Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles - A Johnlock Story

Medical Files

WARNING!!! ⚠️⚠️ mention of suicide and other triggering things! Reader discretion advised!!

Sherlocks POV
Being a consulting detective has had its downsides, even I have to admit. One of them being getting shot in the side. Thankfully, it was only a minor injury completely worth the case. John, however, did not see it this way. "You could have been killed, Sherlock!" He exclaimed while waving my medical files around in his gesture on our way out of the hospital. I'd been wrapped in gauze, and I was awkwardly walking towards the exit, still feeling quite proud of the case. Oh, it had been a difficult one to crack, but all the evidence lay in the tracks of mud the murder had left.

"Oh hush, I'm fine," I remarked in a snarky tone, as always, as I plopped into the cab. Only when we were half way back to the flat did I fully realize what John held in his hands. He was still noticeably upset with my injury, and he was gripping my medical files tightly. His knuckles had gone white from the pressure. There had been some paperwork that needed to be finished up so he had been allowed to take them with us, seeing the time, and our placement with Scotland Yard.

What concerned me, was what he would learn when he read the files. "John, I can finish the paper work, you don't need to do it," I muttered as casually as possible, attempting to grab them from him. He looked at me oddly before replying  "No, no, I'm doing them, you are just going to rest when we get back." I huffed, I couldn't let him see them. I couldn't let him see my past, what had happened.

"Yes but-" "No. that's final." Great. "It's late John, I know you're tired, you could do it in the morning." John shot me a look to let me know what his thoughts were on that. Plus a particularly vulgar gesture. I huffed, rolled my eyes and turned away. Wonderful, just marvelous. There were reasons I hadn't told him yet, he couldn't know yet. I couldn't tell him yet, he'd be mad.

Back at the flat, John helped me up the stairs and explained the situation to Mrs. Hudson. He was tremendously kind to her as always, but he was extremely exhausted. Once I was settled into my chair, John made himself some tea and went to his room to work through the paperwork.

I sat in mental agony, waiting for him to read the blasted words: attempted suicide 5 times. After a few minutes, I heard a soft sigh of sadness from the other room, and footsteps leading to me. I lowered my head, unable to look at my best friend.

"I..... I'm guessing you found it." I said quietly. "Did you ever plan on telling me?" John asked, equally as quiet. "I don't know, I didn't know how," I replied simply, shame filling my heart. I took a deep breath, "John, you must understand that I-" John knelt down to my level and raised my chin with 2 fingers.

Our gazes met, and I felt the tears stinging my eyes. His beautiful gray eyes were full of sadness and full of agonized longing. I swallowed hard, "I didn't want you to be upset with me, you're the only one who never was," I began, attempting to explain to my best friend, the man I secretly loved, why I never told him I attempted suicide 5 different times.

"Sherlock, I am not upset with you. I just wish you had told me, I worry for you. With good reason too, apparently." His voice was soft, sad and comforting. His blond hair was messy from the long day, and his gray eyes glowed with a mixture of sadness and empathy. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his head into my shoulder.

I didn't know what to do at first, but I wrapped my arms around his slender waist.  We slowly slipped from the chair to the floor, still locked in the embrace. "The last time was only three months before we met, is that why Mycroft and Lestrade were so careful and overbearing?" John asked carefully. I chuckled and nodded.

"Oh well, that makes more sense." We laughed for a moment before breaking apart. We were sitting on the floor, and I honestly felt so relieved he knew. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulder. We were sitting hip to hip, leaning against my chair. John slid his hand into mine and squeezed it. "I'm here for you if you want to talk about it. I always will be."

He gave my forehead a gentle peck and I leaned my head against his shoulder. I did not extract my hand from his, though I felt my face growing hot. I was not used to lots of physical contact, especially of the affectionate kind. Even though I wasn't quite used to it, it felt nice, really nice. I felt like I owed it to him for him to know why I did it, so I opened my mouth to speak. Nothing came out at first, but I cleared my throat and tried again.

"I was sick of everything, the name-calling, the bullying, the teasing. My best friend at the time had died in a car accident. Offed himself, actually. There were... other things too. I was, uh, beat to a pulp every day, and when I was 17, I decided to try and end it all. I, obviously, failed, which ended up prompting more bullying. I tried 3 more times in the following years, again, failing. Last year, when I tried again, Mycroft shut me in a mental institution. I got out only 2 weeks before we met. Mycroft found me all four times, he's always just been scared. He watches me like a hawk because if he doesn't, I try again. Or, I did, until I met you." John had taken to stroking my hair with his free hand and placing light pecks on my forehead.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I will always be here, I will never leave you." He brought my hand to his mouth. He kissed it gently. He paused for a moment, almost anxious and frightened. "I won't leave you, I will always love you."  His words almost electrified me, and I turned my head to him. I could almost feel the anxiety rolling through his body. "It's a good of a time as any to admit it." John smiled nervously as he whispered this to me.

"I love you too, John," I murmured back. His body relaxed at my confession, the knowledge of my feelings. It was way late and the only light in the room was the moonlight coming in through the windows. The light gave the room a bluish, ethereal glow. John placed a final kiss on my cheek. "Try to sleep, darling." I closed my eyes, obeying for once. I felt myself drifting slowly into sleep as John continued to stroke my hair.

AN: Hey guys! Omg Sherlock season 4! Omg I can't believe this I can't, I just can't. *dies* Okay, well anyway, next chapter will be in 3 days!