John woke the next morning, feeling the most refreshed he had been in a long time. He went downstairs and made two cups of tea and sat on the sofa, sipping tea, waiting for Sherlock to come downstairs. That might be a while, he thought.
Sherlock had been up the entire night, his mind involuntary replaying all the things he had done to John physical and emotional. His head swarmed and buzzed yelling at him for every mistake he had ever made. His own salvation had turned against him telling him all the things others had told him that before he had denied. His mind had become his own worst nightmare one that he couldn't wake up from. He had tried yelling into a pillow, pacing around for hours, his violin, reading, he had even tried deleting all these emotions but all failed much like his mind had told him that he was, a failure that needed to piss off.
John sat waiting. He figured Sherlock was either pacing around his room or fast asleep, probably dreaming a terrible nightmare.
Sherlock flopped down on his bed before getting up again in frustration. He didn't know how to get rid of whatever it was and it was making him angrier by the second. Rage boiled like lava in the very pit of him.
After waiting for almost an hour, John realized Sherlock would not be coming down for a long time. Maybe not at all for the entire day. He poured the cup of tea that was originally meant for Sherlock down the drain, knowing it was already cold. John went upstairs and decided to leave Sherlock be. He got dressed and went out to the grocery store.
Sherlock had heard John leave and moments later he stopped in front of his dresser and stared at it. The frustration and anger had reached an over flow point in him. He shook with rage at himself for everything he had done. He opened the drawer slowly the cool wood on his hands and he pulled it out to its stopping point before ripping it from its gears and throwing it behind him with a clash against the wall. He then pulled every drawer from their places and repeated until the dresser was empty much like his inside, just a skeleton with no innards. He turned around to face his bed and ripped the sheets from the neatly folded place and threw them to wear his clothes lie abandoned, just like I left John he thought before stomping over to his book stack and picking one up at a time and violently throwing each one at the opposite wall leaving a dent in the mortar. He then went in front of his full body length mirror and stared at his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot and he apparently started crying at some point that was beyond him at the moment. His hair was array and sticking up at random spots. His face was full of anguish and hatred for his own reflection. He was breathing heavily and unevenly and his clothes were rumpled. He brought his fists up and lunged at the mirror, himself, in a blind rage of wrath a raw animal sound emitting from his throat. The mirror cracked and broke into shards raining down on the wooden floor with small thumps. His hands were bloodied and lacerated by all the tiny pieces he stared down at them watching the blood ooze from each opening of his pale flesh. He then fell to the ground in exhaustion unto the pile of broken glass not caring of the pain that should have hurt profusely but felt good? A relief of sorts he thought. He then blindly reached for a piece of glass, making his blood smear all of the others making it a gruesome and stomach rolling scene. Once he found one that was to his liking he rolled up his already messed up shirt and stared down at his smooth even bone white skin, teasing him to place the edge of the shard to it. He lifted his hand to his middle and pressed down a tad into his flesh making a dent but not penetrating it. He pushed down harder making the appearance of his own blood. He then craved slowly the word 'coward' in to his own porcelain canvas of skin. After that one was done he found another spot and wrote the word 'freak', not feeling a single protest from his irritated skin, after all he deserved this he thought seething. After about ten minutes of this stopping and finding a new spot making sure not to overlap a different word, he had at least fifteen going he thought. He wanted to do more but he had run out of room to finish. But it felt so good; finally he found his release to his swirling pit of hatred, the crimson fluid poured languidly over his white giving it an eerie but beautiful look to it. He then lay atop the shards piercing into his back but not caring as he found it calming. He pulled his shirt down over the cuts making it soaked it with his blood, darkening the fabric with the thick ooze. He starred up at the white ceiling tears streaming down his face like rivers that never ceased to flow. He whimpered out as he lay their so alone in the world with no one to find him.
