Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles - A Johnlock Story

Attempt No. 6

Third Person

Sherlock twiddled with the blade in his hand, thoughts going a mile a minute. John was already gone at the store, buying groceries. He wouldn't get back until it was too late. No, don't do this to him. Sherlock thought, and went to set the knife down. He paused, thinking about how miserable he was.

He loved John, really he did, he always will, and John made him happy. But he didn't cure the deep depression and emotional wounds that stung his heavy heart. That's not a thing a person can do. They can help, they can listen they can be there for you, all things his John had done for him, but they can't cure anything. The romantic ploy that a person can be healed by theirs significant other disgusted Sherlock. It simply wasn't true, and not only that, it gives expectations to people about what can and cannot be done.

These were not expectations that he had, but he strongly expected that John had them to some degree. Now, being a man of medicine, John of course knew that a person couldn't be cured of mental illness by the love of their life, but Sherlock wasn't sure John knew this on a deeper level.
(If you do not wish to read a graphic description of cutting, skip to the next AN)

He picked up the knife once more, taking a deep breath. One, two, three. Sherlock Holmes, the worlds only Consulting Detective, slit his wrists, deep, and long. The pain was incredible, and he dropped the knife, falling to the ground. Blood gushed quickly from the wound, slipping through his fingers like a waterfall.

He slumped against the floor, his back propped up by the wall, a note still on the counter.

(AN: The seriously Graphic Part is over, but the rest of the chapter is still kinda graphic, so I will put another AN when you're completely in the clear)

Johns POV

"I'm home, love!" I called out merrily, kicking the door of the flat shut softly with my heel. I had picked up a bottle of wine for us tonight, no particular reason, I just wanted to have a nice evening with him. I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I set down the bag of groceries, mainly just milk, eggs and bread. The essentials we tend to run out of quickly. No response from Sherlock as I grabbed down two wine glasses.

"Love?" I called out, not sure where he was. Again no response. It was unlike him, to not respond, he always responded. "Sherlock?" I called out, louder, the panic in my heart bleeding through to my words. He always responded, why the hell wasn't he responding?

I heard the muffled sound of the bath running. Following it, I knocked on the bathroom door. "Sherlock? Love?" I squeaked. No response, and my stomach dropped. I twisted the handle, unlocked. I opened the door, poking my head through.

"Oh," I was all I could manage, a broken oh, as I saw the love of my life, leaned against the wall, blood still dripping from his fingers, eyes glazed over.the cuts on his wrists were deep, oh God, they were so so deep. "Sherlock, oh God no, no" I whispered as I went to him, my whole body moving as if underwater. "Shh, I got you now, I got you," I whispered brokenly as I scooped him into my arms, taking his pulse.

It was there, faint but there. Sobbing with relief, I immediately began bandaging his wrists, trying to stop the bleeding, my tears mixing with his blood as they fell, pattering onto the floor. "I've got you now, just hold on, I've got you now, shh," I whispered as I worked as quickly as I could.

"MRS. HUDSON!!" I screamed, unable to take myself from him to call an ambulance, I had to keep working. Less than a minute later, I heard Mrs. Hudsons footsteps. "John? What's this all about- Oh God, no, oh God my boy, no" She cried out upon seeing us, me trying desperately to save the man I love, him lying limp in my arms. "Call an ambulance, please" my voice broke, and her hands went to her mouth. She nodded, and ran.

(AN: Okay the graphic part is completely over, all you need to know is that John found him)

The ambulance arrived, they let me ride with him to the hospital. I felt tears dripping down my cheeks as they continued working on him in the ambulance. One of the paramedics had told me that what I did had saved his life But he wasn't in the clear yet. That couldn't have been more than a minute ago, but it felt like a lifetime. My world was going up in flames around me, suffocating me in its smoke, burning my skin.

I stroked his blood matted curls and whispered into his ear, "You are my sun, my moon and my stars. I know you don't know much about the solar system, but you are my whole world, my universe. To me, my world revolves around you. Please," my voice cracked, and I touched my forehead to his, shaking as I cried silently. "Please don't leave me. I love you, you are perfect to me, please, please don't go." I shook with sobs as the ambulance sped across London.

One paramedic caught my eye, blond, American... he looked so familiar. I gasped as I remembered him, "You're Ian, the paramedic from the gunshot!" He turned around, mildly surprised. "Oh, uh yeah, I'm on of Mycroft's agents, I was the one to restart his heart, the last time, so he put me on his case full time. I work on other stuff when I'm not needed for him, but Sherlock Holmes is my top priority. I guess the same could be said for you." I let out a breathy laugh, knowing it sounded more like a sob than anything. He gave me a pitying look before going about his work.

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, they wheeled him in, telling me to stay in the waiting room. I took another step towards them, before I heard a quiet voice. "Hello, Doctor Watson." I turned my head, every thing moving slowly, as if I was underwater. Mycroft.

I let out a sob, and sank to my knees, "it's all my fault; I didn't see, I didn't see-" Mycroft awkwardly put his arm around me, almost unsure of the movement. "I know. I know what it's like to be in your shoes, believe me I know. But Sherlock can get through anything, I know that now. You did the best you could, and you saved his life. Thank you." He helped me to my feet, awkwardly hugging me.

I wiped my eyes, knowing he meant every word of what he said, and nodded. He stepped back and fished something out of his pocket. "Greg found this on the counter," he handed a small slip of paper to me. I took it, shaking, and could barely read Sherlocks scrawl on the paper.

"I love you, my darling, never forget that. You did everything you could, and I am sorry, so sorry to do this to you.- Sherlock"

AN: Hiiiii, I know I said I wouldn't upload another chapter, but this one was very close to being done, so I finished it during a break from homework. And uh, sorry about this chapter, but I think it's pretty obvious what will happen. Love you guys! -Lucy