************TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of Suicide attempt, self-harm, and drug use************
Warnings: self-harm, mentions of suicide attempt, mentions of drug use, Johnlock, but not heavy Johnlock (it's established, but affection only really comes into play at the very end of the entire fan fiction), Unbeta'd, I wrote this because I really wanted to write some deep angst, and I'm not British
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.
He had been missing for three days now. Nothing in the flat had been moved, but John had discovered, upon returning to the flat, a few changes. The microwave had been scoured and cleaned of all experiments, case files no longer littered the floor, and milk and bread were now stocked inside their respective places. John had tried and failed many times to contact Sherlock, to find some way to apologize, to somehow make this right, but no calls were going through. Three days, and there was still no sign of Sherlock. 'What have I done?' The grievous doctor asks himself for what seemed like the millionth time that day.
On the first night, he was plagued with nightmares; each horrid dream was played on a constant, endless loop of Sherlock's agonized face. When the second day came and went, John began calling, searching frequently visited places, and asking around if anyone had seen the detective, but came up empty handed. John called the ebony haired man's phone for the one-hundredth time that evening without getting an answer. The nightmares never ceased and as John watched the sun rise on the third day, he finally swallowed his pride and called Mycroft Holmes.
"Ah. John Watson. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The umbrella twirling, British Government drawls out in an uninterested air.
"Mycroft, have you seen Sherlock?"
There's a pause on the other end of the line and when the elder Holmes finally does speak, the careless mask has been dropped and his voice sounds low and threatening, "I saw him when he left the crime scene, but after that, he has been avoiding the CCTV cameras. Sherlock has managed to successfully disable the tracking device I have installed, and thus far, all of my efforts to contact him have failed." Here Mycroft seems to take a calming breath before he coldly adds, "I don't see why you should particularly care." John became affronted by the insinuation and states, "You don't see why—Mycroft, I love him."
"You love him? Oh please. You have only hurt him since the moment he returned. I begged him not to go back to see you, but he was insistent and eager to be reunited with you. Even after letting you physically beat him, asking him to be your best man, and marrying Mary, you have the audacity to insinuate he doesn't care about you?" In this moment John can see why he is labeled the 'Ice Man', every word is laced with icy bitterness and spite as he continues with, "Not to mention all the other deplorable things you said to him. You have no idea what he's gone through, Doctor Watson. You have no idea the pain he's gone through to make sure you could remain happy." The man once again tries for indifference, but it sounds too forced as he quietly says, "You've had your fun, but now I think it's time for the games to end."
When John tries to interject, Mycroft quickly cuts him off, "Fix this. I have warned you before and believe me when I say this, John, but you will not like me as an enemy. Continue on as you have and that's exactly what I will become." With that ominous threat, the line goes dead.
As the sun sets that evening, John redialed the familiar number, letting it ring until he was met with Sherlock's bored tone directing him to leave a message without being tiresome about it. When the beep sounded, John exhaled an obvious distressed sigh and began to speak, "Sherlock? Uh…listen… I-I didn't mean what I said. Please…Please just come home. I don't know how I can make this right, but I am willing to try. I'm so sorry, love. Please call me back. I love you." If the guilt from before was bad, this was an entirely new beast. It gnawed at him until he had to grip the edge of the table to keep him from falling to the floor. Tears he had managed to keep at bay until this point slip past tightly closed lids and a shuddering sob escapes despite his best efforts to stifle it. 'God, I hope I can fix this.'
He had resisted the urge to resort to past methods of destruction for three days. He removed and disabled the tracking device on his phone and he ignored any and all texts or calls from everyone, especially John. He stayed with members of his trusted homeless network and he had managed to stay true to his promise to stay clean despite all the things in his mind reminding him that the one person he loved more than anything now hated him. The only thing that kept Sherlock from the self-destruction he craved was the thought of John's disappointed face if he found out if Sherlock had fallen back into old habits. That all changed on the third day.
Up until this point, he had resolutely avoided thinking of anything to do with that day. He was prepared to delete the entire experience but when he ventured into his Mind Palace to the door that was marked, "DO NOT ENTER STAY AWAY," opened and all the memories from the last few days came flooding back to him. The man gasped at the sudden onslaught of emotions that seemed to rush forward all at once. John's angry face as he viciously spat the word freak seemed to project off of every wall of his mind palace's walls.
Sherlock can feel something in his chest constrict and tighten as the anguish once again washes over him. The weight of the past few days causes him to crumble to the cold alley floor. When the initial shock of the moment passed, a lingering, hollow feeling envelopes the detective. The ebony haired man gasps for air as he stumbles blindly to his feet and his legs carry him to the darkest part of the alleyway. He somehow manages to type in a number he had never truly forgotten, and with shaking, stumbling fingers, he manages to type out a brief message and hits send.
After a few hours, or maybe it was only several minutes, a looming figure slowly approaches the amateur detective. The man says nothing, but he smugly smiles at the detective's anguished appearance before he passes a bag filled with a white substance of the 7% variety. The ebony haired man all but throws the money at the man as he flees the darkened alleyway.
Sherlock stares at the fresh cuts that now litter his pale skin before he carves one, last vertical gash into his arm before he drops the razor blade onto the ground and stares blankly at the needle sitting just a few feet away from him. He thinks back to what John said just two days ago. As he remembers the hateful words that fell from thinned, angry lips, his mind seems to play them on repeat along with all the other insults his brain could unhelpfully supply (which just-so-happened to be them all, he could never truly delete them no matter how hard he had tried). The memory grew stronger and stronger, and the detective tried to block out the sound by placing his hands roughly into raven curls and pulling. John's hatred only continued to reverberate against his mind palace's walls louder and louder until he hastily tied the tourniquet and forcefully grabbed the needle, poised just out of reach of his inner elbow—ready to be plunged in, with trembling and clumsy fingers. The self-loathing only mounted as he realized that John was right. He was a freak... A machine... A monster. He had somehow ruined it all. There was no point in staying anymore. He had failed and lost the one person he had promised to protect. 'Well,' he thought, 'There is still one more thing I can do,' his mind supplied darkly. John would be happier without him here.
'This would be it,' he decided with a determined nod. 'This is where the story finally ends.' He has no intention of surviving this fall. This would be his final bow. With this thought in mind, he plunged the needle into his arm.
This was basically me working out some of my personal demons. On a related note, if you ever feel like Sherlock, please talk to someone. Always keep fighting, everyone. You are important. I love you all.
On a lighter note, I hope you liked this chapter despite all the angst. :)