Finally [Johnlock]

Sherlock's Story Part 2

*Three days later*

John never left Sherlock's side after that moment unless it was absolutely necessary. John didn't want to imagine a world without Sherlock, and now that he knows he's attempted suicide, John wanted to make sure that Sherlock felt loved.

When Sherlock got released from the hospital, John made it his duty to take care of Sherlock from here on out, or at least for a while. John made sure that Rosie always had a babysitter, made sure that everything was taken care of so he could pay attention to his boyfriend.

John made sure Sherlock got something to eat, made sure he was comfortable. Then that night, Sherlock and John were sitting across from each other in their chairs.

Sherlock met John's eyes. "You want me to tell you about the suicides." Sherlock said.

"A bit." John said.

"Then I will. But don't be frightened away by what you hear." Sherlock said, and then began.

I was always smarter than other school children. You've noticed why. None of them really liked me all that much. So I was mercilessly teased all through school. Due to that, I developed depression at a young age. And it really only got worse throughout the years.

When I was thirteen, someone called me a freak for the first time. I took it hard. I ended up spending two days in the library, reading every psychology book there was, just to find out what the hell was wrong with me. That's where I learned the term high-functioning sociopath to describe myself.

John's eyes were already pooling with tears.

I started self harming at the age of 13 as a way to escape from my own head. I self harmed to get a high, and I got addicted to it. My parents put me in counseling for it, but the counselor never really helped me much. No matter how much the counselor tried, the razor just got bigger.

At age 15, after a particularly bad day, I decided that I wanted it all to be done. My life was ready to end. I jumped in front of a truck and was hospitalized for it, and it s my first documented suicide attempt.

"At 15?" John said, his voice soft with pain.

Sherlock nodded, then resumed his story.

I reverted back to self harm. I graduated high school and went to college, like everyone expected me to. I don't remember most of my time there, I was high with slashed wrists.

At age 21, I decided that I did not want to be doing this college thing anymore. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I was miserable. So miserable John. I went home and tried to slit my wrists. Someone, a friend at the time, phoned an ambulance for me and got me to the hospital and I pulled through.

My parents, after that scare, put me in a mental hospital for a while. But due to my tendencies to find any sharp object, they had to lock me in a padded cell. For six months I was in a padded cell. It was hell, John. Absolute hell.

John was crying, close to sobbing. What Sherlock did to himself shocked John. What the most brilliant mind in the world did, how sad a man was that made other people so happy.

After the cell, I blocked out most emotions. It helped, for a while. I learned how to block out happy emotions quite easily, but my unpleasant emotions stuck around.

At age twenty five I had dropped out of college. I was high as a kite from both drugs and cutting. I once tried to kill myself again by overdosing on whatever drug I was on at that time. A nice man, named Greg Lestrade -his name's Greg right? Okay good- found me, half dead and brought me to the hospital.

Once Lestrade found out that I was pretty good at solving crimes, he recruited me to help Scotland Yard. The only condition was that I couldn't do drugs or cut myself. Which worked.

"For a while." John said, finished Sherlock's sentence.

Sherlock smiled slightly at his amazing boyfriend, but quickly delved back in to the story.

There was a lapse between cases. I didn't know how to cope with that lack of high, it had been almost 8 years, so I went back into drugs. Lestrade found me once again and forced me to go back into rehab. I was afraid they were going to put me into another padded cell, so I tried to slit my wrists again. It was sloppily done, and the blood loss was hurting far more than I had anticipated, so I went to the nearest hospital, St. Bart's, and turned myself in.

There I met a nice woman named Molly Hooper who would show me corpses, but only if I ate.

I was in rehab for 3 months after that, no padded cell, thank god, but I needed a flatmate after that. Hence, I met you. And after that, I didn't try to kill myself for a long time because you made me so happy.

John smiled, face damp with tears (he could literally not stop crying).

When I faked my death I ended up spending two years traveling around the globe to dismantle Moriarty's terror network. I had to endure two years of torture. Physical, mental, and emotional torture.

About one year through, I found myself in a particularly sticky situation where they were going to hang me if I didn't say anything. They had my neck in a noose, my feet on a chair. They were going to tip the chair if I didn't say anything. I was so tired of this pain and torture, and I had nothing to live for. I mean you already thought I was dead, so what's the harm if I actually died?

So I tipped the chair over myself. My neck barely touched the rope when the men caught me and took me out of the noose. They weren't prepared to go that far for more information. That's my 'unofficial' suicide attempt. Because I consider it to be an attempt, but it had some complications.

This is the last one, I swear. I don't want to tell you this one, in the fact it might make you upset.

"Nothing's going to upset me any further." John said, eyes red and raw from so many tears.

"I think this one will." Sherlock said.

"Please, Sherlock, tell me. I want to know everything, no matter how painful." John said.

My next attempt was on the day of you and Mary's wedding.

John's eyes bulged in surprise.

I went home early because I was so miserable, the man I loved marrying someone else. So I went home and shot up with some drugs I kept hidden from you. I shot up, more than I needed to. I wanted to be dead. I ended up passed out on the floor, nearly dead, but Mrs Hudson, who had just come home from the wedding, found me and phoned an ambulance. You weren't alerted because I didn't want to upset the happy couple.

Sherlock looked up at John's eyes.

"There you go. My entire life." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock..." John said. "I don't know what to say. I still have a lot of questions, but for now, I don't know what to say."

"I don't know if there's anything to say." Sherlock said. "I mean, my attempts are usually a thing of shock, and there's no excep-"

Sherlock was cut off from John kissing him. John was sitting on Sherlock's lap, legs wrapped around Sherlock's waist. They kissed passionately, they kissed hard. Sherlock was feeling something new as John's crotch rubbed against Sherlock's stomach's and John's hands ran through Sherlock's hair. Was this was feeling turned on felt like?

John took a moment to lean down and whisper breathlessly in Sherlock's ear, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

--
THANK YOU FOR THE READS OMG!!!!

I hope this was depressing enough. I really enjoyed writing it tbh. Next chapter will have some... New stuff.

Song: "Nicotine" by Panic! At The Disco. <- that song describes how Sherlock feels about John

Vote if you KNOW that Martin is a hedgehog. Comment if you KNOW that Benedict is an otter.

G'night! -Dillon