Chapter One Re-Edit

[WARNING- Triggers within this story include: Cutting, Suicide, Domestic Violence, Torture.]

[Other Warnings: Slash, Cussing, Death, Angst, and Very Slow First Few Chapters.]

Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock. If I did, Johnlock would be canon and all other ships would be sunk.

I apologize for the poor quality of the first few chapters, but I promise you, if you stick with it, you will be pleased with the results.

Thank you.

•••

John was on his way to another job interview-the last place he'd worked at hadn't worked out-when his phone alerted him of a text. He sighed, knowing it was probably Sherlock asking for something to inconvenience him, but checked the message anyway.

'John, I can't open my pills. SH'

That wasn't exactly what he'd expected, but it was still hardly a valid reason for him to go all the way back to Baker Street.

'Sherlock, I'm busy. And we talked about this. No more drugs. You're quitting cold turkey. JW'

'I understand your assumption, however, these drugs are not recreational. They were prescribed to me by my doctor. SH'

Now, that was a pretty poor attempt at an excuse, even for him.

'What kind of idiot do you think I am? You don't take medication. You don't see doctors. You don't even leave the house to buy the bloody milk! JW'

'Mycroft threatened to finally give me all the knighthoods he 'owes' me unless I saw a doctor. I decided to save myself that argument. Now, are you going to help me or not? SH'

Did the man really not understand that other people had lives, too?

'Ask Mrs. Hudson. JW'

'I tried shouting. She didn't hear me. SH'

'You are so lazy Sherlock. You do know that I'm on the other side of London... Right? Whatever, like you even care. I'll leave as soon as I can. JW'

John quickly typed a second message.

'What do you need medication for, anyway? JW'

He could see that Sherlock started to write a response but stopped. A few minutes passed. John reached the address he'd been given as the location for his interview. He waited a few more minutes before walking inside and entering the elevator.

Still nothing.

Worried about his best friend, John typed out a another message.

'Sherlock? JW'

He received an almost instant response, like he'd been waiting:

'It's nothing. SH'

Sherlock admitting he needed help?

That wasn't nothing. If it weren't important, he'd just as soon not take the medication as he would ask for help opening it.

'Sherlock, you can trust me. I'm your best friend, and besides I'm a doctor. I know this might be hard, but I want to help you. JW'

John waited a minute. Then another. Still no reply. John put his phone in his pocket deciding that Sherlock wouldn't answer his text and would most likely deny talking to him in the first place.

A second later his phone buzzed. Surprised, John grabbed his mobile out of his pocket and read the message.

'Depression. SH'

John blinked rapidly. Had he read that right?

'What? Is that a typo? JW'

John laughed to himself, of course it was a typo.

'No. SH'

His eyes widened in shock. Now John was worried. Sherlock was suffering from depression? He shook his head. This was certainly more important than his interview. He turned around left the building.

John hopped in a cab and texted Sherlock.

'I'm on my way. JW'

'No rush. SH'

Was he joking? John angrily typed out another message.

'Sherlock, we need to talk about this. Right now. JW'

How could he not have known about this? He was best friends with this man. How did he not notice!

'John I'm fine. Just come open this bloody bottle. SH'

'Save it. JW'

He wasn't in the mood to put up with Sherlock's 'Everything is fine' nonsense.

'It honestly isn't a big deal. SH'

John shouted at his phone, "Isn't a big deal? Isn't a big deal! Are you kidding me Sherlock? Are you kidding me! You have been depressed and I haven't even noticed! I'm a bloody Doctor Sherlock! I should have noticed. You are my best friend for God's sake! Oh God Sherlock... I'm sorry. I am so sorry." He noticed a few strange looks from the people he passed but he didn't care.

All he typed was:

'Shut up. It is a big deal. JW'

'I will be waiting. SH'

•••

John rushed outside and called a cab. "221B Baker Street and step on it."

John drummed his fingers on the armrest. He should have noticed this sooner. Oh God... Why didn't he notice sooner? Granted, he was no Sherlock Holmes when it came to observation, but he lives with the man! He called himself a doctor, but he hadn't even been able to notice his best friend suffering from depression.

The cab slowed down.

"Could you hurry up!?" yelled John. He wasn't normally the type to be rude, but Sherlock was the only thing that mattered right then.

"Pull over!" John ordered, finally deciding he'd had enough of this slow driving. He quickly threw handfuls of money at the cabbie before leaping out of the car, determined to sprint the entire way home.

•••

Meanwhile, Sherlock sat on the couch examining the bottle of pills in front of him.

The door suddenly opened.

He dropped the bottle and looked up to see John standing in the doorway with a bead of sweat on his forehead, struggling to catch his breath. He'd run all the way. Why was this bothering John so much?

John slowly walked over to him "Sherlock, I'm so sor-"

•••

Sherlock stood and wrapped John in a hug, stopping him from talking. "Shut. Up." He whispered.

John nodded against Sherlock's shoulder.

After a few minutes Sherlock sat back down and spoke in his usual way, as though everything was normal. "John, go change."

"What?"

"You clearly just ran across London to get here, and stop looking at me like you couldn't possibly leave my side. I hardly think the world will end while you put on a jumper."

Nodding slowly, John backed up and walked to his room upstairs.

As John walked away, Sherlock glanced at his shirt sleeves making sure that John couldn't see the bandages wrapped tightly around his wrists.

•••

A few minutes later, John came back downstairs and sat next to Sherlock on the couch. He opened the pill bottle with a twist and handed Sherlock his medication. He watched as Sherlock swallowed his pills, still slightly in shock that he'd never known.

'At least he's being truthful now. No more secrets.' He thought.

He exhaled slowly. "Sherlock, I know that wasn't easy for you to tell me you have depression, but I'm glad you did. Now that I know, we can work together and fix this problem once and for all. Thank you for telling me."

Sherlock opened his mouth about to speak but stopped. If John found out... No. He wouldn't tell him. It would be better If John didn't know. He glanced again at his wrists for a second then quickly looked away.

Something was still off. "Sherlock, are you okay?" Asked John nervously.

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned to look out the window, so he wouldn't have to meet John's gaze. He'd never had trouble lying, but it was getting harder to be untruthful with John. "I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine."

•••

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