Something's Wrong (Sherlock)
Something's Wrong (Sherlock Comfort Fic)
Things had been going okay for John Watson.
He had a beautiful wife, went on the occasional case with Sherlock Holmes and his new roommate Y/N, and, for the most part, was staying out of trouble.
Life was great, fantastic actually. And to John, that meant that everything was going to be okay for everyone.
But as he walked up the stairs of flat 221B Baker St, he knew that something wasn't right.
He opened the upstairs door, to find Sherlock pacing worriedly. The detective's head whipped towards him the moment he entered.
"Did you get my text?" He asked in his usual low voice.
Ah, yes. The text, he reason why he was here in the first place. John had received it about 45 minutes ago. It read 'Come to Baker St as soon as possible. There's an emergency.'
The ex-army Doctor nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yes. What's the emergency?"
Sherlock shook his hand and began to pace again. "Something's wrong." He mumbled, his voice trembling with a bit of despair, surprising John.
"What's wrong?"
Sherlock growled and ran his hands through his dark curls. "Y/N! There's something terribly wrong with them!" He nearly shouted. The sociopath took deep breath, his body slumping into the chair behind him. "Why didn't I see it earlier?" He mumbled softly, placing his head in his hands.
John frowned at his ex-flat mate. He rarely ever showed any emotion, and when he did it meant that something very serious was happening. "What's wrong with Y/N?" He asked cautiously.
Sherlock sighed and leaned his head against the chair. "They're depressed, self-harming, and possibly suicidal." He stated coldly.
John's body tensed at his words. No. That couldn't be true. Y/N was always the kind of person who was always smiling and nice to everyone they met. This couldn't be happening to them. John swallowed down the lump in his throat as he breathed in a shaky breath."Are you sure?"
Sherlock scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm sure! They've been wearing nothing but long sleeve shirts and sweaters for the past 3 months, and you can see dark stains leak through the fabric sometimes. They reached for their glass the other day, and their sleeves rode up a bit revealing red stained bandages covering their wrists. From the moment they get home they seclude themselves in their room, and if they are in the lounge they're distant and starring at seemingly nothing. The last few weeks they've barley been smiling or talking to people, and the only time they actually leaves the flat is for work! So yes, I am absolutely positive." He took another deep breath and ran his hands over his face. "I don't know how I didn't see it sooner. The evidence was looking me right at me!"
John pushed his lips into a straight line, shrugged and sat down in his chair. "Maybe you saw it, but chose to ignore it because you didn't want to believe it. The question is, what happened that forced you to believe what you were seeing?"
Sherlock simply picked up a rolled up, inside out, grey sweater from behind him, and opened it on his lap, revealing blood stains spread all trough out the arms, and six small blades laying in the middle of it, one of them still flaked with dry blood.
Watson had to raise a fist to his mouth to prevent from shouting, or sobbing, or being sick, which of the three he wasn't quite sure, because at the moment he wanted to do all of the above. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed, and pointed to the sweater. "Is that-...Did you find that-.." He wasn't able to speak. He was truly shocked that someone as kind, and sweet as Y/N could be harming herself in such a way that could kill her.
"Yes it's theirs. I found it in their room this morning after they left. I was going to surprise them with a present or cake or something like that, since their birthday's in a few days, but now I don't even know if they'll be there for it." Sherlock shook his head before standing. "No. I won't let that happen. I will not let them waste herself away. They have too much potential to just fade off like that, they're too young." He stated
The detective moved to the middle of the room and gazed at the clock on the wall. "They should be home in about a minute. We're going to help them, we have to."
John nodded at him, and joined him standing. "That's great and all, but exactly how do you plan to do this? They're in fragile state, Sherlock, you can't just-" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just, try to be sensitive."
Before Sherlock had the chance to reply the door swung open, to reveal Y/N standing there, looking exhausted with their Y/H/C hair was messily tossed about and dark circles lined underneath their Y/E/C eyes.
They eyed the both of them before giving a small nod, and turning to do into their room.
"Oh no, you don't." Sherlock muttered grabbing their wrist. "We are going to have a talk."
