Sherlock can home and locked himself in his bedroom after a particularly difficult dinner with Sebastian Moran. Sebastian had done nothing but insult Sherlock and bring up horrible memories of his school days. Sherlock found the blade that he used to open packages and pressed it to his forearm a little below his elbow and pressed down, slicing quickly. He winced in pain and stared at the bright red blood that formed there. He repeated this action again and again, blood all over his arm and bed sheets. He knew this wouldn't solve his problems, but he thought he would try it at least once to see. He ignored the blood dripping onto his leg and continued slicing.
John had just walked into the flat after a relaxing day at work. Sure Sarah dumped him a week ago, but their relationship wasn't much different and John was starting to realize that he didn't really care about her. He decided to take some extra time in work and offered to take some over time tomorrow. He could definitely use the money. He began walking to Sherlock's room to let him know.
John knocked, "Sherlock? Can I come in?"
Sherlock heard John's voice and panicked. His emotions had taken the best of him and he had let a few tears fall from his eyes. He shuffled to cover up the evidence of him cutting. He wiped at his face with his non-bleeding arm to rid his face of evidence of emotion.
John heard shuffling and Sherlock never shuffled, "Sherlock, are you okay?"
"I-I-I'm okay John, just don't come in." Sherlock stuttered.
Something was obviously wrong, so John ignored him and pushed the door open. John looked from Sherlock's flushed red face to the small spot of blood on Sherlock's leg.
"Sherlock have you been experimenting on yourself again?" John questioned.
"N-No."
"Oh." It just hit John what had been happening.
Being a doctor, John had learned about self-harm in one of his classes. He didn't ever think that Sherlock would result to self-harm though. He always thought Sherlock either had no feelings or was extremely good at keeping them in check, maybe he was just good at keeping them hidden from others.
"Sherlock, let me see your arm." John demanded.
"No."
John walked over to Sherlock and grabbed at his arm, ignoring Sherlock trying to push him away. John got ahold of his arm and examined the damage. There were cuts all up his forearm, none of them deep, but each one still putting a small pain of hurt in his chest. John told himself this only upset him because Sherlock was his friend, nothing more.
John walked out of the room to get some bandages, being sure to take the blade with him. Sherlock was glaring at him when he returned.
"Don't give me that face Sherlock."
"They aren't deep," Sherlock replied, "I don't need your help."
Despite his words, Sherlock didn't protest when John took his arm and disinfected it before wrapping it. The cuts were dark red against Sherlock's pale skin.
"Sherlock," John asked, the hurt clear in his voice, "Why were you doing this?"
"Sebastian Moran." Sherlock replied, barely a whisper.
"That guy you said you went to dinner with?"
Sherlock nodded.
"He insulted you didn't he? Just being mean?" John questioned.
Sherlock's thoughts went back to the part of that evening that bothered him the most.
"You know, no one really cares about you Sherlock, especially not that flat-mate of yours. What was his name? Yeah, John. Just like everyone else, he hates you. You're selfish and uncaring. People run away from you, with good cause." Sebastian had said.
Sherlock let a few tears slip and John's eyes widened. John saw Sherlock looking at him questioningly. Everyone else would have ignored a questioning look, but John could tell that Sherlock wanted some form of comfort while he cried. John held out his arms and nodded. Sherlock crawled over next to him and let himself cry into John while he held him.
"Shh, Sherlock," John comforted, "It's okay. Would you like to talk about it?"
"Sebastian, uh, said that no one cared about me. Hick, he said that everyone, especially you hated me and that I was a horrible person." Sherlock cried harder.
"Oh Sherlock," John held him tighter and the pulled him up to look at him, "You know that's not true right. Mycroft, Lestrade, they don't hate you. Even if they did, I don't, I-" John paused.
Sherlock looked at him expectantly. John couldn't bring himself to say it, but he could bring himself to push himself forward and press his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock gasped, not sure of what he should do. John licked at Sherlock's bottom lip, begging for entrance.
Sherlock moaned as John's tongue penetrated his mouth, tasting him all over. He responded his best, and was doing quite well considering this was his first kiss. John laid Sherlock back on the bed and aligned himself on top of him. His hand snaked down and found Sherlock's waistband. John looked at Sherlock.
"John," Sherlock said, knowing what John was asking, "I-I'm a virgin."
John nodded and pulled Sherlock's cock out of his pants and gave it an experimental lick. Sherlock writhed under his touch. John pulled out his own cock and went back up for a passionate kiss, aligning his cock with Sherlock and rubbing. The rubbing continued and got faster as they tried to gain more friction. Soon, they were cumming, shouting each other's names. John collapsed onto Sherlock.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?"
"Please don't cut yourself anymore."
"Okay, love." Sherlock replied, placing a gentle kiss on John's lips before falling asleep in his arms.