I do not own Sherlock, because if I did we would be married:P! Enjoy pwease! I really like criticism because I know i am not a great writer at all and I really want to improve. Tell me anything, and Ill try to make it better and improve. Ideas are welcomed, and requests will be granted. I will try to do a chapter every day/ two days. THANK YOU!

John was walking home from the market, buying milk obviously, and went upstairs to find Sherlock not in the kitchen, living room, bedroom, or, unsurprisingly, in the closet. Only one room left, the bathroom. Sherlock may seen to have superhuman capabilities, but going to the bathroom is a necessity to him as much as to everyone else.

"Hey sherlock, I'm back. Got a whole lot of milk, so maybe we won't run out so bloody soon."
no response. How odd.
"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

Sherlock froze. Oh my God- oh my God! he panicked. He put down his exacto-knife but with his hands shaky from blood loss it clattered to the floor with a loud *clank*. he picked it up, but heard no more noise. It must have been all his imagination.

John walked over to the bathroom, slightly worried. He should give him privacy. What was the worse he could be doing? Cutting off his fingers for an experiment..? Yah.. probably should go in there.

He took a deep breath and walked in, and could not contain a large gasp at what he saw;
A surprised Sherlock with no shirt on, and a small blade in his hands... His bare, hairless, all to thin stomach- Covered with scars, all over his thighs, and lower ribs. On his side, the word "Freak" carved in scarlet.

"J-John! I-its not what you think! I swear!"
"Sherlock.."
"John..I-"

John very awkwardly knelt next to sherlock inspecting his cuts. They were incredibly deep, and sherlock was growing paler by the second. He was bleeding out.

"John no stop.."
"Your going to freaking kill yourself. you haven't even told me.." he whispered inaudibly.
"John. Stop."
John mumbles to himself. Something about a hospital.
"John!"
Sherlock pulled away.
"Sherlock how can you do this! I am calling a hospital!
"John do not call a hospital... Please!"
John was shocked.. Sherlock- the.. the machine- was begging, no, pleading to not be taken to a hospital.
John tended and bandaged his cuts, and gave him his shirt.
"Sherlock."
Sherlock wouldnt look at him.
"Sherlock! bloody look at me!
He did.
"Why? Bloody tell me or ill call the hospital. WHY DID YOU HURT YOURSELF?"

Just then, Lestrade called Sherlock.
"Yes?"
"Sherlock? Triple homicide." He told him the address.
"Theres a case, john. we have to go."
"No. tell me you arse!"
"no."
"Then let me look at them. All of them"
"John why would you want to-"
"Hello? Hospital? yes I think I need-"
"FINE! STOP! PLEASE JOHN PLEASE ILL DO ANYTHING! ANYTHING BUT THAT! please..."
He kept mumbling 'please... stop..." barely sobbing as john took off the younger's shirt. "Did you... does that say... Sally's words hurt you?"
"Of course not, John. Sally couldn't if she tried. Time to go."

He snatched his shirt and jacket and they left, as if it never happened. Sherlock had pulled himself together, and they arrived at the appointed address. And none other that Sally Donovan stepped out of the car with Lestrade, to put Sherlock's response to the test.