"What's going on?"
"An apology… it's all true."
"What?"
"Everything they said about me… I invented Moriarty."
John stared at the door to the flat. Their flat. Mrs. Hudson had told him to come whenever he was ready to pack his things, because both of them knew the doctor wouldn't be able to handle living there without Sherlock. His fingers shook as they gently rested on the door, and his throat clenched shut as his eyes blinked back tears. No, he wasn't ready to come back, but John had accepted the fact that he would never be able to walk in to 221 B Baker Street without feeling the void in his heart grow bigger.
After taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and the scent hit him almost immediately after. The scent that, until recently, he had found as a comfort; it had made him feel like he had finally found a home, somewhere to spend the rest of his life and the one person he was willing to share it with.
"Why are you saying this?"
"I'm a fake."
"Sherlock…"
"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson… and Molly; In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you; that I created Moriarty… for my own purposes."
"Okay, Shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met, the first time wemet, you knew all about my sister."
John felt the dull ache that had made itself a permanent tenant within his heart grow into an almost unbearable throbbing as he walked into the flat. Everything was just the way they'd left it. His favorite cup was sitting on the table, untouched and filled to the brim. The fridge was closed tightly, but in his mind, John could see all of its remnants: a large gallon of milk and every piece of the human body imaginable. There was no way Mrs. Hudson had been able to come up here and clean anything out, of course, and upon seeing this, John had offered to not only pack up his own things, but to throw out the unfinished experiment ingredients Sherlock had left behind.
His eyes finally allowed themselves to rest on the object he'd been trying to avoid. His chair. There had been times that John had settled himself into that chair just to inhale deeply and relish in the smell that radiated from it.
"Nobody could be that clever."
"You could."
"I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything I could to impress you. It's a trick, it's just a magic trick."
"No. Alright, stop it now!"
"No, stay exactly where you are! Don't move!"
"You're alright…"
John stepped forward shakily then slid into the chair and felt, as always, the aroma surround him in it's warm blanket. Up to this point, when John had thought of his friend, he'd shaken and shed a few tears, but was always able to retain himself from breaking down. The moment he felt his body sink into the cushion, all of his walls broke down instantly and tears began flowing freely.
"Sherlock," He whispered through his sobs, "Sherlock, please. I can't do this anymore." He sucked in a deep breath, but the tears continued to streak down his face.
"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?"
"Do what?"
"This phone call, it's um… It's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
"My limp is back… and I haven't gone back to work since…" His voice broke into helpless weeping as memories of that day flashed through his head. "I need you." The words came out as barely a whisper, and he allowed himself a small smile as he could almost hear Sherlock's reply. John pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned against the arm of the chair, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, willing the sweet scent to carry him off to sleep.
"Leave a note when?"
"Goodbye, John."
"When are you going to tell him?" Mycroft emerged from behind a door, but the dark figure didn't move from where he stood, staring down the stairs at a figure that was curled up in his chair.
"He's better off not knowing." Sherlock replied bluntly.
"It very well may be… but if it is, then why are you here?" At this, Sherlock looked at his older brother with tears welling up in his eyes.
"I… I can't leave him alone…" Sherlock turned back to the sleeping doctor and his gaze softened. " He wouldn't leave me alone."
"Haven't you already?"
"John will understand… I had to…"
"I hope you're right." Mycroft laid a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, then started toward the door.
"So do I." Sherlock whispered and Mycroft hesitated mid-step, looking back at Sherlock and giving him a sad smile before disappearing out the front door.