Johnlock Stories

Day 15: I'm Sorry

Sorry, this is a bit late, by like, three hours, but I wasn't even going to post today because I didn't have anything, so be glad I did, now I have to go write another chapter for tomorrow. Wrote this on a whim, not too bad, but trigger warning, talks of suicide.

Enjoy my little friends, I hope to see you tomorrow.

*****

SHERLOCKS POV

Sherlock signed his name at the bottom of his letter to John, he sat at the desk in his room with a gun on top of it. He grabbed the letter and folded it, setting it down before grabbing his gun.

"John, I'm sorry," he whispered, running a hand down his tear streaked face, he stood up and walked to his bed, sitting down and leaning over with his elbows rested on his knees.

Sherlock put the handle of the gun to his temple and grabbed his head, trying to block out all the screaming in his mind.

How could you do this to John? You've already left him once and now you're doing it again? Why? Because you're weak?! Because poor little Sherlock can't stand living anymore?! You're pathetic.

He shook his head and let out a sob, "Stop, please stop," he bared his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut before reaching over and grabbing his phone off the bed side table, looking up suicide hotline numbers.

"I can't do this to John, not again," he whispered while punching in the number, he put it to his ear and listened to it ring.

"This is the suicide prevention hotline, my name is Clara," a sweet voice that belonged to a girl sounded on the other line and Sherlock bit his bottom lip, shutting his eyes.

"I- I don't know how this is supposed to work," he responded, his voice breaking.

"Well sir, lets begin with the main question, are you suicidal or looking for someone to talk to?" Sherlock wiped his cheek with his other hand.

"Suicidal," he choked back a sob and dropped his head, lifting it back up to the phone when he heard the other voice speak again.

"Okay, and are you in imminent danger?" Sherlock glanced at the gun on his bed.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Tell me what's happening right now," the sweet voice sounded too pure for this line of work.

"I messed everything up, I'm going crazy," Sherlock began opening up to this stranger, and it felt different, "I don't want to die, I just want to stop hurting,"

"You're not crazy, there a plenty of people going through what you are right now, what's making you feel this way?" Sherlock took a breath.

"I don't want to feel anymore, I mess everything up, I have no verbal filter, I think I-" Sherlock choked again, "I think I emotionally abused my flatmate, but not on purpose, I just don't know how to control what I say to him, but I love him," Sherlock heard the front door open.

"Sherlock, I'm home," he heard John shout, his heart picked up speed and he cleared his throat.

"Okay," he perked his head up and shouted back, he heard the door close and John's footsteps descended up the stairs into his own flat.

"Sir?" Sherlock put the phone back up to his ear.

"Yes?"

"What made you seek help and call this line tonight?" Sherlock closed his eyes again.

"I can't do this to him, not again," Sherlock thought about John, ran through the memories, but maybe it's more the better, maybe he doesn't even want you here. The voice in his head began telling him.

"Your flatmate?" she asked.

"Yeah. Oh God, I shouldn't have called, now you're going to feel like you didn't help me, I'm sorry," the tears streaming down his face.

"Sir, please stay on the line, we can get through this," she quickly reassured, Sherlock shook his head.

"No, no, I'm sorry, you did help me, you did," he paused, "I just couldn't be saved," Sherlock heard the voice on the other line continue talking as he pulled the phone away from his face and hung up. He sobbed and threw the phone across the room, picking up the gun on the bed.

"I'm sorry John, I'm so so sorry," Sherlock cried and lifted the gun to his face, putting the barrel on his temple.

JOHNS POV

John took off his shoes and put them by the door, walking over to his bed and laying down on it, he looked at the ceiling and let the thoughts run through his mind.

Work was especially slow that day, his coworker Felicity had been sick and so he had to take her work as well, which caused him to stay and extra 30 minutes after.

A loud bang pulled him from his thoughts and he sat up, it was the sound of a gun. The sound brought back memories from his time in the war and his heart began beating faster, it took only a minute for him to calm down and remember what was happening.

"I told Sherlock to stop shooting at the bloody walls," he mumbled and stood up, opening his door to walk downstairs and yell at the other man.

He arrived downstairs but found no Sherlock on the couch or in his chair, he furrowed his brows.

"He's shooting the walls in his room now?" John sighed and walked down the hall, knocking on his door, "Sherlock?" no response, "Are you shooting the walls in there?" when there was still no response John's heart began accelerating.

"No, he wouldn't be so stupid, would he?" John whispered, "Sherlock?" he jiggled the doorknob, locked, "I'm coming in," John stepped away from the door and kicked the knob, sending it flying open.

"Oh my God," Sherlock laid toppled over on the floor, a pool of blood around his head, and a gun in his hand, "Oh my God," John rushed forward and turned his head, "No no no no no, Sherlock, what did you do?" he looked at his hand which was now covered in blood, "What did you do?!" he shouted.

*****

Why is it snowing? I just want Summer to come back :(