Once John came back and put the groceries away, he heard shouting coming from Sherlock's room. He ran down the hall and opened the door to find a horror. When John entered the room, he stopped and all time froze. He first looked to the bed, disheveled with clothes and the bed spread halfway off it. He also noticed the drawer sitting awkwardly on the bed. Next he moved to the dresser, where he saw that all the drawers were removed, the dent in the wall, and the mirror on it had been shattered. His eyes followed a trail of shattered glass and blood only to find Sherlock lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood. That's when time caught up to him. "SHERLOCK!" He shouted as he ran down the stairs to grab his cell phone. He immediately dialed the emergency line while he tried to resuscitate his friend. "Yes hi, my name is John Watson and I just found my friend lying on the floor unconscious in a pool of blood...his name is Sherlock Holmes...the wounds appear to be..." he choked on his words, "self-inflicted!" He began crying, the lady on the other end of the line trying to get him to calm down. "The address is 221b Baker Street. Send help now! Please for God's sake!"
"They are on the way, sir. Please stay on the line until emergency personnel arrive," the lady on the other end said calmly, which started to tick him off. He started to perform CPR on Sherlock in hopes of possibly returning him to consciousness.
Once the ambulance arrived, John quickly grabbed his coat, got a cab and followed the ambulance to the hospital. He sat in the waiting area for almost two hours until finally, a doctor approached him.
"Dr. Watson, my name is Dr. McGuire. I came to assure you that Sherlock will be okay. We have cleaned him up and put some meds into his system. Was he having any emotional troubles, depression, or thoughts of suicide?"
"Unfortunately, yes," John replied. "It's hard to explain. I didn't see any signs for self-harm but I think he was under a lot of emotional pressure."
The doctor wrote a little note down on his clipboard. "Thank you. You may go in and see him now, but he may still be unconscious." The doctor walked away without another word.
John went into Sherlock's room and sat down in a chair next to the bed. John grasped Sherlock's hand. "Please wake up and get out of your nightmare," he whispered ever so softly.
Sherlock heard the soft whisper of John's loving voice ringing in his ears, he wanted to call out for him but he didn't want to face John like...this. He was a disgrace to be called John's best friend, he had mental breakdown hours after John was out of his suicide mode for goodness sakes! What kind of human does that to another he thought furiously. He then felt the hand that encased his own bandaged one and it filled with unknown warmth that he had only felt when John was embracing him the other day. He cracked open his eye lids to see John's face covered with the lines of worry and fretting over his sorry excuse for a person's form. He then just batted them open and the promptly shut them again as the over head light was nearly blinding. "Jawwwnn," he moaned out as his throat was rather sore, probably from his yelling and screaming manically he assumed.
"It's okay, Sherlock. I'm here. And I'm going to stay until you are fully healed. I will not leave your side I promise." He moved closer to Sherlock's ear and whispered, "You're not a coward, love. You're not a freak either. You are unique and you are perfectly imperfect. That's why I love you." He moved his head back slowly, smiling weakly at Sherlock. "You are worth so much more than you think you are." He put two fingers to his mouth, and then pressed them gently to Sherlock's forehead. "You will never have to be alone. I'll always be right here to catch you."
Sherlock looked up to John his eyes wide with fear that he would be yelled at for his remarkable stupidity. However, the angry words of venom never flowed from John's lips and instead John spoke of devotion and promise, even words of affection. No, no, John couldn't think that just look at the mess he had gotten into! "John, please...g-go," he stuttered out. He couldn't do it anymore acting like there was nothing wrong when their so obviously was. "I-I...please?" He said in hysterics the tears flowing shamefully down his cheekbones; John didn't need to see him so broken. He was shaking violently and trembling in the hard hospital bed. His teeth chattering and breathing was dramatically increasing. By now he was sitting up in a fetal position wanting to find the sharpest object near him so that he could punish his body and mind for acting so immaturely. "N-no J-John, your wron-ng," he mumbled out though his sobs.
John let go of Sherlock's hand, stood up and stepped back, almost with a bit of anger. "Then I guess you're going to have to figure it out for yourself. Obviously I am no help." He turned for the doorway and stopped in the middle of it. "I'll be at the flat...if you decide to come back." And with that, he left, leaving Sherlock's mind full of questions.
