Chapter Text
That was it.
John Watson was finished with Sherlock's shit.
It was only one small thing, John argued with himself, You've put up with worse, why is this so different?
John knew why it was different, but he couldn't help that he didn't want to feel like this towards his best friend. Hah, you still think he's your best friend? After what he just did to you? Why bother?
John had to bother, didn't he? He was Sherlock's only friend, and it wasn't Sherlock's fault he was being insensitive. Insensitive? What an understatement! He was being a pig-headed, arrogant, spiteful son of a bi.. John shook his head. Best to stop that train of thought before it got any further.
It wasn't all Sherlock's fault, John reasoned.
No, it was your fault for falling for your flatmate! All he did was point it out, and you just screamed at him for it. What a good friend you are.
John sighed. His thoughts were just going round in circles. He knew Sherlock wasn't being intentionally mean, and that he was only telling John his observations. After all, he always claimed John helped him think better.
Well how could John be around him when Sherlock knew he was infatuated with him? John Watson, a former member of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, who couldn't even look at his flatmate without having unneeded thoughts. John 'I am not gay' Watson.
Well, it was true, to a sense. He wasn't gay. Well then how can you fancy Sherlock Holmes? A man? How could you love him?
And that was the root of his problem. He loved him. And John couldn't even imagine himself without Sherlock. After all they'd been through, he couldn't even imagine a world where he and Sherlock didn't work together; Didn't live together; Weren't friends. And wasn't being friends with one of the most incredible, although sometimes brutal, men he'd ever met better than losing him?
All of this was because of John and his stupidity. You know he can't love you back, so don't even think about it. And you know that it'll be awkward. When you get back to the flat, why don't you just move? He doesn't want you to live there. Why would he? You're nothing to him, and that's how it'll stay. You're a sad idiot for falling for Sherlock Holmes, and you know he can't abide idiots. Just leave, and save yourself a sliver of dignity.
Well, John concluded. He knew he was right. Sherlock had probably packed all of his things already. He thought he'd hidden his affection for the consulting detective quite well - He'd never commented on it, and if he had known he would've said something.
Wouldn't he?
Sherlock sat at home on his own. He wasn't quite sure of what he had done wrong, but he knew he'd done something. He'd never seen John this mad before.
Well, you did just tell him that he was in love with you, didn't you? Even as he thought it, he still didn't understand. He'd known for a while about John's crush on him, and he'd always thought that if he was right, then John would say something to him.
You're not right! Why would John ever like someone like you? A sad, broken, pathetic ex-drug addict who can't even display the simplest of emotions. You're unlovable, and you know that. After all, caring is a disadvantage, and no one would ever let themselves even consider a train-wreck like you.
But then again, Sherlock had cared about John since he had met him. Maybe that was why he'd told John that he was married to his work. Because while that was true, he didn't want to hurt John, like he knew he would.
That was all he was capable of doing anymore. And he'd just proved it.
John had just gotten up and left. And so he should! He won't want to live with you anymore, you just ruined everything. You're a screw up. you always have been!
What Sherlock had only just come to terms with is that he liked John back. No, you idiot, you love him, and you just ruined it!
Why wasn't John happy? Sure, Sherlock could have been more tactful, but John knew him and if he had tried that then John would've known for sure something was wrong. He would've been worried, and that was not an option. No, John was not to worry more than he could help.
So, he had simply told John his observation. He hadn't been mean about it, and was trying to be as emotionless as he could, to see if he was right, before he told John he returned the feelings. However, John hadn't given him a chance to finish what he was saying, as as soon as he had said that John liked him, John had told him, quite definitely, that 'He was not gay' and he didn't like him in that way.
So, Sherlock was wrong. Well, that was fine. Everyone makes mistakes. But before he had the chance to apologize, John had gone. Sherlock had looked around the flat for him, but he must have gone to his mind for too long and John had left.
John wasn't going to come back.
