Marriage and Mental Illness (Sequel to Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles)

Talking Points

AN: Please read until the end! I know it's long but the end is VERY important.

I'm so sorry this is late! I definitely forgot to publish before going to see some friends in a theatre production. Whoops...

Sherlock's POV

"Did you hear me?" John called, arms crossed over his chest. I tore my eyes off the dark street below and back at him.

"Sorry, what?" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. I glanced back out the window as he muttered something under his breath.

"You've got to be kidding me, Sherlock. Were you listening to me? Are you even listening to me right now?"

I turned to him completely, a bit surprised by the anger in his grey eyes. "I'm listening now, what had you been saying? Was it of importance?"

"Oh nothing, really." He huffed, turning his back to me. I caught his elbow with my hand, spinning him around to me. I kissed him chastely, feeling his anger. Hating that it was directed at me.

He pulled away, eyes hard. "You can't just do that every time I'm mad at you. Especially when it's about your self-care habits. Like the fact that you didn't eat breakfast this morning even though you told me you had. Or that you've been getting up late at night to work."

The blood drained from my face and he smiled that terrifying smile he got when he was angry. "Why can't you take care of yourself?"

I stepped back, eyes narrowing. "Why can't you mind your own business?"

"Mind my own business? Sherlock, you're my goddamn husband, you're my business!"

I drew away, going back to my violin at the window. He shook his head, clenching his fists. I could hear him breathe deeply for a minute before he spoke again. "Look, Sherlock, I'm worried about you. And you not listening when I talk about it isn't helping. I know that this is hard for you-"

"Hard for me? You mean knowing every goddamn day that the Skinheads are still out there, still plotting, still causing terror because of my own mistakes?"

He closed his eyes, willing himself to be calm. His voice was much calmer when he spoke again, much softer. "I know, I'm sorry that I snapped, but you have to take care of yourself."

"Why?" The words came out harsher than I meant to but I wasn't going to take it back. It was true, why did I have to take care of myself. It took time away from the case, time away from getting us out of this mess.

He blinked, retreating a step. The anger in his eyes bled to desperation. "Because I love you. Because I care about you, and I want you to be healthy. Sherlock-" He was cut off by my phone ringing.

I clenched my jaw, angry tears burning the backs of my eyes as he picked it up from the coffee table. I opened my mouth to speak but he beat me to it.

"Put it on speaker, I know." A wave of guilt flashed over me, he always knew what I was needing . He really did care, he was justly mad, I truly was throwing caution to the wind on my self-care.

"It's Greg here, there's been a fire. A Muslim run bookstore was set on fire." A wave of nauseous fear flooded over my senses, leaving me near breathless.

He quickly gave the address as John and I threw our coats on and ran into the night. The place was far away so John quickly hailed a cab.

Fear gripped my stomach, sending it roiling as the cab sped through the streets. John leaned over, the guilt clear in his eyes as well. "We'll talk again at home, okay, love?" I nodded, grabbing his hand and giving it a quick squeeze. He gave a small smile that quickly faded as the cab slowed.