A/N: You may noticed that I deleted some of the comments in Chapter 4. I found them upsetting. I don't want any of you to compare yourself to the weight I have given Sherlock. So ya, don't do that. This is just a fanfic.
Thanks guys! ~Meg
TW: This chapter contains mentions of sexual abuse.
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"Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know." ~'From Eden' by Hozier

John

He hated hospitals. The fake smiles from the staff, the smell of chemicals, the feeling of dread. Yes, he was a doctor. But he still hated hospitals.

He was in the waiting room of the emergency ward. He was sitting next to Katherine, pretending to read a magazine, and resisting the urge to curl up on the ground and weep.

It might have been another minute or another hour before a nurse called his name.

"Dr. Watson, what is your relationship with Mr. Holmes, please?"

"F-friend. Best friend," John said quickly. "How is he?"

"Well, he had a cardiac arrest," She said with a look of pity.

Obviously.

"His blood pressure was very low, and he is suffering from malnutrition."

Shit.

"But he is in the condition to see visitors," The nurse continued. "I can take you both back to seem him now." She gave a nod to Katherine.

"Okay," John let Katherine take his hand. His palms began to sweat.

Sherlock was asleep on a hospital bed, his body hooked up to an IV. Tubes were everywhere. A heart rate monitor was the only sound.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.

John felt his legs move for him. They pulled him to Sherlock's side, and with shaky knees managed to kneel down so he was eye-level with the sleeping man.

Sherlock was pale and thin and fragile. John felt a familiar helplessness rise in his throat.

Nothing was different. Everything they had done the past few weeks had been for nothing. He had failed to take care of the person dearest to him.

He had to bite his lip to stop himself from crying.

"Sherlock," His voice quivered as he gently touched his friend's still hand. "I'm so sorry."

Sherlock

Everything ached. Even opening his eyes was a struggle.

But in the end, the pain was meaningless.

John was sitting next to him. He was looking down at the ground, his posture that of a defeated man. Sherlock felt a sudden wave of déjà vu. This was similar to his wake-up call in the clinic, and to the moment John found him crying in the middle of the night. It had become a strange habit for Sherlock to wake up to John.

"You look terrible," Sherlock's voice came out as a whisper. John's head snapped up, and he broke into a smile that made everything momentarily disappear.

"You're... Sherlock... How are you?" John tripped over his words. "Do you need anything? I'm so glad you're awake!"

"I'm..." Sherlock's mind suddenly went blank when he noticed an IV sticking out of his arm. "What in the world-"

"Sherlock," John's face morphed into one of great concern. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I- Did I-" Sherlock stuttered. "Did I get shot?"

"No, no, you weren't shot," John assured him. "You had a cardiac arrest."

Sherlock blinked incredulously. "A cardiac arrest? Why in God's name would I-"

But then he saw her.

John

Sherlock's eyes met Katherine's, and his face turned ashy white. The next moments went by in slow motion.

"YOU!" Sherlock bellowed. "IT WAS YOU!"

His face was contorted into an expression of realization, horror, and naked rage. His entire body shook with raw emotion as the heart rate monitor beeped furiously across the room.

Suddenly, a flurry of bodies rushed into the room. Nurses descended upon Sherlock, and John was grabbed by the arm and pulled roughly from his crouching position. He was then dragged to the door and pushed out by a stern nurse, who promptly slammed the door in his face.

He stood there in stunned silence for a few moments.

"What was that?" John asked.

"What?" It was Katherine's voice behind him, he knew, but he didn't turn around.

"Why did he do that?" John asked, his confusion rising.

"John, you are a doctor. I'd hope you would know what happened."

"I'm serious, Katherine," John snapped, turning to face her. She was leaning against the wall, unnervingly calm for a woman who had just been screamed at. It was unsettling, and made him a bit irritated.

"So why did he lose his shit when he saw you?" He tried again.

She didn't respond, instead averting her gaze and staring intently at the ground.

