Starving; A Sherlock Fanfic

Self-Destruction

TRIGGER WARNING: REFERENCE TO SELF HARM AND SUICIDE.  YOU KNOW WHAT, AUTOMATICALLY ASSUME ALL CHAPTERS OF THIS BOOK REQUIRE A TW
Five minutes.  Five minutes was all it took for everything I had planned to fall apart in my hands.  Evaporate like raindrops meeting the sun's rays.  Astonishing how little time it takes for your life to fall apart really.
I didn't know if I could ever face John again.  I knew it was too much to hope for that he wouldn't care and forget about the whole incident.  People never do.  People are just like that, empathetic or something.  They can't really help it, it's an evolutionary trait that most likely originally evolved for survival purposes and never changed.
I knew must eventually return, in fact, I'd been wandering the streets for hours now.  Looking around I found myself in a park, sitting on a bench with the sun just starting to rise and no idea how I'd gotten there.  I decided taking a cab would probably be the best option at this point.
Once I'd successfully flagged down one, I jumped in to the back.
"221B Baker Street." I stated simply, resting my head on the window.
"Not one for small talk are we?" The driver asked as he pulled away from the curb.
"Not particularly, no." I rolled my eyes.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, thankfully.  I thought of what I was going to say to John but it was the one time I could think of nothing, my mind was empty.  Maybe he wouldn't even be home, maybe he really wouldn't care, would that be any better?  Or would it be worse?  There was no real reason he would I suppose.
When the cab stopped, it took me a few seconds to realize it.  I payed the driver and climbed out.  I stood in front of the door and made a feeble attempt to breathe.
I'd never been afraid of anything in my life, well apart from Baskerville, but I told myself that it didn't count.  But nothing else had ever scared me, but this... This terrified me.  Of all things, facing John, my friend.  Well I suppose John was the center of quite a few of my fears really.  But this was insane, I was letting my heart rule my head, and I learned long ago to never let that happen again.  So before I could think of anything else, I open the door and stepped into the hall.
Everything was silent and still.  Mrs. Hudson would be up in exactly 43 minutes, so that just left John for now. 
The steps creaked as I walked up them and, combined with the silence, created an atmosphere that was more suspenseful than anything.  As I reached the door, I went to straighten my coat and noticed my hands shaking.  Panic attacks were one thing, I was never particularly afraid of something specific, it was just something that happened (or at least something I chose not to question) but this was very different.  This was actually dread, something I couldn't ignore, something I had to face and something I couldn't control.  I mean, technically I could do something, but none of it would do anything.  
I could run, go undercover somewhere, but Mycroft would find me within a few hours, a day or two if he decides to play along.  He'd most likely know before I had even left London.  I could, I suppose, just never speak to John again and move out.  Mycroft probably wouldn't get involved seeing as he wouldn't risk getting caught in between any possible emotions that may be there.  I'd considered this option many times in the past few hours, but decided that, regardless of my attempt to remain closed off and without emotional attachment to others, I had begun to care for John more than I thought was capable for me.  And I couldn't leave him now, I couldn't be alone again.  Not ever again.
I suddenly noticed I was leaning against the wall with my head in my hands, and my cheeks were wet with tears.  How moronic of me, I'm crying over this.  I've been face to face with serial killers, been threatened with guns and a variety of other weapons, been shot,  been minutes away from death, and many other things, yet this of all things induces a breakdown.  Pathetic.
I looked at my watch, 26 minutes until Mrs. Hudson wakes. Over 20 minutes had passed and I was still standing motionless in the hallway.  So once again I stood in front of the door, made another feeble attempt to breathe and, before I could think about it any further, opened the door and stepped through.
Everything was normal and quiet, exept for two men sitting across from each other, Mycroft and John.  John looked up when he heard the door open, Mycroft didn't.  John clearly hadn't slept and he'd clearly been crying, although I didn't know why.
"Why is he here?" I asked John, already knowing the answer.  He had called him for some unknown reason.
"He called me and told me that you were in need of my assistance.". Mycroft answered for him.
"I don't need your help." I turned to walk into the kitchen and reached into a cabinet​ for a glass.
