BBC Sherlock imagines

Nothing mattered anymore

A/N
This is a Johnlock one shot in Sherlock's POV.
Warning: this gets quite dark and self-harm and depression are mentioned.
I've been in love with him since the start. Since the very first time we were introduced, and later that day he shot a man to save me. And now look at us, well me. He's got a wife and a child on the way and I'm alone, sat in my flat-that we used to share-in the same chair, day in day out, with nothing to do but think. I try to work on cases but it just makes it worse, it's not the same without him and they only last a little while and then I'm left, back in my chair, alone.
It used to be so great, perfect even. Solving cases, catching criminals and constant laughter. That's until I had to go and ruin it, I always go and ruin it. I couldn't see a way out, I was so caught up in Moriarty I lost sight of what mattered and I jumped. I faked my own death. For two years. I don't know what I expected, of course I couldn't just waltz back to Baker Street and there would be John, waiting with a cup of tea and I could even tell him how I felt, how much I missed him, what I did for him. No, how stupid is that- he got on with his life, he found Mary, he didn't need me. But I needed him; I still need him.
I got up and took myself to the bathroom. I hadn't done it yet today and I needed it now. I sat down on the edge of the bath and reached into the hiding spot behind the towel rail and wrapped my fingers around the handle. I took a deep breath and rolled up the sleeves of my long shirt to reveal my already scarred wrists. I pressed the blade against my skin where it had started to heal and pushed until it drew blood; then I dragged it back in a neat line- my OCD still getting the better of me even with something like this. When I first started it hurt but I told myself I deserved the pain, for letting John go, for jumping- now it just felt numb, I was used to it and craved the feeling. I repeated it 3 or 4 more times, being careful of how deep- despite my despair I wouldn't die again, in case John needed me or by some miracle was actually in love with me too. I hid the blade again and sat there, eyes closed. When I opened them again, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I hadn't seen my reflection for months, carefully avoiding it and seeing myself in this state was like a blow to the face. I lost it and grabbed the first thing to my right and through it at the mirror, smashing it into tiny fragments. I sobbed. I couldn't help it, I couldn't stop, I sunk to the floor and cried for hours and hours. No one heard me of course, Mrs Hudson was downstairs and out of earshot and there was no one else, no one cared. When I eventually emerged from the bathroom it was dark, I switched everything off and went to my bed where I lay, staring at the ceiling until late the next morning. Nothing mattered anymore.