Hey guys, whats up? I want to first apologize for not posting anything for awhile. Things have been kind of rough lately. So here's a little thing I wrote for you guys to munch on. It's kind of open-ended for you guys to write your own endings for if you want. I'm going to post a crack thing soon, so I hope you like this bite.

Written to Demons by Imagine Dragons and Pitter Pat by Erin McCarley.

Warning: If you are triggered by depression, or self harm then please, go read something else, it's not that bad but it is there.

He could feel it creeping up on him. An angelic demon, a dark being that ate the light and left him with only his darkest thought, nightmares. Soon it would sit on his shoulder, growing and smothering him. He knew it was stronger, more determined to stop him this time.

He was tired of fighting. He let it come close. But he realized his mistake too late.

It sat on his shoulder, whispering darkly in his ear as he listened to the clock growing maddeningly loud. He couldn't stand it. It's voice haunted him. He couldn't escape it.

He tried to silence it.

He tried everything.

He numbed his mind with drugs beyond the point of thought.

The violin strings broke from use and the bow wore out.

And as his judgement began to leave him he began to carve crimson patterns . Small at first, lines connected with his knives, coloring them with fire. Soon they grew larger, more elaborate. His scars be came his tattoos, a harsh kind of art. He loved them in a twisted way.

But the angel whispered on. And John wondered where the lighter and knives had gone. When he asked him he couldn't look at John. He just shrugged and walked back to his bedroom.

He looked in the mirror as he walked by the dresser and saw his angels in his eyes, staring back at him.

But they were surrounded by something else; something dark. And they were changing. They were becoming demons.

There was a pounding and a pain in his head. He scratched at his eyes, trying to claw the darkness out.

xXxX

John found him lying, curled on his bed. His face was bleeding and his nails were bloody. John held Sherlock, rubbing his back and smoothing his black curls against his head.

xXxX

He saw a white light and an angel with a familiar face frowned at him. He shut his eyes painfully against the light, why painful?

"Idiot. Why didn't you tell me?"

He frowned at the angel and turned away as the light faded and he shut his eyes tighter sinking into the welcome darkness.

xXxX

John cleaned his face and hands, calling him an idiot and asking why he didn't tell him what was wrong. John wished he could help but knew the best thing was probably just to let him sleep for now.

END.

Like I said this is open-ended. This is also completely UN-beta'd, so your constructive criticism is very much appreciated.