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Its been two years since Sherlock's supposed death, but now he's back, and John has become angered by his lack of communication....
"Sherlock sit down"
"Don't show off"
"Turn up your coat collar"
...
Sherlock POV
Numerous sentences, conversations and comments flood my head, distracting me from my work.
I inspect a hair left on the coat of the skeleton while half gesturing to the person hovering beside me.
"John, get me those gloves over there?"
I mumble in his direction. My words are responded to with a higher pitched voice than John's, with the correction of
"I'm not John..."
Trying to stay focused on my work, my reply is simply,
"Yes, well..right."
There's a loud ringing to my right.
"Lestrade you may want to take that"
He thankfully doesn't question and instead walks out, moving up and outside.
"Sherlock"
Molly starts. Possibly to make conversation, to fill the empty space, or to ask another question on how to replicate the position of John.
John...
"Yes, Molly..?"
"Do you..? I mean possibly, you and John haven't spoken in well.."
I know where this is going and it is not one I would like to speak about. Though I suppose I could humor her with what she would like to know.
"Yes Molly, I am aware of how long its been since I have interacted with Dr. Watson. No, we were never together..no I do not have *feelings* for him"
She seemed to understand my straightforward answer and nodded to the reply.
"John could you-"
"Its Molly"
A voice replies sternly.
"..y-yes. Sorry"
I continue inspecting.
" are you alright?"
I exhale. Who is she, my therapist?
My hand shakes and my pen clatters to the floor.
"Yes Molly. I am, quite fine, now could you please get those gloves?"
-a week later, in Sherlock's bedroom-
Third person POV
Sherlock lies in his bed, fingers drumming against his chest. His mind spirals as Johns voice floods every corner and crevasse.
"Shut up"
His voice continues to echo, and sherlock eventually gives in, curling up with his head in his hands, yelling in agony. His breathing quickens slightly.
"SHUT UP."
"Sherlock."
"STOP IT."
His brain fogs, removing any logic that was there before. His eyes scan the room before landing on a sharp scalpel. *I need it to stop, make it stop!*
His hand stretches out, no longer in his control, grabbing the scalpel. The hand moves towards his wrist slowly, shaking aggressively before resting on his pale skin, cutting through into the layers. A stinging sensation tingled through his arm as the rough movements of the blade opened the wound further.
He shouted audibly, dropping the blade on the floor with a loud clatter before hurriedly moving to cover the deep cut with his shirt, but the blood passes through the thin fabric with ease, flooding everywhere, spreading quickly.
His breathing picks up at a more frantic pace, unable to get all the air out anymore, tripping over his lungs, mind spiraling, not even creating coherent thoughts anymore.
A loud knock comes to the door.
"Sherlock!!"
Sherlock's eyes widen as he realizes this voice of John's is not one his head this time, but right in front of him.
Sherlock tries to force his breathing to calm, only making it worse. He lifts his head slightly to look up at the man standing in front of him.
"John?"
"Sh-sherlock are you alright?"
John asks with concern, standing with the door open and his hand resting on the doorknob.
Sherlock frantically gets out of bed, moving towards his coat and draping it around his figure, heart still racing and mind still foggy.
"Yes...of course John."
He replies, his voice wavering slightly.
He looks around his room before turning around and speaking,
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your...fiancée or whoever.?"
"W-we broke up"
John replied half carelessly.
"Oh well thats too bad."
Sherlock moved past John quickly towards the bathroom, attempting to retain his still-bleeding arm. John watched as red liquid dripped down onto the floor, and turned back to his room, where it was everywhere. Covering the floor.
John's POV
"Thats too bad"
Sherlock half-seethed as he pushed past me towards the bathroom.
Anger flooded my senses. Why does he have to be like this?
"Machine"
I mumbled under my breath.
"So I've been informed"
He replied back sternly, halfway down the hall now.
It wasn't long before I regretted my comment.
Blood trickled down his sleeve, leaving a trail of red liquid. The floor was coated. My mind froze. Sherlock? There wasn't any possible way he could have done anything like that. Could he? I stared at the surgical knife resting on the floor.
