TRIGGER WARNING: Attempted suicide
I do not own Sherlock (BBC)
It was night and Sherlock was alone, sitting on a sidewalk, in a deserted street in London.
He was hysterical and had to keep himself from going into full on panic attack, as he'd lost his boyfriend not two hours before.
"It's for the best," John had said.
What was supposed to be a lovely time with him had turned out to be the worst night of his life.
Sherlock had waited the whole day, in boredom, at home, as there had been no cases to solve.
He had prepared a surprise dinner for him and John, as it was their anniversary. They'd had a big fight the night before and Sherlock had hoped that this special occasion would have mended their wounds.
But, when John had made it home, he had instantly dropped the bomb.
"This can't work out, Sherlock." he had said, not five minutes after getting through the door.
"I'm sorry, but we're not meant to be together, we work better as friends. This... I can't take it anymore." he'd stated pointing at the two of them. "I'm leaving."
Sherlock's initial reaction had been... Numbness. It was like a very loud grenade had exploded right in his ears and had deafened him.
He stood there, by the door, where he'd rushed to greet his now ex boyfriend.
He hadn't chased John when he'd seen him go to their room, take his things and then walk out the door.
When the initial shock had died down, Sherlock had wandered alone, through the boulevards of London, destroyed, unable to function anymore, until reality had hit him like a truck.
The love of his life had left him so coldly, without too many words to explain why, and had come out of his life so suddenly and without a warning.
Despite that, Sherlock was afraid he knew the answer.
But he'd let John walk out of his house and life without saying a word.
He'd let him go, but that didn't mean he would have been ok with it, he just wished it had all been a nightmare.
All he wanted to do was go back in time, at least a year before, when things between him and John were good, at the very beginning of their romantic relationship.
John was the man of his dreams, but apparently Sherlock wasn't good enough for him. His biggest fear had always been John realizing Sherlock was way too "crazy" for him, and he was pretty sure he had ended the relationship with him because of that.
He noticed how his man had changed through the years he'd known him. First he was dapper, a gentleman. Then years later he'd become less loving and more full of himself.
John was slowly morphing into a non family version of Mycroft, now. He was no longer a gentleman and became very competitive. He wondered if it was because of how "eclectic" and "insufferable" Sherlock Holmes was.
John wasn't who he'd used to be and Sherlock didn't like that.
Ever since he'd accepted that he, too, could feel emotions, he'd always compared himself to John thinking "Am I good enough? Am I worth it?". Besides, John looked so much better than he did physically, at least in his mind. John was fit, while Sherlock was just a tall guy with messy hair.
He even wondered if John had actually loved him, or if he had decided to turn their friendship into something more just out of pity.
Maybe Sherlock should have never kissed him, that time, out of impulse. But maybe he wouldn't have been alive, now.
All he knew was that he was now drowning in his tears, lonely and with a few homeless people sleeping beside him.
After a while, he decided to get up and take a taxi back to 221 Baker Street.
When he entered his flat he fell on the couch, crying. His cries woke Mrs Hudson, who immediately ran upstairs to check on him.
Given she had a spare pair of keys, she was able to storm into his house without any problems.
"Hey Sherlock, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" She asked, concerned.
Sherlock looked up at her and didn't know whether he should yell at her or cry into her arms. He noticed her eyes were puffy, so he hugged her and cried all over her.
He knew he was letting his guard down and he was showing affection to someone who had always seen him as emotionless, but he didn't want to care.
"John.. he broke up with me!" He was now bawling and he was sure he was already wetting Mrs Hudson's sleeping gown.
"Shhh, Sherlock, don't cry," Mrs Hudson cooed. "My boyfriend broke up with me too... He decided he had to go back to his wife..But it's for the best. Maybe our men just weren't the best match for us, darling. As much as it pains me to think of John Watson in such manner, given I care for him."
"I don't want to live if I don't have my John. He's everything to me, even if he's unaware of this.." Sherlock tried to say in a fit of spasms.