"Katherine," John said steadily, moving closer. "Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

Katherine let out a long sigh, like all the air was slowly leaving her lungs. She then looked at John with expressionless eyes.

"Why don't you ask Sherlock?"

"You've met him before, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Years ago."

John pinched his temples as a splitting headache overtook him.
"Why did you lie to me?"

"If I told you the truth," She said, her voice flat. "You'd never speak to me again."

"Maybe I won't," He growled. "But I don't care. I want you to be honest with me. How did you know Sherlock?"

"I-"

"Excuse me," A nurse interrupted sharply. "Mr. Holmes would like to speak with you, Dr. Watson. Alone."

John nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on Katherine. "Don't you dare move," he demanded.

She gritted her teeth and looked away.

John stepped into Sherlock's room and looked at the pale man expectantly.

Sherlock simply nodded, his face exhausted and defeated. "I suppose we both have some explaining to do."

"Both?"

"Why is she here?" Sherlock asked bitterly.

"She's-" John faltered. It felt like he was confessing to some heinous crime. "She was my girlfriend."

Sherlock winced. "I figured as much."

"Is that why you freaked out?" John asked, "Because that reaction was a bit excessive, even for you..."

"What? No!" Sherlock cried. "It's much more than that! She-"

He stopped, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhaled a sharp breath.

"She hurt me, John," He whispered, his eyes shut and his body still.

John crept forward until he was by Sherlock's side. "When?"

"I was ten."

"Ten?" John exclaimed. "As in, ten years old?"

Sherlock nodded. "I was a... remarkable child, for my age. I was very intelligent and carried myself in a mature fashion. However-" His voice cracked. "I was only ten."

"Sherlock..." John said.

Sherlock held up a hand. "Both of my parents worked quite often, and Mycroft was in boarding school at the time. Thus, it was logical for my parents to hire someone to watch me when I returned home from school.

"Katherine was one of them", He continued. "She was 18, and a very charismatic girl. My parents took an immediate liking to her, just as she did to me.

"I did not mind her. She was nice and treated me well. She even baked me things, from time to time. But then she started to do things I didn't understand. She would touch the small of my back or my knee, and sit very close to me."

"Oh God," John gasped, his stomach dropping.

"And then one night, she wouldn't leave. She came into my room, and told me she loved me. I didn't understand the word at they time, so I stayed silent. Then she grew angry, and she began to- she started to-" Sherlock's eyes were screwed shut, and voice was shaking.

John reached forward and took his hand, their fingers intertwining on the cotton hospital sheets.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the hands, his expression unreadable. He then took a deep breath and looked into John's eyes, unwavering.

"I then cried myself to sleep after she left. I never saw Katherine again."

"Did your parents know?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "I was confused at the time. I blamed it on myself, and was too scared to tell my parents for fear of punishment. Mycroft figured it out, of course. But he didn't do anything.

"Eventually I simply deleted the event from my memory, and I forgot about Katherine. It wasn't until the other day that everything came back to me."

"The other day?"

"When I ate that cheesecake. The memory triggered something, and I remembered."

"So was the whole eating disorder a way to cope?" John asked carefully.

"I suppose so," Sherlock looked up at the ceiling, letting out a breathy laugh. "It simply adds to the injury that you were dating her."

John felt a wave of nausea. He had actually been interested in that woman. That monster.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

"Stop saying that," Sherlock grimaced. "It wasn't your fault. She probably dated you in order to get closer to me."

"Yeah, probably." John knew that was supposed to hurt, but he honestly felt nothing. There was more to worry about than his own stupid pride.

"Look, Sherlock, I-" John squeezed the man's hand. "I need to tell you something-"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not now, John. Please." His eyes were closed once more, but tears were catching on his dark lashes.

'So this is what heartbreak feels like', John thought as his chest ached alongside the man beside him.

Before he could think better of it, John leaned over Sherlock and lightly kissed his forehead. His lips barely brushed his skin, but he could feel the warm sensation from the touch.

And once again, John thanked the Lord that Sherlock Holmes was still breathing.