A/N: There will be one more chapter added to explain the first chapter!
Also, the small sentence in bold does not belong to me! That was a quote from the series that Sally Donovan said to John on their first case!
It was nearly getting dark. The street lights were starting to flick on and the skyline was fading into dark hues in the distance.
John sat on that more than familiar roof, mind wandering and feet dangling off the edge of cold, cracked cement. The sense of space beneath his feet resonated throughout his body and it gave him a sense of uneasiness. There was nothing supporting him and one hasty movement could send him to his death. It wasn't like he cared anyway; he had accepted the possibility of dying. It would be easier then, wouldn't it?
With a sigh, he reached over to his left and grabbed a piece of the sliced pineapples from his bowl. His memories instantly brought him back to the day Sherlock did gunshot residue experiments on a variety of whole pineapples. He still wasn't sure what the purpose was, but he remembered cleaning up the shattered pieces of fruit in their flat. He filed that under 'bored Sherlock antics' and didn't question it.
A faint smile graced the doctor's lips and he found himself weeping- just like the day he sobbed over Sherlock's lifeless body. How long had it been? How long had he forced himself to live without him?
4 months...
That day he lost his best friend. That day he lost the man he loved and all time stood still, frozen with the ache in his heart and stained like the blood on the pavement. There was no sorrow yet no happiness. Yes, he smiled and of course he cried. His emotions were all over the place. He believed in Sherlock Holmes. He believed in him more than anyone could. Half of him thought Sherlock might actually be gone but the other half chalked it up to Sherlock trying to prove a point, trying to prove how amazing and clever he really was. Either way, John was confused and couldn't think straight.
Baffled by his thoughts, he turned his attention down to the people passing by the building. It made him question the morality of those who continued to walk by with fixed glances on the man on the roof. Surely one of them suspected something was wrong? Or was society that wrapped up in its own fantasies to notice? That had to be it. What other explanation would there be?
He laughed dryly and pushed the bowl of fruit away. His appetite had quickly faded with his thoughts of Sherlock flooding into his mind. "Another day lived...at what cost?" He asked himself quietly.
"Sanity." A soft voiced murmured from behind John.
John's heart nearly stopped and his blood ran cold. The voice was sharp and calculating. Only one person was capable of that tone but how? All of the doubt he had in his heart was washing away. "Sherlock..."
He kept his position and didn't utter another word. He would wait and observe.
John carefully swung his leg over the edge and pushed himself up to his feet once again connected to solid ground. He then brought his gaze up to his friend and quietly sorted through all of the questions he had for Sherlock. Where was he to start?
"How'd you do it?" He questioned. He had been driving himself mad with trying to figure out a way. "Please tell me, Sherlock."
"I'm sorry, John." That was his only response to his friend's question. He had fewer things on his mind than usual and they all revolved around John. He knew he hurt the man and nothing would change that. He didn't particularly care to explain anything at the moment so he took a few more steps closer instead.
John kept his stance and didn't move an inch but before he knew it, Sherlock was a few inches away.
"I'm really sorry, John." He was sincere; Sherlock didn't apologize for anything and actually mean it from the bottom of his heart. "It's been too long since I've last seen you. I missed you, John."
John was still, not even a word slipped past his lips now. What was he to say anyway? Just a few moments ago he thought this man was dead.
"I understand that you're confused and upset but I have returned to give you my final words face to face. You deserve that." He stepped closer and brought his hands up to the man's shoulders. He stared at him for a moment before pulling him into a tight embrace. It felt good to touch John again, it had been too long. The phone call was blunt and tedious and he felt John was far too fragile to leave like that. He knew the man was strong but he wanted to comfort him regardless.
"Sherlock..." He murmured, finally breaking his silence. "Four long months and you decide to just reappear for final words. Final words for what, Sherlock?" He didn't understand because he was back now, why did he need to say goodbye? What was he planning?"
Sherlock ran his fingers through soft blond hair and sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain anything and the first time he was at a loss for words. The Sherlock Holmes chocked on his words and his brain went dead. "John…"
"Bloody hell, Sherlock, would you please stop saying my name and just speak to me?" He scolded.
He pulled away just enough so that he could glance down at the shorter man. A soft smile graced his lips and a bitter feeling boiled in the pit of his stomach. Final goodbyes were always the worse- then again, this was his first one.
If John's knowledge served him correctly, Sherlock wasn't the affectionate type. He didn't do that, it just wasn't him. Something was wrong and he just couldn't place his finger on it. "Sherlock, don't apologize. I was at one point upset but now it's just numbness that's taken over. We can move on from this." He pleaded because his instincts were telling him to hold on tightly to Sherlock.
He lifted the doctor's head and placed a soft kiss on his lips. It felt wonderful to be back but he wanted this moment to be especially perfect. No mistakes and no more pain. His hand drifted down to the small of John's back and he pressed their foreheads together. "I love you, John. You're my best friend and the closest I've ever become to a person. No one will ever change that and I'm happy that our journey will end together.
John didn't register what he was hearing but he didn't care because he had Sherlock back. Before he could reply his lips were captured by his friend's once more. John's eyes narrowed and he smiled against Sherlock's lips. When did their relationship grow to this? He wasn't expecting it but he didn't mind it either. "I'm not gay." He mumbled against full rosy lips.
"I didn't say you were, John." He silenced him again and slid one of his hands to John's hip and the other up to his shoulder. "Close your eyes."
John seemed to release all of the grief and anger within moments of Sherlock's return. Was an apology all he really needed? He smiled and closed his eyes like he was asked. "Why?"
"Because I'm saying goodbye." He kissed the man once more and suddently you could hear John's gasp echo throughout the rooftop.
The surroundings went quiet and there stood Sherlock near the edge. He stared down at the crowd of people who began to swarm around the building and around the body that now rested there. They stared up at him with mortified looks plastered on their faces.
"I'm sorry, John."
John was barely breathing. His final breaths were clogged gasps for air. He was in shock and the last thing he saw was Sherlock's smile. He didn't keep his eyes shut like he was supposed to. He couldn't move and he could hear his own heart slowing down.
"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything, he likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because I love you, John." Sherlock whispered as he stepped forward off the ledge. This time there were no tricks, no maneuvers, nothing to save him. He had taken his final vow to apologize to John and made sure nothing would harm him again. He wasn't a fraud, he was real and just as good as everyone thought he was. He had a weakness and didn't mind showing it but that weakness died with him when he took his final steps.
John coughed blood up and his eyes drifted over to the body now laying next him. It was Sherlock and there was a smile on his face.
Their bodies laid there like scorned angels scarred to the pavement. Their hands overlapped and faces at peace. Why Sherlock took both of their lives was unknown but they now rested in peace together and no one could take that away.