Sherlock lay on the sofa, curled up on his side. Three words kept repeating in his mind, "I hate me. I hate me. I hate me. I hate me. I hate me." They echoed around and filled every space in his skull.
John came home from doing the shopping and felt the shift in the atmosphere immediately. He dropped the bags to the floor, forgotten, and moved over to sit on the edge of the sofa. With loving hands, he turned Sherlock's head so he could see his tear streaked face. The doctor smoothed back his husband's curls and said, "I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you." He kept saying it until Sherlock's tears dried and he got a weak smile from him.
The detective sat up and hugged John fiercely to himself. "I may never learn to like myself, but as long as I know you love me..." He buried his face at John's shoulder and let himself be loved.