A/N: Hello all! I decided to go ahead and post this to resolve that awful cliffhanger I left you all with. *evil grin*
DISCLAIMER: Moffat, Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle own everything; I do not. Please don't sue me.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: SELF-HARM, ATTEMPTED SUICIDE AND PREVIOUS ATTEMPTS MENTIONED
"JESUS."
John barely had time to blink before his brain comprehended the sight before him. He had, quite literally, just shut the door to the flat and hadn't even taken off his jacket.
Sherlock was standing absolutely motionless, eyes closed, gun pressed to his own head. His finger was millimeters away from the trigger.
"Sherlock, don't you DARE die on me." The doctor strode up to the detective, yanked the gun from his grip, and pressed his mouth quite firmly to Sherlock's.
Opening his eyes, Sherlock let out a gasp of surprise before he made a quiet whimpering noise when John kissed him. Abruptly, Sherlock pulled away and let his hands rest on John's cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak but the words left his brain before he could say them.
Instead, the detective felt tears pooling in his eyes. "John," he choked. The shorter man looked at him fiercely. God, he was pissed. Less with Sherlock, more with himself. Scratch that; he was furious that a brilliant man like Sherlock Holmes had the nerve to take himself out of this world just because of a simple man named John Watson.
"Sherlock, I hope you've got a good explanation for this." The brunette shook his head sadly. "John, I thought you'd never come back. No one else ever has."
And with those words, the wind was quite taken out of John's sails. He lead the detective over to the sofa and they both sat, Sherlock laying his head across John's lap.
"Has this happened before?" John asked, slowly, carefully. Sherlock nodded. "Have you ever come this close to actually killing yourself?" Pressing his lips together firmly, Sherlock shook his head. John looked bewildered. "Why this time?" The detective sat up sharply, face the epiphany of horror.
"John, do you really not understand?" John thought for a minute, then he painfully shook his head. Sherlock blinked. He stood and moved to kneel in front of John, taking the doctor's hands in his. "John Watson, I have never loved another human being the way I love you." His voice broke. "The very notion that this relationship we have could end forever..." Sherlock swallowed. "I would rather die than live in a world without you by my side. I am so, so sorry."
John Watson is rarely rendered speechless. Apparently, having his previously sociopathic boyfriend pour out his heart on his knees before him can render the doctor so.
It took a few moments before John collected himself. "Sherlock, I would never leave. Never. I know I get angry, and I know that you know that I have the right to get angry." Here the detective nodded his assent. "But I will never leave."
The doctor took a deep breath. "But Sherlock, if I do get angry, I need you to promise me that you won't try to hurt yourself again. Call me, text me, call Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, someone." Another deep breath. "I never, EVER, want to walk into the sight I saw today." Or something worse, he added mentally, shuddering.
Sherlock nodded once more. John sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. He looked exhausted. And, despite himself, the consulting detective stifled a yawn.
His lover smiled at him. "Bed?" Sherlock nodded.
Once the pair were safely ensconced in bed, Sherlock's head tucked under John's chin, John cleared his throat. "Sherlock?" His voice was quiet; honestly, he expected the detective to already be asleep.
"Mmm?"
"How many times have you tried to commit suicide?" Sherlock turned to look at the doctor in surprise. John bit his lip. "I...want to try to understand," he began. "Sherlock, I want to help you. I never want you to feel like this again."
Seemingly satisfied with the doctor's answer, Sherlock relaxed. "Three," he said finally. "Not including tonight," he clarified, after looking at John's expression.
"When?" John had been reduced to single word answers.
"Once after Mummy died, once when Mycroft left for university, and..." The detective's face twisted in pain. "Once about a week before I met you." He cleared his throat. "I tried to overdose. Thank God Lestrade found me." Sherlock's mouth quirked up in a hint of a smile.
Wordlessly, John gently lifted Sherlock's head off of his chest and rolled to face him. He traced his fingers along the pale man's face, memorizing it. "I never want to stop touching you. I never want to make you feel like you did tonight."
Sherlock smiled. "You won't," And he sounded so damned sure that John was tempted to leave it at that.
"But Sherlock, we need to have some kind of...plan, or something." The detective gave a long-suffering sigh and stretched his arms above his head. John grabbed his wrist, gently, and looked him seriously in the eye.
"I will help you stop the cutting. I will do anything you need to keep that darkness away. But I can only do it if you want the help and if you will try to help me, too."
Sherlock bit his lip and worried it with his teeth. "John, I don't know if I can stop the cutting," he said quietly. "It helps quiet my mind."
John considered this for a few minutes. "I'm not...Sherlock, I'm not asking you to stop right away. I know that'll probably backfire," Sherlock relaxed a bit. "But we ARE going to start finding alternatives, like maybe a good walk outside."
John chuckled when Sherlock's nose wrinkled in distaste. "OK, maybe not a walk then. But we will think of something, Sherlock, I promise."
"Together, right?"
"Always," John murmured, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's hair.
A/N: It's done, guys. Damn, that was hard.
I REALLY hope you all liked it, please please review! They make my day, they really do.
