Fluff & Stuff

Psychiatrist

(A/N: Trigger Warning- Self Harm)

"Sherlock Holmes?" The doctor called out in the waiting room, one person hurrying to their feet and rushing towards him.

"Yes? How is she?" John asked quickly, concern laced in his voice and his eyebrows raised.

The doctor smiled slightly. "She's fine. Although I do suggest you speak with her more. Whatever happened is because of lack communication." He said, patting John on the shoulder. John felt him squeeze and looked up at him with an expected question. "You can see her, but please tell someone what happened." He gestured to a man standing in front of Sherlock's room. "It will be much easier to understand." Was all he said before he left to see other patients. John walked over to the man waiting, his hands in his pockets. The psychiatrist noticed him instantly and smiled reassuringly.

"Erik Weldon." The man introduced himself, extending a hand to John.

John took his hand, shaking it firmly. "John Watson." He said.

"So, could you tell me what happened?" Erik asked.

John sighed and ran his hands through his hair. The psychiayrist followed the movement with his eyes, noticing it was a sign of nervousness and stress.

"I got home and I was looking for her. I entered our room and I saw a small book placed on the right pillow, usually her side of the bed. It was opened on a page that spoke of all bad things that can and have happened to her." John looked down embarrassedly, adding. "I didn't want to go through her stuff but I really wanted to know where she was. I was only looking for clues."

Erik nodded in understanding, gesturing John to continue.

"I found her drawers all messed up and disorganized, which is really strange since Sherlock is so tidy I investigated further, eventually finding her in the bathroom with a blade in her hand. If I hadn't stopped her-" John choked up, his eyes watering at the memory. He had found Sherlock huddled next to the toilet, blood dripping down her arm and tears rushing down her face as she was slowly loosing consciousness.

"She could have hit an artery. She could have died. Thank God she has someone like you to take care of her." Weldon said, adjusting his circular glasses on his nose.

"Yeah." John sighed, looking past the psychiatrist's shoulder to see the room his girlfriend was in. "I would have kept her home but she had lost too much blood, she needed a hospital."

"Yes, of course. You should know that." Erik said, nodding.

The psychiatrist had come to the hospital because of John's request and him always wanting to help people. John had been able to give some of his blood to Sherlock, his blood being AB positive. While his blood was being extracted, Erik helped John stay conscious and positive.

"I suppose you want to see her now." Erik said, looking over his own shoulder. John only nodded, already looking at the door. "I'll leave you to it. If anything happens, just give me a call." He said, handing John a small business card with his phone number, e-mail, name and work place. He walked away, leaving John to make his own decisions.

John put the card in his pocket after looking it over, turning to the door and pushing it open. He let out an inaudible gasp when he saw Sherlock.

She was paler than usual, much more skinnier than she already was. Her eyes were shut and her body was completely still, the only thing letting John she was alive was the rises of her chest when she breathed. Her arms were bandaged, an IV hooked up to her and a blanket covering her lower extremities.

John sat next to her just as she opened her eyes tiredly. Either she had been awake or she was awakened by John's presence.

"Water." Sherlock said, her voice hoarse due to lack of liquid in her throat. She tried to say please but he could only mouth it to him, her voice failing. John noticed and picked up a glass of water that was next to the bed, placing it to her lips. After she drank almost all of it, John placed the glass back where it was.

"What happened, Sherlock?" John asked, his voice only showing sadness and concern. She gave a weak shrug, leaning her head into her pillow.

"I don't really know." Sherlock admitted. "The doctors told me I had alcohol in my system but I don't remember drinking. Or harming myself for that matter." Sherlock looked at her bandaged arms, wincing noticeably.

John sighed, looking down at his folded hands.

"John, you don't...you don't actually believe I cut myself do you?" Sherlock said, actually hurt as John didn't look her in the eyes when he spoke.

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Sherlock."

John's head snapped up when he heard the heart monitor pick up speed and then go dead. He saw Sherlock yanking off the needles in her arms, throwing them off the bed. John stood up from his seat, moving to stop her but she sat up, sending him a glare that could send anyone six feet under.

"This is why I don't talk to you about these kinds of things! You never believe me! And I am sick and tired of that!" She yelled at him, pointing her finger at him accusingly. She stood up shakily, grabbing one of the crutches and stomping towards John. "You have all the right to not believe in me. I told you I was fake. I fell. I disappeared for three years. But I came back! And I came back for you!" Sherlock yelled, tears rolling down her cheeks as she poked John's chest with the end of the crutch.

She sniffed, her voice shaky when she spoke. "And it pains me to see that you don't believe in me anymore. Even though I did all of this for you."

"You left me alone for three years! Do you know how hard those three years were for me?!"

"You think it was easy for me?! I attended my own funeral. I came back sometimes to find you crying at my own tomb. I had to resist to hug you and tell you I was here and everything was okay. Because if I did-" Sherlock let out a shaky breath, gripping the crutch tighter. "-they would have killed you!"

John's eyebrows shot up in surprise, not knowing any of the information that was being given to him.

"I-" Sherlock bit her lip, looking down at her bare feet. "I could never live with myself if they killed you because of me." She slowly let go of the crutch, it falling loudly to the floor. She closed her eyes, more tears pouring down her pale cheeks. "I couldn't." She whispered.

John rushed to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around her gently to not hurt her, Sherlock doing the same but holding him like he was her lifeline.

"I'm so sorry." John whispered into Sherlock's ear, his grip only tightening slightly. Sherlock cried against his shoulder, John running his fingers through her hair. "I do believe you. I was just going through some doubts, Sherlock. Just some silly doubts."

When she sobered up, John pulled away slightly to look at her in the eyes. "Hey, we have each other now. No one is going to change that." He cupped her face and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. Sherlock sniffed, smiling slightly.

"We're okay."