Lines and Numbers (Johnlock)

Chapter 10

Aight bitches. You expected smut, right? I've been saying I'm writing smut, right? I lied. *Maniacal laughter*
(Tw: idk just gross stuff lmao)
(Edit: Tw: Actually there's also blood this is kinda dramatic so tw for blood/self harm and gross stuff)

I was out in town when it happened.

Sherlock and I had been talking about the case we'd been on that morning. He asked me what I told Lestrade.

"Oh, nothing, really. Just little things. He's sworn not to tell," I told him. He seemed content with that. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ground for a little while, then just closed his eyes. I didn't notice his sickish expression, or the way he was fiddling with his hands.

I finished the dishes, then grabbed the grocery list off the counter. "I'm gonna run out, Sherlock. Text if you need anything," I called. He nodded to show he heard me, and I headed down, blissfully ignorant.

I arrived at the store moderately quickly. Looking over the list, I sighed. There was more stuff than I had thought. I headed down the aisles, and had about a quarter of the stuff we needed before I got his text.

John, I'm bored. I'm just going to text you. -SH

That's fine. -JW

I continued through the store for a minute, but he didn't text. I got a carton of milk and put it in the basket. My phone buzzed, and then again. I took it out, and time seemed to slow as I ready the words on the small screen.

God, John, I'm sorry. -SH

Im not doing this im sorry im going to go im sorry i made you have to deal with me im sorry im such a burden im sorry. -sh

My hands shook as I set the basket down in some random place. I rushed out of the store and took the fastest route to 221b Baker Street while running. I arrived there wheezing, sweat rolling down my face as I hurled myself up the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I shouted. She rushed out of her room holding a can of soda like a weapon. "Mrs. Hudson, where. Is. Sherlock?"

"Oh, dear. Upstairs, in the flat. He hasn't left. What is it, Joh-"

I cut her off by rushing away up the stairs toward our flat. I burst into the flat and slammed the door shut, trying to keep Mrs. Hudson out. I heard a noise from the bathroom. I ran towards the closed door, barely noticing that there was food all over the table and scattered on the floor like he'd pushed it all there, and his chair was out of place.

I banged on the bathroom door loudly. "Oy, Sherlock! Open up!" I shouted. There was no response from inside, although I could have sworn that someone moved.

"Please,  Sherlock," I called. "Please." I knocked on the door lightly, much quieter, although my heart was pounding and my mind racing with all the possible things he could have done. I heard a soft tap on the door near the bottom, but still no response.

The door wouldn't be too hard to open. A regular credit-card-down-the-side and it'd open. I dug through my wallet frantically and pulled out a card. My hands shook as I pressed it through the crack in the door.

There was a click as the door opened, and I pushed it in. I tossed the card to the side, not caring, and rushed to Sherlock, who was laying on the bathroom floor, almost unconscious, in a puddle of blood and vomit.