Sherlock's secret

CHAPTER 11

 Sherlock's POV

John's words were still ringing through the mess that was his mind. He loved him - the fucked-up, suicidal consulting detective - loved by the most amazing person to have ever lived.

Sherlock couldn't even begin to fathom it.

He would tell John he loved him. He would apologize for hurting him, and he would make it all okay. They could be happy together. They would work it out. Together.

He was testing out a tentative smile when he realized where he'd been mistaken. John had spoken in past tense. He said, "I loved you." His face fell and his mind quickly delved back into the depths of his insanity.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to force the thoughts out of his head, but to no avail. He released the breath he had been holding, and the thoughts rushed in like a tidal wave. He was helpless to stop them.

No one could ever love the real him; the him that sliced his own skin because he couldn't cope; the him that pondered suicide day in, day out. The him that loved his best friend - someone who could not possibly love him back now that he knew.

Sherlock's breathing quickened and his heart pounded against his rib cage. He could feel his pulse in his mutilated wrists, and a small sob escaped from his lips. Unfamiliar sounds emitted from the heart monitor beside him insulting his ears, and a small, pretty nurse, rushed in. Mistaking his emotional pain for physical pain, she increased the amount of medication being pumped into him via IV drip.

Sherlock heaved himself up, and tried to tell her not to. He needed to have a clear mind, he had to talk to John - to apologize.

She didn't understand.

Placing a comforting hand on his arm, she smiled a sad, reassuring smile, and walked out of the room, gently closing the door behind her.

His mouth formed the word "no", but no sounds came out. Collapsing back on the uncomfortable mattress, he struggled to keep his eyes open.

He had to stay awake, he had to stay awake, he had to -