Chapter 1

Sherlock feels bad about it, he really didn't want to hurt John like this, make him think he died. But it was necessary of course, and he knows John will be mad, furious even, but it's worth saving his life. It's more then worth the punch to the face he knows he will get and the angry lecture about doing things 'a bit not good.' He did try to tell John at least, that it was just a magic trick, did John really never observe? Besides, it's only for one afternoon. John will come back any minute now, naturally still upset about what had happened, but then he'll see Sherlock spread across his chair with a wide grin.

Sherlock sighs as he waits, it will be hard hiding out in the flat as Mycroft has men dispose of Moriarty's men, but he's alive and still has John, that's all that matters after all. Besides, John is more then capable of keeping his exaggerated death under wraps.

So he waits.

But the sun dips and day turns to night and no one comes.

John doesn't come home and Sherlock begins to suspect he's made a terrible mistake.

Sherlock can't leave the flat, it was hard enough sneaking in without suspicion. If he just strolls out now he'll be seen. He regrets dropping his phone and leaving it at Bart's, one phone call and he knows John will come running. He had to though, if the cell phone had gone missing or turned up as still in use, Moriarty's men would know.

Sherlock braces himself against the window, looking out at the people below and feels like an idiot. John is somewhere out there thinking he's dead and avoiding the flat. Why hadn't he planned for this? He should have known John would react like this, but then he was always so terrible with people, with sentiment.

It's late the following afternoon that Sherlock gives in, has to find John and tell him he's ok and waiting for him at the flat. He really thought John would have come home by now. It's worth scaring the daylight out of Mrs. Hudson to use her land line, she might as well know he's still alive anyway. But when he walks down to her flat, the door isn't locked and she's nowhere in sight. Good. He can just call John and get this over with in peace.

The dials are strangely difficult to press, like they've been corroded and hardly work anymore. But he has to call John, needs to tell him to stop worrying.

"Y-yes?" John sounds as if he's been crying since it happened, his voice hoarse and tired now.

Sherlock thinks of what to say, he know he's about to give his friend the shock of his life, "John- I… I'm really sorry about this, I thought you would come home sooner but-"

"Hello?"

"John? I'm trying to tell you-"

"Anyone there?"

Bloody phone, why does Mrs. Hudson have such an infernal device? "John! Don't hang up-" Sherlock practically shouts but it's too late, John the line went dead.

Sherlock is furious. Why is it so damn hard to tell him he's alright?

He waits in Mrs. Hudson's flat, she's bound to come back eventually. Before he knows what's happening though, he wakes to find he'd been kipping on her couch.

Sherlock looks out the window and finds it's early morning. He makes a note to himself to tell Mrs. Hudson her eyesight has clearly been going if she didn't notice him there. He leaves and goes back to 221b, the door is locked, not as he left it.

Finally.

Sherlock can't contain his smile, John is finally home, he can finally tell him he's fine. He's not sure what's gotten in him, perhaps the lack of human interaction of the past two days, but it somehow seems like the most important thing in the world to tell John as soon as possible that he's here.

He unlocks the door and swings it open, "John! John!" he calls loudly but there's no answer. He sees the cracked screen of his cell phone laying on the coffee table. There's no doubt, John was here, had come in last night as he was asleep in the apartment below. He could curse himself for not waiting here longer.

"John!" he pounds up the stairs to John's room and walks in, he's asleep in his bed, looking distraught.

Sherlock goes quiet for a moment, John was having nightmares again, possibly due to him.

"John… I'm so sorry. God, what was I thinking?" He shakes John's shoulder lightly, watching his eyes flutter open.

"I'm up I'm up, you don't have to keep calling me name." John rubs the sleep from his eyes as Sherlock smiles down at him.

"I'm back John, I'm sorry."

"Sherlock?" John looks around confused.

Sherlock tilts his head, "Please understand it was necessary that you-"

John cuts him off, sitting upright in his bed suddenly. "Sher…." He stops himself, can't bring himself to say it.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I didn't know how else to-"

John bolts from the bed, running past Sherlock and down the stairs.

"John wait! Come back, I said I'm sorry!" He calls after his flatmate as he follows him down the stairs.

John stops dead still as he sees the door wide open. He put his hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh. "You bastard, you utter bastard." But he's laughing, can't believe Sherlock had really done it, survived his own suicide.

Sherlock smiles at him, "Like you really doubted for a second that I didn't have something planned?"

Then John does something Sherlock couldn't understand at first. Something that would break him.

John stands facing Sherlock, a wide grin on his face, "Sherlock you utter and complete bastard, where are you?"

"J-John…?"

"Sherlock?! God damn it, come out right now." John stalks off to the kitchen, looking around, then to Sherlock's room. He looks around confused. "Sherlock?" his shouts have died off to a whisper.

"John, what are you doing? I'm right here?"

John crawled up onto the former detective's bed and grabbed one of the pillows, holding it to his chest. "I thought… I thought that… oh god… Sherlock… I really thought I heard you calling me."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and sat next to him. "Shh, John… I'm sorry, but I'm here, right here. Please John, don't cry. You were suppose to find out right after but you didn't come home…"

John clutched the pillow closer, staring at the wall. "Yesterday when I got that phone call… for minute I thought I heard you on the other line whisper my name… but it wasn't you." his eyes welled up with tears.

"It was John, that was me. The line was-"

"It couldn't have been you… You… you're…"

"I'm here now John." Sherlock reached his hand out to John's shoulder and went straight through him.

"Gone."