Hesitantly, Sherlock makes his way towards your new bed. You crawled back, 'til you could lie your head against the cold wall. Sherlock sits with his legs crossed, and a blanket around his shoulders, in the middle of the bed, facing you.
"How does it come, you're here?", you ask, your voice still oozing with sleep.
"When we came here, about - " he looks at the clock on your nightstand," three hours ago. You fell asleep in the cab. John didn't want to wake you, so he carried you in here."
Sherlock takes another deep breath and continues his story:"Both, John and I, went into our apartment. I couldn't sleep. Started walking around the kitchen and was about to pick up the violin, then I saw your suitcase on the floor and thought why not."
He chanced a glance at you before explaining:" I came down here. After I was putting down the case, you started moving in your bed. First I thought you had one of those dreams..." he faded before continuing after a short uncomfortable silence, that made you cuddle deeper into the blankets "Well, clearly it was a nightmare. So I woke you up." He looks up at you and smiled shyly.
"Does that happen often?" you ask worried.
"What?" Sherlock demands with a frowning forehead.
"You not being able to sleep" you bring forth.
Clearly taken aback, by your question he confesses :" Sometimes... Doesn't matter anyway." A fake smile flashes upon his features.
"Course it matters" you exclaim, the anger obvious in your voice. "Sherlock, from what I saw today, you are a fucking genius. And it matters if you get enough sleep. Do you bloody hear me?"
A low chuckle slips out of his parted lips.
"Seriously Sherlock, I'm not joking" you grunt angrily.
Sherlock tries to keep the laughter in, but fails miserably. After he caught a few bitch-faces of yours he leans closer to you and hugs you amicably.
"I hate you" you mumble against his chest. Sherlock answers with another incredible deep chuckle.
"You don't have to worry about me, Abby. I have John for that"
Now it was your turn to smile brightly up at Sherlock.
He moved back from your hug and looked you deep into the eyes before he suggests:"What were you dreaming about?"
Without hesitation you admit "Killing myself"
Surprisingly, Sherlock wasn't surprised at all, which made you squint your eyes and watch him closer.
"You don't look surprised" you finally state.
"From the way you were moving, the cold sweat, the tears as you woke up. I just assumed it has to be something in that area." he said serious.
"How do you always know that stuff?", you shyly reply.
"It's my job..."
After you shot him a glance of confusion Sherlock explains:"I am the worlds only consulting detective."
"How is that?" a soft smile audible in your voice.
"I invented the job". Your eyebrows raise and the continues,"I help the police solve murders. They call me when they are too stupid to solve the case on their own."
"Impressive" you whisper, and it gets you a proud smile from Sherlock.
"Back to the dream. Do you want to kill yourself?" Sherlock asks, the weight of the question clear in his voice.
Your eyes fall down on the bed sheets. With your now sweat-free hands you grab the blankets tighter around you and shift uncomfortable to the other side. You couldn't bare to look at the man in front you with his beautiful eyes. Everything inside you screamed. You wanted to tell him the truth, but didn't want to scare him away. You once told your (now ex-) friend about your suicidal thoughts. You'll never forget the look of sheer disgust and incomprehension on her arrogant face. After that you've never talked to here again, she spread the rumor in your whole school. Because of that people started bullying you. Because of that you started cutting yourself.
You eyes got watery as you thought back to that memories. You shake your head to stop thinking about it. A simple look into Sherlock blue eyes and you know you could trust him with your life. You take a deep breath and finally answer after several minutes of silence. "Yes, I want to kill myself."