After the wedding, Sherlock was a wreck. He told Lestrade that he was okay and though he was worried, Lestrade decided to let him be. He made Sherlock promise that he would call later and Sherlock had promised, just to get Lestrade to go away. When the door closed after the detective inspector, Sherlock let himself fall into despair. He knew that Mrs Hudson hadn't come home the night before, so she had probably stayed at the wedding place. So he screamed. He didn't care if the neighbors heard him. Mrs Hudson could deal with them later. He screamed and punched the wall, again, again and again. He hated this so much. He hated his life and he hated himself. He tried so hard to hate John too, because that would've been so much easier than loving him and having that love tear him apart, but he couldn't. His heart burned like never before, much like the tears burned his eyes. Then he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was in physical pain. He stilled and looked down at his hands. His knuckles were bruised and bleeding, the skin was ripped. It looked foul. Sherlock balled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. It didn't help much, they still shook like leaves. It hurt, but somehow it was relieving. It took his mind away from the emotional pain. He brushed a finger over the ripped skin and grimaced. He hadn't relieved himself with pain in a long time and it felt so unfamiliar, yet comforting. Momentarily, Sherlock thought about how calming it would be to drag a knife across his skin and look as the blood blossomed to the surface like tiny flowers. But he couldn't let himself go down that road again. He couldn't possibly do that. He lifted up his sleeve and looked at the barely-there scars that crisscrossed his arms. Normally he wore a watch over the biggest one, on his left wrist, the one that had almost killed him, but now he had taken the watch off, he didn't even know where it was at the moment.

More than once, Sherlock had considered showing these scars to John and telling him that he wasn't a fake. He hadn't always been a fake. That he had been, and still was a very broken man who truly was only put together by John's presence. But he had never done that. It was embarrassing. John would think that he was weak, for trying to commit suicide, not only once, but three times. Sherlock sniffled and pulled his sleeve back down. He sighed and felt the dull ache on his back that he had by now grown accustomed to. The torture scars still ached sometimes, but usually he could ignore it. He hadn't told about those either. He had briefly mentioned that he had spent a lot of time in Serbia after his faked death and when John had asked what he had happened there, he had lied. John had also asked why he was so jumpy, one time, when he had come to wake Sherlock in the morning and the detective had fallen out of bed, with a loud yelp, then looked around the room in shock. Sherlock had lied that he had been in the middle of a strange dream and John had just startled him. In reality he had been in a deep, dreamless sleep and when he heard his name being called loudly, a door slamming open, he had been sure that he was still in Serbia.

Sherlock fell back into his bed and winced at the sudden contact his back made with the mattress. He started up at the ceiling, before reaching out to grab his phone from the night stand. He opened it and huffed. Seven calls from John, two were at around 4.00 AM, so he'd been drunk that time, but the rest of them had been today, so maybe he was worried. There were also five texts from him and two voice mails. There was also a message from Mycroft, which Sherlock deleted before starting to go through John's messages.

"Sherlock, where'd you go? I wanted to dance with you JW" 1:32 AM

Sherlock smiled slightly, though he knew that John had been drunk when he'd sent that.

"That's pretty rude y'know? JW" 2:50 AM

Sherlock sighed deeply closed his eyes. He knew that he should've stayed.

"Sherl?? You R my best firiend and I wish uoy would be hre." 3:45 AM

Yeah, definitely drunk off his arse. The message made him chuckle slightly though. Sherl. He found that he didn't quite mind John calling him that.

