Fixing the Broken

Chapter One

JOHN'S POV

I lay in bed, gazing at my ceiling as I listen to Sherlock's groans and wails through the thin walls. This was a regular occurrence; most nights in-fact. Some nights it wasn't so bad, but from the agonising sounds coming from his room, I can tell its bad tonight. 

It's hard for me to try and block the noises out to sleep. Whenever I hear them, I wake, alert and wide-awake. Then, my mind doesn't let me sleep until the wail quite, or until they sound a little less painful. 

I grab a hand full of my duvet and clench it tight, trying to fight off the urge to run to his room and comfort him. He would hate if I did that. He would also hate me knowing that he can't sleep through the night. Sherlock doesn't ever like to seem weak, he wants people to see him as the emotionless sociopath he tries so hard to be.

I, on the other hand, know better than everyone else; I know him better. It has been clear to me for some time that he isn't okay. Not since he came back. All I see him do is replace his food with strong spirits and over-load on different types of pills and medication. 

The noises from Sherlock's room are getting worse; they're getting louder and more painful for me to listen too. I release my fist of duvet and turn on my side so that I could use my pillow as earmuffs. It doesn't drown out his wails, but it muffles them which I'm grateful for.

I still have a burning desire to run to him, but I know I can't.

Ever since Sherlock had faked his own death, he had been like this. It had been a year now since he had, he only let me know that he faked his death about three months ago.

Before I knew he was alive and before he came back to me, I was the one over drinking and sleeping all day. I was so lost without him and I felt so alone. Once he returned, I was fine, I was mad at hell with him, but my disbelief and thankfulness that he came back dulled my anger quickly. But we have now swapped, I'm fine and he's the one in a terrible state.

I don't know why, but he had changed. He wasn't the self-centred, arrogant, up-his-own-ass Sherlock I know; he's broken. And it's up to me to fix him. I haven't had much success with that so far. I'd tried to get him to do some case's, but he refused and told me that he didn't care about that anymore, not in the slightest. It was a task enough getting him out of bed in the morning. I'm doing my best, I'm trying to be here for him, but he doesn't seem to want my help anymore. Not like he used to. 

I stare blankly into the dark thinking about everything. My mind was running wild, and all my thoughts are about Sherlock.

SHERLOCK'S POV

I wake covered in sweat with my sheets sticking to my pale skin. Another one. Another nightmare.

I rub my temples before pushing myself up with my elbows into a sitting position. I hold my manic pants for a few seconds to see if I can hear anything. To my gratitude, all I can hear is silence. I'm glad I hadn't woken John or made him stir. After a while of him asking me if I was alright in the morning it became clear to me that he could hear me when I slept. His eyes would always fill with fear when he asked. I hate when he would ask, it hate him hearing me. Though, I'm grateful he has never attempted to speak with me about them, cause then I'd hate it a lot more. 

I reach out to my bedside table using my hands feel around for my pills, knocking some other stuff on to the floor as I do. I use them to help me sleep, but unfortunately, they don't stop the nightmares.

If I took more pills than I needed, then I would be able to sleep without nightmares. The few times I've tried that, I've struggling to get up the next morning. More than usual that is.

But right now, all I want is for my brain to shut off. Stop working; just be blank for a while.

I open up the pot and get four out. I close it and throw them on to the floor so I can't have anymore. My hand searches the side-table for my bottle of gin which I quickly locate as it is always close by.