waking up at the sound of your voice - sheriarty

chapter one - he was the only one

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️

attempted self harm and swearing

One week. It's been one week since John moved to Mary's house and even if Sherlock had new cases every day, it wasn't enough.

His mental health wasn't one of the bests, but neither one of the worst. He still had time, he thought.

John found out about his suicidal tendecies a few weeks after their first meeting and let's just say that Mycroft had a pretty important role in all of this.

At first Sherlock thought that John would have- no, should have done like everybody. Wich means leaving him behind, where he belongs, in the streets with homelesses, robbers, drugs dealers and rapers.

To his surprise John didn't leave him behind.
He didn't insult him.
He didn't yell at him.
He didn't make a scene like everybody would do.
Damn, he didn't even got angry at him.
He just shrugged and smiled.
John was the very first person to accept that and help him through all of this.
He would wake up to the sound of Sherlock's voice in the middle of night, maybe because of a panic attack or even a nightmare. He would calm his best friend down and reassure him until the detective would have no tears left to cry and Sherlock would find himself embraced in a tight hug just before falling asleep again.

That's all Sherlock asked for. But apparently nobody was there to listen to his pray.

Because then Mary magically appeard and everything in Sherlock's life changed.

Once again, he had nobody to protect him from himself. He found himself alone in his apartment, laid on the couch and with a worried Mrs. Hudson knocking on the door.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, dear, I bought you something. There's also some tea if you want-"

"Mrs. Hudson go away. There's a reason if I want to be alone."

"Sherlock are you okay? I can call John if you want. Maybe he can cheer you up like old times and..."

She kept rumbling about when the two solved crimes together, how she missed those times and how everything has changed but she still loved Mary as a friend and blablablah. Sherlock couldn't stand her anymore. He decided just to block her out and go to his mind palace.
He didn't have to think about John.
He couldn't think about John.

Sherlock spent hours in his Palace trying to distract himself from the one able to help him.
He was the only one, nobody could ever replace him.

The night slowly came and so did Sherlock's anxiety, along with all his purest fears, all of them now circling above him.

The detective just sat there in silence with his hands on his ears, in the desperate attempt to stop the voices in his head that were claiming his life.

"Come on! Don't you see the knife over there? It will only take a little, tiny sacrifice. Then everything will be perfect."

"Or maybe, if you prefer it, there's also a rope in your room. Just in case you don't remember it. Because, you know, you're so fucking stupid. That's why nobody wants you. And remember that we're just being kind by telling you the truth. Remember that, you little and worthless piece of shit."

"P-please, I'm b-begging you... Just leave me alone for once! What did I do for deserving all of this? TELL ME!"

Sherlock was hopelessly crying, curled up into a ball, with his knees touching his chest and his tears wetting his trousers.

""What did I do"?! YOU'RE STILL ALIVE, THAT'S WHAT YOU DID!"

"P-please... just... stop, please... I can't do this anymore... g-go away..."

Pleaded Sherlock through the sobs and his wet shirt that muffled his voice, now raspy and low.

"If you want us to stop, then you know what you have to do. Go on. Don't worry, we'll be watching the whole time to see if you do something stupid. And remember, dear Sherlock, don't end all now. Where the fun would be, otherwise?"

Sherlock slowly stood up while drying his tears with his sleeves and adjusting his shirt while doing as he's been told.

Once in the kitchen, he started searching for a knife, his knife, the knife he always used before meeting John.
Yeah, John.
He was the only one.
He's always been the only one.
And Sherlock let him go, like he was nothing, like he didn't matter.
It was Sherlock's fault. It's always his fault.
Everybody left because it was his fault.

He took the knife with trembling hands and slowly put it on his arm while trying to convince himself that he was doing the right thing.

All he could think about was his best friend. It was always him.
He also thought about how he would be disappointed if he saw him like this and it was one of the Sherlock's biggest fears... disappointing the others...

"No! I can't delude John, not anymore!" Yelled Sherlock, still in tears and a sobbing mess, while sitting in a corner of the room and shaking violently.

The detecive never noticed the cameras in his apartment, nor that somebody was watching him all the time.

The Irish man observed as the consulting detective sat in silence with the knife next to him, occasionally letting his glare travel on Sherlock with a pitiful yet intrested face.

Now, neither of them could escape.
The game was on.