I Am Sher-Locked Up

The Exception

A/N:

Hello my dudes, I am proud/sad/relived to say that this fic is drawing to a close! I'm thinking maybe 2 more chapters before it's done. I am open to ideas about a sequel if you guys are interested! Anyways, enjoy the next chapter!

-Hannah

***

John

"So...what now?" John asks hesitantly after he pulls away from Sherlock.

"What do you mean?" his flatmate asks, puzzled. 

John inhales as he steps back from Sherlock.

"Well, I don't know. We can't go back to the way it was before--"

"Why?" Sherlock interjects, a frown deepening his face.

John exhales sharply in a half-laugh. "Well, I mean, now that we know how we feel about each other, and we've kissed several times...I just don't know where to go from here. Are we boyfriends? Do we tell anyone?"

Sherlock snorts and says, "Yeah, Mrs. Hudson would have a field day with that."

John laughs nervously and runs his hand through his greying hair, "Yeah, I imagine she would. My point is..." he inhales deeply through his nose, "what would you like us to be?"

Sherlock considers for a moment before answering, "Do you remember the first case we worked together? The one with the serial suicides?"

"A Study in Pink, yes." John nods, unsure of how this is pertinent to the conversation.

"Well, you had asked me if I had a girlfriend, and I had said no. You then asked me if I had  a boyfriend, and then fell over yourself trying to tell me that that was okay, and I said that I knew it was okay." Sherlock pauses for a moment.

"So why are we stressing, is what you're saying?" John finishes for him.

"Yes, precisely. It's 2017, John, homosexuality has long been an acceptable practice." Sherlock says.

"So we just act like a normal couple? Hold hands, kiss, hug?" John smiles, already picturing the rest of his life with Sherlock. 

"Yes. Because we are a normal couple--well, one of us is a war veteran and the other is a sociopath, but other than that, yes. I'm quite looking forward to it, honestly." Sherlock says, mirroring John's dreamy smile.

John nods, his gaze dropping towards Sherlock's sleeves.

"So...what to do about these?" John says quietly, reaching towards Sherlock's arms, who jerked them away before John could touch the fabric of his coat.

"Sherlock..." John says sadly, his voice still low. His heart twisted in his chest every time he thought of his beautiful Sherlock's scarred up arms.

Sherlock averts his eyes, but holds out his trembling arms.

John's chest hurts with every passing second as he rolls up the detective's thick sleeves.

His arms were not as stick thin as they had been, and the gaping wounds stretching the length of his arms had been stitched, so those particular scars were not as thick. He still had hundreds of scars, all in varying thickness, and John's heart broke when he saw multiple suicide scars--long, deep, thick scars that followed the radial artery in his arm. He touched those, ghosting his thumb over the thickest ones. Sherlock flinches at his cool touch, but allows him to continue looking, shame and self-hatred clouding his face.

"Oh, Sherlock..." John breathes; he could feel his heart shredding into two.

"Those were from when I was 15 and didn't know how deep I needed to go to die, and I tried a couple of times the same way before I figured out better ways  to end my life." Sherlock murmurs, and John can see tears glistening like diamonds in his stormy blue eyes. John blinks back tears of his own before opening his mouth,

"How many times?" John asks, dreading the answer.

"I attempted 15 times over the past 20 years, but I never succeeded. I hesitated each time, that was the problem. I actually sat down one day when I was 17 and counted, and I had over a thousand scars. That was over 15 years ago, though." The detective's voice was so low that John could barely hear him.

John didn't think there was anything left in his chest to break, but he felt like his ribs were cracking under the immense weight of Sherlock's sorrow. 

"I'm--" he began.

"Don't say you're sorry; it was never your fault. It's over now, and I don't want you dwelling on my past mistakes." Sherlock's voice had a bit of edge to it, but John could feel the absolute emptiness that was consuming his best friend.

"It's going to be fine, Sherlock. You'll be okay, I know you will be. Just let me in, and I'll help you. I love you." John says shakily, releasing his hold on the taller man's arms. Sherlock quickly shakes his sleeves back down and clutches the cuffs.

"Do you promise me?" Sherlock says quietly. "Do you promise me you'll love me, even on the bad days, even when I can't force myself to eat, even when I relapse, even when the voices in my head are too loud to hear anything else? Do you promise to love every part of me you find scattered on the floor?"

John's throat is thick with emotion, but he manages to say, "Yes, Sherlock, I do. I will do my damndest to help you heal."

Sherlock sighs shakily, shaking his head. "Look at the two of us, losing our minds in the name of love. I will never understand why this emotion forces us to do insane things."

John laughs, carding his hand through his already mussed hair. "Neither will I, Sherlock. It's already 1:00 in the morning, Sherlock. I think we should get to bed."

Sherlock opened his mouth, unsure of the implications of the statement. "Do you mean together? Or seperatley? I don't know what you mean."

John laughs again, giving the detective a fond look. "Whatever you want, Sherlock. I'll leave the door unlocked."

***

Sherlock 

Sherlcok hovers outside of John's door, listening to see if his flatmate was asleep. The floor creaks unhelpfully as he shifts his weight.

Sherlock runs his hand through his curly locks, still wet from the shower he took. John had taken all the sharp objects out of the bathroom, and Sherlock was surprised he found all the razors he'd hidden.

Slowly, he pushes open the door, peering into the dark room. He wants to call out for John, but doesn't want to wake him.

The detective musters up his courage, and creeps around to the other side of the bed and crawls in, cautiously settling himself in.

"You came back..." John mumbles sleepily, "come on, I don't bite." He gestures  vaguely in his direction.

Sherlock hesitantly gets closer to John, his heart palpitating when he comes in contact with John's thin T-shirt. 

Sherlock had never been much of a snuggler, but he was willing to make an exception tonight.

The two slept peacefully for the first time in months.