If you don't think about him, he'll go away. This was a thought that circulated my head all day. This was essentially counterproductive and I just thought about John Watson even more. His smell. His smile. His laugh. Everything about him, I was in love. But he was going through so much right now. Even though he had his own house, most of his time was spent in my flat. Drinking tea and smoking...a lot. I knew he was hurting. He was fighting with his wife. His books were failures. I wanted so badly to hold him in my arms, to let his tears splash on my skin, to let him know I loved him. Alas, he was married. And he loved her so much... Then I got the call. I had been meeting with Lestrade, and John called me. Exhilarated by his personal ringtone on my phone, I answered with a "John?" "Sherlock...please. I need you. Now. The building...your death building. Come quick." Assuming the worst, I told Lestrade I had to go now, pulling on my coat and adjusting my scarf. John's voice was so pained. I hated hearing him like that. The only other time I had heard it like that was when our roles were switched, and I was standing on the top of a building, ready to jump. I drove to the building, and knew when I saw what was going on. A figure that I immediately recognized as John was standing there, on top of the building. My heart sped up and I ran to the top. "NO! JOHN!" He didn't hear me. I reached the top and he turned. I saw that his beautiful eyes were spilling over with tears. No no no nononononononono. "Sherlock...please…" I ran to him and hugged him, breathing in the smell of sweat and tears and John. "Sherlock, I couldn't help it…" "Shhhh, John. Hush. It's okay. I'm here now." I rubbed my hand across his back, his head fitting perfectly over my neck. My skin tingled at his touch. I could do it. I could say it now. "No one loves me. No one wants me. My wife hates me. My books are failures. My life is a failure. I want to die, Sherlock. You're the only one keeping me alive." I felt like in movies when someone says something and there's that gong in the background, and the character's vision goes out-of-wack and everything feels dizzy and strange. I stumbled a little, and John looked up, confused. "What? What's wrong?" he asked. I immediately shook my head, wanting this to be about him. "Nothing, it's okay. Keep talking." "I just, no one cares. So why do I keep living? Why am I living right now if no one loves me? Why shouldn't I jump off this building?" "Is that a rhetorical question?" He looked up at me, hope in his eyes. I wanted so badly to touch his face and kiss his soft lips… "Do you have an answer?" I nodded. He backed away and sat down with his back facing the London skyline. He put his head in his hands. "Do I even want an answer?" he mumbled to himself. I shivered, remembering his touch. I turned around, worried I would start to cry. I didn't want to break down in front of him. Here he was, needing someone strong and loving. I was not strong. I was cowardly. I wanted so, so bad to tell him. It was agonizing to see him here, on the verge of death, knowing that my love would mean nothing. Or would it? He admired me, I knew. He admired my incredible wit. I led him on adventures. He admired my false courage. He couldn't see through lies as well as I could. He would believe every word I said. But if I told him I loved him, would he reject it? Would he leave me here, crying my eyes out, knowing he could not, would not, ever love me? A single tear trickled down my cheek. The thought of him leaving me. "John, stop crying." "Sherlock, I don't have time for your psychopathic sh-" "No, John." I turned around. He looked up, his red face annoyed. "I love you." "Jesus, Sherlock-" "No, let me finish." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was about to say a speech I'd been practicing since I first saw him. "I love everything about you, John. If you kill yourself, I will die. I will die inside. I know you have Mary and you probably don't want my love, but it's all I can give you. I love your laugh, I love your smile, and I don't want you to die. That is literally the last thing I want. I love you, John. I want to kiss you and I want to give you everything. Please, John. Don't die." Tears streamed down my face, but I wasn't ashamed. He looked up as if he had had an epiphany. "Are you...lying to me?" John asked. His face contorted into a look of deep pain, and I rushed to him. "No, God, no, John. No, I'm telling the truth. Why would I lie to you?" He laughed and shook his head, but I felt like maybe he wasn't that happy. "That's funny, that is. 'Why would I-'" He laughed and shook his head. Confused, I saw that his face was now angry. "Do you know how many times, Sherlock Holmes? Do you know how many times you've lied to me?" "John, please. I need you." His face seemed to melt as he closed his eyes and stood up. "I need you too, Sherlock. I thought-" His voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears. He looked at the cement. "I thought that it was just one of those things. One of those cliches where you have the biggest crush on someone else and-" His voice was decimated as tears streamed down his cheeks. I embraced him and held him tight. "-and they'll never love you back. And I thought I'd get over it but-" He stopped talking and let himself go as we hugged, our bodies like puzzle pieces fitting together. "Sshhhh, John. Shhhhh." I rubbed his back and felt each tear splash onto my shoulder. "And with Mary and everything...and I really had no excuse and...but it felt so perfect being with you…" "It's okay, John. It's okay now." I could've fallen asleep like that. I could've lied down on that building and fallen asleep with him. But I couldn't. I pulled away from him. "We need to get you off this building." He smiled, and I resisted the urge to squeal at how adorable his whole face was. "Yeah, lets get off here." "I don't know how this is going to work, us being together, but I know we can make it work. I know we can be together. Because I love you." He pulled me into a long kiss, salty with the taste of our tears, perfect with the taste of our love.