Sherlock returned home to find complete silence. The detective had anticipated a whirlwind of cooking or cleaning from John, both activities done when under stress or anxiety as a way for John to exert control over his environment. It appears that, for once, John had skipped cleaning altogether and went straight to his room. There wasn't even a cup of tea in the sink.
Looking around Sherlock spots scuffs on the wood floor that had John's shoe print and size. John apparently couldn't wait to get upstairs and had even stumbled at one portion of the journey. Following the stairs up to the first floor sitting room, Sherlock nearly tripped on John's jacket that lay at his feet.
This was, in its own way, alarming to Sherlock.
Even under stress, John wouldn't just drop it to the floor. He would hang it up (nearly always) or toss it over the back of a chair (rarely, when stressed or in a hurry), but never before had he just dropped it. As a man with military history and low income, he was neat, clean and took care of what few material possessions he owned.
Sherlock scanned the room and found it untouched save the carpet indents moving towards the stairs. They dragged on the left in random increments. John had moved quickly upstairs then, stumbling slightly. His leg would be a problem for a few days. Will need to factor that in for when Lestrade finally calls about that Kensington murder. Sherlock thought it over and moved to the stairs. He would check on John and collect any information along the way. He was showing concern towards a friend. Surely John would consider this 'good', and not be upset that he was disturbing him. He made it to the landing and paused when he realized the bathroom door was open now. He turned to John's door which was closed, and then looked back to the open bathroom door.
He worked better with data, and any information on John's mental health would help them both. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, Sherlock saw the order of events. A pile of clothing thrown in the corner haphazardly instead of the hamper, along with the shoes. They were wrinkled and the tile had dirt tracked in from the crime scene. He would know because it was more porous and had more sediment than the kind found near here. John had stripped in a hurry and tossed everything in the corner, before stumbling into the shower.
Another shower.
This was John's forth this week and it was only Tuesday. He hadn't needed the extra two as he hadn't done anything that required him cleaning himself up. Sherlock had known that John washed an absurdly frequent amount of times. Why so many, so frequently? Looking at the pattern, Sherlock was reasonably certain that it was a psychological response. John sometimes showered after a particularly bad nightmare.
There was a study done on the trauma habits of soldier back from active service he would need to re-read. They often described the need to 'wash the blood from their hands' and would occasionally scrub their hands raw in the sink. Was this the same? John was so quiet and reserved about things like this that it was difficult to know for sure. This was data regarding the mind, a much harder subject to quantify even with the classes on psychology he had taken back in his Uni days. Based on the moisture levels, John had left it two hours ago, before leaving. An hour and a half spent in here.
Sherlock scanned the bathroom for more evidence. The mirror was ajar and john had made use of the medicine cabinet. Sherlock opened it and checked John's pills. The appropriate amount missing for each bottle. At least John had taken them, like he was supposed to regularly. Sherlock replaced the bottle back to its place and closed the cabinet before turning to the other areas of the room. His shoe squeaked when he took a step. Looking down, Sherlock realized what he should have immediately. The bathroom had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. John had cleaned after all. There was the faint scent of that lemon cleanser his blogger preferred to use and the tiles, sink, and shower all gleamed.
Why the bathroom though, and no other room? Sherlock finally spotted the answer after ten seconds when he looked at the lip of the counter top. John had missed a spot in his cleaning. A light maroon splotch, no larger than a quarter centimetre, that was drying to his final dark brown. It stood out even more because the bright coral of the countertops highlighted it. His lips thinned together into one tight grimace. Not Good. Leaning in closer, Sherlock could see the smears of where there had been more blood John had attempted to clean up. Looking at the medicine cabinet again, he realized that the bandages and gauze had been placed back and the shelves within wiped down. There was dust missing. John had bled and bandaged himself.
Sherlock didn't see anything of significance here and now, he really needed to check on John. He turned back out into the hallway and moved to the stairwell to Johns room at the top. It was locked. These factors were confusing when put together. This was not at all John-like behaviour. Sherlock finished picking the lock and opened the door the 56 degrees he could before they finally squeaked. He slipped through quietly and approached the bed. He could hear the breathing of his friend, deep and even. Stopping at the edge, Sherlock measured his friends REM state. Deeply asleep then, no chance of waking up due to the prescribed tranquilizers. John would yell a great deal if he though Sherlock was invading his privacy but Sherlock had to check John's wounds; and prove himself wrong on what had caused them.
Moving slowly, he leaned over his friend, keeping his eyes on John's pulse. John had taken great exception to Sherlock sneaking into his room before while he was sleeping, and on one memorable incident, had attacked him while still partially asleep, not quite recognizing who it was in his room. He spotted them right away. Johns forearms had bandages from wrist to elbow on both sides and small dots of blood had seeped through. He squeezed his eyes shut. That article had also covered self-harm. Breathing in deeply, Sherlock unwound the first two inches of the bandages carefully.
The wounds were irritated and red, looking as though had run through blackberry bushes. Scratch marks. John had been scratching his arms to the point of drawing blood. It was all too much. He had to leave John's room before he started throwing things in a fit of anger he couldn't even identify the cause of. He clumsily wrapped the bandages back, pulled the blanket up high to keep John from getting cold, and locked the door behind him on his way out.
He made his way to the couch downstairs and tried to meditate, to process this, and couldn't. He flung himself off the couch and grabbed his violin, playing a violent, discordant song to match his insides. The confusion and anger that John was damaged and that he, Sherlock, didn't know how to fix it. That John was hurting himself from some form of pain he wouldn't share with others. He played and played until he was calmer and soon, his playing evened out to something called music instead of noise. Sad mournful tunes as he thought of what to do.
John was a stubborn, proud man. He would never admit to this unless forced to do so and that might cause a fracture in their relationship. Sherlock couldn't allow John to hurt himself anymore either. How often did John do this? Was this frequent? No. It would be difficult to carry on the fiction of perfect health if this was done frequently and John had a very expressive face. So, infrequent, and triggered by heightened episodes of PTSD beyond the usual level of stress. John's reaction to the policeman grabbing him earlier had triggered him in some way. Sherlock further destressed at the idea that this wasn't a normal occurrence for John.
He wasn't entirely sure though, now that he had established this was infrequent, what to do with this information. Confronting John was possible but unlikely to work out. Proud, strong, unwilling to be weak, he would not be receptive to the help offered to him. Sherlock considered it and decided to see what John would tell him later. He would just have to monitor John and put a stop to it, if it happened again.