Mrs Hudson kissed his head. "I'm sure you'll find someone else. We're in London, Sherlock! About five million people live in London! You'll find the right man soon. Or the right woman. " She moved his hair from his face lovingly. "And I'll find the right man soon too, one who thoroughly enjoys my tea. "
Sherlock laughed a little bit, that woman was something else..
"Now let's go to sleep, ok?" said the elderly woman, while holding his hand. Sherlock smiled slightly and let her lead him to bed.
The woman decided she would stay in the house with him, as she knew how self destructive the man could be.
At 3am, when Mrs Martha Hudson was fast asleep in what had used to be John's bedroom, Sherlock got up and went to the bathroom. He looked at his messy reflection in the mirror and sighed. Wow, I'm really disgusting, that's why John left me. He opened the cabinet where he kept prescription pills. His trembling hand took hold of around five painkillers. "I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry!" He whispered as he sobbed. "I'm sorry."
He had nothing left to hold on to. He only had Martha Hudson who had already told him to move on with his life. But John had left him, for good this time ... he just didn't find life worth living anymore. So he put all those pills in his mouth and swallowed, aided by tap water.
The last thing he remembered before passing out was a crying Mrs Hudson screaming "NO!".
He woke up in an hospital bed. His head hurt like hell and he felt queasy. But he wasn't dead.
"OH THANK GOD!" Mycroft shouted as soon as he saw his brother open his eyes. He'd been sitting at his bedside, half asleep.
"Mycroft? Where am I?" Sherlock asked, confused.
"Sherlock, you've been unconscious for three days, I've been here for like two. You had us all worried! " His brother said.
Sherlock noticed he had red eyes.
"What were you thinking? You could have died, Christ!" Mycroft started crying, once again. It was unusual for someone like him to cry, so that must have been a very serious matter.
"I'm sorry... I just.. I wanted to die! I had nothing and John.. he broke up with me so I didn't even have him. I don't have him anymore, Mycroft! I want to die!" said Sherlock, in a sad voice.
His brother hugged him not so tightly because he was scared he would hurt him. "Sherlock, are you listening to yourself? You're Sherlock Holmes! I know you have depressive tendencies sometimes but you can't just throw away your life because of human emotions! And besides, you didn't lose everything, you still have me, your friends, and an amazing career! Do you think this is nothing?" Mycroft let out.
"No... but..." Sherlock sighed.
"But?"
"I need John.. without him I wouldn't be here today and I need him. He left me, Mycroft. "He choked up a sob. "He'd promised me he would never leave me and he left me. He left me! He left me!" Now he was sobbing freely, his brother still hugging him.
"Sherlock! Oh My God!" Miss Hudson rushed into the hospital room.
"Are you crazy? You could have died!" Mycroft pulled away from his brother, just as soon as the woman ran to hug him .
"I'm sorry, Martha. I just wanted to end it. John leaving me was the last thing I could take."
Meanwhile, no one had told John about Sherlock, probably because they were disgusted by what he'd done.
John had no idea about what had happened to Sherlock, yet every time he saw one of their mutual friends, he'd be treated like garbage.
He assumed they were on Sherlock's side, not knowing the whole story.
They were all obviously wrong. John had broken up with Sherlock for the best, surpassing a platonic relationship and making it a romantic one had turned out to be unhealthy for them and their fights were risking to separate them forever. John still felt romantic feelings towards Sherlock, but he felt that going back to a friendship would have been the best option.
He had moved in with his sister Harry, accompanied by his infant daughter. He and Sherlock needed to be apart, for the time being.
That day he ran into Molly, while walking in a park.
He noticed that she was a little distant and thought it as weird.
For instance, her reaction to his friendly hello was unusual for her.
"John, you are disgusting!" He heard her say.
"What?" He'd never thought Molly, of all people, could behave like that with him.
"What did I do? Why is everyone treating me like shit lately? What the HELL did I do, Molly?" He shouted back at her.
"You left him! He needed you and you abandoned him! He almost lost his life because of you!" the tiny girl spat out in what seemed like utter fury.
As soon as John heard those words, he immediately froze. His face became pale and he grew very concerned. "What happened to him?" he asked, at the edge of a panic attack.
