Hiding Things (Johnlock)

Chapter 6-I'm done.

A/N-hey guys, so I figured I would just put a TW on this whole thing. The whole story is going to most likely be triggering to those whose triggers are eds, panic attacks, self harm, eating disorders, depression and drugs. So if you can't handle that, please don't read this story. Thanks :)

Sherlock's POV

I slammed my door shut, and sunk to the floor, hyperventilating once again to the point where I thought I would pass out. I shakily took out my blade, and made just one deep cut. I surprisingly didn't have the urge to cut, but I knew at this rate I wouldn't stay conscious for much longer. My arm felt like a tree in a forest fire, but eventually my breathing returned to a semi-normal rate. I stumbled over to my dresser, my arm still gushing blood. I dug deep in the drawer until I found the false bottom's hole, pulled it open and took out a bottle of pills, Vicodin to be exact.

It's time. You said the next time everything fell apart you'd do it. And actually be successful please.

My brain taunted me, screaming at me to just down the pills and be done with it. After a couple of seconds, I grabbed the water bottle beside my bed and quickly took the whole bottle's worth. I felt a bit woozy, but I managed to climb into bed, and fell asleep, dreaming peacefully.

John's POV

"So you knew about the self harm too?" I bellowed in anger.

"I thought he had stopped..."Mycroft whispered sadly, and all the anger I had summoned melted away in an instant.

"I'm sorry, it's just, why didn't you tell me everything?"

"John you must understand, some things should just be left to Sherlock to tell you."

"...I understand. Well what do we do now?"

"Get Sherlock."

I walked over to his room and tried to open the door, to find it locked. I knew what this meant, and it was nothing good. I didn't want to have to replace two doors, so I settled for breaking the lock and forcing my way in. I found him on his bed, seemingly peacefully sleeping.

"Mycroft he's sleeping, should we really-" Mycroft quickly shoved me out of the way and beelined for him, immediately checking his pulse. His eyes flashed panic, and he screamed at me to call 999. I was in such shock I didn't hear him until he came over and physically shook me out of it.

"John did you hear me? I said call 999, now." He said in a deadly calm voice that I knew was just to hide his true fear.

I grabbed my phone and dialed them as fast as I could. A lady with a perky Yorkshire accent answered.

"Hello this is emergency services what's the problem?"

"My friend, he, he overdosed."

"What's your address sir?"

"221B Baker Street."

"I've got an ambulance headed there right now sir. Would you like to stay on the line?"

"N-no, thanks."

I hung up and rushed over to Mycroft, who was pathetically doing CPR, and we both knew it.

"Take over John, you have better strength and experience. I'll let the paramedics in."

"Got it."

I started CPR on Sherlock and kept going at the same rate for ten minutes, not once getting tired, like my own life depended on it. And in a way, a part of my life did. If Sherlock died I don't know if I could live with myself. He eventually regained consciousness for a minute after the paramedics showed up and gave him Narcan. I looked into his navy blue eyes, and the ocean in them was as calm as ever. At this point I was sobbing.

"Sherlock, please don't die, please."

Sherlock's POV

"Sherlock, please don't die, please."

Did I hear what I thought I just did? No, I'm hearing things, I'm probably dead right now.

But as my eyes struggled to open, I could see only one person by my side. John.

But why? Why would he be here? Pity probably, he feels bad for your sorry, suicidal ass.

"John..." I muttered.

"Sherlock!" He cried out as I felt something wet hit my cheek, then be wiped off.

Was he crying? Over me? Oh god, what have I done now.....

Those were my final thoughts before I slipped into darkness.