Sherlock Imagines

○ Attempted Suicide ○

|||This one does not involve Molly or Jim, sorry! I just couldn't get anything through for them. Enjoy the mini imagines. If you're struggling with suicidal thoughts, please reach out to someone. I know how lonely depression can be if you don't open up. I love you guys. |||

You stared at the gun. Trembling, the static of depression whispers closely to your mind. You picked up the weapon, and felt the cold metal shaking against your head. You had to do this. Right?

| S h e r l o c k |

The detective came back to 221b Baker Street, and quickly noticed how you hadn't come to greet him. He deduces the enviroment quickly, starting to panic. He starts calling your name, scrambling around the apartment. He pauses when he hears whimpering coming from the room you shared. He dashed and slammed the door open. The scene shattered the detective.
"[Y/N]." His voice was so soft. You wobbled at this sound, but straighted the gun directly to your head. "Please don't do this. God, [Y/N], please." His voice cracked. He walked closer. "Put the gun down." He motioned. Sherlock struggled to hold his own cries as you continued to sob.
"I have to do this, Sherlock."
"No, no you don't. Nothing good comes out of this!"
"I'm just," You choked. "I can't do it anymore."
He took a deep breath and reached towards the gun.
"Please. I need you to stay alive. I can help you with whatever happened. Please put the gun down." He kept his gaze on yours, even when you refused to look at him. He watched your shaky grip loosen, and he gently put his hands over you hand and pushed the gun down. You collapsed into his embrace, and weeped.
"I am so sorry. I'm sorry." You whimpered.
"It's okay, [Y/N]. I've got you. It's okay, love."

| J o h n |

John came home upset. He slammed the door and immediately sat down on the couch. He shut his eyes for moments, till he realized the still silence. He could hear the ticking of the clock, and in sync there was another click. A bigger click.
"[Y/N]?" He got up cautiously. "[Y/N]? Where are you?" He stepped quietly to an end table. John went to grab a gun from the drawer but it was gone. His heart skipped a beat as he raced down the hallway to look for you. He looked into every room, till he found you in the corner of the guest bedroom. It was dark, his eyes struggling to adjust. "Sweetheart? What are you doing in the dark?"

A whimper was the only reply. He turned on the light and instantly his mouth went dry. Your back was turned to him, gun to your head. "What are you doing?" His voice cracked. You muttered under your breath. "[Y/N]," He started to raise his voice. "Turn around, please." You did not quickly response to the command, but turned your head slowly. Tear streaks glistened on your grief stricken face. "Put it down." He says softly. "Put it down and we can talk about this. If you shoot," He inhaled nervously. "You'll only pass on the pain to another person. Please put it down."
"I don't know what to do anymore, John." He winced as your grip tightened on the gun. "This is the only way. I meant to do it when you weren't home. I'm sorry you're going to have to witness it." Your voice was hollow and broken, as if this was normal.
"[Y/N]! I swear to God!" He cried out and tackled you. He snatched the weapon of your hand and held you close. You went limp in his arms, the affection seeming alien. You felt his arms trembling and tears fall onto your clothes. "Why? God, why? What caused this? Why didn't you tell me?" He muttered as his grip tightened. You thought about staying quiet, but the emotions overpowered you.
"I'm sorry, John. I am so sorry."
"I want to forgive you, but you almost killed someone I love. Why wouldn't you tell me you weren't okay? All those times you were lying? How many times?"

|M y c r o f t |

Mycroft noticed something was wrong the moment he stepped into the house. The air was still and lifeless, something you would never allow. He examined the area looking for signs of distress. When it seem to be normal, he became almost frantic. His eyes darted everywhere as he moved silently through the rooms. At the last room he came to, the door slightly cracked open. Looking in, his body froze. Hearing you crying and a gun to your head, enraged the older Holmes. He couldn't understand. What could drive you to this act?
"[Y/N]. What are you doing?" It seemed to be less than question, more like a command. You turned, your expression lost and glassy. Hands shaking, the gun lowered slightly.
"Mycroft," you whispered. "I have to do this."
"No, you don't." His voice rose in alarm, his thoughts bringing up the many times Sherlock had tried to do this as well. "Listen to me. This is not the way to deal with whatever is happening." He walked closer, hands up where you could see them. Your eyes seemed to flicker with anger. A sad kind of anger.
"What should I do then?" You watched him till he was in very close proximity. Suddenly, he snatched the weapon and grabbed you close. You swallowed hard, for Mycroft wasn't much for being so close to one, and his grip was tight and rough. He seemed strangely calm, whiched alarmed you more. He dropped the gun carelessly and used the other hand to cup your head to his chest.
"You need to talk about this with someone. Don't you dare say that you don't. Look at what you just tried to do. God, [Y/N], if I hadn't come home early..."

| G r e g |

It was strange. You hadn't given your daily call to see how Greg was doing. Then on the way home, you didn't answer. He became worried, when he opened the house to what seemed like a disaster. Clothes strewn about, curtains fallen, tables overturned. He cautiously pulled out his gun, and burst through the first room.
"Put you hands up!"
He jumped when he heard a clunk hit the ground.
"I'm sorry!" Your voice cried. "Shoot please!" You paused. "Greg." You whimpered.
"[Y/N]?" He lowered the weapon, and met your eyes. "What...?"
You trembled as he tried to find words.
"Did you...? Oh my god." He shut his eyes and held his head. "Why?" His voice small and cracked.
"It became too much, I couldn't think straight. It was like static, consistently hissing and unfocused and it drove me insane!" You sobbed.
He shut his eyes and swallowed hard. Greg wrapped his arms around you and shushes your sobs.
"I promise to you, I will make you happy again. I will help you as much as I can. You'll be okay."