Author's Note: Today's one-shot comes from Day #7 The bad thing no one talks about of the 31 Days of Fanfiction Challenge. I went with the topic of suicide so if that is a triggering topic for you, please do not read. Also, if you are reading this and suicide is something that you've considered, please please seek help. You're not alone. There is someone out there that can help you, I promise. Writing saved me, and so I hope that this story might help you. Beta love to starrnobella. Much love, xxDustNight

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, quotes, and information belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC, and anyone else that may own any part of it. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit. The title is based off the song lyrics from Logic's "1-800-273-8255".

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Shed a Little Light
Rated: M
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: Cryptic questions from Sherlock help open John's eyes to an issue that hits just a tad too close to his own heart. He hopes he can shed a little light and save Sherlock from the darkness within.
Trigger warnings: Discussion of suicide. Suicidal Sherlock
Prompt: 31 Days of Fanfiction: Day #7 The bad thing no one talks about
Song Recommendation: 1-800-273-8255 by Logic

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Shed a Little Light

"There are some things that you just don't talk about, Sherlock."

"So you keep telling me, but I am asking you to talk to me about this one."

John sighed heavily, rubbing his weary face with one hand. He was seated in his usual chair, one hand holding a cup of tea and the daily newspaper lying forgotten on his lap. For the past three hours, Sherlock had been trying to get him to talk about a very dark time in his life. The time before they'd met. The time when he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, life wasn't so worth living anymore.

"Leave it."

"John," Sherlock said firmly, moving from where he stood by the window to sit in his own chair. The worn leather creaked as he adjusted himself, preparing to further question his friend. "Humor me. Please. Shed a little light on this topic for me." When it seemed as if John was going to deny him his answers still, he quickly added, "It's important." He hoped that was enough to push him to have an open discussion about this. He needed this more than he could tell.

He steepled his fingers under his chin, his eyes boring into John's as if he could read his soul. Scoffing, John realized he basically could read his soul. Sherlock could deduce him with a single glance, making him feel as if were standing there completely naked. Setting aside his tea, John crumpled up his newspaper and threw it onto the floor. There was no use continuing to avoid the conversation; Sherlock would only grow more insistent the longer he ignored his questioning. Briefly closing his eyes, John tried to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of emotional turmoil this was going to force upon him.

"What, Sherlock," he asked through clenched teeth as he reopened his eyes. "What exactly do you want to know?"

"I want you to tell me how you-" Sherlock faltered, blinking rapidly as he tried to find the right words to say. He was struggling to voice what he wanted to know now that John had agreed to discuss this topic. He knew this was going to be a difficult conversation for the both of them, but he didn't want to hurt John in any way. He'd done enough of that. "Describe how it felt to want to kill yourself."

John felt a numbness overcome him as Sherlock's question hit home. When Sherlock had woken up that morning and insisted that he needed to know more about suicide, John hadn't expected his research to include him as a reference. Shaking his head at the consulting detective, John contemplated how best to move forward. This was a topic that hit close to his heart, and he wasn't sure that he was willing to open up about it.

"Why?" The question was blurted out, his defenses raised as he mentally prepared himself for the follow up question. Why couldn't Sherlock just Google this like he did everything else? Why did he have to bring him into it?

"I was thinking about when we first met," Sherlock began, eyes fluttering closed as he was taken back to their first meeting in St. Bart's. "Tell me about that time of your life."

"Excuse me?" John felt his anger rising, but was unable to control it. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

"Relax, John." Eyes blinking open, Sherlock moved so swiftly it clearly took John by surprise. He slid from his chair to place both hands on John's knees as he tried to ground the man, and keep him from fleeing. "I am not attacking you. I merely wish for us to have a discussion. So please, tell me how you felt back then...when you wanted to kill yourself."

"How-How could you possibly know about that?" His heart was racing, suddenly feeling violated in a way he'd not felt for some time under the scrutiny of Sherlock's mysterious eyes.

"You were not the only one who did their research before coming to 221b that day," Sherlock answered, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wayward smile. He remained kneeling on the floor; although, he did did relax the grip he had on John's knees. "I may have visited your apartment and found your gun hidden in the drawer of your desk. After meeting you, and seeing the torment and resignation not just in your eyes but etched into every line of your body, I had to know more."

Somehow, John wasn't surprised that Sherlock had investigated him before asking him to share the flat. He should have known ages ago that he'd done something like this. He still felt uncomfortable talking about this, but maybe he would finally be able to let go of all of the past and move forward if he did. Relaxing, John reached down and placed his hand over Sherlock's where it sat on his knee and then he began to tell his story.

"I felt lost. I was alone here in London, despite having my sister. My therapist wanted me to write a blog, but I knew that was only meant as a distraction." He paused, swallowing and refusing to meet Sherlock's stare. "I was in pain, my wounds aching and my leg hindering my ability to move easily. I felt like nothing would be how it was before I left for Afghanistan, mostly because no one even realized I had returned."

Pausing in his explanation, more because Sherlock had slid closer to him so that he could use the hand not being held to force him to look him the eye, John wasn't sure if he could say the rest aloud. It would make it real. It would be him admitting how weak he'd been. As if knowing his train of thought, Sherlock's deep voice broke through the darkness.

"You, John, are not and never were weak."

"I'll never get used to the way you can read me like that," John admitted, voice rough with emotion. He sighed again and rested his head on the back of the chair. "Sherlock… I-I felt so broken inside as if…no one knew I was there. It was like I was invisible ,and so I began to wonder if anyone had missed me at all while I was gone."

"You were missed, surely."