"Sherlock, ignore my messages and voicemails from last night. They were stupid, I was drunk. Especially the voicemails, don't even listen to them if you haven't already. I don't know what I was thinking. Still wondering why you left though? JW" 10.26 AM

This peaked Sherlock's curiosity. What had John said in his voicemails? Now he definitely had to listen to those. Before that though, he read the last message that had arrived just fifteen minutes ago: "Sherlock, I've tried calling you. Where the hell are you? I'm actually getting worried here. You didn't drive last night, did you? And why did you disappear all of a sudden? Just call me and tell me you aren't hurt, please. JW"

Sherlock sniffled. John did care about him enough to be texting him. He promised himself that he would call John after listening to the voicemails. He needed to know what John had said, while he'd been drunk. Drunk people tell the truth after all. His heart started beating faster when he went to his voicemails. He took a deep breath before pressing on the first one that had arrived at 3:05 AM. It was mostly just loud music and John babbling something about how annoyed he was because Sherlock wasn't there. Though, Sherlock had been expecting something more exciting, it did warm his heart when John slurred out: "It's no fun without you. All of these people are so boring. You're interesting and I wanted to dance with you." He almost wished he had stayed, but at the same time it was probably for the best that he hadn't. They both could've done something very stupid when drunk and Sherlock didn't want to have his heart played with like that again. The first voicemail ended and Sherlock went to the other one. 5:47 AM, strange time, a lot later than the other messages. He let it play.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," The message started. The background was quiet now, so John couldn't have been with the guests anymore. He was clearly drunk, but trying his best to sound convincing, when the message continued with the words: "I'm sorry. I don't say that much, I-I havent said that before actually, but I am sorry. I really am. I'm sorry--You were so upset that one time, when we messed around and I told you it meant nothing at all. You were upset and I l-left you all alone. I heard you saying all those horrible things about--about yourself and I didn't tell you they weren't true. I was scared. I'm scared. Scared all the time because--because it wasn't nothing. It wasn't nothing, it didn't mean nothing. It meant so much. I couldn't think of nothing but you--for forever. I still think about you. I'm thinking about you right now and it's my wedding night. I'm sorry for being scared. I'm sorry I can't let myself--Yeah, I'm sorry. It didn't mean nothing, Sherlock Holmes. You didn't mean nothing. But now it has to--ugh, it has to mean nothing because I fucked up, Sherlock. I wanted to blame you, saying that, er, you threw away the chance we had, but I fucked up. I'm sorry. I lov--Yeah, I--You know, don't you? I'm sorry," then the message ended. The loud 'beep' a sign of that. The phone slipped out of Sherlock's hand and fell to the floor. The screen probably cracked but the detective didn't even notice. He stared ahead blankly. That had to be a joke. John had been joking with him. It couldn't be true that John could feel something for him. For him. For Sherlock Holmes, who, at the moment, felt like the worst person in history. For his emotionally stupid, socially awkward, sad friend. It couldn't be true.

Sherlock listened to the voicemail five more times, trying to listen to a hint of amusement in John's voice, a noise in the background, something that would tell him that this was a prank being played on him, but there was nothing. John's speech slurred slightly, but he sounded so sincere, so honest that he couldn't possibly be acting. Sherlock drew in a long breath. John Watson had feelings for him. Okay, John had feelings for him. He felt butterflies in his stomach. John had nearly said that he loved him. Their night hadn't meant nothing to him. He needed to call John, they needed to talk about this. Maybe they could figure it all out. He picked up his phone again and ignored the crack on the screen as he went to his contacts and called John. John answered almost immediately.

JW:"Sherlock! Thank God you called, I've been trying to reach you all morning. Are you alright? Where are you? Please, tell me you're alright."

SH:"I'm alright, John. I was, uh, I was asleep. I didn't hear my phone."

JW:"You left early last night."

SH:"I did."

JW:"Why? I was worried sick. You didn't say anything."

SH:"I wasn't feeling well."

JW:"What, are you ill? Do you need me to come over? How bad is i--"

SH:"John. Calm down, I'm not ill."

JW:"You said you weren't feeling well."

[Sherlock drew in a sharp breath anxiously. It was now or never.]

SH:"Emotionally."

JW:"Emotionally? You were--you were upset? Why?"

SH:"John, I listened to your voicemails."

JW:"Sherlock--"

SH:"No, let me speak. I feel the same."

[He had said it. After years, he had said it out loud. And he felt relieved. Calm and relieved. Until John spoke again.]

JW:"I was drunk. Sherlock, that voicemail was a stupid thing I did while I was drunk."

[Sherlock's breath hitched and he struggled to find the words]

SH:"B-But--it had to mean something--you said--You weren't lying, I could tell."

