My Fall
It's been three years. Three years since the fall. He haunts my every waking moment. He visits me in my dreams. Sometimes I think I can see him watching me on the street before he vanishes back into the London fog. Lestrade visits every so often to check on me. Molly smiles and assures me everything will be ok eventually. Mycroft will still call and text me every once in a while. Still apologizing. Still trying to convince me to move on. I ignore him. He doesn't understand. He can't. The horror I can't rid myself of. I close my eyes and he's there. Falling. I see him falling over and over again, my screams doing nothing to prevent it. No more. I am on top of Bart's hospital as I write this. So I will be standing in the same place Sherlock stood. In a moment I will step off and let myself fall. I can't take any more of this. Goodbye.
I put down the paper and took a deep breath, nerving myself for the jump. A few people down below pointed at up at me and one man ran inside the building. They'll be too late. I've already made my choice. I scanned the sidewalk a final time, my mouth dry, when an oh-so familiar figure shoved his way through the people gathered below. Please…not now.
"John!" He screamed up at me.
Same hair. Same scarf. Same stupid coat. The way he always looked in my dreams. "John!" He screamed again. My voice cracked as I whispered, "Sherlock?" He's dead, you idiot. You watched him fall.
"John!?" He stammered, "J-j-just stay there…please!"
He stretched his arms towards me, as if to hold me there. I wavered on the edge of the building when a strong hand grasped me and pulled me off my perch.
"No!" I struggled weakly against him but I was too physically and emotionally worn out to do anything. I sat on the roof, my rescuer trying to soothe me when the roof acess door banged open and out he stepped. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, and my best friend. The man who had been dead for three years. The man I watched fall. I stumbled up. "Sherlock?" He looked older and more worn than I was accustomed to. There were tears in his tired eyes as he came towards me.
"Yes, John. It's me."
I stared at him. "I saw you fall. I watched your body being taken away." He continued walking closer.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Sherlock Holmes, apologizing?"
"I had no idea it would affect you like….this." His voice broke on the last word.
I took a cautious step towards him, reaching out my hand and grasping his coat. He's real. I jerked my hand back at the touch of the fabric and studied his thin face. "Sherlock?" I grabbed his arm, making myself certain he was real. I collapsed against him, sobs wracking my frame. "It's been three years, Sherlock. Three bloody years!" I started hitting him weakly with my fists before he wrapped his arms around me in a hug.
"I'm sorry John. I'm so, so sorry. I- I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice." I mumbled into him.
"Not this time John, not this time."