"Hah!" John laughed dismissively, lifting his head and looking down at Sherlock. "No one rang me and I received no mail upon my return. No one came to visit me… The only thing that visited on a regular basis were my nightmares, and they grew worse each night to the point where I couldn't sleep. Eventually, the thought of ending my life became one that wouldn't leave me alone."

"You didn't do it, though. You didn't try to kill yourself."

"No." The word rushed out of John with such relief that if had he been standing, his legs probably would have given out on him. "I did not. That day we met, I'd planned on that being my last day, Sherlock. I'd planned on walking through London one last time before going home and writing my first and only blog entry."

"A suicide note."

"Yes."

Sherlock moved to his feet and began pacing the floor between their two chairs. John swallowed, wanting to say something but not knowing what. Sherlock was obviously agitated by his admission. He'd asked for this. He'd practically begged, and now they were both suffering in silence as these horrid memories from the past assaulted their minds. Abruptly, Sherlock stopped and turned to face him once more.

"That day, you were looking for something or someone to save you from yourself, and that person turned out to be me. I sensed something was wrong-that you needed a change to keep you moving forward. That's why I told you about the flat and then took you under my wing. I wanted to save you from that darkness, John. You were far too special to end your own life… No one should feel that way."

Sherlock frowned, growing silent and watching as John processed this. It was more than he'd planned on telling the doctor but now that it was out there, he could not take it back. Not that he would anyway. John meant the world to him and he needed to know that.

"I appreciate everything that you have done for me, Sherlock. You did save me that day. Instead of going home and saying goodbye to a world I thought I had no place in, I went home and found a purpose. That purpose was you." John gripped the armrests of his chair and pushed himself to stand. He closed the distance between their bodies and took hold of Sherlock's face with both hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"John-" Sherlock sounded alarmed, but John cut him off, silencing him with his next words.

"Shh! I need you to tell me something too, Sherlock." John managed to ask, his chest aching with more emotion than he was used to dealing with. He needed to know though, he needed to understand why they were talking about this, especially after all this time. He had a suspicion, but he was too afraid to come right out and ask.

"You know that I will tell you anything." Sherlock's words were barely above a whisper, but he glanced down and to the side to avoid John's stare. He gasped slightly when John jerked his head, urging him to look back at him.

"Then tell me, Sherlock, truthfully, why are you asking me about this?" His voice came out strangled, his internal fears betraying him in the form of unshed tears. Silently, he prayed that he was wrong about his suspicions.

"John… I-" Sherlock tried to get away, tears springing to his eyes. He was thankful for John in this moment, the strong doctor holding him in place and acting as an anchor.

Alarmed, John pushed away his lingering feelings on his past to focus on the here and now. "Sherlock, you listen to me. I don't know what could have spurred on this conversation, but I suspect it has something to do with the anniversary of Mary's death." He sighed, dropping his hands from Sherlock's face to instead hold his shoulders.

"There are a great many things that were my fault, John." The hands on his shoulder were warm, comforting even, and they helped to alleviate some of the pain he was currently feeling. "There is a darkness within me I cannot seem to shake these days."

"Then let me help you, Sherlock. It doesn't have to be this way." John's voice cracked, but his resolve was steady. He had no intention of losing control in front of Sherlock right now. Not when the man obviously was feeling so lost and so torn. "You mean so much to so many people… Me included."

"I don't know how to deal with this grief. I am not good at understanding human emotions…" It hurt to admit that aloud, but he'd already revealed his intentions without coming right out and saying it. What more harm could he do? "I took away someone that you loved."

"Sherlock…" Memories of Mary flashed before John's eyes. He missed her, he couldn't deny that. He would always miss her, but she'd given him Rosie, who would always hold as a reminder of the love that they'd shared. But he was alive and there was someone else now that held his affections. Someone who was standing right in front of him in need of reassurance. So, swallowing back any lingering fear and past regrets, John decided to save Sherlock the same way he had been saved. By love.

"Sherlock, we've already talked about this countless times before, so I will say it one more time and then we will move on. Do you understand? Mary's death was not your fault. You didn't take her away from me. I've forgiven you, and I want you now to forgive yourself." He took a deep breath, watching as Sherlock's face clouded with doubt. Clearly, it was going to take far more than simple words to break through whatever darkness was encasing his heart and mind. It was time, he knew, to admit his true feelings for the man he was currently holding in his arms. "And most importantly, I can't stand to lose the man I love."

And then he kissed him before Sherlock could speak and ruin the moment with some awkward deduction of his feelings and how he shouldn't love a man such as him. His hands slid up into Sherlock's dark curls, keeping him in place. Sherlock's small gasp of surprise was welcome, allowing his tongue to slide into his mouth. It was then that the consulting detective finally relaxed, his body melting against his as he began to kiss him in return.

They remained in their embrace for many minutes, tasting and learning what one another liked. John could feel some of the tension leaving Sherlock's body as he massaged his tongue with his own. He poured everything into the kiss, wanting him to feel what it was like to be alive. What it was like to be loved so deeply that death was certainly not an option. When he knew they both needed air, he slowly released his lips.

"Sherlock," he breathed, "You cannot leave me alone, and I love you too much to just let you go."

"I love you too, John," Sherlock whispered against his lips. "But I'm so lost… I need help… Please, help me."

It went against everything he was to ask for help, but there it was. He couldn't do this alone. Not anymore. It was why he'd come to John, knowing that he would see through his curiosity and right to the heart of the matter. He trusted him. He loved him. John would be his light in this time of darkness, just as he'd hoped.

John kissed Sherlock again before pulling him close, holding his hand tightly within his own. He squeezed once, in reassuring manner before speaking. "We'll get you through this Sherlock. Together we will make it through. I promise…"