I Don't Deserve You (A Johnlock Fic)

Chapter Three

Dancing slowly in an empty room, can the lonely take the place of you? I sing myself a quiet lullaby, let you go and let the lonely in, to take my heart again.

~ Christina Perri, The Lonely

A/N
Hey guys, just letting you know that there will be a trigger in this chapter, I will put ***** before and after so if you are likely to be triggered please skip over. Enjoy :)

*John's POV*

"Why......... Why didn't you save me John?"

"NOOOO" I screamed myself awake, tangled up in my sheets for the second night in a row.

"Sherlock!" I let out a strangled sob and quickly clambered out of bed, stumbling away as if the bed itself was causing Sherlock to haunt me.

I found myself crouched on the bathroom floor, hugging myself and whimpering pathetically.

"Why..... Why did you leave me Sherlock?" Obviously there was no reply.

How do people do it? How do they live through the death of the ones they love?

Do they actually get over it eventually? Or do they put on a happy face and pretend to be fine while their world crumbles around them?

I finally found the strength to stand and walked on shaking legs to the sink. I opened to cabinet above it and pulled out my razor.

**********

How much longer can I do this?

"I'm sorry Sherlock" I breathed, he would be so disappointed in me, because I'm stupid, because I'm weak.

I felt a sense of calm wash over me along with something warm and wet running down my arm.

I looked down in surprise to see that I had moved the razor across my skin unintentionally, leaving a shallow cut.

I watched in fascination as the blood steadily dripped onto the white floor. It doesn't hurt but I can feel that weird calm feeling leaving me and being replaced by horror at what I just did, and the agony of why.

So I cut again.

This time I watched as I dug the blade in a bit and dragged it slowly across my arm. The pressure of the blade hurt a bit but after it was just as painless as the first one.

The second cut began dripping blood into a small puddle next the the first one. I watched, weirdly amused by the way my blood looked against the stark white of my bathroom floor.

I snapped out of it and shook myself, this is bad, oh this is very bad.

I put the razor away and cleaned the blood off the floor, flushing all traces down the toilet.

I cleaned the cuts and bandaged them loosely, just until they stop bleeding.

**********

No, no, no, oh Sherlock, what do I do?

I paced around, suddenly feeling very trapped in the tiny little flat that has never been my home.

I need to get out, I need to see him - but I don't want anyone to see me like this.

Time, time.... it's 2am, no one will notice me....... They'll just think I'm drunk.....

Quickly making up my mind I practically sprinted down the stairs and onto the street, hailing one of the ever present cabs and climbing in.

We arrived at my destination within 10 minutes (the streets were quiet- I mean, quiet for London). I payed the cabbie and stood still for a moment as he drove off, gazing at the graveyard with a sense of dread and - strangely - longing.

What if joining him is the answer?

I immediately scolded myself, I know suicide isn't the answer. What I need is Sherlock to come back to me, to be alive.

Dismissing my wishful thinking I followed the familiar path to Sherlock's grave.

"Hey Sherlock" I greeted him, crouching down and touching the smooth stone reverently.

"I miss you" I sighed and stood up, looking to the stars as I thought about how I should continue.

"I was going to propose to Mary last night, like I told you I was going to. I couldn't do it. I just - I don't know. We broke up, and I really don't think I should be this relieved - but I am. At the same time though she helped, when I was around her I didn't feel like the world was ending - now there's just nothing."

I stopped again and looked back at the grave, an emotion that I haven't felt towards Sherlock in a long time rising - anger.

"It's your fault"

My voice was still quiet but I could hear the venom in it. "It's all your fault, everything" I pulled my sleeve up and tore the bandage off "this is YOUR FAULT"

My voice rose to a scream, luckily there is no one close enough to hear me.

The anger faded just as quickly as it came and I sunk to my knees, reaching out to touch the headstone again. My only link to the man I love.

Tears began streaming down my face and my chest heaved with gut wrenching sobs.

Slender fingers grasped my outstretched arm and I gasped, I didn't realise anyone else was here.

I yanked my arm away and stood, almost stumbling over in the process.

Dark curls. Long coat and scarf. Eyes that were a beautiful mix of green and blue. Perfect Cupid's bow lips.

Sherlock.

"Oh John, what has happened to you?"