Lines and Numbers (Johnlock)

Chapter 11

Oh boy! Time for sad! Muahahahha! You will NEVER receive happiness. I apologize.
(Tw: Self harm, suicide... Eating disorder, etc. You know the drill.)

My vision blurred as I looked at the figure on the floor, unconscious. My breathing quickened, and I realized I was already hyperventilating because of the running. Wow, I ran a lot. I looked at my hands, wondering why they felt so tingly. And what I was doing back at the flat- wasn't I just at the store? And then I remembered.

I fell to the floor, panicking again. Sherlock was dying.

"Sherlock!" I yelled. There was no response. His breathing was slow. He wasn't wearing his coat, and I could see his arms coated in cuts that were way too deep, and definitely needed stitches. I crawled forward, ignoring the aversion I had to the dirty things on the floor.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, please!"

I heard something behind me, by the door. Someone said something, or maybe they screamed. I don't know. All I knew was that Sherlock needed help.

"Get an ambulance! Get help! Please... Oh, God, Sherlock, please..."

My stomach churned, and I didn't notice before I was the one over the toilet, sick. My head hurt, and I felt numb. Where's Sherlock? Why... Why is this happening? He needs... help...

I stumbled to my feet and saw Mrs. Hudson outside the door, on the phone.

"999?" I murmured hopefully. Was she the one who screamed? God, I hope she's okay... I shuffled over to Sherlock and lifted up his limp body to a sitting position against the wall. We could repaint it. I stood by him, staring at the ground with a dazed expression.

"John? John!" I heard Mrs. Hudson calling me, but barely acknowledged her.

"Is an ambulance...?"

"Yes, John. Come out of there, please. Don't look. They'll take care of him, don't wo-"

"No," I cut her off with my firm speech. "I'm not leaving his side. I was supposed to be here for him... How could I not notice..."

I felt my head pound, and I swallowed thickly, as if there was something obstructing my throat. I felt like crying, but I was too shocked for that. My whole body trembled as I waited for what seemed like hours for the ambulance. When it finally arrived, I insisted on riding with him in it. They let me, but I couldn't focus at all. My thoughts were barely on him.

I could remember the conversation we had just before that. Could  anything, anything have given it away? He was fine... Right?

I'd just finished breakfast. I put my dishes in the sink. Sherlock sat at the desk, doing whatever on his laptop.

"Hey, did you have breakfast?" I asked, preparing to put it away.

"Yeah, I has eggs and a bit of toast. It was pretty good."

How could I not see the lie?

"Okay, well, there's no milk. We need some other things. Anything you want?" I asked, smiling at him.

He continued looking at the computer and waved his hand to say, "No, go."

Long sleeves. Circles under the eyes. What was he looking at on the computer?

I, slightly annoyed at being ignored, left without another word. No 'I love you' or something. Nothing. I just left.

I just left. But he can't. I can't let him. He can't just leave.

We arrived at hospital eventually. People said things, machines made sounds. It smelled like a hospital. Well, because it was one. I stared at my hands again, and they shook. My vision was blurred. Was anything okay anymore? No. Sherlock's dying.

He's dying.

He's dying.

He's... dying.

I crumpled onto the ground, shaking. People said more things, and Sherlock got out of my sight. I didn't want him to. I didn't want him to die. I lived for him. I couldn't live without him.

I loved him.