Lines and Numbers (Johnlock)

Chapter 12

So... it's finally happened. After so, so long, I'm continuing the story. I edited the parts and really advise you guys to reread this before continuing. My first chapter has over 500 reads, thank you all so much  for that! Anyway, let's get right into things! This chapter, btw, will absolutely rip your heart out if it's still in there. :)
Edit: Oh god oh fuck I made it sadder than I wanted to ahhhhh I hate this I'm sorry ahhhhh

(Tw: Hospitals, self harm, blood, suicide, ed- you know the drill) 

I sat at the kitchen table, only one lamp on in another room for light, meaning it was pretty dark in there. I wasn't really doing anything. I was just... sitting. And the other seat usually taken up by Sherlock was empty. It was empty. Every other seat in the house was empty.

I stared at my hands, which were clenched together and tried not to remember what had just taken place. 

"Sir? Is everything alright?" A voice had asked. I was helped up and taken to another room, where they talked to me, asking me questions and assuring me everything would be okay. He had taken a lot of medicine- a whole damn lot. It was really lucky I got to him as fast as I did. They were giving him activated charcoal and were going to keep him for a little while to make sure he was okay. And then... he was coming back home.

The whole time, it was like I was running on a motor. I answered their questions, I asked my own, and yet, I felt a million miles away. I wasn't allowed to see Sherlock yet, and was told I could come back at a later time- they would call me. He had woken up for a little while, and had said he didn't want any visitors.

Mrs. Hudson brought me back to the building. She sat with me for a little while, both of us quiet. Eventually, she asked if I wanted help cleaning up. I just nodded silently. She left for a while, and then came back. I thanked her endlessly, and she assured me it was no trouble- she'd had to clean up quite a bit before. I was sure, however, it was nothing like this.

I went back to our flat. And I sat in the chair. And I stared at my hands. And I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

Finally, after who-knows-how-long, I got up. I took out a glass, the clinking sounding so incredibly loud in the silent place. I got some water and took a drink, then set the glass down. Slowly, I headed toward the place.

The bathroom.

It smelled of cleaner before I turned on the light. When I did, I really did regret it. It didn't look too different. Some of the grout seemed to be stained, and I mentally made a note to re-grout the bathroom. Mrs. Hudson had done an amazing job at the cleaning, if I'm being honest, but still... my mind kept bringing up the picture of Sherlock, lying there.

 I went back to my room.

Sitting on my bed, I felt my emotions pooling up inside me, and I could handle it. I opened my drawer and took out the pocketknife I kept there, for opening packages and things like that. I flipped the knife up, knowing the blade was sharp, because I kept it sharp. I rolled up my pants' left leg and placed the knife there, feeling the cold metal press against my skin.

I sighed and flipped the knife closed again. I wouldn't do that. It was on impulse that I had taken the knife out. I know how much it would hurt the people around me. I would never. I lay on my bed, feeling numb. My eyes burned again, and tears fell. I didn't shake. I barely felt anything.

I didn't eat dinner that night- I felt too sick to. My phone lay on the desk next to me, and, though it buzzed a whole lot, I didn't check it. I fell asleep in my day clothes, but I had at least remembered to take off my shoes.

Sherlock and I sat on top of a building. It was tall, and the wind up here was somewhat strong. I handed him a cup of tea. "Hello, John."

"Hullo, Sherlock."

"How has your day been?"

"I don't know, I can't honestly remember. Is this a dream?"

"Don't worry about that. It might be."

"Oh." I looked at my cup of tea, my reflection warped. I didn't want to change the dream, as some people might. I just let it continue. It was a nice dream, to be honest.

"Would you like a scone?" Sherlock asked, holding up a small basket with scones in it. I accepted and took one, biting into it thankfully. He took one, too. We sat together in silence, and I felt my heart warm. It was nice to stare at the cars so far away. We were up higher than really most tall buildings even would be, yet, there were other buildings towering over us.

"Well, John. It's been nice having tea with you. I've got to be off now, though." With that, he set his cup down and stood up. I smiled sadly, disappointed that this had to end, but waved at him. He smiled too and waved back, then stepped off the building. I watched as he went down and landed gracefully, almost like a cat. I set my own cup of tea down and stretched, and then got up as well. I looked down at the ground, so very far away. And then I stepped off.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

My alarm clock jerked me to consciousness. I lazily slapped it to turn the alarm off, and then rolled onto my back. The bed was empty, and I felt empty too. I rubbed my eyes and took my phone off of my bedside table. 17 new messages.

I sighed and opened my message app. Mycroft had sent me six messages.

What is going on, John?

John, I've been told Sherlock is in hospital. Is this true?

Why?

John?

Do you know when we are able to visit him?

Hello? Are you okay?

I sent him a couple messages explaining what was going on. Mrs. Hudson had texted me a bit, and I realized that it had been while Sherlock and I were on the ambulance (I had ridden with him). She was just asking what was going on, and if everything was okay, and what she should do, and if I wanted her to pick me up. I guess I didn't have to respond to those, since I talked with her last night. There were two messages from Anderson, which was surprising, but when I opened them, I realized they were just about a case. Nobody else had really heard what was going on...

There was a junk message, which I discarded. There were two messages from Sherlock's parents, which I answered as quickly as possible, mostly because I didn't want to have to deal with them. Then, there was the one I was avoiding.

There was a single message from Sherlock. I clicked it slowly, not really wanting to read it.

Hello, John. It's about 3:30 AM as I am writing this, and I know it will be a long while until you wake up. Please come and visit as soon as you can. I'd really like to talk to you, and explain some things. I'm doing fine, what they gave me helped balance things out. I got 23 stitches, which is a lot, as you'd know, but everything is going fine now. I hope that you are doing well. I'm sorry for doing something so rash, and not talking with you instead. I hope you can find it in yourself to accept my apology. I love you. -SH

I read the paragraph and then put the phone down, rolling over in bed so I didn't have to look at it at all. I decided I would visit him around noon today. I wanted us both to be awake and prepared to talk about what happened.

I took the phone and sent him a message back.

I'm so glad to hear you're okay, Sherlock. I plan to visit you today around 11, I hope that's an acceptable time? Thank you for messaging me. I love you. -JW