Damaged

Chapter 2

"Can I get you a cup?" John offered. He could tell Sherlock was in the midst of deducing what had been happening in the few months of his departure. Liquor bottles scattered around parts of the room and clusters of pill bottles that had not been ingested. Here and there along the wall there were kitchen knives that had been thrown. The smiley face in the wall even had more bullet holes.

"Uh no, I’m good, thanks though." Sherlock’s heart nearly stopped when he saw John’s new beverage choice along with the all too familiar pills. John hadn't been kidding around when he said that, he was serious about his suicide. Sherlock gulped when he saw dried blood on the floor obviously John had actually tried to commit the act in an attempt, but stopped because he thought Sherlock would come back. Sherlock moved back out of the room slowly gripping the door frame until his knuckles turned a deathly white his muscles protesting. His face had been a mask before but now his eyes where full of fear and compunction towards John and him losing his blogger again.

"Alright. Sorry about all the dust. I guess I never really got around to cleaning the place much." He set his cup down on the side table realizing that Sherlock saw the blood on the floor. He quickly went back into the kitchen and grabbed a rag to clean it up. Once he did that, he started pulling the knives out of the wall and picking up the empty liquor bottles. He put them in the kitchen and returned with a trashcan. He dumped all of the pill bottles into it. After all, he didn't have to worry so much anymore.

Sherlock watched John for a moment trying not to seem like there was something wrong however, on the inside his was trembling violently. He took off his coat and scarf and placed them on their hooks appearing as nonchalant as possible. "I’m uh going to take a shower and then maybe we could talk if you'd like?" He asked quickly not knowing if he could act like this much longer.

"Alright. I'm just going to sit here and drink my tea. There should be some clean towels in the linen closet." John said all of this on a much happier note than he had been earlier today. He felt a new sense of meaning to life and felt that he was being pulled out of the depression gradually.

Sherlock walked swiftly out of the room and into his own which was completely untouched as he expected. He grabbed a random set of clothes and walked into the hall and then into the wash room. He nearly ran into the room and shut the door quickly and leaned his back against it trying to calm what he had seen around the flat made him very ill thinking about it. His stomach churned uncomfortably and his skin was clammy. He then crossed the room straight for the shower turning it on making the faucet stream water to the tubs floor, making a pleasant sound that he sighed to. He turned to set his clothes on the sink like always, but froze still when he saw what was on it. There were piles of pill bottles stacked precisely into stacks. They were of all colors and sizes. But that wasn't the worst part. All along the side walls and mirrors were papers taped up in a stray of organized mess. He dropped his clothes to the ground making a sound thud sound and took a step closer to the notes. They were scribbled in John’s handwriting each in vivid detail about how each of the drugs that lay mockingly on the mantle of the sink top could kill a person.  Each one had red angry circles around the desired death that John apparently liked. Some had seizures listed or total organ failure or uncontrollable bleeding. Sherlock’s stomach rolled violently and his breathing quickened the room filled with hot steam that made him sweat even more than he was. Bile rose in his throat wanting to leave him, he felt his stomach clench and he doubled over the toilet to vomit violently. He trembled and shook with each dry heave that left him breathless and weak. After a few minutes the heaving thankfully stopped and he sunk down to the cool tile where he remained for a long time, taking a slow breath to calm his stomach and his mind. Luckily he had put the shower on first so that John wouldn't have to hear his retching from the other room. He stared at the ceiling for a long while thinking about all the terrible things he had done all the emotions he made John suffer through.