Coming to terms with it
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of its related property. I make no profit from this. I write to entertain.
Warnings: heavy cutting themes, depression
Pairing: John/Sherlock friendship
AN: Set after John's wedding.
It was beyond annoying. Emotions didn't get to him. No, not him.
So why was this bothering him? Why was...he focused a moment on the exact problem...John's wedding. John's new child. John's new life.
He felt those ugly emotions again. Disgusting human fear. Fear that he would be forgotten. Lost. When did anyone mean that much to him? When did anyone get to him so much?
Sure John promised that nothing would change. That they would remain friends. Crime solving partners. But when his wife called on him; who was Sherlock to deny him? When his child called on him; who was Sherlock to deny him? It was inevitable.
He ignored the wet tears tracking down his face. Why must he feel so much more than normal people? Why must he see more than normal people? Why must he know more than normal people?
He had to dull the sensations somehow. Drugs was out of the question. But he had another method. Yes and it would do wonderfully!
He smiled and rummaged through a draw, finally finding a small blade. He paused to listen to the apartment sounds. He knew Mrs Hudson was out. John was home but he was busy. Sherlock smiled, playing with the blade.
He knew what to do. With practised ease he slid the blade across his procelion skin. The blood standing out on his pale white skin like rubies on silver. The ritual calmed him. He grimaced as he felt pain rush over his senses. Pleasure too. It had been so long. It felt like a welcome relief.
Again he slid the blade across his skin. Again. Again. Until he forgot why he had felt so low in the first place. Now to cover up his injury...
His arm felt heavy, the stinging not entirely unwelcoming. He looked down to see the arm he had been cutting was covered in blood. That was a lot to cover up...He pulled the sleeve down with a hiss of pain. He found a first aid kit he kept under the bed, he had to stop the bleeding somehow.
He had to stop the bleeding...he reached for a pyjama shirt and pressed it to the wound. The pressure made him cry out and he tried to stifle the noise too late. Now the bandages...why was he so dizzy? He gave up on the bandage and settled on the bed, shirt on the cuts. He vaguely noticed that he should be concerned but didn't have the energy to care. Sleep sounded good. Yes.
The next thing he remembered was darkness.
Then some one calling his name. He ignored them. He felt something was off but couldn't tell what. Still the darkness was so comforting...
He felt the pain in his arm get less sharp. Like it had been bandaged. The uneasy feeling faded. He realised that uneasy feeling was his body telling him he was dying. That scared him awake. He opened his eyes to see John's own concerned ones. Scratch that. Very worried eyes.
"Your awake!" John called in relief. "I thought..." John paused getting choked up.
Thought what? "John?" he questioned.
John wasn't replying to his annoyance. He felt okay now..."John!" he demanded.
John sighed heavily. "I thought I'd lost you again." he confessed tiredly. "It my bloody fault too! I should have checked if you were okay with the marriage. Mary was telling me but I didn't listen. Bloody idiot! I should have seen-" John was cut off mid ramble.
"-John. Don't you dare talk that way! Its not your damn fault! I did this. You couldn't have predicted any of this."he interrupted firmly.
John looked unconvinced but didn't voice his objection.
He felt guilty now. His friend thought it was all his fault. He had no words. "Next time I'll find another way okay?" he offered like a child trying to please disappointed parents.
John just looked at him tiredly. "Yeah right. If you knew other options, you would have tried them. Your logical." He replied easily, unconsciously rubbing his hands.
He knew John was right. "Fine. Maybe you can help me then?" he said, the question coming out closer to a whimper than the casual tone he was going for. He noticed the dry blood on Johns hands and sleeves with guilt.
John laughed softly. "Course. What else would I do?" he asked as if were the most obvious thing in the world.
He hadn't expected that. He didn't know what to say, so he settled for not speaking. He didn't deserve John.
AN: R and R.