Hiding Things (Johnlock)

Chapter One- Hiding things

Sherlock

John is going to be home soon, and the bathroom is a mess. Blood is all over the sink, complimented by gauze and bandages previously decorating my wounds. John doesn't know about my self harm, and he only recently found out about the drugs. I don't think either of us could handle him finding out about this, our friendship would be done for. Keeping this in mind, I dash back and forth between the kitchen and the bathroom cleaning up the mess, disposing of any incriminating evidence. Ten minutes later, I hear the door of 221B open and shut, followed by quick steps up the stairs. I panic, and lock myself in the bathroom.

"Sherlock?" John yells.

"Sherlock, where the bloody hell are you? I got dinner!"

"I'm, uh, in the bathroom! I'll be out in a bit."

"Okay..." John replies, but I can tell he's suspicious.

A few minutes later I reluctantly leave the bathroom, and head straight into the kitchen with a calm face, which seems to worry John even more.

"Sherlock, what were you doing in the bathroom?"

My breathing and heart rate are through the roof at this point, and I am just praying John doesn't notice.

"Using the bathroom?" I respond in a clueless tone.

"Are you sure? Let me see your arm."

"I am fine John, let it go."

"No, let me see your arm now."

"Fine!" I yell as I shoot my arm out in front of him and roll up my sleeve, which shocks him, but eventually puts him at ease as he analyzes my arm and realizes there's nothing.

Thank god I don't cut on the same arm I do drugs, I think. I make a mental note to avoid that arm at all costs, despite it already being a habit.

John

I'm still a bit curious as to what took Sherlock so long, but seeing as I didn't see anything initially, I let it go.

He silently picks at his dinner, and I get increasingly annoyed at the fact that he's not eating. He notices and a flash of what seemed to be panic crosses his face, but he continues to pick at his chow mien. After thirty minutes of awkward concerned glances, I say something.

"Sherlock, is there something wrong with the food?"

"No, why?" He responds, fear laced in his voice, something I'm not used to hearing.

"You aren't eating."

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten at all today."

"I had a bag of crisps while you were out."

"Bullshit."

"I'm sorry, what?" Sherlock says, taken aback by my remark.

"It's absolute bullshit Sherlock. You haven't eaten for the past few days, and I've noticed."

"You're so thin"-at this, he audibly winces-"and I need you to eat. Please."

"I have no idea what you are talking about John, but seeing as it bothers you so much-" Sherlock shoves a bite of chow mien in his mouth and gestures, adding a irritated face at the end before storming off.

Wow, what the fuck just happened?