"What's going on, Sherlock?" He said sighing, "John said I should let you explain, so please, do tell." He added a sarcastic tone to the end of the sentence, I hated when he did that.
"You know why your here!" I slammed the glass on the counter loud enough that, if Mrs. Hudson we're awake, she'd have heard it.
"Yes, I do, and I thought we'd been over this before!" He said standing up.
"Get.  Out." I said as calmly as I could, clenching my teeth.
"Sherlock, you know what will happen if this proceeds any long-"
"NOW!" I punched the countertop as hard as I could, I didn't mean to, but I did.  Silence engulfed the room for what seemed like decades, but finally, I heard his footsteps walk to the door and it slam closed behind him.  The deafening silence returned once again.
I pressed my palms against my eyes and sank to the ground.  I didn't want to be here again, go through all of this AGAIN.  And yes, I knew exactly what would happen if I kept doing this to myself, or at least if Mycroft knew about it.  I forgot about John being there entirely, or I had until he reminded me.  I buried my head in my arms and rested them on my knees.
"When." He asked.
"When what...?" I replied, not moving, my voice muffled by my arms.
"Sherlock, I'm a doctor, remember?" He stepped closer, "I know a suicide attempt when I see one." He said quietly.  I mentally slapped myself.  Shit.  Why, why, why didn't I choose another method?!
"Does it matter?" I asked sharply.
"Yes, Sherlock, yes it bloody does!"
"...... A month and half before we met..." I sighed, "That's why Mrs. Hudson gave me a discount on the apartment." And I said too much, they'll be questions.
"I thought she gave you a discount because you helped with her old husband?"
"Well, yes that too.  We became friends because of that, but then I... When I attempted... After what happened... She said she'd give me discount if I found someone else to move in with." I mumbled, "She thought it'd keep me from doing anything stupid, I guess she was wrong."
"Sherlock, why...?" He asked.
"Why what?" I responded, agitated.
"Why the hell would you do this to yourself?!"
I looked up at him.  "I don't believe I need to explain the science behind why people cut themselves because, as you keep reminding me, YOU'RE A DOCTOR!"
"I'm not asking for the scientific reasoning I'm asking WHY!"
"I'M A CRIME OBSESSED DRUG ADDICT WITH AN EATING DISORDER, WHY DO YOU THINK?!?!" I shouted before I could think.  Then I realized what I said, "eating disorder".  Dammit.  I had confessed everything I said I wouldn't.  Well not everything but...
"Y-you... Sherlock why?"
"Why do you keep asking?!  Why do you care?!" I was completely falling apart now and thank God Mrs. Hudson had probably left for the shop half an hour ago.
"Why do I care?!  Why do I fucking care?!  How blind are you, how ignorant?!"
"Apparently, completely and utterly!" Tears streamed down my face, I must have looked like a mess, no, I KNEW I looked like a mess.
"Right, that's it I'm leaving!" He turned to walk away but paused, "Actually wait, I can't because I don't trust you not to do something stupid!"
He threw himself into a chair.  I swiped my hand across my face like a child, and I felt like one right now as well.  I could already feel the urge to cut swelling inside me, a burning, white-hot need.  But John, I knew would never let me, he's too... Human.
We didn't speak for a while after that, we just sat and I dried the tears on my face.  I was just praying Mycroft didn't get involved anymore.
"John...?" I said weakly.
"What?" He looked at me, running a hand through his hair.
"Please don't... Please don't..." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, "Please don't tell Mycroft... Or Mrs. Hudson or Molly... Or anyone else... Please..."  I was begging now.
He sighed, "I don't know Sherlock... I'll try not to but I might have to... If I can't keep all of this in check."
"You don't have to..."
"Yes I do... And don't argue." He said with an air of finality.  I didn't say anything else, just looked down.
"Come on, let's get some breakfast." He sighed.
"Not hungry." I said automatically, but realized when he glared at me, "Fine..." This was not going to be easy, nor something that I would enjoy.
Authors Note:
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Hey, everyone!  I updated at last, are you proud? *Silence because everyone knows the writings crap* .... Right... Well, I just wanted to let you know that the chapter names are going to be changing because I'm not creative enough nor motivated enough to think of them for each chapter. 😂😂  I also have no idea where this story going so bear with me!  Or you know... Don't...