The Inescapable Pain {Johnlock}

Chapter 1- 'Nightmares'

Nope, no welcome to the story or anything. Straight into battle we go, friends!

Btw, I'm stealing the first part of this from my oneshots book. Yes, self theft.

TW: Nightmares, mentions of self harm, self hate and eating disorders.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gunshots. Blood. Dust.

Screams. Cries. Heart beats.

Pain. Loss. Death.

Crawling through mud, my face caked in blood that was not my own. Searing, agonising pain in my shoulder, and a scream of agony. My comrades fell like chess pieces, knocked down easily by the opposition.

It's only so long until they put us in checkmate.

We're going to die out here.

There's no hope.

An especially loud, sickeningly familiar scream pierces through my ears like a knife through butter. I whip my head around, and there he is.

On the top of a ruined, but still standing, building.

A tall building.

Sherlock.

He looks at me, not quite meeting my pleading gaze. A sad smile, pity written across his features.

He pities me. The sociopath pities me. How... pathetic.

He spreads his arms out, like an eagle spreading its wings.

No. Not again. Please.

The shooting seems to have stopped.

Time stands still. Nothing else matters, only his safety.

And then...

He falls. The world has ended.

"SHER-"

"LOCK!" I scream.

I sit up immediately, unsure of where I am for a moment. I look around. This isn't 221B? Then I remember. That wasn't a nightmare. All of that had happened before, maybe not at the same time, but that's beside the point. Sherlock is gone. He's not coming back.

I inhale shakily before my body wracks with sobs. This is my fault. I never should have doubted him. I am- was the closest thing he had to a friend, and I even managed to screw that up. I wasn't around when he needed me most, and now he's doing the same to me. Except he's never going to be around. Not anymore.

I manage to drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I look into the dirty old mirror, a look of disgust on my face. The bags under my eyes stand out like two bruises. I look disgusting. I sigh and rub my unshaven chin before getting undressed and getting in the shower. The ice cold water helps to wake me up, what for I've still no idea. I haven't  been out of the apartment for anything other than shopping for months.

I wash the shampoo out of my hair. At least I feel cleaner, even if I still look like death. Scratch that, I feel like death, too. I've limited myself to one 'meal' a day. Usually that meal consists of a piece of fruit, or a packet of Quavers. They were his favourite. My core strength has been all but obliterated, the army training a distant memory. My memory has been getting worse, too. It's as if he occupies all of my mind and won't let me think straight.

I get out of the shower, shaking the water droplets off of me like a dog. I look in the mirror again, scratching my beard. I shake my head firmly, reaching for my razor. Maybe this will make me look a little better. I begin to shave, hairs falling into the sink. I decide to keep a moustache, some facial hair may draw attention away from how bad I look. I curse as I cut the skin underneath, then pause. That felt... good. Well, not good exactly, but real. I hesitate, looking at my stomach. I can count each of my ribs. Pitiful. I press the blade against it, the red fluid gushing out. It makes me feel, pain mostly but something else. Relief. I'm relieved. I can still feel, this makes me feel. It's also a fitting punishment for what I did to the best person I have ever known.

I cut a few more times, angry red lines appearing. I then apply pressure with the towel wrapped around my waist, stemming the flow of blood. I smile slightly, satisfied, then return to my bedroom. I walk over to the wardrobe, opening one of the doors. I select a checkered shirt and jeans with my usual cream jumper. I put them on, then sit on the bed so I can stuff my feet into black socks and brown tweed shoes.

I get up, psyching myself up for what I'm about to do. I grab my keys, shoving my arms into my old coat. I take a deep breath before walking out the door and locking it behind me. She won't be pleased. I haven't been in touch. But still, she deserves to know about what I plan to do.

It's time to visit Mrs. Hudson. It's time to return to 221B Baker Street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeet :)

I'll update pretty frequently- let me know if you hate it so I can change it.

But if you liked it, also let me know! I love talking to you guys :}

Stay safe! See you in the next one!