Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.
Warning - Suicidal thoughts/attempt
Written for;
Can You Make It To The End - OTP Fic, using - Why, Smile, Hope
Lyric Inspired Challenge - When the rain is blowing in your face, and the whole world is on your case, I can offer you a warm embrace - Make You feel My Love, by Adele
100 Ways To Say I Love You - 31. Don't worry about me.
For A Change
The wind was cold on his skin though he ignored it. Rain fell on his bare arms, and he ignored that too. He was oblivious to the way his body trembled slightly in the cold, his thoughts and emotions taking up his attention as he tried to gain control over himself.
He'd thought he had his life sorted. Beautiful wife, baby on the way, excitement and danger by way of his best friend. If he was slightly unsatisfied by the lack of Sherlock outside of cases, well, that was on him and he could deal with it. He'd been as close to content as he could ever remember being.
He should have expected it, he thought. Fate had never allowed him to be happy for long, and he should have realised that the rug beneath his feet was slowly but surely being pulled away.
His child wasn't his child. His wife hadn't given up her assassinations. His best friend was... well. John imagined that if Sherlock was aware of everything going on, he'd want to help in anyway he could, but John wouldn't put this latest drama on his friend's shoulders. It wasn't fair that every time something went wrong, he went crawling back to Sherlock's side.
A particularly violent tremor ran through his body, and he finally took notice of his surroundings. Unsurprisingly, he'd wound up at the cemetery. Over the years that Sherlock had been dead, this had been his safe haven, and that hadn't changed since Sherlock's return though John'd needed it much less. The bag he'd packed before leaving the house was by his feet, though he had no memory of dropping it.
"John?"
Startled, John turned to find Mycroft watching him through narrowed eyes, his always present umbrella actually in use for a change.
"I was alerted to your presence here by the CCTV monitors. Has something happened?"
"You should probably arrest Mary, Mycroft. I'm sure you're aware that she hasn't curtailed her past activities like I'd foolishly believed."
"Agents have been watching her for a few days," Mycroft admitted. "I thought to speak with you before I told them what to do. Are you completely certain of this, John?"
John scoffed. "I appreciate the concern, but it's misplaced, I'm afraid. The woman I thought was the mother of my child is a pathological liar. Rosie isn't mine, did you know that? Is that on some file somewhere, waiting for the opportune time to inform me?"
Mycroft's eyes widened slightly. "I had no idea, actually. That changes things. Miss Morstan will be apprehended within the hour. Would you like a car to return you to Baker Street?"
John shook his head. "No, thank you, Mycroft. If I may... Would you pass on a message to Sherlock for me?"
Frowning, Mycroft nodded cautiously.
"Tell him I said thank you. And that I wish I'd chosen him when the opportunity first arose."
Picking up his bag, John nodded at Mycroft one, a grim smile on his face as he paced away from the empty grave he'd once believed held his best friend. Decision made and plan firmly in mind, John felt resolved. He was, for possibly the first time in his life, glad for Mycroft's interfering ways. He was glad that he'd been able to leave a few words for Sherlock to hold on to.
Sherlock ran up the stairs, praying and hoping that he wasn't too late. The rather frantic phone call from Mycroft had been the first clue that all was wrong with the world, and the content of that conversation only confirmed his worst fears. Now he needed to be right, correct in the sentimentality of his best friend, for this deduction held both of their lives at ransom.
The feeling of deja vu as he hit the rooftop knocked him slightly, but he couldn't stop the sigh of relief when he saw the figure leaning against the railing.
"I was too weak. I don't know how you found the strength, because I stood on the ledge, and I wasn't strong enough to go through with it. One more failing."
Sherlock didn't ask how John knew he was there, he was sure it was the same as Sherlock being able to find the man instantly no matter how crowded a room. They shared a connection, a bond. Edging forward slowly, Sherlock was slightly surprised to hear his voice was steady when he replied.
"I'd believe your will to live to be your greatest strength rather than the opposite, actually. John... Why?"
"I'm sure Mycroft's filled you in by now. You know why."
"No. I don't. I can understand that you're in pain because of the baby. I can even understand that you could feel some regret from your marriage. But not... why this? Please, John. Explain it to me."
John laughed humorlessly. "Sherlock... You're an idiot. Yes, it hurts that Rosie isn't mine, and no, I don't feel any regret that my marriage is over. Don't you get it? From the day I met you, I've hurt you time and time again. Mycroft, Mary, I'm sure anyone else, they all expect me to come crawling back to you, using you as a crutch the same way I've always done. I couldn't do that. From the very beginning, you've meant more to me that anything else. Even when you were... gone, you were still there, right at the forefront, always on my mind. Any yet, I've been a coward, because every single time I've had to chose between you and something else, I've never made the right choice. I've never put you first. I won't hurt you again, Sherlock. I won't. You should go."
Sherlock wrapped his arms around John from behind, lowering his head so he could rest his chin on his shoulder. "The only way you could hurt me, John, is if you take yourself out of my life. Come home, John. Choose to live, choose me, choose 221B."
Tears streamed down both of their cheeks as they stood together on the rooftop of St Barts hospital. John turned in Sherlock's embrace, his head falling to rest on Sherlock's chest.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry."
"Shh. Let me protect you from the world, John. Let me keep you safe."
Sherlock held tight to John's hand as they walked down the stairs of Barts. When they reached the door, he dropped John's hand for a moment to shake of his coat, draping it over John's shoulders.
"You'll get cold," John protested, looking up to see the affection written all over Sherlock's face.
"Don't worry about me," Sherlock murmured, taking John's hand and lifting it to press a brief kiss to the palm. "You've kept me right since we met, John. Let me look after you for a change."