"He tried to commit suicide..." Molly said, choking back her tears.
Those words made his stomach twist and sink to his feet. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. "H-how... No! How did it happen? What... what did he do? Oh God!" John put his hands in his hair in extreme anxiety.
"He overdosed on painkillers, but he didn't die. But he did that because you brought him to it!"
John couldn't believe it was true. Sherlock had tried to kill himself and it was all his fault.
A few hours later, Sherlock was still in hospital. He was alone. Not long before, he had woken up in his bed, had seen some of the people he loved the most and had promised them he would never do that again. Even if that would be extremely hard not to, because life without John felt so empty, so black and white...
Suddenly he saw the door opening and he couldn't believe what he saw.
"John, why are you here?" Sherlock asked, a bit dizzy. He wasn't sure that what he was living wasn't a dream.
John was there, at the entrance to his room.
"What were you thinking?" John shouted while coming into the room.
He was pretty angry. "How could you deliberately overdose to try and kill yourself?"
"Because, John, I can't live without you! I can't bear spending a life that doesn't include you in it!" Sherlock responded, weakly. At each word he pronounced, his head would hurt even more.
Seeing him like that was really painful to John. That wasn't the first time he'd seen him on a hospital bed, yet, this time, it was far worse.
"I never said we wouldn't be in each other's lives anymore." said John. "We just can't be together anymore, can't you see? You are not stable! You can't attempt suicide if you see that I break up with you for the best reasons!"
"John, you need to understand that I need you. You're the only thing that keeps me alive, you complete me. How do you expect me to live without you?" Sherlock whimpered, out of breath.
" Sherlock. " John said, walking closer to man on the bed. "We tried being together, it just didn't work. Our relationship had turned too unhealthy. We'd even fight over uncooked pasta, for crying out loud! We need distance, Sherlock, it's the only way we can both heal. Then, maybe, we can consider being close again. But until then, you can't be intimate with me. For a bit, it's best if we don't communicate." It wasn't just Sherlock's heart that broke in that moment. The younger man tried to breathe in a steady pattern. A bit of complete distance from John could have helped with his enormous attachment issues for him and then rebuild their relationship all together.
That meant that it wasn't lost forever.
"Perhaps you are right. We can't even be friends for a while... I understand what you mean but please, promise me this isn't really goodbye." Sherlock pleaded. His throat felt really dry.
John gave the other man a tearful look. As much as it pained him to see Sherlock like that, his common sense prevailed. Both men needed individual psychological help and it was clear that Sherlock's suicide desire had been there for a long time. He might have seemed like a man that felt nothing, while in reality he just felt things in an amplified manner.
"I can't tell you right now, but I hope so. If you end up dead, then I can't not say goodbye to you now." John said in a shaky voice. "So if you don't want this to be our final meeting, then please, don't die. "
"I won't. I promise." Sherlock said quietly.
"I'm sorry it has to be this way." John breathed as he took Sherlock's hand in his. All he wanted to do in that moment was hold him close, but he couldn't. The curly haired man was hooked up to too many tubes to do so.
His hand was cold, but it still felt nice to touch it. Rubbing his thumb on it just felt so natural.
"And I'm also sorry I just stormed off without giving you an explanation. I was just too frustrated with how things had become between us."
"I'm sorry I tried to die." Sherlock responded in a hoarse voice.
After a last look at the man he loved, John nodded, then let go of his hand and left the room.
As Sherlock watched him do so, part of the pain from a few days before came back to him, but, this time, it was mixed with a feeling of relief.
Not all hope was lost.
When John came out of Sherlock's room, he saw Mycroft and Mrs Hudson talking quietly to a nurse.
He didn't have the guts to go up to them and talk, so he just rushed to the toilet and, when he made sure he was alone, he let himself cry freely.
Warm tears flooded his face, his vision became blurry and he fell to the floor.
In the midst of his sorrow, the ex soldier kept repeating to himself that he had made the best decision, that Sherlock needed serious help and that they were going to be better, one without the other.