AN: This is my first story written for the Sherlock fandom, though I've written fanfic before. This little plot bunny kind of bit me in the feelings and wouldn't stop until I wrote it. I hope you like it! It's kind of an alternate ending to The Reichenbach Fall.
John raced out of the car, turning his head frantically. Sherlock. He knew that he had to find him. He didn't know why, but he knew that if he didn't find him, and soon, something bad was going to happen.
His phone rang.
John reached into his pocket, frantically pulling it out. It was Sherlock. John didn't hesitate to answer the phone. "Sherlock-"
Sherlock's firm, determined tone stopped him. "John. Turn around."
"Where?" John turned, but he couldn't see him.
"Stop there!" Sherlock nearly yelled the words. John's heart ached when he heard the pain in the taller man's voice.
"Sherlock?" John looked around where he was standing. Sherlock was in trouble, of that he was certain. But where was he? He felt his heart beating faster as the situation became more urgent. "Where are you, Sherlock?"
"I'm on the rooftop. I can't come down."
John looked up and, sure enough, there was a tall black figure on the roof of the hospital. His coat was swirling gently in the wind, his curly hair fluttering a bit more frantically. His feet were on the edge of the roof.
At that moment, John swore his heart stopped.
"John. We'll have to do it like this. Don't… don't come up. I have to tell you… this is an apology. It's all true."
"What?" John couldn't believe this. What was all true? No, Sherlock was clever. This wasn't true. He was lying.
"Everything they said, it was all true. I invented Moriarty." Sherlock's voice broke and he paused for a moment, taking a shaky breath. "Everything the media said was true. I'm a lie, John."
"Sherlock, shut up, just shut up, okay?" John's pulse raced and he paced in front of the hospital. He had to do something. He had to save Sherlock. "The first time we met, you knew me. You knew about my sister."
"Nobody could be that clever." Sherlock was crying now, John could hear it in his voice. He had to do something.
"Sherlock, I'm coming up. Don't. Move." John stepped towards the door to the hospital.
"John, no!" Sherlock yelled, his voice suddenly panicked. "Stay down there. Don't. Don't move."
John ignored Sherlock and entered the hospital, looking for the nearest elevator. He had to get to the roof, and he had to go now. When none of the elevators were open, he ran for the stairs. Anything to get to Sherlock as fast as possible.
"Please, John. Go back outside. I need you to be … I need to see you. Please."
John's chest seemed hollow as he processed Sherlock's words. If he didn't get to him, and soon, he feared the worst. Some unknown force seemed to propel John forward, upward, getting increasingly closer to the man he loved. "Sherlock, if you think I'm leaving you now, you're wrong," John managed to pant out while running up the stairs.
"John, I researched you! I did it to impress you! I didn't… I'm not that clever. You need to understand this, John, please."
Pulse racing, John approached the last floor on the stairs. He was almost to the roof. "Sherlock, please." That was all he said. He didn't know what else to say. All coherent thought seemed to have left his brain.
And suddenly, John wasn't running up the stairs anymore. He burst through the door and was faced with bright sunlight and a sharp wind. The man on the edge turned to see him, tear tracks on his face. "John-"
"Shut up. Just shut up." John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him down off of the edge and suddenly their lips were crashing together, both tasting saltwater tears on the lips of the other. John didn't know how long it lasted, but when they pulled apart, John wrapped his arms tightly around the other man. He was never going to leave him alone again.
Sherlock held John close to him, tears running down his face. He couldn't hurt this man, he couldn't leave him. But unless he died, John would die. Sherlock didn't know what else to do. He felt his heart breaking into a million pieces. He didn't know what to do.
But then the decision was made for him.
Sherlock heard the gunshots as if from a distance, felt John sag in his arms. Something wet started seeped through John's sweater and into his coat. Sherlock stepped back for a moment, when he saw it. Blood.
Sherlock knew what was going to happen next. After John, it would be Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. He couldn't have all three of their deaths on his hands. Not … not after John.
He closed his eyes and walked backwards until there was nothing more to walk on.
AN: What do you think? This was extremely painful for me to write, so I hope it was worth it! Please leave a review telling me what you thought~
(PS- an anonymous reviewer asked if they could translate this into Chinese. I'm incredibly honored that you want to translate this! As long as you link back to this story in some way, feel free to translate this into any language you want. As long as I get credit and you send me a link to the translated version, I'm okay with any translations!)