A/N: Hello there! Here is another angsty Johnlock one-shot, in which John kills himself and Sherlock decides to join him after he returns home. Major character death.

Reviews are always welcome :)

Thank you for reading! xo

The Way It Should Have Been

It was raining heavily and the lightnings almost tore the sky in two as he made his way through the crowd.

The coat's collar was hiding his nose and mouth; only his piercing green eyes were staring at people, observing them without them knowing. He was alone but he was coming home and this thought gave him strength; the thought of blue eyes and sandy blonde hair made him walk further and further, his hair completely soaked and the collar hiding his pale face.

"This is how it must feel when you return from the battlefield." He thought, as he swam trough the sea of people. His hand, wrapped gently in a leather glove, brushed a strand of hair away from his face. He often imagined his life as a battlefield in the past years. He's been hiding from the enemy, never staying in a place for too long, always traveling, always alone, always in the dark. And he never left his mind, not a single second. He appeared every night in his dreams and he woke up all sweaty and trembling. John became a ghost for him, but one he would have never let go because he gave him the strength to wake up day after day and defeat Moriarty's people until the last one.

And now the time finally came. He gingerly made his way to the front door and knocked; his hand rested for a moment against the soaked wood and he could see how the paint was shriveled, like no one lived there anymore. He waited and waited and he could feel the pain in his chest rising and rising until he felt like he was suffocating. Did John move out? Did he get married? Where was his John now? Sherlock thought he would be waiting; he thought they could finally be togheter; he thought life could actually be beautiful.

He could feel the door opening; a small silhouette appeared in the doorstep; a woman; Mrs. Hudson. She watched him with watery eyes and put her hands on her mouth to muffle a surprised sound.

"Sherlock, dear!" she said, and she threw herself in his arms.

"I-I'm wet, Mrs. Hudson…let's go inside." He answered, gently pushing her inside the flat. They broke the hug and she watched him for a few long moments, tears running down her wrinkled cheeks. She was so happy to see him, but so sad at the same time. Sherlock panicked; what happened to John?

"Oh, dear…you have changed so much…"

He could hear the pain in her voice and his heart was breaking seeing her suffer so much for something that was entirely unknown for him. It was something big, indeed, since she seemed even skinnier and more wrinkled than he had last seen her.

He spun around and started climbing the stairs. The familiar smell filled his nostrils and he closed his eyes. He could feel his old life in every breath he took, remnants of him and John, of their friendship, their adventures, and he wished to know where he was. He wished that he was there, in that armchair, the laptop in his arms, typing fast, just like he used to. Perhaps he no longer owned the blog since he thought that Sherlock was dead. He wasn't dead for a single moment, he was right there, protecting John, his John, keeping him alive.

"Mrs. Hudson, where is John?"

Mrs. Hudson wiped away a tear from her eye and smiled at him.

"I will ask you one more time: Where Is John?"

Sherlock started to get impatient; he hated when people made him wait. He needed to know where John was.

" Dear, John is…well, he isn't, that's the problem…"

Her words seemed to crush into him, breaking his bones. He felt his head being torn away from his body and for a moment he lost his balance.

This couldn't be happening; John wasn't dead. Couldn't possibly be. He fell into the plush armchair.

"He said he couldn't live without you, Sherlock. He loved you more than anything and anyone and he wanted to be with you, up there. God, Sherlock, if he only knew…"

Sherlock felt pain for the first time in his life and it felt like someone was pushing a dagger into his heart, stabbing him again and again and again until the blood was pouring from his chest, filling the room, and he could feel the strength leave him. He was broken because he felt things. He hated feelings, but he couldn't help them. John wasn't there anymore, John was gone, he was up there where he should have been too, holding John's hand, loving him back to life, until he could hear his heart beating again, like he used to whenever they stood close enough at a crime scene. He would no longer gaze into those blue eyes, hear that voice call his name and he couldn't bear the thought.

"Mrs. Hudson, there is something I have to do."

He got up. Mrs. Hudson followed him around the flat as he made his plan. He knew exactly how he would join his John in either Heaven or Hell, because he knew that God would put them togheter. He knew that God would want them to love each other in his kingdom the way they should have loved each other on Earth.

He kissed Mrs. Hudson goodbye as she started crying again; he was alone again but he knew that this wouldn't last long enough to become painful. Besides, the pain he felt right now was more than any human could handle.

And there he was, on the top of the highest building in London, watching as the moon rose on the sky, and the rain finally stopped. There were still a few clouds on the sky, but he could see the stars shine somewhere far away and he thought that John was one of them right now. John Hamish Watson. He repeated his name over and over in his mind until the words lost their meaning, but he still knew his purpose. He had to join him, no matter how afraid he was. Because Sherlock Holmes felt fear of death. He knew many things, but he had no idea what was waiting for him after this life.

Not anymore, though. He knew that John was waiting for him, that the clock was ticking, that his days reached their end, so he watched the sky for the last time. It's been a good life for him, but it would have been better if John was there to hold his hand.

He turned his head to the side and he saw him; a shining silhouette, bright blue eyes and the most beautiful smile Sherlock had ever seen. He approached him and nodded; he wanted Sherlock next to him, he loved him. Tears were now running down Sherlock's cheeks and he nodded too.

"I'll be there in no time, John." He said.

He thought of Mycroft and of home, and of all the places he'd been the past years and then he thought of Mrs. Hudson and again of John. He looked down and saw the cars and the people, the life that shone so bright right below his feet and he couldn't help but admire them, their courage, the way they survived without a bright intellect like his. Just like John, they all were soldiers, but he didn't need all of them, he just needed one, so he took one more step and he was now flying.

The night breeze was blowing through his hair and he closed his eyes before he felt pain and love and loss and then nothing, and a bright light seemed to surround him like a cocoon.

"John…"

"Sherlock…"

"It's okay, I'm here."

John threw himself in Sherlock's arms and their lips finally met.

"Why, John?"

It was the last thing Sherlock said before John grabbed his hand and took him where he should have been, in a quiet place where there was nothing but their love, ready to swallow the entire universe.