A/N: This took longer than expected because I wrote this while moving. I'm going to try and put some more action/drama in the next chapter. Happy reading :)

Chapter Four: John's Mistake

Leastrade paced in the waiting room. His heavy foot falls drumming in the emptiness. Sherlock's mauled thigh was the only thing that he could process. What in gods name could provoke the detective into doing this. After moments of pacing Lestrade came to his senses. He needed to inform John.

*Ring... *Ring... *Ring...

"John Watson."

"Hey John, It's Lestrade."

"Hey Lestrade. Shouldn't you be calling Sherlock instead of me?" Questioned John, annoyance slipping into the tone of his voice.

"Well John, i'm calling in regards of him." Stammered Lestrade.

"What's he done now?"

"Well, It's not nessecarly what he's done into comparision to whats happened." Taking a moment to gather himself, he spoke. "John... he's in the hospital."

Shock slapped John across the face. Just moments ago he was so close to killing sherlock himself, strangling some sense into him. Now all he wanted was to be by his side. He yeared for Sherlocks safety.

"I'll be right there." With that john hung up and headed for the hospital.

After:

He'd jumped into the closets cab; nearly running four blocks trying to find one. Once finding one he sat fidgeting in the back seat often getting glares from the cabbie.

What could have happened to sherlock? He tried to place how he was when he saw him last, but he hadn't since the night before. John had been so fueled on rage he didn't give any pardon to Sherlock's welfare, or dare he say feelings, what so ever. He'd just used Sherlock as a verbal punching bag... So that couldn't be it could it? Maybe he went off on a case without John, seeing how he pissed he was.

So deep in thought john didn't hear the cabbie snarling at him that they'd arrived. Tossing more than enough cash into his hands john bolted into the hospital.

"Lestrade!" Hollered john skidding into the waiting room.

"Hey..." He responded.

His face washed of color and gloomy in the lighting. It almost looked at if Lestrade should be in here instead of sherlock.

"How bout you take a seat and I'll tell you what I know."

John dropped into the nearest chair without response, dreading what his friend would report.

"The doctors said he'd be physically fine. He is covered In lacerations though." Taking a deep breath he continued." John... This, isn't easy to say. The marks, they're self harm marks."

To say the least, John gasped. Sat with mouth agape. Sherlock the sociopath cutting?!

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, but John. That's not even the worst of it. - he... cut a shape, in his leg. On his left thigh is a heart slashed with a line. Next to that in small writing is a J."

John couldn't look at Lestrade. All the things john had said the previous night came flooding back to him. Guilt drowning him. Steady doctor hands changing to a wobbly mess.

"Lestrade. I did it."

"Did what? And why are you shaking?"

Peering up at the detective inspector, a silent tear trekked down John's cheek. His eyes foggy with shame.

"I... I called him a Freak."

"What now?"

"I didn't mean to... I don't think.." He sighed falling back lifeless into his chair.

Meanwhile:

He woke up to beeps. The familiar agonizing sound. Pealing his eye lids apart, he set to observing the room. Different shades of white dressing everything around him, except for one thing, Mycroft.

"Hello dear brother. I brought you flowers. I'm told they make one feel better when through a traumatic situation."

A grin crept onto Mycroft's face as he set the flowers down. There were a bundle of blood red roses. Mycroft's gift daunting him internally. Fear of what John would think arose. He would leave him for sure. Sherlock's mouth fell ajar as he attempted to respond.

"Oh Sherlock. I've told you caring is a disadvantage. Look where it got you. I thought we got passed this." He gestured to Sherlock's body stopping at his thigh.

"Did you tell John?" Pondered Sherlock finally finding his voice.

"No I didn't. Lestrade is out there with John probably telling him what he knows. I will not tell him anything unless I find it necessary."

He nodded in response.

"I expect more of you Dear Brother. Let's not tell mum, shall we." Mycroft smirked.

"That's cold far beyond you Mycroft. Now leave unless you are here to remove me from this dreadful place." Sherlock snarled.

With that said, he sauntered away. Exhaustion swept over sherlock. Never before had arguing with Mycroft had drained him so much. He hated feeling weak.

Later:

"Hey Sherlock."

"Mmmnn." He groaned into the makeshift pillow leaning up to see.

It was John! He'd come to visit. Maybe, he did care? But... Freak. That one word sending shivers down his body.

"Are you cold?" He asked sitting in the chair next to his bed.

"No, I'm fine."

John's hand drifted to find Sherlock's. When the two hands touched sherlock snatched his hand back; Cowering beneath the thin sheets. Fear rippling through him. The horror of Johns words echoing in his head. If he could say those things, what would stop him from doing it again? Or physically hurting him?

"Don't touch me John."

"Sherlock..." Dumbfounded by his actions toward him. He had done this."I'm sorry I won't touch you. About the other night... I didn't mean too. It's Just... Whatever you were doing wasn't a good time and it added to everything that was happening to me."

"Oh so it's my fault." Sherlock stammered like a deer in headlights. His heart could be heard cracking from inside him, crumbling to slivers of remains.

"No, that's not what I meant."

"I doubt you knew what you meant John." He snarled his name. "But If it isn't your fault, then I guess it does leave me, doesn't it. The great Sherlock Holmes is just a big fuck up ain't he!"

Flipping onto his side away from John he hugged his frail body. Trying to mentally caress himself.

"It seems that you don't want to talk then... I'll come back later."

No! No no no! That's the last thing sherlock wanted. He didn't want to loose John. If he left he was so much farther from being with him. Sherlock couldn't begin to fathom how to ask him to stay. He heard john recede. As soon as he left a small tear dripped onto his check. He needed John, he needed his tools; he needed a release.