Sherl Shots

Medicine

!!!TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!

-violence

-mentions of abuse

-alcoholism

-mentions of death

-angst & lots of it

a/n: taking this into consideration, I suggest you don't read on if these topics trigger or otherwise upset you. If you do continue though, I cannot be held liable for anything.

A vase flies past his face, hits the wall behind the detective. He covers the side of his head with his arm to protect it from stray shards of glass, John's yelling making his ears ring.

"Everything I gave up for you!" the doctor screams, his voice shaking his rib-cage and tearing his throat.

"What about me?! What about what I gave up?!" the detective replies, spitting the words like it's something putrid.

Hot tears stream down the doctors' face, mingling with the fading smell of whiskey on his lips and the last hastened kiss he gave the man before him "You gave nothing up!"

The detective clenches his fists "I gave everything up for you! I nearly died, John! Can't you get that into your thick skull?!"

"Mary died for you! She gave up her life for you! I'll never get her back! I'll never hear her voice again unless it's to tell you to save me! She gave up everything and in return I got you!" his voice quivers, cracks with each syllable.

The detective takes a step back, his knees weak and wobbly, threatening to drop him like a sack of potatoes, "I suppose I wasn't what you wanted." he whispers, tears thrashing at the backs of his eyes.

The doctor realizes what he's said and all the anger seeps out his skin, painting the room red but leaving him lifeless. "Sherlock, that's... that's not what I meant--"

"Then why did you say it?" the detective snaps, fiery gaze fixed on his lovers' face.

"I... I don't know..." the doctor admits, the weight now removed from his words.

Only now do the two notice how thick the air is, how thick the silence is, how thick the disgust is. If you took a knife to it, you could cut perfect slivers of stale love.

"Sherlock--" the doctor says, voice barely audible.

"Shut up." the detective interjects, tone shaky and worn thin under the river his eyes have created.

"What?" the doctor asks in disbelief.

"Shut up," the detective enunciates "every time. Every time you try to fix it. You make me choose sides, you make me love you despite all the Hell you put me through. The drinking, the abuse. This time," he chuckles wryly "this time you can't fix it. You can't be my medicine or my band-aid. You can't make it all better, Doctor Watson. You lost your patient. Time of death; 07:18."

"Sherlock, don't be like that." the doctor says, taking a step toward the younger man.

The detective steps back and shakes his head, tears still falling as fear flickers over his features.

"Sherlock," the older man demands.

"No, don't touch me," he spits, index finger pointed at the doctor as a warning, "don't you dare touch me, John Watson."

"Sherlock. Stop." the doctor says, voice deepened to sound threatening yet it's damp, like paving after rain.

The detective chokes on his sobs and shakes his head once again as he inches closer and closer to the door, his feet itching to run.

One step. He's one step away from leaving. Leaving and never coming back. But there's a hook and line in his gut trying to pull him closer to his lover once again like it has many times before. Maybe if he gives the man who has broken him down another chance, just one more chance, he could change. Be as he used to be. Be kind, be loving.

"Don't walk away from me, Sherlock. Please.. you're--" the doctor swallows thickly "you're all I have left. If you walk away now, I'll just get worse. What do you think will happen to Rosie if she grows up with me as her father? She won't be okay. She'll be like me. Do you want that, Sherlock?"

The detective presses the palms of his hands to his eyes and allows the sobs he was trying to repress to wrack his body, leaving him to unravel completely. Disentangle.

He looks at the doctor, vision blurry and eyes burning "Nothing could hurt me," he whispers, ambling closer to his doctor and cupping his cheek in his hand, staring at him with the softest expression.

The doctor closes his eyes, crying silently and leans into the taller mans' touch, begging whatever gods there are to make this moment last forever.

"until you hurt me."

The words still hang in the air as the detective runs off, grabbing his coat and scarf as he does. John and Rosie, Mrs Hudson and Baker Street. All of that is far behind him as he runs as fast as his feet can carry him, letting the wind dry his tears.

a/n: sorry :(

also; vote spam and comment spam is appreciated by the author <3