Sherlock was staring over the table, he was at the edge of solving a case. This case he tried to solve quickly, as the murderer was still on the loose. Sherlock didn't show any compassion towards them though, much to John's Shegrin, as one of the victims had been John's good friend, Mike, and the other, Mary Watson.

"You don't give a bloody hell about the victims do you?!" , John yelled, obviously angry at Sherlock.

"Caring for them won't save them John" , was Sherlock's reply.

This had cut John's last string of sanity, and he couldn't control himself anymore, "You really are a fucking physcopath!!" .

Sherlock froze, his breath hitching as he felt dizzy to the head. His lips formed to say something, but nothing came out of his quivering mouth. No sarcastic response, no defending, nothing. Sherlock could only think about how John had called him a physcopath. Finally gathering himself together, he stood up out of his chair, walking to his room almost like a zombie, crucially slow, and painfully unlively.

John said nothing, and just left the flat, angry with his arrogant flatmate.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock had solved the case after John left, but after that all he did was stare. Just stare. No thinking with the 'brilliant' mind he had. Nothing, just staring, mindless staring. Like a black hole, his eyes the neverending path down. He couldn't function anymore. John hadn't come back, John was his only string to humanity, now John was right, he was a physcopath.

He was a physcopath! So he should act like one! Haha! This was the best thought Sherlock's broken mind could think of. He grabbed his nicotine patches, grabbing not one, two, or three, but 6, slapping them on his arm without a care. He layed down on the couch, closing his eyes and letting his forbidden tears fall.

John had come to the flat to see Sherlock smoking, the smoke filling the air, the room. His flag reeked of alcohol, smoke, and sweat. He looked at Sherlock with an angry expression.

"This could kill you know!!?? You think I want to lose you too?"

"What if I don't care that it kills me?" , Sherlock replied unfocused, and hoarsely.

Sherlock blew another puff of smoke, watching as his nonchalant thoughts fluttered out of him, and through the smoke.

"You should Because you're the only friend I have left Sherlock!" .

"No, I'm a physcopath" , Sherlock said unemotionally.

Sherlock got up, picking up a glass of alcohol with his shaky hand. He devoured the whole thing has his mind went fuzzy. "I'm a physcopath! I'm a bloody physcopath and you should run!! You should fucking run as far away as you can!!" .

Sherlock then shook, before dropping the glass of alcohol he had in hand, the glass shattering into tiny pieces, as Sherlock's heart did that day.

John noticed how skinny and pale Sherlock was just then. He noticed the eye bags, the red eyes, the messed up hair, his pink cheeks from drinking, it all.

Sherlock walked over to the table, grabbing John's handgun he had put on the table. He aimed it at his head.

"I'm a physcopath" , Sherlock repeated silently, as he held his finger back on the trigger.

"Sherlock! No!! You're not a physcopath.." , John rushed over to grab the gun.

"Goodbye" , Sherlock smoked the cigarette, filling his lungs with smoke as he pulled the trigger before John could run over.

The blood splattered, Sherlock's thoughts gone like the last puff of smoke. Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his head, the very last thing he saw was John, his John, No! Mary's John..

The last thought Sherlock had on his mind is what John called him that evening. John is what Sherlock's solar system revolves around. Take him away, and Sherlock collaspes, spinning around nothing, having no purpose in life.

With that, Sherlock fell to the ground, the frantic screams and yells falling from John's helpless mouth.

Sherlock's last tears were now dribbling down his cheeks. He didn't care of John saw, there was nothing John could change now.

John was right...

He was a.....

P.....

H....

Y.....

S......

C......

O.........

He was right, Sherlock died to his own doing.