JW:"Well, it has to, Sherlock. It has to mean nothing. I'm a married man."

SH:"But you said--"

JW:"Doesn't matter. It was stupid. Also, I'm quite certain that I made it clear that we no longer have a chance. There is nothing here for us. I love Mar--"

SH:"Do you? Do you love her, John?"

[Sherlock was fighting back the tears. He couldn't believe that the happiness he had felt just moments ago was being flushed down the toilet. John didn't want him after all.]

JW:"Sherlock, stop it now."

SH:"Since the day I met you, John. I've had feelings for you since the day I met you and you can't deny that you've felt it too. Not after you nearly told me you loved me. John, don't do this--"

JW:"I don't need to hear it, Sherlock. There can be no 'us'. I'm happy with Mary and that is something we both simply have to accept. There is nothing we can do about the chance we both threw away."

SH:"John--I-"

JW:"No, don't. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I can't talk about this anymore. I just can't. I think it would be best if we took a small break and sorted ourselves out. I can't screw this up right now. I need to think about myself for a change."

SH:"John, I'm a wreck. Don't leave me alone now."

JW:"Two years, Sherlock. Two years, I thought of nothing but you. I thought you were deeply depressed, I thought you committed suicide, because I didn't notice how depressed you were and now you waltzed in and I found out you weren't depressed at all. You thought it was funny. It was a joke to you and I doubt you're taking this seriously either. You're not depressed, you're just completely emotionally stupid, Sherlock Holmes. You'll cope. I can't do this, not with you. Goodbye, Sherlock."

The phone beeped. The call was over. John had hung up on him. Sherlock let out a shuddering breath, his grip on the phone loosened. He tried to breathe, but he felt like his lungs had just collapsed. His hands were shaking again, as he placed down the phone. His legs gave out under the weight of his heavy heart and he collapsed onto the floor. John had left him all alone. John Watson wanted nothing to do with him. He gasped for breath, but he wasn't sure if he was getting any air into his lungs. He wrapped his arms around himself and laid there. Severe anxiety attack. He needed to calm down, but he was alone now. Mrs Hudson wasn't here. Lestrade wasn't here.
Mycroft...John...Nobody was there. Nobody cared that that Sherlock Holmes, was laying on the floor having an anxiety attack. Nobody would care if he died here. That's really what he felt like. He felt like he would die. He wished he would. He wished that this time it wouldn't be just a feeling, he wished that this anxiety attack would really kill him.

But of course, life wasn't merciful enough to let him go. He didn't know how long he had laid there, until that moment the anxiety attack passed. But it passed. And Sherlock was still alive. Broken and alive and so very sad again. He let himself relax and looked up at the ceiling. He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't have to do this anymore.
That was the moment that he realized it. That he truly did not have to do this anymore. That he didn't have to do this for John, because John didn't love him. John didn't want or need anything from him, so why was he still trying to get himself together. For himself? Why on Earth would he do that for himself? He didn't need to. He sat up slowly and breathed in and out a few times. His legs only had to carry him a few streets away. He picked up his phone again. John hadn't called or texted. Not a surprise really.

Sherlock texted the number he hadn't in years. He texted Lestrade too and said that he was taking a little vacation, away from London. That was a lie. He wasn't going away from London, no chance. He just needed Lestrade to think that way. He stood, put on his coat and walked out to the street. He headed for the location he remembered so well, though he hadn't been there in years.

He got a text back from the number he had written down as 'Anon'. He took out his phone and looked at him, sighing and smiling sadly. How many years had he been clean now? For years. He had stopped taking drugs a bit after meeting John, so several years. Time to break the habit, he supposed. John was there no more, but there was one thing in this World that wouldn't walk away from him and now he no longer had to keep ignoring that. Sherlock Holmes was going to let himself go. He was going to betray Lestrade's trust, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not without John.

He arrived at the old, seemingly abandoned house and sighed deeply. Time to let drugs ruin his life again. He smiled slightly. Once again, he would be numb to these painful feelings again.

"Goodbye, John."

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