They let out a tired moan and looked over at them. "Look, I'm just really not in the mood to-" they cut themselves off when they saw the sweater and the blades on the floor by Sherlock's chair. Their body went rigid as they glared up at Sherlock. "You went in my room." They snarled.
He nodded and gestured to the couch. "Yes, now sit. We need to talk about this."
They scoffed and began to walk towards her room again. "There's nothing to talk about, I've got it under control."
Sherlock moved to stand in front of them. "There's nothing to talk about? You've got it under I control?" He stated in a dull voice that was good of all emotion. "So you slicing your own wrist, that's 'under control'? Or how about locking yourself away in your room for days? Or maybe You not socializing or going just moping around the flat and fading off is 'under control'?! I'm sorry, but it doesn't sound that way to me!!" He shouted his voice raising as he spoke.
"Sherlock." John said warningly, seeing Y/N's face become red and their eyes begin to water. "Oh yeah! Cause you know sooo much about control, don't you?! I mean we've all seen the way you've handled your little drug problem!" They fought back, their hands flying through the air.
"That's different!" Sherlock defended. "At least I know what I'm doing!"
"So do I!!" They snapped. "I know what I'm getting myself into, and I'm fine, alright?! Now just leave me alone." They hissed snatching up the sweater and razors as they went to push past Sherlock, and stormed into their room, slamming the door behind them.
John glared at Sherlock. "I told you to be sensitive!" The detective only rolled his eyes and started towards Y/N's room. "Y/N doesn't need sensitive, they need the truth." John placed a hand on his chest to stop him. "Just let me give it a shot, okay?" Sherlock gave a hesitant nod and allowed John to pass him.
Watson approached the door. The sound of muffled sobbing flooded through the room behind it. He raised a fist and gave the door three solid knocks. "Y/N? You don't need to come out, just listen, alright?"
Silence.
"I know you're probably upset, and you probably don't see how things could possibly get better, but they will. I promise."
A scoff sounded from behind the door. Sherlock rose an eyebrow at John in a 'I told you so' manner. John rolled his eyes and faced the door again.
"You can get through this. You're strong, but nobodies strong enough to go through this alone. Sherlock and I are here for when ever you need us. If you need to talk, or a hug, or anything, just ask. I actually know a therapist that could help-"
"I don't need help!!" Y/N's broken voice broke through the air. "I'm fine! There's nothing wrong with me. I'm okay. I'm perfectly alright." John turned to Sherlock, who gave him a small nod.
John opened the bedroom door to find Y/N curled in a ball by their bed sobbing their eyes out. Their tear filled eyes were peaking over their knees, glaring at the razors in front of them.
Watson sighed and sat down beside them. He wrapped his arm around them shoulders and pulled them into him.
"You're not okay. Despite what you want to tell yourself, we both know that you're not. You're depressed, and you've been cutting yourself as a way to distract yourself from the emotional pain. You're hurt, and you've been broken. You need help." He told her, before placing a small kiss in their hair and holding them tightly. "Please. Let us help you."
Y/N's bottom lip quivered for a second, before they threw their arms around him and broke down in hysterics. John gave a small smile and rubbed comforting circles in their back. "Shhh. It's alright. We're here. You're not alone anymore, we've got you."
They sat there for hours, Sherlock eventually came to join them after standing in the door way awkwardly for a bit, he sat down on Y/N's other side and placed his hand on their shoulder, whispering words of comfort in their ear. After quite a bit of crying, they finally calmed down, taking their head out of the crook of John's neck and leaning back to let it rest on Sherlock's chest.
Sherlock glanced at their arm and looked back up at their. "Is it okay if I take a look?" He could feel their heart beat begin to pick up, but they still nodded, turning their head so that theh couldn't see the damage that they'd caused.
He slowly rolled up the sleeve of the long sleeve jumped they were wearing, his breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight in front of him.
Dozens of scars laid on both wrists, to John it was clear to see that some hadn't healed properly, and that some of the fresher, still red ones, were infected. He ghosted his finger over them, causing Y/N to flinch. He whispered an apology before standing.
"I'm going to get my first aid kit so that I can clean these out properly, and then," He looked down at Y/N with a grin. "We'll throw out those nasty razors and that sweater. It's just a small step but it's a start. Don't worry, we'll get through this."