John wasn't going to come back
John wasn't going to come back
Suddenly, it hit Sherlock. The walls started to close around him. He couldn't breathe.
Quickly, he went into the kitchen, looking for anything, anything that would help him. That would make him feel better, clear his mind.
Then he found it. His old friend. The only thing that would never leave him.
John would be disappointed in me, he thought.
Still, he reasoned, at least I'm not back on the drugs
John gathered his thoughts. You need to face the music sometime, Johnny boy, might as well be now.
Slowly, he headed back towards the direction of the flat. He knew that he'd have to get there sometime, but if he could just stretch it out a little longer then maybe he could think of an argument, a reason, an excuse, anything so that they could still be friends.
When he got back to the flat, everything was quiet. Sherlock must have gone out, he couldn't stand how you gave in to your emotions.
John needed to calm down. Everything was going to be okay. He just needed to find out what Sherlock wanted, and to do that, he would have to wait for him to come back. If he ever does, it's not like he needs you. He's a genius, unlike you.
He sat down in his chair, but after five minutes he was getting fidgety. He decided that he needed a cup of tea to be able to properly relax, and so he got up and headed into the kitchen.
He wasn't prepared for what he saw.
Sherlock had quickly fainted. He hadn't done this in quite a while, at least since he'd met John, and he'd miscalculated the damage it would do. He had just wanted to do enough to quiet his mind a bit, maybe get his thoughts straightened, but this wasn't what he'd expected at all.
Before he had fallen against the wall, he remembered why he'd stopped in the first place.
He had never wanted to stop once he'd started.
Sherlock was bleeding out, and fast.
John quickly switched into medical mode, spinning around to grab his medical kit from the bathroom. He pushed all thoughts to the back of his mind except one.
I must help Sherlock.
He did a quick assessment of Sherlock, and after he found that Sherlock had merely fainted, he shook him awake.
"Sherlock, Sherlock it's me, it's John, wake up, please, for me."
After he heard Sherlock groan an affirmation that he'd heard John, and John had seen his eyes flutter open, John set to work dressing the wound.
"Can you tell me what happened?"
Although John could see what Sherlock had quite obviously done, he wanted to see if he could remember.
Or more importantly, he wanted to see if he would respond like the Sherlock he knew.
"Isn't it obvious, John? You're supposed to be a doctor, surely you can figure it out."
John shook his head. He seemed okay, apart from the blood, if a little unsure of himself. As John continued to dress his cuts, he asked some more questions, deciding to go for the most obvious - and easiest to answer - first.
"What did you use?"
Sherlock held up a knife that John had never seen before. Hell, it seemed to be more of a flick knife than one you'd find in the kitchen. "My old friend. Kept it for stupid sentimental reasons. First one I ever used. Well, first knife anyway."
Well, John wasn't expecting that revelation.
"And no, you haven't seen any scars because you chose not to look. My guess would be that you didn't want to see the needle marks."
"You never guess, Sherlock."
Sherlock was silent for a minute, so John finished up the bandages. Just as he tucked the last one in, he heard Sherlock mumble something.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you."
"No, I don't guess anymore. I'm usually wrong." John tried to meet his eyes, but Sherlock just slumped back against the wall and slid his eyes closed again.
"Hey, don't close your eyes, you need to stay awake so that I can make sure you haven't done more damage than I thought." John hesitated. "What do you mean anymore?"
Sherlock groaned and got up, pushing John out of the way. "Why didn't you leave already?"
See? You knew he'd want you gone. You should just go now, you're not wanted anymore. But John couldn't say anything, because Sherlock kept talking.
"...Or do you want me to move out? I'm sure you could find another roommate who you'd have more in common with. I don't mind. Just tell me."
What was he talking about? Why would you want him to move? This is your fault, not his, you need to go.
However, for once in his life, John didn't listen to his mind.
"Why would I want you to move?" John questioned.
Well, Sherlock thought, that was unexpected.