Sherlock Imagines and Preferences

Someone To Live For

This was requested PrincessPeach211 

Warning: Don't read this if you're easily triggered or if you don't like reading about depression, self-harm and suicide.

I'm here for you if you need to talk. You can send me a message or leave a comment anytime. I want to help. I know how you feel and I know how tough it is to keep going but I also know that you're strong enough. It's okay to ask for help. Don't do something you might regret. You are loved and you will be missed. Please, stay. ♥

~***~

An exhausted Sherlock Holmes returned home after a long day of chasing criminals, solving cases and also the usual belittlement of Anderson and Donovan. He always pretended like he didn't hear them or like he didn't care about their insults and their painful reminders of what he had done wrong in his life but the truth is, he did care. He dismissed Mrs. Hudson from her babysitting duty and fell into his chair. Sherlock was used to people hurting him, either physically or with words but it still hurt every time. And it was starting to get to the point where he could no longer take it. Anderson had to remind him of his dead wife and how he couldn't save her from his biggest enemy. Donovan called him a freak again numerous times and pointed out that he was the worst father anyone could have. A single tear silently made its way down his cheek as the heart wrenching pain in his chest and in his mind got worse. He couldn't take it anymore. He knew that his little daughter would be better off without him. Who would want a father like him? He could barely take care of himself, how could he ever take care of a child on his own? He was done. After two years of battling depression, fighting to be happy again and to be a good role model for his daughter, he was finally done. So he did what he always did at moments where he desperately needed a release.

Sherlock stood up and quietly made his way to the bathroom, careful not to wake his young daughter who was fast asleep in the room upstairs. He shut the door and took the small bag from underneath the sink. He threw everything that was inside of it on the floor until he found his blades. His shaking fingers picked one up and he shoved the bag back underneath the sink. He sat down on the cold floor of the bathroom and rolled up the sleeve of his right arm. His arm was littered with old and new scars. He let out a shaky sigh as he pressed the blade onto one of the older scars, ready to open the wound again. He knew very well that he wasn't going to survive his daily bathroom visit this time.

He applied more pressure to the blade until he felt a slight sting on his arm. That's when he dragged it across his skin, creating a deep wound. Blood started to flow and Sherlock did nothing to stop it or clean it. He carefully inspected the wound, not deep enough to end his life. He closed his eyes as he placed the blade on a new piece of skin. This time, he cut deeper than he ever had before. His jaw clenched as he tried not to cry out in pain but the muffled sound of his screams could still be heard upstairs.

You slowly opened your eyes and yawned. Suddenly, you heard a cry of pain similar to the one that woke you up and you jumped up. ''Daddy?'' You said loudly as you quickly descended the stairs and stormed inside the kitchen. ''Daddy?'' You repeated. Sherlock tried his hardest not to make a sound, he didn't want you to see him like this but his attempt failed and he let out a soft whimper. You immediately ran to the bathroom where the sound came from and threw the door open. Your (E/C) eyes began to fill themselves with tears. Sherlock was on the floor, surrounded with blood. The blade was still in his hand and he seemed to only just be conscious. You rushed over to him and took the blade from his motionless hand. A few tears rolled down Sherlock's cheeks as he tried to send you back to your room, but you weren't having any of it. You grabbed a few towels and wrapped them around his arms to stop the bleeding. ''Don't hurt yourself, daddy.'' You sniffed, on the verge of crying. A sob escaped Sherlock's lips as he tried to keep it together in front of you. ''I'm so sorry, (Y/N).'' He croaked. You wrapped your small arms around his neck and held him tightly. ''I need you, daddy. Please, don't leave me.'' You cried. Sherlock raised his arms and wrapped them around your small frame. The pain was overwhelming but he was determined to stay conscious and survive. He wanted to survive for you. You cried into his shoulder as you held each other tightly. ''I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'' Sherlock repeated over and over again. He started to cry as well and hugged you even tighter.

He didn't have much left in his life. Almost everyone had left him, embittered with grief because of the death of his wife. But the most important person was still there. You were still there to support him and to get him through his pain. And that was more than enough reason to drop the blades forever and focus on becoming a better parent for the most caring child in the world. Sherlock stroked your hair as you both cried together. He finally realised that he had someone to live for all along.

To all my readers. To the ones who are struggling and to the ones who are not: 

I love you. ♥