3 - johnlock [EDITING]

7

TRIGGER WARNING

john and i didn't have deep discussions every night now. some nights, we would just gave a cup of tea and talk like old friends. some nights, he wouldn't even wake up. i think his nightmares are getting better, and thank god for that.

or that's what i lie to myself about. i don't want her s nightmares to get better, because then i fear that he will stop coming out here to talk to me. and i'd greatly miss that. but i tell myself it's good that his nightmares are getting better, not because i care, but because i can be alone again. but i know that's not true.

but it had been a while since i had, you know, done it. felt the sweet relief and control of the blade across my skin. i had been clean for so long, until mary died and john forgot about me and my life became a train wreck. and then john talked about me so i've been clean again for about at month. but i couldn't just wait, i was giving in. so, when john didn't wake up tonight, i took my blade into the bathroom and, well, did my business.

i was very careful when i self harmed, it was always on my legs, where no one had ever had the need to look. it was always covered up my pants, and no one ever saw beneath those. but the final slice was too deep, and there was blood. too much of it. i panicked, looking for something to clean it up, but nothing worked, so I ran into the kitchen, where there were paper towels.

then i heard john come into the living room. sh*t what would this look like? me, stumbling around, just in my underpants, with a bloody leg. he wasn't supposed to be awake. why was he awake?

john: sherlock? you in there.

me: uh, yeah.

i was frozen, like a deer in headlights. then he walked in.

john: sherlock? what happened to you? let me examine that, sand you can tell me what happened. go, sit down on the sofa.

i kept my head down. he couldn't know, and right now, he just thought it was a gash i got from something else. he sat my down on the sofa, getting a first aid kit.

john (jokingly): ok, now you're gonna need to move that paper towel if you want me to clean that.

but the thing is, i didn't want him to clean it. i wanted him to walk off and forget about it. but that wasn't going to happen, so i moved the towel and stared down. john looked at my leg, examining it. then he took in a sharp intake of breath. i looked up quickly, then down in shame.

john didn't say anything. he carefully cleaned me up, then wrapped a large bandage around it. i knew then that he had seen the cuts i made tonight, along with all the others that i had been making since age 14.

john: ok, let's get you to bed.

he helped me up, and i stared at the ground, too afraid to look at him. he walked me to my room, carefully as if he was afraid i would start yelling.

once we got there, he wrapped his arms around me, burying his head into my chest. he didn't say a word, but the hug said everything.

john (whispered): sherlock, please.

and i knew. those two words said everything i needed to hear. i wrapped my arms around him, pulling him in closer. then, he let go and tucked me into bed.

i didn't sleep well that night.

(a/n: i wish i had a john friend)