Work Text:
Well shit.
What he had done was likely the mistake of his lifetime. Dr. John Watson had genuine bombs strapped to him. Actual 'kaboom and make you die' bombs. He had been stupidly brilliant enough to lead the bomber directly to him.
Why would he do so? Simple. He wanted to die.
It's difficult for him to confess this, but Dr. Watson had been too stressed. As much as he treasured Sherlock, the unexpected every second of his life was taking a massive hit on him. Too much of one.
Now, what was his mistake? Grabbing Jim Moriarty and responding 'cause I want to die' when Sherlock questioned what the fuck he was doing. The discussion was more in-depth, of course. However, most of the exchange was wiped from his mind when Jim left him with Sherlock. Alive. And alone.
All because of some damn caller making a better deal.
He was rightfully pissed at whoever was on the line with Bomber Moriarty. But that wasn't his major crisis right now. The more important thing was trying to make Sherlock Holmes forget that he attempted to kill himself.
He was screwed.
John had thought over thousands- no, millions of scenarios of what would happen as soon as he and Sherlock made it to the flat. Sherlock finding him disgusting and kicking him out. Sherlock simply ignoring the entire situation. Whatever came to his mind wasn't good.
----
John closed the door behind him as soon as they made it to the flat. His mind was still racing, stressing about whatever was about to come. Great, more stress. More motivation.
...
He felt nauseous.
"Listen, Sherlock. About what happened-"
"Do we have more milk?"
"No, we don't. Why?"
"Well, I was going to make myself a drink, but it appears we've run out of milk. Presumably, from you making your coffee this morning. You should've bought more." Sherlock sighed.
"I'm sorry. Do you want me to kill myself?" John questioned. "Because that's what it seems like right now." Sherlock continued to rummage through the fridge.
"You're not even listening. Of course. Why do I even try with you?" Watson mumbled, throwing his coat on the rack. The racket in the kitchen wavered.
"John, I can assure you I'm listening. I've been listening since you walked into that building with bombs strapped on you. I'm ignoring you because I could read your anxiety like an open book. You evidently have something on your mind, most likely associated with your attempt back at the pool. I was trying to give you an open window to not talk about it, but you refused to take it. You either want to talk about it or get the discussion over as soon as possible. And for the first time in forever, I don't know which it is."
John surveyed Sherlock for a moment, scanning for any emotion. He finally sat down on the couch. Sherlock took his place next to him not soon after. "I apologize if I'm only making things worse, but I'd like to make an effort to help. I'm willing to listen."
The other nodded hesitantly. "...I can't keep working like this." He started. Sherlock nodded back. "Care to elaborate?" He asked.
"Right, right. Yes, of course. Uhm, I'm overworked. I can't keep skipping out on meals and sleep to chase a bunch of bad guys. I know that's what I signed up for, and I don't wanna drag you down, but I can't continue. I'm sorry." John sputtered. He suddenly felt a bit lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"I understand that. Okay." Sherlock seemed puzzled for a bit before visibly lighting up. "Alright. How about this. Instead of you completely quitting, we communicate more." John looked at him weirdly. "That's-" "Let me finish, John. If I say we need to do something and you feel..." "Overworked." "Overworked, yes. If you feel that way, you tell me. Unless I absolutely need you, you can take a break. You need to let me know when, roughly, you'll be back."
Watson let that sit with him a bit. Could he trust Sherlock to actually listen to him? Or would the man forget this all tomorrow morning? He sighed. There's no reason why he shouldn't.
"Alright, let's try that." Sherlock smiled. "I'm glad." He stood up. "We can start by you going to sleep right now." John hesitated. "Are you going to sleep too?" Sherlock stared for just a moment more. "Not quite yet."
John frowned a bit. "Could you promise to sleep as soon as you are done?" "I promise you, Watson."
Sherlock started to walk off. "Hey, Sherlock?" He stopped. "Yes?" "Thank you." Sherlock smirked. "No problem, Doctor."
----
A few days later.
"Oh, what? Did it walk off on its own?"
Sherlock and John were on yet another case, trying to find a missing earring. It was roughly 2am, and they were at an all-night diner with their files.
John ran a hand over his head and sighed. "No, it didn't. But why would someone only take one earring? It would be less value then." He could feel himself slipping away again, becoming more distant every minute.
"Maybe he only needed one. But why?" Sherlock clicked his tongue. "That is the question. Hm." He glanced around the room, doing a double take of John. "John." "Hm? Yea?" He paused, raising an eyebrow. "You here?"
John laughed confusingly. "Uh, yea? What do you mean?" Sherlock looked him up and down. "You seem a bit out of it." John's mind was drawn back to their previous conversation a few months ago. They hadn't spoken a word about it since. It wouldn't hurt to tab out now, right?
"..I need a break." John muttered, glancing away from Sherlock. Sherlock stared at him for a moment before understanding. "Alright. Head home. When you feel better, come back. You can ring me if you need me." Watson nodded and got up, beginning to leave.
"Hey, John?"
John turned. "Mm?"
"Take care of yourself. And thank you."