Sherlock stared after him tears still streaming down his puffy face. He didn't really want John to leave he just said that to protect himself. He hoped that John would be stubborn like he always was and refuse to leave, but now he was just leaving him in the dust. He watched John walk out into the hallway, not ever looking back at him. Sherlock balled up and buried his face sobbing in hysterics whimpering like a stay beaten animal. The love of his life left him in this broken state.
John stopped walking when he heard Sherlock's muffled cries. Sherlock did leave him in a broken state and wasn't there for him when he needed him most, buy that didn't mean that he needed to leave Sherlock in his most darkest hour. He quickly ran down the street to a florist on a corner. He bought a bouquet of flowers and then went back to the hospital. Before entering Sherlock's room, he still heard small cries escaping the detective. He entered, holding the flowers behind his back. "Hello, Sherlock..."
Sherlock looked up his normally pale complexion now all blotchy with tear stains and red cheeks. "Jo-hn?" He croaked out. John came back to him even after everything he came back.
John came forward, looking embarrassed as ever. "I brought you something..." He pulled out the bouquet of flowers and placed them in Sherlock's bandaged hands ever so carefully. "I thought you would like them. And I'm sorry I left you. You needed me and I deserted you. I was being a bastard and only thinking about myself, when in my eyes, you are all that really matters to me."
Sherlock stared at the flowers curiously he had never received flowers from someone before. He then looked up at John who was apologizing to him. "No John. You are perfect and weren't being selfish. You should leave me before you can't get out," he said, staring at the white walls now.
"And why would I want to. I want you just the way you are, Sherlock. Just how it was. That's what I want. Give me a reason I would want to get out of it in the first place." John took Sherlock's hand again and held it tightly without trying to hurt him.
"Just the way I am? The way I AM!" He yelled causing his voice to go raw and hallow just like before. "Look at me John. I am a mess, you don't want this. I hurt you and I never want to do that again. I am selfish and emotionless you don't want that. You do not want the just the I am John," he said thickly his eyes burning and his inside screaming for help, his mind said push John away, but his heart yearned for him.
John broke down and started crying. He couldn't bear to see Sherlock like this. He especially couldn't take the way he was being talked to. He thought about leaving again and never coming back, but his loving heart wouldn't let him move from his spot. He stayed there, crying, Sherlock watching him silently.
"See I'm right. I hurt you yet again. I don't deserve such a kind loving sweet person like you," he said, trying not to break upon witnessing John break again. He lifted up his hospital gown to see the pink red raw carvings in his skin he pulled it down to show proof to John. "See John? This is what I am," he said, indicating to the wounds on his marble skin, his voice cracking terribly giving it an eerie echo to the room.
John sniffles and speaks between sobs. "This is what you are now, not what you were and not what you will become. Don't you see, I am trying to look past all of this? I am looking into your kind heart that still beats. Beats with happiness when you get a case, beats with joy when you solve one, beats with love for those around you. Don't you understand that I see the good in you? I have always seen the good in you and I always will until we part in death. I am trying to help you and all you keep doing is fucking turning me away! For God's sake, do you have any empathy at all!?"
Sherlock froze still no he didn't have any he thought. He didn't know what to say for once in his life, just blank. He paled to the color of the bleached walls the smell of formaldehyde in the air lingering though out the room.
John looked up into Sherlock's icy blue eyes, his eyes red from the tears that had fallen. "What do you have to say for yourself now? You've made the situation worse with this immoral outburst. I was hoping...praying that you would come back and be alright. Do you think this is alright? Because quite frankly, I don't."
Sherlock wanted to curl up and forget about everything. John was telling him exactly what his mind had been screaming at him for days, and now John's sweet voice was chanting them back at him.
"I'm not trying to be mad at you. You are just making it really, really hard. You need to fix...whatever this is. And I...I am willing to help you out of it." John stared into Sherlock's eyes, those eyes still filled with sorrow and depression.
