Starving; A Sherlock Fanfic

Distance

Trigger Warning: Self-harm and panic attacks

We finally finished dinner, I kept silent for the majority of the time. John looked at me curiously every once and a while, but I was fairly sure I had gotten away with it. I paid for the meal, which thoroughly surprised John, before leaving hastily.
Finally, we were on the way back to 221B. I jumped out of the cab before it had even fully stopped and raced to the front door. I swooped inside and slammed the door behind me, blocking out the sound of the whirling cool wind. I then climbed up the steps, taking them two at a time, desperate to reach my room.
I was desperate for the safe haven that was within those four walls. The only place that was truly my own. Tranquil though it was, it was also where my mind was allowed to wander freely without being called back from the shadows of my head. I hated those moments where I couldn't keep myself from thinking. The moments where I cannot control the thoughts that lurk deep within the dark corridors if my head. The thoughts that were my own and, as I had been told, were to be kept to myself because "no one wanted to listen to an emo freak complain about their problems."
At last, my back was to the wooden door of my room. By this time, I was shaking. Panic, rage, frustration, confusion and despair formed a hurricane in my head, forcing me to close my eyes. Another panic attack, how usual and dull this occurrence was. Same heart racing, blood pounding, dizzying, suffocating feeling that I'd gotten used to over countless years.
I leaned my head against my bedroom door as I heard the door slam shut. Hearing footsteps approaching, I sighed, stood up and walked over to my bed. Upon hearing a knock, I rolled over to face the wall.
"Sherlock? Sherlock are you in there?" Asked John's voice. I didn't answer, just layed down and pulled the covers over myself. Even if I wanted to respond, I didn't trust my voice not to shake and convey my emotions.
Yet again, another knock, but still, I remained silent. "Right," He said, "I'm coming in." He waited a second before entering the room slowly, the door creaking. I feigned sleep, as he took a few more steps into the room.
"Sherlock," He said, clearly agitated, "I know you're not asleep." I could practicly see him clenching his fists and biting the inside of his cheek in thought. "Sherlock!" John nearly shouted this time.
"Go away, John!" I finally responded, equally as loud. John sighed in defeat.
"Fine." He answered, turning and shutting the door softly behind him.
It wasn't until I heard his muffled footsteps retreating that my emotions overflowed.
I buried my head in my pillow as tears filled my eyes and spilled down my face. I was so tired of having to lie to John, to pretend as though I wasn't in pain and falling apart. He was my best friend, my only real friend in some ways, yet I kept from him the biggest part of my life. I shielded him from my biggest struggle and weakness. Of course, it was for good reasoning. God knows what'd happen if I told him everything. And yet, it felt like I was betraying him.
Suddenly, everything was too much. I was being drowned in a wave of anguish, confusion and and overwhelming sense of self-loathing. I need to do something, anything​ for it to stop. I flung the bedsheets off of myself and walked briskly over to my dresser. I opened the top drawer and dug through the mismatched socks and other random item of clothing until I found what I'd been looking for.
At the very back, there sat a small wooden case. I pulled it out and shut the door, walking over to my bed, I sat down again. I opened the book to see the gleaming of several silvery blades. I choose a brand new razor blade, sharp and pristine. I closed the box, placing it beside me, I rolled up my sleeve, not even bothering to find a fresh patch of skin. Pressing the edge of the blade to my skin, I applied more and more pressure until I saw the bright red liquid surface. I smiled and drew the blade across my arm, watching blood stream down my arm.
I continued to repeat this action until I decided that, if I did much more, I'd most likely pass out. I pressed a clean tissue to the fresh wounds, while I took out bandages to wrap my arm in. Once they were bound tightly, I returned the box to its place and layed down on my bed, still smiling softly to myself. I felt the burning sensation in my arm fade away as I slowly slipped into unconsciousness. Slowly, ever so slowly, I fell away from the worries and agony that that day had contained.