*Beep*
"I know that this is probably stupid and that there's no one to here it. But I wanted to leave something. Just like you did..." pause, "This morning when I woke up, I knew I was going to see you again."
John opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He had this new feeling inside him, that finally after this last three years, everything was going to be allright. He had retaken therapy, but it proved no good. The depression had gone bigger and bigger. There were many nights when he thought he will die of the sorrow, his chest would tighten and he'd forgot how to breath. And every night he cried till sleep took him.
But this morning it was different. This morning his chest felt lighter and this feeling accompanied him since he woke up. And with it, a resolution.
For the first time in months he cleant his room, he washed his own clothes and waited till there were dry and he folded them into the closet. He took out the garbage and washed the dishes.
Besides his bedroom there was not much to do, Mrs. Hudson took care of the rest. She wasn't her landlady but she did it out of pity. Once the kitchen and living room was taken care of he grabbed his keys and went outside.
"You see, Sherlock, this three years without you has been hell. I tried to move on, I really did. But I just couldn't. I tried to speak with you at the cementery, and when it didn't work, I tried to imagine that you were there, with me at all times. But that didn't work either."
It hadn't been hard to go to the roof of the hospital. It was easy, actually. He could see Sherlock on the edge, on the last moments of his life. The memories replayed in his head, his best friend's last moments, the last words, everything.
A tear went down John's face.
He walked to the edge of the roof, to the exact same spot where Sherlock had been three years ago. He took out his mobile phone and spoke for a while and cried a bit. But then he closed his mobile with one gesture and throw it away.
With his arms extended, John stood there waiting, rejoycing in the expectation of the reunion.
A couple of tears still adorned his face and a peaceful smiled curved his lips.
"But you see, I'm not as clever as you, so it's not the same."
"And you know what kills me? I can't remember everything," his voice shook, "I try to remember all the things we did together, but I can't. I don't have your mind, Sherlock," he cried.'
The key was still the same after all this years, and Sherlock used his old one. Today he came back to the 221B of Baker Street to tell John that it was over. Coronel Moran was defeated and he was not dead anymore.
As soon as he entered the shared flat he noticed that something was wrong. It was clean, too clean, but with his deductive mind he could notice that to the day before it has the dirt of months. He opened the fridge.
No food.
A message waited in the answering machine.
Sherlock pressed a button to hear it, John's voice came out. He didn't have to hear any of the words to know what was happening.
Sherlock fled out of the flat, and ran.
"But then there're these things I remember crystal clear, like the shape of your eyes or the sound of your voice. But even that it's starting to fade. And I just can't take it," he sobbed.
"Today is different, though. Today I'll see you again."
A congregation of people had formed, all looking at the guy on the hospital roof. Sherlock ran, and despite knowing the futility of his attempt he screamed John's name. In his desperation, he didn't realized that he stopped at the exact same point where John had seen him fall.
With all the force he could manage and all the air of his lungs, he screamed, "I'm here!"
The words reached like a whisper to John's ears.
"You are," he said with his eyes closed.
And he jumped.
"I was an idiot. I've spent this whole time in denial and I've never said to you. I was to worried telling everyone that I wasn't gay. Which I'm not."
"But I'm not straight either."
"I'm his friend," Sherlock shouted to people so they would let him trough.
When he reached John's side, he kneeled, his body shaking already and took him in his arms. His hands got red from all the blood that was draining from his head. And clutching his best friend's body against him he cried.
"I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry," he cried desperately.
"You see, Sherlock, what I've never told you... what I was so afraid to admit was..."
"I love you, Sherlock."
*beep*
