A/N: this is a small one shot set in conjunction with the final chapter of Years, Months, Weeks, Days andalongside the companion one shot, The Funny Thing About Death. I would recommend reading YMWDs first, but the two one shots probably could stand alone!
The sad thing about life is that no matter how long it is, it is never enough.
It was always there in the background. The silent unassuming assumption,
Never leave me.
I won't.
Promise.
Forever.
This was often mis interpreted. Often people thought it was romantic. It wasn't, it was simply two souls, who needed each other, clinging on for dear life.
So it seem inevitable that when one fell, the other would too.
There may have been a five year gap, but as Sherlock watched John's body slam into the ground. His analytical mind couldn't help but draw parallels.
He wondered if this was how it was for John, all those years ago, watching him fall. The utter dread that sets in when you realise there is nothing you can do, nothing you could ever do.
Time itself seemed to slow down. Sherlock knew this was impossible, yet it was happening.
He froze. Unsure. For the first time in his life, not including the incident at Baskerville where he had been drugged, it was not a normal incident (or so he constantly told himself), he was scared.
It had never truly occurred to him that he would ever have to live his life without John.
Forever.
John was not a young man, neither was Sherlock, they had both lived and loved their lives, but forever was never going to be long enough.
He had been going to tell him one day soon infact. Not that he believed in such things, but fate seemed to conspire against those who waited.
Shaken out of his loop, he called out, running as he did.
He crouched down towards the Doctor.
Despite his internal protests, he couldn't help but sweep his eyes along the broken, mangled body that once belonged to his best friend.
Because even before he had finished, Sherlock knew John was a goner.
He could see 6 broken ribs, a collapsed lung on the left side and a compound fracture to the right thigh. Sherlock doubted John could even feel his left leg.
There was too much blood.
"Please, don't go."
He paused, silently willing John to show some sign.
"You promised." he whispered.
Sherlock was surprised at his own voice, breaking.
There was nothing more he could do.
He began to hum a tune.
One he had only ever played snippets of, stopping as soon as he knew someone was listening. A tune for John. Now it fell into place, a lone voice amongst the crowd that was beginning to gather.
Forming a melody that brought him back to this world.
A crying man.