A/N: Hey all! So this is a companion piece to the awesome Stargirl05's story "Might Be Stronger." Go check it out, it's awesome! s/9127162/1/Might-Be-Stronger
And just as a warning, this was written at a very un-decent hour of the morning, after staying up all night writing. :P So. Yeah.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, they belong to BBC. And I honestly don't even really own this idea, I wrote it with permission from Stargirl05. (Did I mention she has some awesome stuff?)
Sherlock's phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket. "Hello?"
"Sherlock." John's voice. There's something in his voice, something wrong.
"John, are you alright..."
"Turn around and come back the way you came."
Everything within Sherlock screams at him not to. He knows that if he does, he will regret it. "No..."
"Just do it," John's voice is momentarily sharp, then it breaks. "Please."
"Where?" Sherlock turns around, scanning the street for any sign of his friend.
"Stop there."
Sherlock does.
"Now look up."
Sherlock does. No.
He's standing up there, on the roof. No...
Somewhere, vaguely inside of him, he knows it's a dream. It has to be. It's just another nightmare...
"John..."
"I can't come down so we'll have to do it like this," John says.
"What... John, what's going on?" Stop this. Please. Just... stop it.
"You left, Sherlock." All sadness is lost in John's voice and is replaced with bitterness. "You left me alone."
"But I came back," Sherlock says. He can't tear his gaze away from John, his dark coat flapping slightly in the bitter, cold wind.
"You were dead, Sherlock," John says. "Or, no, you weren't. You just let everyone believe you were."
"John, I've told you..."
"And I don't want to listen!" John snaps. "It doesn't matter anymore Sherlock, okay? It doesn't matter. Because whether or not you were actually dead, you killed me."
Sherlock takes a step closer, as if he could reach John. "John, please, stop it... stop this..."
"You want to know something, Sherlock? You were right." A vehement bitterness fills John's voice. "You are a fake. Whether or not you were a fake brilliant detective, you were a fake friend. Goodbye, Sherlock."
No... PLEASE. Please wake up.
John drops the phone.
Sherlock starts running towards Bart's.
John spreads out his arms.
He can't run fast enough.
John jumps.
"JOHN!"
Sherlock reaches the sidewalk and shoves his way past the crowd. "Please, he's my friend, let me through..."
Fake friend...
He drops to his knees next to John's side and rolls him over.
Blood stains his face as well as the pavement. His blue eyes are fixed open in a horrifying, unforgiving stare.
Please, John, don't be dead...
He somehow manages to grab John's hand and feels for his pulse. Please...
Nothing.
His eyes. Open. Cold. Dead. Unforgiving.
Fake friend...
"JOHN!"
Sherlock bolted upright in bed, sweat matting his thick, curly hair; his breaths coming in heavy gasps.
He sat there for a moment, panting and desperately trying to keep himself from trembling.
Sherlock let himself fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. He started to close his eyes, then stopped. There was no way he would close them again tonight.
But even with his eyes open he can still see him: blood stained face, blood matted hair. Open eyes. Please, stop staring...
Sherlock shook himself and rolled over, curling into a small ball. It was just another nightmare. Just like all the other ones since he'd returned to Baker street.
But he still couldn't get John's words and and the look in his eyes out of his head.
A/N: And before you get angry at me for writing yet another feelzy, angsty thing, go read "Might Be Stronger". ;)