The Game Is On (Johnlock)

I'll Be Good

Hey, guys! It's me again. So, I've decided to base this one off of a song and a Pinterest post. The song is I'll Be Good by Jaymes Young. The lyric video is in the link above, but in case it doesn't show up where it's supposed to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POqEVwROEQs. Listen to the song while reading, it'll help the chapter make sense. The picture is what the last half of the chapter is based off of. The entire chapter is based off the song. I hope that wasn't as confusing as it sounded in my head. Sorry if it was. This chappie will be in Sherlock's point of view as the last few have been in John's. You guys are amazing and I love all of you, the three or four of you that are reading these.

WARNING: MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM, ALCOHOLISM, AND DRUG ABUSE! IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED, PLEASE DO NOT READ!

I'll only be doing two verses and a chorus of the song.

Onto the story!

and_here_you_are xoxo

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I thought I saw the devil this morning

I stood in the bathroom at the sink, holding onto the toothbrush as if my life depended on it. It made no sense why he would be reacting to me like that. I had been nothing but rude to him, deliberately too. I tried everything I could to get myself to stop feeling the way I did: self-harm, drugs, alcohol, one-night stands, everything. But none of it worked. I glanced up at the mirror and did a double-take. I looked like hell. Bags like bruises were under my eyes, unkempt hair, a nervous tic in my left eye, and shaky fingers all made up the image of me.

Looking in the mirror, drop of rum on my tongue

The taste of the liquor from last night still resided in my mouth, leaving an awful aftertaste. My head ached with a hangover and I winced against the harsh white lights of the bulbs hanging over the mirror. I could feel my pulse against my temple. I could also hear John moving around in the kitchen, most likely making himself a cup of tea. John. Oh, no. What would he think when he sees me? He'll be disappointed, at the very least. Damn it. I had to figure out a way to explain to him what had happened to me last night. 

With the warning 

I brushed my teeth, masking the alcohol that was still on my breath and put my toothbrush back in the cup. Washing my face, I allowed myself to relax for a few seconds before coming up with an excuse as to where I was and what I was doing. My foot slipped on a patch of water left on the ground from when I'd splashed water on my face and I crashed to the ground. Glass shattered on the ground and I grumbled at the cup that my toothbrush had been in seconds ago. John's running footsteps came from the kitchen and stopped at the locked door of the bathroom. 

to help me see myself clearer

I gingerly stood up and assessed my body in the mirror for injuries and swore under my breath when I notice a long cut along the underside of my forearm. "Open the door, Sherlock!" John was yelling from outside the door. I ignored him and ran my arm under the cool water of the faucet and focused my attention on cleaning the cut. "Damn it, Sherlock. Open this door, now! I mean it," he demanded. I shivered at his voice. Why did it turn me on so easily? It wasn't like I hadn't heard him use the tone before. He'd used it during the case of the Mayfly Man.

I never meant to start a fire

Once the bleed had mostly stopped, I unlocked the door and stepped aside. John had his fist raised to pound on the door again. "I'm okay, John. I just slipped. It's nothing to be so worked up about." My voice was low to keep the hangover from worsening and my eyes trained on the floor to avoid John's prying ones. From the quick glance I had of him, I deduced that he was in fact making tea and had spilled quite a lot of it when I'd fallen. He must've been up late last night, waiting for me to come home. He'd fallen asleep before I'd even left the pub, I knew, but the bags under his eyes indicated that he'd waited up a long while before finally falling asleep.