Love You to Death~a Johnlock fanfic

Relapse?

I was doing good. I promise. No smoking, no drinking, 9 hours of sleep every night! But god, I needed something. I couldn't get my mind of that stupid dream. I just couldn't. I did it for my own health! My blood pressure was going up every day because of the anxiety and suspense I felt from that dream. I was terrified every day, but I couldn't talk to John about it. I just couldn't bring myself to scare him like it did me. So of course, I had to get some kind of outing, a cigarette. Well...ten cigarettes. And of course, he caught me.

I was right outside the door looking out into the dense, busy London street. Ugh. People. When I heard a door swing open and a loud voice.
"SHERLOCK!" I heard my husband's voice behind me. I turned around quickly with the cigarette behind my back. I would have done it when he was out but I couldn't wait any longer.
"Give me that!" He said in an infuriated voice, reaching behind my back and snatching the cigarette out of my hand.
"Sherlock! You're going to fucking kill yourself with these!" He said, his fist clenched and his face scrunched up.
"John, I'm sorry it's just-"
"No! I don't want to hear it! Now, you're coming with me. I'm going to show you something." He said, grabbing my arm and flagging down a cab.

I didn't say anything on the way there. I could hear his heavy breathing and shifting around in his seat the entire time though. God, it was one cigarette. I loved him to death, but he can be insufferable sometimes.

The taxi finally stopped. The morgue? What are we doing here? John stormed in, dragging me behind him.

"Room?" He addressed Molly as soon as we got in.
"231." She said, pointing to the left.
He walked me to the room and pulled out a key to open the door. He then paced over to one of the drawers and slowly slid it open, directing my eyes to a random body.
"This man's name was Paul Harper, 38 years old, the exact same age as you. Dead, stroke." He said, still staring at the body.
"Do you want to end up like this?" He began, pausing for a breath.
"For me, Mycroft, Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, to see you like this? To stand at your grave and be at your funeral for a second time? Is that what you want?" He continued, his breath being more rapid by the second. I just fucking lost it. I don't know why but every cell in my body turned flaming red and and a drop of sweat dripped down my forehead.
"YOU DONT KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH WHAT I DEAL WITH. TO THINK WHAT I THINK, TO LIVE HOW I LIVE EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY." I screamed at the top of my lungs, my face and ears getting redder by the second, tears started streaming down my face.
"I NEEDED IT GOD DAMN IT. AND YOU HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT TO TAKE IT AWAY." I screamed and stormed off. I couldn't even see straight, my eyes were blurred with tears and I was dizzy with anger and I felt like I was about to explode.
I mindlessly took a long walk home, I didn't feel like getting in a car. I think I got home around 8:00pm. I ran to put bedroom and laid down on his side of the bed. His smell made me infuriated but also lonely at the same time. I couldn't help but cry myself to sleep. I felt guilt and anger and sadness all at the same time. He had been gone for too long. I wonder where he went. He was taking too long. I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"No, I know he wouldn't." I whispered to myself, even though for some reason I had such a strong feeling towards my idea. It was an only matter of time where I'd find that I was right all along.