Sherlock cleared his throat nervously. Sniffing loudly, he began.
"John...A lot happened in the two years I was dea...I was away... The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together quickly as I found more and more of Moriarty's web. Most times I would be lucky enough to find and extinguish the threat with out getting caught. But a lot of my time was spent being held captive. And it was on an evening that occurred a little over a year ago that I found myself captured...again." Sherlock stated.
He paused and looked to John. John nodded and motioned for him to proceed.
"John...I was brutally beaten that night... They beat me, and threw me in a cell to lick my wounds. If it wasn't for the dim light from the outside torch I would've never known it was my blood that I'd spent the night coughing up. It became a daily ritual. Take the prisoner, beat him, and repeat the process the next day."
John shifted uncomfortably as he heard Sherlock's voice. His friend was right. He didn't like this story one bit. Sherlock paused and looked to John. John sighed heavily, and rubbed his eyes.
"Go on." John uttered weakly.
"I'm no doctor John, but I knew my injuries weren't healing properly. The pain was excruciating. The pain began to change me. It was a distraction for a while...But it wasn't long until I began to hallucinate. At one point I carried on a conversation with you in my cell, about how many counts your blog had received. Somehow I managed to deduce that it was all in my head." Sherlock spoke.
"Post traumatic stress dissor-" John retored.
"That's what I thought too, but..." Sherlock interupted.
"So you DON'T think it was PTSD!?" John asked.
"I didn't then..." Sherlock stammered, looking to the floor.
"Ah...But you think you do now?" John asked quietly.
Sherlock's shoulder's began to shudder as an onslaught of emotions took over. He turned and buried his head in his hands as he tried to stifle his lamentations. John placed an arm around the broad shoulder's of his friend and held tightly.
"In case you forgot..." John quipped. "You are...in good company"
Sherlock's whole frame continued to shudder as he heard the kindness in John's voice. He'd nearly forgotten that this was right where John was at when he had first met him.
"Easy now..." John soothed. "You're safe now."
"What's wrong with me John?" Sherlock asked, scant of breath.
"Well something triggered your PTSD Sherlock and-" John answered.
"The wedding!" Sherlock interrupted suddenly.
"Excuse me!?" John yelled.
"No John, not like that." Sherlock answered. "I finally understand now!"
"Then. Help. Me. Understand." John hissed.
"John, those nights...that I was held captive, and beaten..." Sherlock began. "My mind was beginning to tie physical pain with emotional pain. So naturally every time I was beaten, my regrets would resurface."
"So just where does my wedding fit into all of this?" John asked.
Sherlock swallowed hard, and tried to steel his courage. He could already feel his chest starting to ache like it had on that night. He could feel his arms beginning to twitch apprehensively.
"That night..." Sherlock stammred. "My mind did something I wasn't expecting. As I saw you and Mary dancing, and then in turn saw everyone else in their own little word...I was struck with a sudden...pang...A familiar pang of...of lonli-"
Sherlock's voice caught as he spoke. John sighed as he began to have a feeling he knew where this was heading.
"Sherlock, you should have said someth-" John interjected.
"How could I John!?" Sherlock boomed. "It was YOUR WEDDING DAY."
"Even still-" John answered.
"Did it ever occur to you, that seeing you move on with your life on that day, was yet another reminder to me of the poor choices I'd made?" Sherlock hissed.
"You didn't say goodbye Sherlock." John said.