attempt to get it out. When he took the razor to his wrist and watched the blood run into the sink, he felt a small weight lift off of him. As a doctor, he knew this shouldn't be the answer to his problems, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was the only solution he had found that actually worked.
He had promised himself that it wouldn't get out of hand, he was only going to resort to the razor when the pain became unbearable. He hadn't accounted for the possibility of getting addicted and the addiction went far deeper than he originally thought.
Sherlock had been back for three months already. John had been angry at first and had greeted his friend with a strong punch to the face but soon forgave him because he was so relieved to see him again. John's anger was completely forgotten as soon as Sherlock had explained why and how he had done what he did and how sorry he was. By all accounts they had fallen back into their old routine with in a few weeks but despite the return to normalcy, John found himself still being drawn to the razor.
Which is how he found himself here, standing in the bathroom with blood dripping down his arm, trying to tell Sherlock that he had cut himself accidentally...
Sherlock wasn't sure how he had missed it. He felt so incredibly stupid for missing it. Then again, it was John, who always seemed to be a mystery. John. His John. His John who was standing in the bathroom with blood dripping down his arm trying to lie to Sherlock, of all people.
"John" he whispered. "John, let me see your wrists..."
"No, Sherlock I'm telling you it's fine, let me just get this cleaned up and I'll make us some tea..."
"John" he said, more forcefully this time, "Show. Me. Your. Wrists."
Sighing and carefully avoiding Sherlock's eyes, John raised his arms and showed them to his friend. Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight. It wasn't just John's wrists that were cut. Both of John's arms were covered in scars.
"How long" he finally whispered, looking up and attempting to catch John's eyes.
"It...It doesn't matter Sherlock. I can stop. It's not a big deal..."
"John, please, just tell me how long" Sherlock pleaded
"I...I'm not even sure exactly. Probably two and half years..." John lowered his eyes again. He couldn't look in those piercing, ice blue eyes.
"That's what I thought" Sherlock sighed and began attempting to clean the blood off John's arm.
John tried to explain while he watched Sherlock clean up his arm. "Sherlock you have to understand, I was in a lot of pain. I thought you killed yourself for Christ's sake! I had convinced myself that part of it was my fault. That what I said to you before I left Bart's that day caused something to snap, or if I hadn't left you alone there I could have stopped it. I missed you every single damn day and it never got any better. The only way to relieve any of it was to cause myself some sort of physical pain. I guess some where a long the line, it became a habit and even though you're back and things are normal, I still felt the need to do it"
Finished cleaning up the blood, Sherlock closed his eyes, took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom. Startled at the sudden change, John followed him. He found Sherlock puttering around the kitchen, attempting to make tea.
"Sherlock?" John said tentatively. "Sherlock, let's just forget this ever happened okay? I'll stop and things will continue as normal"
Sherlock whirled around, his eyes flashing.
""Normal? John, I just found out that you cut yourself because I caused you pain. I caused you pain, even though I promised myself that I would keep you as safe as I possibly could. I...I love you John. I've never felt this strongly for anyone before. I love you and I can't stand the fact that I've hurt you"
John stared open mouthed at Sherlock for a while before realizing that he hadn't said anything.
"I...you...you love me?" he breathed out.
"Yes John. I realized it while I was away. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you..."
"I love you too, Sherlock. I always have"
It took Sherlock's massive brain a minute to process that information and as he realized what John had said a slow smile spread across his face. He crossed the room in three strides and pulled John to him. Their lips met and John wondered for a moment why they hadn't done this before, before he felt Sherlock's tongue swipe against his lip and all thoughts left his mind. He opened his mouth and Sherlock took advantage, exploring John's mouth completely with his tongue. They broke a part a few moments later gasping for breathe.
"John, I need you to promise me you'll stop. I can't...I can't watch you hurt yourself. I love you too much. I need my blogger, after all." Sherlock said after he caught his breathe a bit. John smiled.
"I promise Sherlock. And I love you too. Now. Shall we move this to the bedroom?"
Sherlock grinned evilly. "Oh yes, I think that will be necessary."
And they didn't leave the flat for at least a week.