"Sherlock, what are you doing?" Ever since me return to Baker Street, John and Mrs. Hudson have been checking on me non-stop. It's really been a quite infuriating two days.
"Thinking."
The nurses didn't want to return my violin when I was checked out from the hospital, Mycroft threatened to have them fired if I didn't receive my violin back instantly.
Mycroft is such an... such a... such an arse-hole.
I would have gotten my violin myself, I don't need him or his 'help.'
"About what?" I feet a presence beside me.
"Cases." I lie to John.
"What case?"
Silently, I will him to leave me alone... but I know he won't. As much as I wish he would give me five minutes of peace, I know he will refuse.
"Sherlock, what case?" He truly is persistent.
"Quiet, John." My voice is sharp. I've been disturbed far to many times today. If I were trying to figure out who Anderson shagged last night, Donovan, obviously, I would have taken longer than I should have.
"Sherlock, tell me."
"Why?" Forcing my eyes open, I sit up and glare at the blonde.
"Because, I'm worried about you." He crosses his arms.
"I'm perfectly fine." I snarl, tired of trying to be nice. If I get hurt, so be it, I'm tired.
"No, you're not okay." He shakes his head, speaking in a voice one would reserve for a child. I am not a child.
"Of, and you would know?" Standing to my feet, I tower over my companion.
"Well, I'm a bloody doctor!" John points out.
"Oh, really? I thought you were just pretending all this time." Sarcasm slips from my lips as anger and irritation course through my veins.
"Sherlock, you are a cock." John's face twists into a scowl. "But, I am not going to let you destroy yourself."
"I'm not destroying myself!" Yelling at him, I find that it's hard to remain calm about anything right now.
"Yes, you are." His voice is quieter than mine, but still loud enough to bring Mrs. Hudson out of her flat.
About a minute until she makes it all the way to us.
"If you'll excuse me." Not waiting for a reply, I retreat to my room and close the door behind me.
No.
My eyes go wide and my heart speeds up.
Closing doors= BAD.
"No, no, no." Running a hand through my hair, I try to calm down enough to figure out how to remedy my tragic mistake.
Can't you do anything right? You truly are pathetic, you're a bloody idiot.
What do I do? What do I do?
You know what.
No.
It's what should be done.
My eyes flicker to a certain object laying on my bed where I deemed it to be 'safer.'
I creep over to my bed and sit down, pulling the violin to rest in my arms.
Gently, I pluck the stings in thought.
I don't want to lose it again.
You broke the rules, and you should be punished.
I don't want to lose it again.
A soft knocking sound makes me jump and fall off of the bed, nearly dropping my violin.
Idiot, look at yourself and your clumsy ass.
At least the violin is alright.
"Sherlock?" The door opens without warning.
"I'm sorry." I cower before John. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have closed the door, please don't take it away." I clutch the violin and hold it to my chest, trying to protect it.
"Sherlock-"
"I'm sorry, me not the violin, please, me not the violin."
"Sherlock... no."
I flinch back as a hand approaches me.
"I'm sorry." The volume of my voice lowers to barely a whisper.
"Sherlock." John crouches beside me, but doesn't move to punish me.
"I'm sorry." My grip tightens on my violin and I squeeze my eyes closed. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay, you don't have to be sorry." A hand is placed on my shoulder, but upon it causing me to flinch, it is removed.
"Mrs. Hudson!" John yells for our land lady.
"What's wrong?" Her voice sounds soft and close-by.
"Call Greg and Mycroft, I need some help."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Inching away from the blogger, I find myself falling deeper and deeper into this pit of fear that seems to continue growing by the second.
"Sherlock, stop." John's voice is stern. "Stop, stay still."
"I'm sorry." My back is pressed against the corner of the wall furthest from John.
"Sherlock, it's okay." John approaches slowly.
"I'm sorry." I attempt trying to retreat further into the corner, but find this is as far as I can go. "Please, don't, I won't do it again, please don't, I'm sorry."
That makes John freeze in spot.
"Sherlock..." He breaths, an odd look on his face. What is the emotion on his face?
"I'm sorry." My lungs feel as if they've been severely deprived of oxygen for a dangerous length of time.
John says nothing, he just backs away and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
Look what you did.
I'm sorry.
Not yet, you're not.