Sherlock reached out for him wanting to hold onto the blonde until this storm of emotion and anger passed. However, he felt his hand stay cold and nearly broke again. He waited, hoping for John to take it again.
John saw that Sherlock needed to feel his warmth against his cold skin. He took hold of his hand again. "Something like this would be much better, wouldn't it? None of the screaming and fighting."
Sherlock grabbed John's hand desperately as if clinging to a rock in the middle of a treacherous sea storm willing him to be swept away. He fell to his right side with a soft thud as he body was beyond its exertion. He pulled John's arm to his chest and clung to it as if John was leaving him forever. He cried softly as John's words sunk in to the very core of his long shattered heart. He wanted to be held by John as if he were a small child in a thunderstorm for the first time. He shivered under the thin 'blanket' of the hospitals excuse of one. "John, I'm so so so sorry!" He stuttered out lost for any other words. "I just...!" He started out before closing in on John's arm and on himself.
John put his other arm around Sherlock and pulled him into a hug. He let Sherlock cry into his shoulder as silent tears too fell from his eyes. "There there..." he said in a calm and soothing voice. He had never seen Sherlock so low and so broken ever. But now his nightmare was a reality. He knew all that Sherlock needed was some love and care. His next move was a simple, yet touching gesture; a kiss to the top of the head. With that gesture, Sherlock stopped shivering.
Sherlock looked up at John with his long soaked ebony lashes his eyes wide with confusion from the kiss. He swallowed the phlegm that was running down his throat and whispered out "You still care for me that...way?" He asked out puzzled as to why John still cared for him romantically after all this.
"God, yes. Every relationship has its roadblocks. This...this is ours." John smiled weakly, looking straight into Sherlock's eyes.
Sherlock took a shaky breath; John still loved him and that's all that mattered at the moment. He shifted his battered body up to position his face closer to John's their hot breathes tickling one another's soft plush desirable lips. "You mean it's just the two of us, against the rest of the world?" He breathlessly spoke in a gust of hot sticky breath to John's lips.
"If that's what you want, then I'm all for it." Their lips were just barely touching.
"Yes I do, very much," he said leaning closer to John's parted lips, he shivered as John now took his turn to breath against his cupids brow.
A little closer and John lightly kissed Sherlock. All of the years of pain and suffering vanished. His worries subsided and he put all his emotion into the kiss. It screamed 'I love you' and 'I need you'. It also said 'and I know you need me too'. He kissed Sherlock in hopes of taking all of his fears away. Sherlock was taken aback by all the emotion that John so obviously was feeling. The warm clash of flesh upon his drove his deepest emotions of affection for John to the very surface. He kissed back with all the love and endearment he had ever felt of the said man, he kissed him roughly, dragging his teeth over the bottom of John's lip then angling his mouth a different way to swallow John up again. The passion of the kiss Sherlock was giving John so obviously shocked the blonde. John had no idea that Sherlock felt so emotionally attached to him. He didn't even know he had much emotion for him at all. He returned the favor, angling differently to get to all of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock gently pulled his arm away from John's grip to snake it up to John's short blonde hair, ghosting over his skin as he found the back of this head. He then pulled the good doctor down closer to him. Their teeth clashed as Sherlock nipped and suckled accurately on John's now swollen ones that had to be bright red by now.
John reluctantly pulled away, breathless, and trying to get some air. "I love you, Sherlock. I always have. I always will."
Sherlock was panting slightly as the kiss left them breathless and their hearts fluttering in erotic beats, but always in unison. He rested his forehead to John's and softly said "I care for you too."
John placed another soft and quick kiss on Sherlock's lips, only because they looked like they needed another one. John smiled weakly. "We're going to be okay. We'll get through this together. Okay?"
Sherlock looked down at the bed sheets in shame. "Are you sure John?" he asked quietly. He needed to be sure.
"I've never been more positive. I will not leave your side through this. I promise."
Sherlock stiffly nodded as his heart melted at the sentiment in the others voice.
Hey! I have decided that I am going to update the fic every Friday, so be on the lookout every Friday for updates. Comments for this chapter?