A loud crash came in that moment. I moved across the small trail of red a few feet to where I heard the sound. The bathroom door was locked of course, but I knocked causing a slightly quieter crash.
"Sherlock?"
There was no response.
I knocked again.
This time a shaky voice came from the other side.
"I think..I think you'd better go."
"Sherlock"
"John do as I say"
"No. No we're not doing this again, open the door"
I panicked, I can't loose him again not again.
"Sherlock open the door!"
Blood creeped out in a small stream from underneath the door.
"I'm afraid I can't do that"
Sherlock exhaled weakly.
"St-stay here I'm going to get help"
I rush down stairs, and out the door.
Sherlock's POV
I'm not faking it this time. I very well could die. The amount of blood that has poured out of me is draining, and my limbs begin to feel weak and heavy. I manage to prop myself up against the sink and stretch towards the bandages. My entire arms shake uncontrollably as I wrap the gauze around my wounds. I clean up the blood, on the floor on the walls, and move to my room where I place the blade back into the kit after wash. I change my shirt into a black one this time, instead of white, and go to play violin in my chair. Not long after, my phone rings.
"Sherlock Holmes"
A muffled voice creeps through the other side
"John?"
"Sherlock? Sherlock are you alright?"
"Yes John I'm quite alright. Is there something I can help you with?"
The line is silent for a second before he responds
"I'm coming back over there"
The line goes dead as he hangs up the phone.
John.
I continue moving the bow across the strings. Its easy, something I can control, something I can ground myself with.
John.
God.
I play a discordant note as a thought pops into my mind. I feel quite odd.
It may be the amount of blood I've lost in the last hour but I can't stop thinking about him. He moves through my mind freely and I can't push him out. Its something I can't control, and its right in my brain. All in my head. I continue playing smoothly.
God his voice.
His eyes...
His-
I halt my music.
No.
Thats not possible. Not possible at all in any way shape or form. Can't be. I don't feel things like that.
Machine.
Isnt that what he called me?
Yes..that does match my monotonous emotion.
There's a creak on the stairs as I halt my music once more. To see John standing there.
"Sherlock.. Sherlock I thought- I thought-"
I turned around to fave the window and placed the bow back onto the strings.
"I'm sure there are many things you thought. Machine was it? Thats the most accurate don't you think?"
I didn't need to turn around to know he was attempting to process the words to explain.
"Sherlock, I didn't mean-"
"Don't lie to me John. We both know how emotionless I am. How ...inhuman I can be in that particular area"
I spin around slowly to look him in the eyes, but something about him made it difficult...
"Its alright John. Please don't explain anything. I won't be explaining either."
He stepped forward, closer to my face.
"Now, hold on, why are you mad? You don't care. I thought you were DEAD for TWO. YEARS. Sherlock."
He moved his hands to rest on the bow and base of mg violins, gently setting it on the table. I half expected him to smash it into the floor, the belief causing me to flinch for a moment.
"Would you care to explain WHY you couldn't. I dont want a half assed explaination like 'I couldn't handle it' TELL ME"
John's sharp words surprised me, his hands subconsciously moving to grip my wrists in anger.
I winced as his fingers dug into the still-raw wounds.
He seemed to realize that was causing me pain and immediately let go, looking down at his hands where some of the blood had seeped through.
"Sherlock-"
"Do you know how difficult it was....for me to stay away for so long? John. I-...I'm...sorry. I should have had molly tell you or Mycroft I'm-"
John interrupted my sentence by looking me dead in the eyes. His gaze moved for a second from my eyes to my mouth to back to my eyes in a subtle fluid motion, before taking my head in his hands.
"Sherlock I'm sorry"
"John please-"
His face pressed up against mine, holding me there for a few seconds before pulling away.
"Wait"
I say, not wanting it to end.
Its odd isn't it. Kissing? Yet somehow I enjoyed it.
"John...you should know"
"I know. You told me. Two years ago"
"...right, about that, John I'm-"
"Shut up and kiss me back"
I do as he says.